WAX ON, WAX OUCH.

"WELP!" I heard myself blurt out. "THAT'S THE CLOSEST I'VE EVER BEEN TO A COMPLETE STRANGER AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME!"


Instantly, I regretted this remark. Not only did it make me sound like a half-bred lecherous old hick (heeehawwww), but, damnit, it stung when I realized the walls to my room didn't reach the ceiling. I took a moment to get my 'religious' on and prayed to the sky guy that no one in the tiny adjoining reception area of Max Wax (NYC's all-waxing salon) had heard this horridly awkward exchange.  A highly-arched eyebrow and thin snarl belonging to one malnourished, Hermes-purse-toting Upper West Side socialite met me on my way to pay. Clearly, my indiscretion was very audible. Fuck. Could the whole deforestation be heard from out here?

Jesus, Hayzeus. ಠ_ಠ Where were you on this one?

My waxing technician* dipped her head out of the room I'd just come from and called on the next person. Bitch-with-the-bag's face dropped and she reluctantly rose from her perch to follow the technician back into the scene of my "crime."


Ah, there you are, J-money.


While paying, I marveled over how anyone was able to make it through a waxing session. The entire time my leg hair was being abruptly uprooted from its follicles, a silent scream was swelling in my throat, just on the brink of escaping. Rather than make a spectacle of myself, which I would do later anyway, I focused on creating this list...

10 THINGS TO THINK ABOUT DURING YOUR PAINFUL CHEWBACCA-TO-HOWIE-MANDEL TRANSFORMATION:

1. MOJO MAGIC

Pretend you're a giant voodoo doll and each strip of wax is bringing some small amount of discomfort to your favorite FOX News personality. Rip. Take THAT Glenn Beck. You won't need Vicks VapoRub under your eyes for THIS one. Rip. Crybaby. Rip. Ahhh. Rip. I'll show you 'fair and balanced!' Rip. I am a fucking real American heroooo. RIP.

2. MAKE GEORGE BAILEY PROUD.

Imagine that for each patch of hair being savagely uprooted from your groinal area, an angel gets its wings. Rip. You like that pair, angel? Not big enough for you? Rip. There. That pair has GOT to be bigger. Rip. What do you mean you don't want terradactyl wings? Rip. Damnit, for claiming to be a pure and holy diety, you're sure being a picky twat. Rip. Agh, now I'm bleeding, imp! Thanks a lot, you unappreciative dick.

3. APOLOGIES TO THE LATE ALEXANDER MCQUEEN

Every time the waxer rips, picture these shoes:

http://defiantfashion.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/02/alexander-mcqueen-shoes-2.jpg.

Now, imagine the people stupid enough to wear these horse hoove monstrosities face-planting on the ground multiple times. Rip. Rip. Rip. Rip. Rip.

4. SUPERWHO? I AM...THE HAIRLESS WONDER.

When the pain registers above a 5 on this scale...

...pretend you are a superhero who grows more powerful when someone inflicts pain on you.

Rip. Brace yourselves, jelly jars. Prepare to be de-capped.

Rip. Wow. Watch me curl 400 lbs.

Rip. Hooray. I can stop a train with my pinky.

Rip. KELLY CLARKSON.

Rip. I'll have two Alaskan pine trees and a side of flowing lava, please.

Rip. Orbit shmorbit. C'mon earth, time for a staycation. We're just visiting the next star over, not leaving the galaxy. Chill.

(Warning: self-inflicted pain will not work in this superhero equation, so ripping one's own legs off will NOT, I repeat: will NOT enable you to harness dark matter. Sorry.)

5. COLLECTIVE SPITE

Imagine traveling back in time to deliver a giant smack, on behalf of all present-day women, to whichever marketing douchebags decided body hair was "uncomely."

6. DOIN' IT FOR THE LOVE OF RAY J

Ponder the meaning of life in the context of E! or VH1 channel programming. Marvel at how good you feel about yourself in comparison.

7. YOU NEED TO MAKE A CHOICE, MMMKAY?...BETWEEN ELASTIC...OR SOCK SUSPENDERS.

Picture Dr. Phil naked. Gah! You can't unpicture it, can you? Neither can I. Now, whenever you begin to experience pain, you'll instantly think of black dress socks and bushy moustaches. You're welcome?

8.  SAVING THE DOLPHINS ONE BIKINI LINE AT A TIME

Pass the painful time by figuring out the least awkward way possible to ask the waxing technician for your body hair back. You'll want to ship it to BP to help sop up that teeny little Gulf of Mexico gaffe. teehee Ooooops! ಠ_ಠ Be sure to mail it directly to the home of Tony Hayward.

9. LALALA JUST MINDING MY OWN BUSI--GAAAH! WHAT ARE YOU?

Play this on loop in your head:

http://www.gifbin.com/983202

10. ROYAL PAIN

Think of the Queen.

I found these strategies helpful for me, but somehow all of that latent hurt-y energy built up in my system and exited in the form of terribly embarrassing commentary, with gems like,

"Aargh--err--wow! That's not as bad as I thought it would be! Har har har! ow."

And, "So...do you enjoy your job?"

And, "I dunno...do a lot of your clients go for the pooper?"

It was my lame attempt to act casual and be funny while a sweet, quiet Swedish woman I'd never met before waxed hair I'd never seen before.

Luckily, Swedish lady was steadfastly polite and professional and kept the situation comfortable enough that, with exception of the socialite, I was only vaguely aware of how crass I sounded... that is, until I caught the receptionist smirking at my back in a reflection on the door as I walked out. Damn.

Well, I might not be able to sand wood with my leg stubble anymore, but I can certainly strip the stain off of any deck with this sudden diarrhea of the mouth affliction I have.

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*Is it funny to anyone else that a waxer is called a technician? I mean, it's not like they're building computer motherboards or fixing spaceships. Don't get me wrong, I know there is some serious skill involved in waxing. I just think a more appropriate term would be "waxing warriors" or "saints of taints" or "follicle finessers."

Elevator Etiquette

I am an asshole when it comes to the elevator.

Yes, I am that person who gave you the apologetic "oh no! I didn't see you madly dashing to the elevator and now it's too late and the doors are clos--" look, while furiously hitting the "close door" button. It's nothing personal; I just can't stand the 2 minutes of agony that a ride on the elevator with you inflicts.

Sharing small spaces with strangers is so awkward and unnatural and just plain miserable. Every time I get on, I'm plagued by a large group of people that hop on after me, going to lower floors than my destination, and inevitably lingering in the doorway to try to finish their conversation about the "meeting" with another co-worker.

Elevators are awkward. Everyone always avoids eye contact while riding. Friends and co-workers desperately attempt to sound casual as they are flanked tightly on all sides by complete strangers. Nobody ever succeeds at perfecting conversational nonchalance and their failure is underlined by the way they burst forth from the elevators onto their floor, exhaling sharply, as though they were given a second chance at life.

I've compiled a list of tips that will help make your and others' rides as pleasant as humanly possible, given the circumstances...

On Odors...
Tip #1: If you've just taken a bath in cologne, avoid elevators at all costs, lest you want to accept responsibility for a young mother passing out from musk-induced asphyxiation at your feet.
Tip #2: If you have failed to brush your teeth that morning, don't speak, close your mouth, and possibly hold your breath. You might not be able to smell it yourself, but, rest assured, that girl in the corner discreetly covering her nose with a scarf has noticed and is presently cursing whatever brand of Indian food you ate the night before.
Tip #3: It is absolutely not okay to let one loose on an elevator. If you feel one brewing, release it into the lobby. Farts don't like riding the elevator either and will attack the noses of everyone on it, in their desperate attempt to escape. Please, think of the poor farts.
Tip #4: If you haven't washed your pants in 4 weeks and you sit down at your job all day long, take the stairs. You smell like a homeless person.

On Phones...
Tip #1: Unless it's the fire department calling to figure out which elevator you're stuck in, don't answer the phone.
Tip #2: Elevators eat your reception, genius. If you must take or make a call, get off at the next floor so that we don't have to listen to you shout your "can you hear me's" and "hullo...hullo...hullo's" every 3 seconds.
Tip #3: If we wanted to hear your January playlist, we'd ask. Seriously, how are you not deaf?

On Conversations...
Tip #1: It's going to be awkward no matter what....just...don't.
Tip #2: Okay, if you MUST talk...try not to joke. I promise you, no one on an elevator is in the mood to laugh. Also, the more mouths that are open, the hairier the smells will get (refer to Odor section).
Tip #3: To ensure that you don't sound like a complete douchebag, avoid talking about yourself favorably, or in monetary terms, for the benefit of listening ears. We couldn't, for example, give a shit about your investment returns or your 6 weeks of paid vacation, whence you dusted off the baby grand in your summer home in Nantucket.
Tip #4: If you drank heavily the night before, chances are, we already know. No need to vocally reiterate your sloppiness. (Also, refer to Odor section.)
Tip #5: Conversations for the sake of filling the dead air are incredibly uncomfortable and pathetically awkward. Looking busy before and during the ride will help you avoid these. Texting/ emailing is favorable. Spilling the contents of one's purse on the floor of the elevator is not favorable.

On exiting and entering:
Tip #1: If someone behind you needs to get off, step off of the elevator to let them pass. Do not squeeze more tightly against the person at your side.
Tip #2: If you see that someone else has been waiting longer to board, give them the courtesy of allowing them to get on first. You do have to share intimate space with them for the next 120-300 seconds. It's best not to rush ahead of them and cut them off.

And finally...
Tip #3 (perhaps the most important tip of them all): If you see me boarding, wait for the next one. I like to have the luxury of riding alone so that I can break all of my own rules. ;-)