Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.

Otherwise, hello, and welcome.
Mail Trillian here<





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Women, The Internet and You: Tips for Men Who Use Online Dating Sites
Part I, Your Profile and Email

Part II, Selecting a Potential Date

Part III, Your First Date!

Part IV, After the First Date. Now What?


"50 First Dates"






Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.

Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Find Federal Officials
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Contact The Media
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Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)

Quasar
Hyperbole
Amenable
Taciturn
Ennui
Prophetic
Tawdry
Hubris
Ethereal
Syzygy
Umbrageous
Twerp
Sluice
Omnipotent
Sanctuary
Malevolent
Maelstrom
Luddite
Subterfuge
Akimbo
Hoosegow
Dodecahedron
Visceral
Soupçon
Truculent
Vitriol
Mercurial
Kerfuffle
Sangfroid




























 







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Highlights from the Archives. Some favorite Trillian moments.

Void, Of Course: Eliminating Expectations and Emotions for a Better Way of Life

200i: iPodyssey

Macs Are from Venus, Windows is from Mars Can a relationship survive across platform barriers?
Jerking Off

Get A Job

Office Church Ladies: A Fieldguide

'Cause I'm a Blonde

True? Honestly? I think not.

A Good Day AND Funyuns?

The Easter Boy

Relationship in the Dumpster

Wedding Dress 4 Sale, Never Worn

Got Friends? Are You Sure? Take This Test

What About Class? Take This Test

A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far Far Away, There Was a Really Bad Movie

May Your Alchemical Process be Complete. Rob Roy Recipe

Good Thing She's Not in a Good Mood Very Often (We Knew it Wouldn't Last)

What Do I Have to Do to Put You in this Car Today?

Of Mice and Me (Killer Cat Strikes in Local Woman's Apartment)

Trillian: The Musical (The Holiday Special)

LA Woman (I Love (Hate) LA)

It is my Cultureth
...and it would suit-eth me kindly to speak-eth in such mannered tongue

Slanglish

It's a Little Bit Me, It's a Little Bit You
Blogging a Legacy for Future Generations


Parents Visiting? Use Trillian's Mantra!

Ghosts of Christmas Past: Mod Hair Ken

Caught Blogging by Mom, Boss or Other

2003 Holiday Sho-Lo/Mullet Awards

Crullers, The Beer Store and Other Saintly Places

Come on Out of that Doghouse! It's a Sunshine Day!

"...I had no idea our CEO is actually Paula Abdul in disguise."

Lap Dance of the Cripple

Of Muppets and American Idols
"I said happier place, not crappier place!"

Finally Off Crutches, Trillian is Emancipated

Payless? Trillian? Shoe Confessions

Reality Wednesday: Extremely Local Pub

Reality Wednesday: Backstage Staging Zone (The Sweater Blog)

The Night Secret Agent Man Shot My Dad

To Dream the Impossible Dream: The Office Karaoke Party

Trillian Flies Economy Class (Prisoner, Cell Block H)

Trillian Visits the Village of the Damned, Takes Drugs, Becomes Delusional and Blogs Her Brains Out

Trillian's Parents are Powerless

Striptease for Spiders: A PETA Charity Event (People for the Ethical Treatment of Arachnids)

What's Up with Trillian and the Richard Branson Worship?

"Screw the French and their politics, give me their cheese!"


















 
Mail Trillian here





Trillian's Guide to the Galaxy gives 5 stars to these places in the Universe:
So much more than fun with fonts, this is a daily dose of visual poetry set against a backdrop of historical trivia. (C'mon, how can you not love a site that notes Wolfman Jack's birthday?!)

CellStories

Alliance for the Great Lakes


Hot, so cool, so cool we're hot.

Ig Nobel Awards

And you think YOU have the worst bridesmaid dress?

Coolest Jewelry in the Universe here (trust Trillian, she knows)

Red Tango

If your boss is an idiot, click here.

Evil Cat Full of Loathing.

Wildlife Works

Detroit Cobras


The Beachwood Reporter is better than not all, but most sex.



Hey! Why not check out some great art and illustration while you're here? Please? It won't hurt and it's free.

Shag

Kii Arens

Tim Biskup

Jeff Soto

Jotto




Get Fuzzy Now!
If you're not getting fuzzy, you should be. All hail Darby Conley. Yes, he's part of the Syndicate. But he's cool.





Who or what is HWNMNBS: (He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken) Trillian's ex-fiancé. "Issues? What issues?"







Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.


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Reading blogs at work? Click to escape to a suitable site!

Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains





























Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero

 
Saturday, January 21, 2006  
No Bill Murray in my dreams last night. I had some dreams but they're kind of hazy and just a lot of swirly colors and some cartoon dialog balloons but I couldn't quite make out what they said. Just my luck, my inner psyche spells out a message in a format even a child could understand and I can't quite get close enough to read it. Which is a complete joke in the bigger picture because I woke up feeling frustrated that I couldn't read the cartoon dialog balloons. Seriously, this stress and turmoil dreams are causing me has to stop. It was easier to have a sleeping problem. Yes. I am re-evaluating the sleep medication situation. So far the cure is worse than the cause. The whole point was to achieve 8 hours of sleep a night so that I'm rested and able to physically heal and deal with my every day stress better. So far: Not happening.

And the whole more sleep = sharper mind thing? Yeah. Not happening, either.

I have a tight budget. I can't afford most of the usual girl maintenance items and services. I either do without, do very seldom or do it myself. I'm not saying I'm good at a lot of these things, or that the results are as good as if I paid someone, an actual trained professional, to do it, but you know, in some cases it's better than not doing it at all.

Guys, you might want to go have a beer or watch ESPN. This is a girly post.

Let's talk in home waxing, shall we? Oh yes, let's.

There are two kinds of women: Those who can wax themselves and those who cannot. I'm talking legs here, just to be very clear. I've heard stories, folklore, urban legends I presume, of women who wax themselves other places, delicate places, sensitive places, places where waxing, even under anesthesia, the pain is likened to childbirth. I don't personally know any women who have attempted to do this to themselves. And I know some pretty tough women. One of my friends delivered a 12 pound baby. Naturally. No pain medication. She left hospital in less than 24 hours and was grocery shopping two days after birthing said 12 pound baby. She's of Eastern European descent. At times she would remind you of Natasha, of Boris and Natasha fame. She deliver big baby no problem. (flexing a forcep with a bicep) She do this herself. Doctors. Hospitals. She spits on their wimpy modern ways. It is only childbirth. It is nothing. Right. She's tough. But waxing down there turns her into a blubbering pile of tears begging for mercy. Even she would never consider "doing it herself."

Legs, though, I mean, that's different. It's not pleasant but it's not horrible. I prefer to have someone else do it for me, but I have done it myself. Hey. Leg waxings start at $60 for half leg in this town. (girls, don't you love the visual of the guys who didn't go for the beer or ESPN who are still reading this? Sitting there all confused, "Half a leg? Huh? What's she talking about? They charge fractionally? Who would only want half a leg waxed? Is that in case you can't take the pain and can't continue?") $60 is way out of my realm of reasonable maintenance fee, especially considering I can and do shave them. Especially since it doesn't last that long for me. Well, for anyone. Hair grows constantly. It never stops. But now and then it's a real treat to get every hair ripped out by the follicle and start with a fresh hair free canvas of flesh. I treat myself to this torture once or sometimes twice a year at max. The rest of the time it's the razor's edge or, sometimes, an in home wax job.

I decided to have an in home spa night. I closed the blinds, put on continuous Bryan Ferry, the entire catalog, lit a bazillion candles, chilled a bottle of champagne and a dish of raspberries, warmed a bunch of towels and my bathrobe and slipped into a warm bubble bath. I applied a deep hydrating hair conditioner and moisture mask on my face. You know, girl Heaven on Earth at home. I luxuriated there smugly thinking of how good I felt and how little money I spent, and how really, this is so much better than going to a spa because I'm in the comfort of my own home with my own music and my cat.

The jar of wax was looming ominously on the vanity. That was going to be the least fun part of the day. So I stuck to my plan to get it over right away. Out of the bath, off to the microwave.

Let's pause for a moment to reflect on some of the really idiotic things I've done in my life. Particularly the idiotic things I've done in the name of vanity. Yes. I have a history of this.

1. Slathering the family cat with my mother's special face cream, the one in the fancy jar she only used when she was going out on a date with my father. Insanely stupid. Okay, I was trying to beautify the cat and not myself, but I was three and I didn't realize I could beautify myself. Plus I loved that cat and he seemed to like the the cream rubbed into his fur. I was really confused and upset when his rejuvenating treatment resulted in a) a trip to vet for the cat and b) punishment of a week of early bed time with no story for me.

2. Trying to be like my older siblings by dying my very long dark auburn hair blonde with hydrogen peroxide: Well, I mean, that's just lunacy beyond compare. But I was only five at the time so slack can be cut for both the stupidity and desperation of wanting to look like my siblings. How about some props for knowing peroxide would lighten my hair? No? Yes I know it was really a pathetic cry for help, but I got in a lot of trouble for that bit of stupidity. I also got my first professional dye job and a pixie hair cut because of that bout of idiotic home beautifying.

3) Using semi-permanent markers to apply "lipstick," "eye liner," "eye shadow," and "blush." The night before family portrait day. Have you ever seen Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? You know Truly Scrumptious? Imagine if she had a child with Raggedy Andy. Yeah, that's pretty much the look I achieved. Which I thought was pretty darned cool. I honestly thought my family would be really pleased with my transformation for the event of permanent historic photographic archive of our family. I was wrong. I was an idiot. I got in a lot of trouble for that one. My sister made a special visit home from college for the photo, my mother had hair appointments set for her and my sister, my dad and brother had new suits, my mother, sister and I had coordinating (but not matching) dresses, and there I was: Raggedy Scrumptious. Let's just say photo retouching in the days before PhotoShop was a a true art form. Somewhere out there is a photo retoucher who performed a Michelangelo-esque miracle. Nonethesless, I was grounded for two weeks over that little in home makeover. And I lost my marker privileges for a month. And I seem to recall having to write a five page essay on the importance of obeying one's parents including the physical and financial ramifications of disobedience. But that might have been for another non vanity related incident. My parents were big on incorporating educational exercises with punishment. My brother once had to create a accounting speadsheet when he misappropriated a semester's worth of Scholastic book club money on hockey cards. He also had to use his allowance to make a donation for new books for the library and he had to read and write a book report on the books he was originally supposed to purchase.

4) Stuffing copious amounts of toilet paper between my face and my orthodontic headgear at night to prevent tell-tale lines embossed on my face in the morning. Okay. That's actually not idiotic. If you never had to wear headgear you cannot possibly understand the pain and embarrassment those things cause. I'm sure most kids "stuffed" their headgear or at least padded it. But most kids didn't do this at slumber parties. Slumber parties where cool kids were in attendance. To this day I have no idea why I even took the stupid thing to the slumber party. I mean, my best friend was cool, she'd seen me in it, she didn't care and didn't tease me but the other girls who'd already spent several years making fun of me, were there. I can only assume it's some sadistic death wish, some need to fail which compelled me to not only don my headgear that night after I thought the other girls were asleep, but also "stuff" so I wouldn't have tell-tale embossed lines in the morning. Julie. Swutting Julie. Always Julie. Let out a huge laugh and an "OMG, look at Trillian!" waking up the other girls who were in fact sleeping. If I could go back to that moment in time I would say what I wanted to say then: "Worried there won't be enough left for you to stuff in your bra in the morning?" Because I know she stuffed her bra for several years. She fell into me in gym class once and they were not real. Nothing cushions that kind of blow like several layers of toilet paper artfully constructed into boobs. Plus, she lived down the street and I'd see her after school, after she'd unstuffed before going home. Flat as a board. But miraculously every morning before first hour she'd emerge from the bathroom with a couple of C's busting out of her blouse. She knew I knew. And she knew I kept quiet about it. And yet she had the nerve to tease me about my orthodontia headgear and home made "cushioning." Bitch. I hated her then and I hate her now. Though I can't blame her entirely for this incident. I could have skipped my headgear one night. Idiotic.

5) Lime green eye shadow. I have no explanation. I was old enough to know better. But it looked really cool at the black light lit school dance. Well. I mean cool for a girl who was trying to deflect attention from her orthodontia. I don't know. Really. I don't know why I thought that was a good idea. Other girls were doing it. It seemed cool at the time. But it wasn't. It was idiotic.

6) Okay. This is potentially the mother of all idiotic ideas I've pursued in the name of vanity. One Summer of my teenaged youth I worked as crew on a sail boat. Our personal "area" was a small cot-like bunk and duffle bag sized storage cubby. When we were docked we were busy working so we didn't always have a chance to do any personal shopping. Consequently it became necessary to share personal hygiene items. Needless to say any form of pampering was out of the question. Brushing teeth was as close to a beauty regime as we got. But it was fun and we were all in the same boat, literally, so no big deal. Until the afternoon before we were going to dock in a town known for it's lively night life AND we were had the night off work. A few of us girls had a little dilemma. Our razors had become quite dull and let's just say the wearing our cute shorts out that night situation looked bleak. We lamented not getting waxed. Then someone who shall remain nameless hit upon a resourceful solution. We had several bottles of Elmer's glue at various repair stations onboard at our disposal. Do I really need to relay any more of this? I think you can connect the dots. And if you're sitting there thinking, "hey, that's not a bad idea..." you're an idiot. Just like I was an idiot. And worse, I took other girls down with me. Oh sure, they're responsible for their decisions, I didn't force them to slather their legs with Elmer's glue. But I pointed out all the seemingly good reasons why Elmer's glue would work like wax, even better because it's water soluble! Again, if you're sitting there thinking, "hey, that's not a bad idea..." you're an idiot. Because it is a very bad idea. For a lot of reasons. Primary among them: The stuff doesn't dry as fast as wax. In fact it dries really slowly when gooped on thick enough to act as a hair follicle pulling adhesive agent. I know somewhere out there someone is still thinking, "hey, that's not a bad idea..." you're an idiot. A complete, total imbecilic moronic idiot.

We'll leave it at that. You get the idea. I'm no stranger to idiotic in-home beauty treatment ideas.

I've graduated from Elmer's (seriously, it's not a good idea) and moved onto hot wax. (Really, Elmer's glue does not work) I'm not saying I enjoy this or do it with any frequency. But, occasionally it comes to pass that I attempt waxing my own legs at home. I have mixed results. Never the salon-like results the box of wax promises, but, on a good day not half bad, either.

You have to be able and willing to hurt yourself. I guess that's a given. But you need to know your threshold for self induced pain. Here's a handy tolerance guide.

If your wardrobe and home decor can best be described as "soft" and/or pink, you are not ready to wax any part of your body with an in-home do it yourself waxing kit.

If you tolerate a coworker who makes loud personal phone calls all day in the office, you are ready to try in home waxing small areas like knees or those fine little unibrow hairs which resist tweezers.

If you wear heels higher than 2.5 inches for more than 8 hours a day more than once a week you are ready to give yourself an in-home do it yourself lower leg waxing.

If you have ever tried an online dating site you are ready to give yourself an in-home do it yourself full leg waxing.

Okay. So. Wax: Check. Microwave: Check. Wooden stick applicator: Check. Entire roll of paper towel: Check. Shot of whiskey and a bullet: Check. Okay, ready to wax.

Hot.

Wax.

It's a hot wax treatment. Wax has to get really hot to melt so that it can be applied and then dry while on your body. Once you've done this you've gone to the point of no return. Because once it's on there the only way it's coming off is by peeling the dried wax off yourself. Even if you chicken out and "gently" peel small sections at a time rather than quickly rip full length sections, it's going to hurt. If give yourself third degree burns while applying the hot wax to your naked flesh there's only one way to administer first aid: The wax has got to come off first. And if you've burned yourself you're going to part with more than hair when you rip off that wax.

I haven't burned myself while waxing for a long time. I've learned a thing or two about the molecular properties of wax. I've grown as a person and as an in-home do it yourself waxer.

So when I burned myself on my in-home spa night I was surprised and angry with myself. This was to be my night, my little oasis night. My pathetic attempt at pampering myself because I can't afford to have these services performed at a spa or salon by trained professionals.

The wax was not the only thing having a meltdown.

My attempts at creating a tranquil spa like atmosphere at home, which I was pretty darned proud of prior to the burning, suddenly looked exactly like what they were: Stupid, pathetic attempts to disguise my tiny apartment into a peaceful chamber of pampering delights. A ridiculous notion girl magazines and manufacturers of in home beauty treatment products would have you believe can really happen. It can't. Even with a good cheap champagne buzz going, the fact is that it's still your home. In my case a very small apartment. Which I've lived in for a year. Which absolutely amazes me. Where'd that year go? Seriously, how can a year have passed already? Which depresses me because time is passing really quickly and all I'm doing it wasting it or at least not doing something life changing with it. I'm busy, it's not that I'm sitting around doing nothing. But. I'm not where I want to be in life which means I'm not doing the right things with my time or something like that.

This itty bitty apartment that I've feebly tried to transform into a serene zone of calm and self indulgence is proof positive that I am far, far away from where I thought I'd be in my life and where I want to be in my life.

Yes. It was a major meltdown.

If I had a better job I'd have more money and I could afford to go to a salon like normal women and pay to have my legs waxed. Or, as my friend pointed out, laser hair removal really is the best way to go. They charge by the square inch and it takes at least a couple of repeat sessions. I'm 5'11". A lot of that is my legs. You do the math. Oh sure, it's permanent and I'm a good candidate for success, but, um, as I explained to my friend, I can't afford to get my legs waxed. How am I supposed to afford the thousands of dollars it would cost to have laser hair removal? Yeah. Just one little detail she forgot. I don't actually have a husband bringing another income into the household expenses and therefore I do not have extra money. And I don't actually earn enough money to manage more than the basics of shelter, cat food and the occasional pair of sale shoes.

If I had a husband there'd be another income in the household kitty. (I assume my husband would work and bring in an income. He'd have to because there's no way two people could live on my salary. Or in my apartment now that I think of it.) He'd have extra money to do his stuff and I'd have extra money to do my stuff. Yes. It does come down to economics. I thought you knew that about me. I'm so far past the concept of romance and love that I don't even think about it anymore. Marriage is strictly a good economic decision.

I've had several men who agree with my outlook. Men with similar pasts as mine. So far, however, the men I've met who want to have this outlook are in fact, underneath it, still holding out hope for romance and love. Which amazes me. I really thought men, of all people, would be a lot more pragmatic about relationships than women. The guys I've met who were attracted to my profile stating my "no love please, just a financial partner" thought the idea sounded good. Most understand my attitude. They felt they should take that attitude, too. But, even if they aspire to it, they harbor romantic notions. Not necessarily toward me, but in general. Or, they assume because I'm not looking for love and romance I'm good for quick and easy no strings attached sex.

One guy, who I admire for his honesty, wrote that he completely agreed with my goal. He said he'd been in a long relationship that soured badly. He was jaded by love, too, and held out no hope or longing for love and romance. But the financial and sexual benefits of marriage were appealing to him. "When I reduce it to the basic components, I just want money and sex," he said, not grossly, but in a matter of fact, pragmatic, somewhat cynical tone. "I could candy coat it a lot of ways, but when when you remove love from the list money and sex are what's left." Too much candor? Not for me. I understand what he means. Having your romantic feelings and love ripped out, twisted, kicked around and left for dead permanently changes your outlook. I tried to think I could run damage control, love someone else, all that Lifetime network movie crap, but I can't. And I reached a point where that doesn't bother me. I don't care. It doesn't matter. I gave it my all, my best shots and I failed. Apparently I suck at loving or loving too much or just not being the woman men want to marry for romantic reasons. Okay. That hurts. But. What do I do now? I tried to change, I tried to find someone new, I tried not trying anything...and still: Nothing.

This was the abbreviated content of my wax burned leg meltdown.

I read the instruction and caution sheet that came with the wax. Nowhere on there does it tell you what to do if you burn yourself. Nowhere on there does it caution you that use of the product may cause a serious mental breakdown. I think they assume their market niche, women who are reduced to in-home waxing, are either poor or cheap and therefore they can expect some pain and suffering to result from use of the product.

In-home wax is not like in-home highlight kits. In-home highlighting kits, while also used by the poor and cheap segment of the female population, have a much wider appeal. All of us over the age of 17 know in-home highlighting kits are going to produce low quality results. Some women, on a Sunday afternoon whim, are willing to take that risk. After all, it's cheap and easy and if it does turn out badly the only pain involved is paying for a trip to the salon for color correction and enduring the embarrassment of having to admit to a stylist you were stupid enough to use an in-home highlighting kit.

But when in-home waxing goes wrong, it goes wrong in a big, painful way. I find physical pain often brings on emotional pain. Yes. Emotions. Which I've been really good at suppressing. The Angry Christmas Present went well. I won't say I enjoyed getting mad, but, there were a few incidents in which my allowing myself to be angry really felt good.

So in my physical pain, there on the floor, a bed of paper towels beneath me, flesh burning and pulsing from the hot wax, I got really angry at myself for making such a disaster of my life that it would come to this. "This" was me, sitting on paper towels on the floor of a really small apartment drinking a $3.99 bottle of champagne and waxing my legs with a do it yourself waxing kit target marketed at poor or cheap women. Even Bryan Ferry couldn't put that disaster back on track.

And just when you think it can't possibly get any worse...naturally it does.

My apartment is small. I may have mentioned that. Miniscule is the more appropriate term. I live with a cat. A very furry cat. So furry he's called the Furry Creature. He's also large. Not particularly chubby, but long and tall. The long, tall very Furry Creature apparently sensed my distress and came to comfort me. Because that's what furry creatures do. We feed them and give them a safe home and care about them to an almost irrational degree. They, in turn, offer support in the form of snuggles, purrs or just generally laying on us when we're upset. Furry creatures don't understand in-home waxing. They don't understand the need or desire to remove hair. They don't understand that leaning against a leg with wax on it will result in the removal of fur from the furry creature.

Yes. We got a two-for-one deal with that in-home waxing kit. I said, "Oh, Furry Creature, no no, that's not a good idea. I know you want to comfort me but not there..." too late. I tried to quickly pull my leg away from him. I could feel some of his fur coming with me so I stopped moving. But he, confused and hurt by the sensation of losing some fur, quickly pulled away from me. And left quite a bit of fur behind on the still molten wax on my leg. Fortunately he's really furry and once he allowed me to touch him we were able to brush and pouf up his fur so that you can hardly notice the five inch strip of missing fur down his left side.

No. Nowhere on the instruction and caution sheet that came with the wax does it tell you what to do if you burn yourself and accidentally remove fur from your pet. This is where their market research on their market niche, women who are reduced to in-home waxing who are either poor or cheap, failed them. Their market niche, women who are reduced to in-home waxing who are either poor or cheap are probably also single and living alone with a pet.

You probably know or assume that in spite of my no emotion stance, I really love my cat. A lot. You probably know or assume that we've been through a lot together. You probably know or assume he's my sole source of daily affection. You probably know or assume that I spoil and pamper him beyond all point of reason. But what you may not know or assume is that he has standing vet appointments.

And, in my true idiot format, my timing on this was impeccable. Furry Creature had a standing vet appointment the next day. So I had to take him to the vet with a five inch strip of missing fur. Try explaining that without sounding like you're trying to cover up some sinister abuse. I thoroughly expect the ASPCA to show up at my door any minute.

More sleep = sharper mind? Not in my case. More sleep = less physical pain? Not in my case. Maybe if I had a sharper mind I wouldn't do idiotic things which cause me physical pain. But so far even with 6 - 8 hours of sleep at night I'm still idiotic and in pain.

9:11 AM

 
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