heidikins.com

**WARNING:  As the title suggests, this post will discuss all sorts aspects of getting your girly bits waxed.  For some of you (Lurch, I’m talking to you) this may be waaaayyyyy TMI.  Proceed with caution.  And if you really have no interest in reading about my girly bits, close this window and come back tomorrow for something not related to waxing or Brazil.  And no complaining that I didn’t warn you.**

A few months ago I started looking around for a waxer; I think I was having an “it’s freezing cold, why not try something summery to take the chill off?” type of moment, and after yet another fight with my razor during a bikini-line clean-up, I somehow got to thinking that ”hey, summer is coming up (in 5 months) and Handsome & I are thinking of a vacation to Hawaii, and hey, that’s beachy.. maybe I should try a bikini wax.”  Hmmm, that’s a thought!  I immediately looked up Isabel’s Smackdown on Bikini Waxing, I read  her waxing wisdom thorough twice, and every, single comment.  I felt like I was armed with the information and tips I would need to venture into the world of waxing. 

Next step: find a waxer.  I visited about a thousand websites for salons, beauty schools, and spas and apparently entered a contest for a free bikini wax at a newish salon down the road, Wax Me Too.  I don’t remember entering, but a week or two later they called me up telling me that “Congrats!  You’ve won a free Bikini Wax!  Come in and we’ll pour hot wax on you and rip your hair out by the roots for free!”   I went back to their website and remembered that I had liked their layout, their story, blah blah blah -yes, I judge companies based on their websites- and so I booked the appointment.
 
I showed up prepared, I had taken a couple of Ibuprofen thirty minutes earlier, I had exfoliated the area that morning, and had just popped in a fresh piece of chewing gum–which helps keep me calm during airplane landings and rush-hour traffic…why not during a wax.  I then stripped for a total stranger, climbed up on the paper-covered table, and let Jolie-the-Waxer see all my girly bits.  I figured it couldn’t be worse than the gyno; I will trade hot wax for that cold, duck-bill clamp-thing any day of the week.  Commence Bikini Wax.  And it hurt.  A lot.  Curse through clenched teeth, a lot.  Take deep breaths through tears, a lot.  Dig heels into table and fingernails into palms, a lot.  But, after just a few strips, it was over and I was happy enough with the results to schedule a second appointment.

A few days later the red bumps had gone down, enter Buyers Remorse.  For the record, a bikini wax looks funny on me.  I mean, in an actual bikini it would look fine, but those straight lines just look REALLY weird in a place where there should not be any straight lines.  At any rate, I decided that on my next appointment I’d just have her take it all off, because that had to look better than the weirdly geometric triangle of blondish/tan hair.  Right?  Right.  I know some versions of a Brazilian leave a landing-strip thingy, but that goes back to the weird geometric, straight-lined shape in a place that shouldn’t have straight lines thing. 

At my next appointment, thinking it wouldn’t be much more painful than a bikini wax (WRONG!), I told my waxer to just take everything off.  Begin cursing and swearing and much more gnashing of teeth.  My thought process before, during and after the torture wax, let me show you it:

• heidikins pre-wax:  I wonder if I could get to the point where I can give myself a wax?  That would save me quite a bit of money.  (At $60 a wax, they aren’t cheap.)
• After first strip:  Ouch!  Ok, wow.  Um… well?  This isn’t SO bad.
• After second-to-last-strip in super-sensitive place, think “remove landing strip”:  Alright!  That’s it!  HOLY SHYZE!  There’s no way I’m letting her touch me again!  I’ll be half Brazilian!
• First thought upon completion:  Oh. My. Gaaaash!  Owie!  (whimper) I’m not supposed to hurt this much there!  (sniff sniff) Alright, so it is all red and splotchy and swollen now, but it will get better, right?  Holy crap! that hurts!  How does Isabel do this?  Ow! ow! Ow! ow! Ow! ow!  Where’s that damn cold washcloth?  (whimper, grit teeth, deep breaths.)  I sooo deserve chocolate for this!  And a pony.

Alright, so really?  I had no idea it would hurt that much.  Granted, I’m a wuss and have super sensitive skin.  But DAMN!  I almost cried.  Twice.  Ok, three times.  Just thinking about it makes my skin prickle and my muscles tense up.  I immediately sent an emergency “please reassure me!” text to Isabel, who along with Jolie-the-Waxer reassured me that I shouldn’t judge until I have 3 or 4 and am down to the “maintenance” instead of the “rip hair out by the roots and turn sensitive skin into a ruddy mess.”

Several waxes later, I decided I was ready to write about my monthly trips to Brazil.  Honestly?  I was glad I’d written a couple of panicky emails the day of my first wax, because otherwise, I don’t think I would remember how much it hurt.  The second wax hurt for about 5 seconds, and left my skin soft instead of red and blotchy.  During my third wax I didn’t even need the chewing gum to keep myself calm.  Easy-peasy. 

Changing gears; before anyone jumps down my throat for pandering to some Playboy-esque fantasy thing…give me a chance to give you the short version of why I decided to go Brazilian.  I mean, besides the “geometric shapes are not normal down there” argument–which, frankly, should be enough of a reason.  I am not a hairy person, and the hair that I do have, eyebrows and eyelashes included, is freakishly blonde.  Honestly, the jump from fuzzy-blonde to hairless and never-seen-the-sun is not much of a jump.  My decision to take it all off had very little to do with a look.  I like how much cleaner it feels, I can’t help it if I think hairy is nasty.  Mind you, this is my personal opinion, about a very personal subject.  Yes, I’m writing it up for the Internets, but it’s still personal.  You don’t have to agree, but play nice, m’kay?

Have you ever worked on a project, a big project, that just refuses to go well?  One that is full of problems and miscommunication and generally goes really really, well, bad?  Well, for the last several months I have been involved with something like that, a play starring yours truly as the assistant director (not really “starring”…I’m always backstage, never on it).  Everything that could go wrong with a play has gone wrong with this one.  Twice.  From problems casting the show to creative differences to production team, well, stuff…it’s just been a big mess. 

We’re talking Major Drama with cast members.  Major.  As in “I thought this kind of Diva-ness happened in Hollywood” Drama, and –lucky me– I was the one who got to fix it…I spent hours and hours on the phone, several WAY too late nights at the theater, trying to calm down hysterical cast members and…it makes me tired just to think about it.  Seriously, what happened to the Real Life “Talk Your Problems Out” thing?  Hello!  You are adults, deal with it! 

Well, this show finally opened on Friday and last night was the first time I actually felt really great about all the work, time, energy, and sleepless nights that have been put into making this work; last night was great.  It has almost made the last couple of months of Crazy worth it.  Hopefully, after a few more nights of high energy performances with standing ovations I will be willing to tell my family and friends what show I’ve been working on and encourage their attendance.  (Yes, it really has been that bad.)

Take a big breath, hold and release slowly.  This will be ok.

Over the last almost three years I have used my blog as therapy, writing about my life, my memories, random occurrences, and the occasional vent.  However, the primary purpose of this little corner of the Internets is simple; improve my writing.  I have never been the type of person who blogs every day just to check it off my list; I don’t need to illustrate my day in paragraphs or bullet points.  I only want to write if I have something to write about.  And frankly, sometimes that just doesn’t happen every day.  And sometimes it doesn’t even happen every week. 

Like this week.  I’m anti-writing.  I can’t help it; it’s not you, it’s me.  I don’t want to be all dramatic with a “I’m taking a break!  I can’t handle this anymore!”  It’s not like that, it’s just I’m slumping.  No biggie.  <Shrug>  And now I’m off to make friends with Ben & Jerry, and possibly a big pan of chocolate-chocolate brownies. 

(Yes, it’s time for brownies and ice-cream for breakfast.  Don’t judge me.)

Despite this being an actual “ode” to the lovely Trish Ryan, it will not be written in prose.  Sorry to disappoint.  Over the weekend I didn’t get much sleep; I could blame it on my allergies, or the freak cold spell, or being stressed out by x, y and/or z.  The thing is that’s just not true.  In actuality I was curled up with a bunch of pillows and a fuzzy blanket completely enthralled by Trish Ryan’s first book He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not.  Page after page after page I found myself laughing, crying, laughing again and crying again.  I know that Trish didn’t write her book specifically for me, but I felt like it was written for me.  After I finished I wrote an email to Trish (at 3:30 in the morning, mind you) telling her how much I adored her novel…and then I read it again.  Yes, it really is that good.

Admittedly, I have never read a Christian-based love story; or a Christian-based becoming-an-real-life-adult story…actually, the only Christian-based anything I’ve ever read is more along the lines of the Bible.  I was a bit skeptical, I was not really looking for a “Come to Jesus” type of novel; I am completely content with my own Jesus, thankyouverymuch.  I knew that Trish would be talking about boys, so despite it’s catchy subtitle -A Memoir of Finding Faith, Hope, and Happily Ever After- I hoped that her book would be mostly talking about boys and keep the Jesus stuff to a minimum. 

Let’s start with the boy stuff, shall we?  Most single women in their twenties or thirties have a battery of failed relationships, bad relationships, a few nuggest of incredibly humorous moments with a boy (whether they were intended to be funny or not), and a whole lotta filler-space.  Hello!  I can relate!  Reading about Trish navigating the rivers of unappropriate men and bad relationships was like a trip down memory lane…albeit, a trip that may have triggered unpleasant memories from a whole slew of exes, making me even more thrilled to be able to classify those (enter favorite curse word here) relationships as “over”.  It was fascinating to read about Trish’s experiences as a quasi omnipresent figure, able to see the flaws of a relationship and have my own opinions on how to rectify those problems…and even more fascinating to realize that Trish, like many women -myself included, couldn’t always identify those problems while she was smack in the middle of previously mentioned relationship.  Her honesty and self-reflection (at times self-scrutiny) over herself and the men she dated or married made me realize that I probably would benefit from a similar dose of scrutiny.  (Note to self: write super-fantastic memoir on previous dating disasters and -here’s the important part- the lessons learned.  Thanks for the tip Trish.)

Shortly after her wedding, Trish found herself quickly spiraling into one of those “empty shell” people; a person I am only too familiar with myself.  I couldn’t help but shed a tear or thousand as Trish recalled the familiar, frightening aspects of such an unhealthy, destructive marriage.  I read her thoughts, her fears, her debating on whether or not to bolt and I was reminded of a similar period of my life.  I think the mark of an excellent author is one who can relate her own experiences to those of others without forcing it down her readers throats.  (Excellent Author Criteria: Check).  I had such an emotional response to this book; I think anyone who makes it through a life-crisis and finds another person on the planet with a similar crisis will feel a connection.  At any rate, back to Trish; you get enough of the ramblings on my life simply by subscribing to my feed. 

After her escape, Trish became a wanderer, quite literally.  Homeless and living under an assumed name, she tried to disappear.  Hello, gutsy!  I doubt that she felt gutsy at the time, but the fact remains that standing up for herself, siezing her life as her’s, and then following through on the steps to reclaim the parts that were destroyed…that, my friends, is definitively Hope.

And now we get to the Jesus part, the reclaiming (or finding for the first time) true happiness.  Happiness is different for everyone and does not follow any kind of general rules.  For Trish, her instincts told her that happiness came from some kind of higher power.  So she set off to find her happiness, she looked high (astrology and horoscopes) and low (crystals and energy from the earth) and everywhere inbetween.  In the end, she found what she was looking for in a Christian church that met in an school gymnasium.  Again, happiness comes in all sorts of different mediums for different people.  After a lot of searching, a few doubts, a little bit of religious indifference, and then some more searching, Trish decided to turn herself over to God and believed that in return He would send her a fantastic husband.  Seems like a pretty good deal, no?  For those of you that are spiritual and/or religious, you will recognize this kind of deal, and the actual honest-to-goodness believing that goes with it, is Faith. 

As I said earlier, I was worried about the Jesus part of this book; I have more-or-less steered clear of Christian literature and wasn’t sure how I would react to a churchy novel.  I was pleasantly surprised to find myself relating to Trish, learning from her, identifying with that spiritual hunger that drives many people to look for something more in their lives.  Throw in a  bunch of bad-date tidbits, relationship gems, and a prince-turned-frog scenario at the end to give a real-life Happily Ever After. 

You can order this book at Amazon.com; pick it up at your favorite bookstore; or if you are really lucky and live in New England you may be able to catch Trish on tour (if so, tell her I said “hi!”).  Buy it, Read it, Love it, Rinse & Repeat.

Firstly, thank you all for participating in my little Name My New Car contest giving me one helluva time trying to choose a name.  (Secondly, Holy Comments Batman!  Fifty Two!  Wowza!)  You had so many fantastic suggestions!  I finally narrowed it down to 4 names, and then 2, and finally had to make a choice based on what kind of personalized plate I could order (which, unfortunately, will be on the Ugliest New License Plate ever… it’s all orange and tacky and will absolutely clash with red…sigh).  Without further ado, may I please introduce…

<Insert Drum Roll Here>

Red Roxy, in all her sass-tastic shininess.

Congratulations to Janet from Love is Blonde; she was the first of several to suggest “Roxy” and will be receiving a fantastic, reusable, reversible canvas bag from Ruthie Pearl, stuffed with a few little odd’s ‘n’ ends; New Car scent air freshener, temporary tattoos to get into their inner-Biker Chick groove and some vampy red nail polish.  The heidikins discount is still going on over at Ruthie Pearl.  So, check out these adorable, reversible canvas shopper bags here, and when you find the one (or two!) that you love the best, enter HEIDIKINS as a discount code at check-out and you’ll 20% off your entire order; it’s like giving Mother Earth a hug and walking away with a souvenir.

Happy Monday.

It is May 1st around the world -except in China and Australia where it is possibly the 2nd already.

Here in This Great State, it snowed last night. 

And has been snowing all freaking morning.

I realize this is not a concentrated problem, and that several states in the Mountain West are experiencing the white stuff.

This does not make me feel better, and it does nothing to eleviate my allergies.

April Showers are supposed to bring May Flowers, not May Snow Flurries!  Suddenly, I am a bit afraid of June.

On the upside, the seat heaters in New Car work.

***     ***     ***     ***     *** 

If you haven’t already, click over to my Name My New Car contest for a chance at some awesome prizes!  I have a ton of great suggestions so far and would love to hear your suggestions!

Like most of the world, I have been anxiously waiting for Spring to spring.  Last week I actually had to scrape snow off my windshield and I was afraid that this would be one of those freak years with a perpetual winter.  (Believe me, it’s happened here.  A few years ago the ski resorts in Utah were open on the 4th of July and it has snowed in June on several occasions…moving on.)  Even when the tulips and cherry blossoms bloomed, I was skeptical of the season.

I am annoyed happy to announce that here in the Mountain West, Spring is here.   And you want to know how I know this fun-fact?  Because every spring, when spring is reallyhere, I begin to sneeze; and continue to sneeze more-or-less non-stop until October.  And let me tell you, I have been popping hay-fever/allergy meds like nobody’s business and I am still constantly stuffy and sniffly and sneezy.  I have a hard time sleeping due to not being able to properly breathe.  I’m like a hybrid dwarf from Snow White; Sneezy-Sleepy-Grumpy-Doped-up-on-Benadryl. 

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Don’t forget to enter my contest!  Name my New Car and you will win a fantastic bag from Ruthie Pearl, some New Car fanciness and a whole lotta heidikins-love.

Dear Internet,

I need your help.  Over the last couple of weeks you have all been so supportive; leaving comments, sending emails, text messages, even virtual flowers to brighten my day.  I need you again.  I spent my weekend car shopping and am now the proud owner of a brand new car, purchased all by myself without the assistance of my dad, or my brothers, or the boy.  I did my research, knew my stuff, shopped around, found the car I wanted and got the deal I knew I deserved.  And now, I have a brand new shiny car that is in desperate need of a name.  This is where you, dear Internet, come in handy.

I am having a contest to name my new car, complete with a prize and everything.  I am still getting to know this new vehicle; personality traits, quirks, etc.  But after two days I think I am able to give a pretty good description, which I need you to translate into a first and middle name, ok?  The grand prize will be an adorable, canvas shopper bag from Ruthie Pearl (if you haven’t already checked them out, please click here immediately to find the cutest bags ever, complete with the heidikins discount; you’re welcome), some fun “new car” stuff that will be useful and appreciated even if you do not have a car, and possibly a few little knick-knacks thrown in for good measure.  Basically, this is an awesome prize, so put on your thinking caps and give me your best suggestions -yes, that is plural, you may submit multiple names- to enter this contest just leave a comment on this post. 

I only recently decided that New Car is a female; my other options included a generic metrosexual or possibly one of those weird neuter cars.  However, New Car is definitely female, although not “girly”.  If Miss Daisy were an actual person, she would be an adorable, small-town girl with a long blonde ponytail, sweet ballet flats and pink lip-gloss.  Miss Daisy would love Jack Johnson, banana splits and Clinique perfume; she would shop at The Gap and still have slumber parties with her girlfriends to giggle about boys and discuss the latest drama on Gilmore Girls.  New Car is decidedly different. 

• New Car would be the wannabe rockstar with hot pink streaks in her hair
• New Car would wear a leather jacket and ride a motorcycle
• New Car is the same color as vampy red nail polish
• New Car has a black leather interior, black seats & a  black dashboard
• New Car has a turbo-charged engine
• New Car is edgy and perhaps slightly punky
• New Car wears black eyeliner with smoky shadow; not “goth”, more “sultry”
• New Car is edgy with all the tech upgrades, and no trace of “geek”
• New Car probably has a closet full of retro clothes with funky accessories
• New Car definitely wears stiletto heels in black or red patent leather
• New Car has an awsome sound system and rocks out on an electric guitar
• New Car is not “cute”, she is more “sexy”
• New Car probably has a tattoo on her lower back and/or her shoulder blade

Do you see where I’m going with this?  This is a brand new realm of personality for me; I am decidedly not rockstar material, have never streaked my hair pink, am nearly incapable of achieving a smoky-eye look and have absolutely no tattoos.  I need your help…not that I am assuming that you, my dedicated readers, are a bunch of punky biker-chicks; although that would be totally cool.  I just think that many of us have a small to medium-sized streak of biker chick buried somewhere that would appreciate a day in the limelight.  Here’s your big chance!  Leave me your best name suggestions in the comments for your chance at Ruthie Pearl goodness, a new car-scented air-freshener and probably a temporary tattoo -you remember the ones you got out of the vending machines at the grocery store for a quarter?  This contest will be open until Friday (2 May) and I’ll have a new name picked out and posted next Monday. 

There are some restaurants that I just can’t imagine not ever tasting again.  I  am convinced, and may or may not actually have proof of, one or more of these restaurants adding addictive substances to their food.  (It is fairly well documented that Cafe Rio marinates their Super Fantastic Pork Barbacoa in Dr. Pepper.  Seriously?  It’s brilliant!  And so so sooo delicious!)  At any rate, I have made a short list of my favorite, budget-friendly restaurants…the fact that the list is exclusively burgers and burrito’s is not a coincidence whatsoever.  (Does that sound at all convincing?  Yeah, I didn’t think so.)  But, without further ado, The List:

• Slider’s Diner, San Francisco: a-MAY-zing burgers.
• La Taqueria, San Francisco: the best burrito in the world.
• Cafe Rio, Utah, Arizona, Las Vegas: there’s just no comparison to their pulled pork barbacoa salad.
• In-N-Out Burger: California, Arizona, Nevada and NOW OPEN IN UTAH!!! 

Ahem, so sorry, let me try and contain the excitement.  Now, even though this Great Burger has moved to my home state, I still have a 4 and some-odd hour drive to get to said In-N-Out, and I’ll have to fight the thousands of college students in Utah’s Dixieland (that’s Southern Utah for those not familiar with Utahese), but it’s here!  Now, if only I had a vehicle to drive the four-and-a-half hours south for the Super Fantastic Burger(s) that live at In-N-Out.

I don’t know what your view is on In-N-Out, but here’s the thing: if I cannot you cannot have it, I crave you crave it.  And for someone that has to leave the state, drive through hundreds of miles of desert, and use at least an entire gallon of gas -each way- to acquire In-N-Out goodness (and then somehow get out of Vegas relatively unscathed), this is absolutely fantastic news.  Anyone want a road-trip?

It’s official, I just got the call from my insurance company; Miss Daisy is dead.  Or rather, she is unfixable and will be sold off for parts.  (Hmmm, that kind of makes her sound like a prostitute or something.  Let me assure you, Daisy Mae is not a lady-auto of the night, she’s classy.)

Miss Daisy & I have had a great ride over the last couple of years; road trips, blaring out tunes, talking my way out of speeding tickets (what?  I never speed!) and generally having a good time.  My first ever blog post (here) was introducing Miss Daisy to the Internet, complete with one of the only pictures I have with my car, taken the day I drove her away from the dealership.  At that point I had absolutely no readers and had no idea that this little blog of mine would turn into such a fantastic hobby, and the people in the Internet would be such great friends.  (We are friends?  Right?  Even after my linking to my first forray into writing?  Ohmygoodness, the embarassment!) 

I have been looking at cars the last few days; online, while I’m driving to and from the bajillion doctor’s appointments I’ve had scheduled, more online…and I must admit, most cars are ugly.  I want something cute, something girly, something turbo-charged, something “me”.  This criteria has narrowed my search down to another Volkswagen Beetle (red maybe?  and definitely with a turbo engine) or a Mini Cooper S.  I’m going car shopping this weekend and as soon as I have a new baby to love I’m sure there will be naming contest, with prizes.  Happy Friday.