A journalist I follow on Twitter recently posted about needing either an intern or a clone to keep up with all the work he was being offered. I'm a fan of his work so I jokingly (kind of?) encouraged him to go the route of taking on an intern. To my shock, he replied back, asking if I had any experience in photography.
[Insert unnecessary heart explosion of excitement here.]
After freaking out (mildly) and deliberating with my mama for about five minutes, I told him that I HAD studied some photography in college, but I was not Andy Warhol. It's true-- in first year Media Arts, we had to learn photography, everything from f-stops, ISO and white balance to frame composition. Even though I have yet to hear back from this guy, and maybe I never will, this put my place on the board in heightened perspective.
As I pondered becoming the shy, awkward but resilient intern, my mind ran wild. What if he said no? What if he said yes? It was a cliff, and I was looking straight down at a big, ominous body of turbulent water.
I realized that, given the chance, I would jump. I would quit both my jobs, pack my life up and sleep on my friends' couch to intern in Toronto. My mind romanticized the crap out of it, all the while saying that, YES it would be hard but it could be worth it. After all, in all the stories about people who make something of themselves, it always starts with one stupid move. One jump into the cold water waiting below.
I know now that I'm ready to make a leap, even if that particular opportunity never becomes something, I'm ready to jump for something else. Fall for someone else. Do anything to chase a dream. This is coming from a girl who has quit two jobs and survived plenty of sobbing panic attacks due to work related anxiety. I would like to take a moment and relish this absolute moment of pure insanity brought about by the need to do something I love with my life. The moment in which I realize I would do something ridiculous in spite of, or maybe even because of mental afflictions. Hell. Yes.
Showing posts with label insanity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label insanity. Show all posts
September 01, 2011
August 08, 2011
Sticky situation.
WARNING: This post is NOT safe for you if you're uncomfortable with talk about lady parts, waxing, swearing, (you can see where this is going) and other fun things of such nature. If you want to stop reading now I'll leave you with this picture of my pussy....cat rocking his PRIDE bling and then you can have a little giggle, wander on your merry way, and leave the rest of us to our debauchery.
What I do know is that I had strips from a home wax kit my friend bought and left at my house awhile ago. I looked at them and thought, "Hey, cool! Why not?" So I stripped my pants off (because I ALWAYS wear tearaways) and got to work. These particular strips were low maintenance. You only had to warm them with friction. It kind of looked like I was trying to start a fire.
I peeled the strip open and applied it to the freshly trimmed greenery downstairs, only to realize: holy SHIT this stuff is sticky. Ohmygod this is going to hurt. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. So I did what I had to do and took it off. But because I wussed out, I did it slowly. (I'm one of THOSE band aid people.) And it DID hurt, regardless. When I looked at the sheet, a few hairs were hanging out on it pathetically. Otherwise, the damn things had been pretty ineffective... Mostly due to the fact that I am LAME.
That's when I came to the horrible realization that I had a sticky, glossy candy coating of wax on EVERY. SINGLE. HAIR. Horror. I imagined all the horrible things that might get stuck in my pubic hair if the problem wasn't attended to. So I hopped into the shower and tried to wash it off with soap. Nothing. Expensive facewash. Nothing. Bodywash. Nothing. Shampoo. Nothing. It was like the episode of the Simpsons where Lisa gets gum in her hair and Marge tries everything from Peanut Butter to Baba Ghanoush... If that episode were to take place in my crotch. I hopped out of the shower (the towel stuck to me) and hurried into my room.
If I couldn't save myself, the internet was going to have to give me answers. Moral of the story: GOOGLE IT. Also, if you EVER for ANY reason have problems with removing wax from your skin, the trick is OIL. Any oil. I used baby oil. Google said olive oil, vegetable oil or canola would also do the trick. So now, the name of the game is learning to SHAVE the South Pole, or else, paying someone who will NOT pussy out when it comes to making me feel pain by riddling my nethers with hot wax and linen band aids. The end.
What I do know is that I had strips from a home wax kit my friend bought and left at my house awhile ago. I looked at them and thought, "Hey, cool! Why not?" So I stripped my pants off (because I ALWAYS wear tearaways) and got to work. These particular strips were low maintenance. You only had to warm them with friction. It kind of looked like I was trying to start a fire.
I peeled the strip open and applied it to the freshly trimmed greenery downstairs, only to realize: holy SHIT this stuff is sticky. Ohmygod this is going to hurt. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. So I did what I had to do and took it off. But because I wussed out, I did it slowly. (I'm one of THOSE band aid people.) And it DID hurt, regardless. When I looked at the sheet, a few hairs were hanging out on it pathetically. Otherwise, the damn things had been pretty ineffective... Mostly due to the fact that I am LAME.
That's when I came to the horrible realization that I had a sticky, glossy candy coating of wax on EVERY. SINGLE. HAIR. Horror. I imagined all the horrible things that might get stuck in my pubic hair if the problem wasn't attended to. So I hopped into the shower and tried to wash it off with soap. Nothing. Expensive facewash. Nothing. Bodywash. Nothing. Shampoo. Nothing. It was like the episode of the Simpsons where Lisa gets gum in her hair and Marge tries everything from Peanut Butter to Baba Ghanoush... If that episode were to take place in my crotch. I hopped out of the shower (the towel stuck to me) and hurried into my room.
If I couldn't save myself, the internet was going to have to give me answers. Moral of the story: GOOGLE IT. Also, if you EVER for ANY reason have problems with removing wax from your skin, the trick is OIL. Any oil. I used baby oil. Google said olive oil, vegetable oil or canola would also do the trick. So now, the name of the game is learning to SHAVE the South Pole, or else, paying someone who will NOT pussy out when it comes to making me feel pain by riddling my nethers with hot wax and linen band aids. The end.
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