Adventures in Vajazzling

I start this post from a bit of a strange place. Firstly, its the first time I’m ever tried to type with fake nails. yep I’ve gone and done it, 2hrs before volleyball practice- no doubt which displays my omnipresent dubious decision-making skillz. Anyway, today started out pretty chill, question sets, errands to run, too much time to try and distract myself from the big day tomorrow and so- I scheduled in the beautification.

Woman to woman- if you schedule a waxing appt along with all the other errands you have to do that day, schedule it last not first- else be subjected to the godawful choice of “to wear, or not to wear” panties for the rest of the day as you waddle around in a heat index of 108 to and fro.

So I first get to this waxing salon and all sorts of “uh-oh” s are popping into my head. Not gonna lie- I’m a bit spoiled with the getting waxed in a salon that looks like a salon. And any time I’m going to be spread eagle in front of people I don’t know I am most certainly judging a book by it’s cover. This place looks like your average ranch style house with a sign on the front. I guess that’s what I get for trusting websites. The last place I went to off a living social deal that looked like this I missed driving by, twice. Then I called the place and they had to direct me- once again in a house, to these set of upstairs rooms where I shyt you not- one room was the hair salon, the room next to it was the lobby ( I use the term lobby loosely) and the last room was the waxing room. Turns out the reason all these “salon’s” have the same name is because they are owned and operated all by the same woman. And while I have to say I have gotten my hair done in many a woman’s kitchen and paid salon prices for it- I was not prepared for the same type of experience given the very different service involved. I feel like everyone and there mom is opening up a salon these days. The cosmetic industry is becoming a set of foreign “jack of all trades” folks who will put on fake nails, wax your eyebrows and your chocha all at the same time speaking God knows what language all around you. That last house/salon was called Parwin’s in Charlotte. And at the end of the day… gurl knew what she was doing- I will be coming back.

Today the new shop was called Esty’s in Austin, TX. I’m sorry to say ladies that I forwent the vajazzling experience. I just got too hung up on how the jewels…were supposed to stick to my…ahem…jewel. So I’m all giving this place a good shot because of the aforementioned Parwin’s experience and I walk in and it looks legit! but then my cosmetologist is a white gurl straight out of texas…shyt. I maintain that the best people to do services we frown upon in the states well, fast, and without making you feel naked when you’re so naked are old foreigners. They don’t bother leaving the room to let you get undressed, they don’t try and chat you up while your flinching and holding your breath and your buttcheeks. I am a fan of the waxing quickie- get in, get out, get on with your business with as little waddling down the street as possible. But I give Britani a chance because I’m already frikin here aren’t I?

I notice midway through this experience two things-1) It is a lot like childbirth- you’re sitting there cursing all of mankind for making you go through this, trying to convince yourself it was all your idea, and belatedly realizing that no amount of painkillers are going to make this a smooth experience- 2) Her gloves keep sticking all over the place. I notice this last point in contrast to my other waxing experience at Bella Trio with Angela because I realize- while on the table- that Angela doesn’t wear gloves!!! I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to realize this. i try and track back to any point of reference where I have touched someone else’s situation in a professional context where I did not have on gloves. The only remotely similar experience I latch onto is that of a friend:

1st year in Medical School they make you spend 2 weeks in community offices learning the physical exam. Day1 my friend                                              Fortune is told to do a testicular exam on a patient- without gloves. He did it… In retrospect I think this was some sort of                                                  student abuse.

So at the conclusion of this visit- I am sore. Britani wipes me down in baby oil. I debate about the panty dilemna, tip her heavily ( This makes me wonder would I be tipped for pap smears if I played relaxing music and cared more about the decor of my office), and waddle out to the car.

…the day continues- but I’m planning on laying out in the air conditioning with no part of my body allowed to touch any other part of my body until I can think straight again- frikin heat, friking dim sum (will tell that story in a minute), frikin vajayjay.

Quick shout out to the first place I ever got waxed- which I learned is now offering manzillans ( brazillians for the menfolk) from the flashing neon signs saying Manzillian in the window:

and the vajazzling salon that was the muse for this post : WaxThat!


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