Tag Archives: sisters

So I Guess Hairy Legs Aren’t Sexy?

I’m not quiet about the fact that my leg hair and I have a rocky relationship, which can mostly be summed up by me doing everything short of plucking each individual hair out and my hair going “Fuck you and fuck your mother”, and then promptly growing back in the next two hours. Understandably, I’ve given up on this endless war and have resorted to shaving my legs on a schedule that depends on the weather. For example, if it’s cold and rainy, I won’t shave. If it’s sunny, I won’t shave. So basically, I don’t shave. If I do, it’s because I woke up super motivated to be an adult for the day and after shaving will proceed to clean my room and do laundry. So, like, once a month.

A couple weeks ago, my man friend and I were making out on his bed and when we realized where it was headed, we both stopped to quickly assess if we had accomplished enough personal hygiene for the day to be seen naked. A quick sniff and a fond memory of my last shower, I decided I was good to go. “So, shower after?” he asked. I nodded and we resumed where we left off. I pulled off my jeans and he grabbed my legs and suddenly paused. “Actually, let’s shower now.” “What? Why?” “It’s just… it’s a little… prickly right now.” I felt my face get hot, and then, oh the horror!, I started leaking embarrassing tears probably because I’m horribly insecure and his dislike of my physical appearance confirmed my worst nightmares. But that’s just a guess. Before he knew what was happening my furry legs and I ran into the bathroom and started shave-sobbing.

The more I shave-sobbed, the more my anger built, and with each stroke of the Razor of Justice, I spewed a rant through the bathroom door that included some, if not all, of the following statements: Who the hell do you think you are? Don’t you know what feminism is?! I don’t get turned off by your body hair! You’ve been tricked by the social beauty construct! Society! Big Brother! What about the hippies?! How do female Yetis get laid?! It was then that the angry/conflicted texting to my sister began. ME: So Man Friend basically told me he’d rather I shave my legs before sex and I can’t decide if I’m really really pissed at him or if that’s a valid opinion. SISTER: Well, it’s a socialized opinion. I mean, we shave our armpits and legs and pubic hair because we’re taught that women are only sexy when they’re hairless. ME: I FUCKING know that. (I’m a douchebag-know-it-all when I’m mad). SISTER: I know. So it’s hard to fight against socialized preferences. You can for sure but it’s uphill.

We exchanged some “Ugh, society” texts for a while and after we were done I started to feel better. And I realized something. Society aside, I want to make my partner happy. I definitely make him do certain things for me because I like it (for example, I love when he doesn’t cut his hair too short and whispers sports facts to me), so if he wants me to shave my legs, then by golly I’ll shave my legs. As long as he doesn’t say anything about the bushiness of my eyebrows, because I am NOT enduring the public humiliation and pain of getting my eyebrows plucked in the middle of busy mall again. No fucking way.

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Sticks and Stones will Break My Bones and Also Words Are the Worst :(

I’m sensitive. Really fucking sensitive. Like, if someone critiques my work in a non-professional environment (i.e. random troll from internet/my ex-boyfriend’s aunt) I get all sweaty and shaky. I can clearly recognize my sensitivity problem, and yet when someone points it out to me I want to simultaneously cry a thousand tears and rip their face off (a perfect example of being too sensitive). Let us observe some more examples of my off-the-charts sensitivity.

  • When I got my driver’s license at 16, my picture was beyond horrible (still is actually, since I never changed it). I look 10x tanner than I am, which would be good for some people, but for me it made me look, as one friend put it, “like a wood person. You know, like you’re from a race of people made out of wood”. The flash of the camera caused a diamond-shaped white blotch on my forehead, giving me the resemblance of a Palomino horse. My hair is unbrushed and I’m wearing a “Wicked” shirt (which most people think is on purpose but in reality was a result of not looking at my clothes when I put them on). When my sister and mom got hold of my license, they laughed so hard they started crying. I was crying for an entirely different reason. Please see the picture below and promise not to blackmail me.

Drivers License

  • I recently asked my boyfriend if I was “high maintenance, medium maintenance, or low maintenance”. Clearly fishing for a “low maintenance”, I received a “low-to-high maintenance”, which in hindsight totally isn’t that bad. But instead, I gasped and punched him in the nipple and he said “You’re kind of proving my point” and then I was upset the rest of the night.
  • I decided to tell my dad the plot of the first screenplay I had ever written (which took me months of work), and after I had finished, he said, “You know what would be even better? If in the end the guy actually had committed the murder”. By writing off the entire third act of my first screenplay (which, yes, is terrible), I could barely suppress my tears-slash-anger at my father. What sucked even more was that even though I was in school for this exact thing and he had never taken a single class, therefore giving me an air of superiority, I liked his freaking ending better than the one I had. I don’t really remember exactly how I reacted, but I guarantee it wasn’t a jolly ol’ “Thanks for the feedback, Pops.”

I could give you 8 million more examples of me being overly sensitive, ESPECIALLY in relationships (I have no idea how Boyfriend puts up with me). And while I want to get better at this in my personal life, I need to get better at it in my professional life. The more people that read my blog, the more opinions there are about it. While a lot of them are very positive, we all know that everyone has opinions and some of them are negative and even valid. So, my goal for 2015 (particularly because I want to be in a profession that depends on public feedback) is to accept legitimate criticisms with an air of maturity. And for the people who put me down just to be a troll, well… I’m going to work on not give a flying fuck what the aunt of my ex-boyfriend thinks about the fact that I curse.

EDIT: I asked my sister to read this post and give me feedback and she said in a complete deadpan, “It’s fine.””That’s it? Just, ‘It’s fine’? Things you liked, didn’t like?” “There’s not much I can say. It’s just fine. Remember, taking criticism!” She said that last part with the most in-your-face-shit-eating-grin and I now want to rip my hair out. Clearly this is a work in progress.

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