Groupons

I’ve decided to write this post despite the fact that there’s no turning back after this point. You will know more about me after the next few paragraphs than perhaps some of you ever wished to know, or even were aware you never did want to know. Perhaps some of you have merely stumbled across this blog and are about to be like wtf just happened. And to you I say that’s technically your fault. All I can do is keep it real.  I’ve changed names of course to do so and if it’s easier to think of me as someone else I’ve also been called (and responded to) Bridget, Kathleen and David. You can choose, I don’t care. But folks what we’re about to delve into is an entry that I wished some brave soul had written for me before I dove head and crotch first into the world of groupons… and hair. So Imma be that brave soul for you. But if you don’t want to know about the extent of my bravery, consider yourself briefed.

So what is a groupon exactly? For those of you that don’t know, Groupon is an organization that helps businesses promote themselves by creating a sort of bogo-esque system whereby you can get 6 pairs of nail clippers for the price of 3. The part that makes groupon so successful (and sometimes drowns businesses) is that no one realizes they don’t actually NEED 6 pairs of nail clippers, they just recognize the bargain. But the problem is, 6 nail clippers turn into 14 cookies, 14 cookies turn into 9 pairs of kulottes and before you know it you’ve signed up for a nonsurgical nose job.  What the hell is a nonsurgical nose job, you ask? No one really knows, but here is the groupon in case you think I’m making this shit up.

I unfortunately “missed” this particular opportunity, or who knows where I’d be right now. Probably on a daytime soap, let’s be real. But I digress. How did I get roped into this crazy biz known as groupon? One word: Cupcakes.

Anyone who knows me knows that cupcakes are my absolute Kryptonite. How I don’t have diabetes is beyond me, but doctors have told me I don’t so I’ve chosen to believe them and continue in my journey to tempt gravity and elastic. Someone, and I won’t name names (FINE. It was Petunia) told me that I could get not 4, not 10, but 12 cupcakes for the price of 6. I don’t know why I just wrote four. Regardless, I was terribly excited. And so I went on this groupon site, signed up, and unknowingly began a journey to the most painful procedure I’ve ever had in my life. Cut that foreshadowing with a knife, ladies and gents!

The cupcakes I got were bomb and I proceeded to throw several cupcake parties with Bernadette Penelope. This was awesome I thought. And that was my error. So elated was I with this cupcake business that I didn’t think clearly. If you’ve ever read the book “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” you will understand.

If you give a girl a groupon, she’s going to get her crotch zapped. Why “David,” you say, whatever do you mean? I’m about to get to the meat of this post. And that meat is that it’s all fun and games until you start buying groupons regarding the hair on your body. The tale… is threefold.

Pt. 1: Miss Moffet, In the Hair Salon… with the Pomade
My first groupon for hair removal was actually just for a haircut. I say just but of course it wasn’t “just” or I wouldn’t be writing about this, warning you not to make the same mistake. Now some places that give haircuts for groupons are very nice. I’m sure they’re lovely. This is the story of no such place. About a year ago I went to a place that we’ll just call “Building Z”. It was during the summer and brutally hot outside so as I hopped along down the street I desperately looked forward to the air conditioning. Well HA there wasn’t air conditioning! In fact no one was in the building when I got there. At NOON. Finally another lost soul showed up to get her hair cut as well, and all I will say is I still thank God that her appointment was first. Because the next thing we know a woman we’ll call Zelda showed up and let us in the door.

“You. Sit.”

She proceeded to seat us down on a decaying leather couch that seemed to be from the Jurassic Period and then answered her phone.  I wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying because I decided to look up and became traumatized by the mannequins hanging from the walls covered in what looked like human blood.

“Now David, you’re not being fair. It could have been animal blood.”

You’re right, my bad.  Regardless, I turned my head (my leg fat was wedged in the infinite cracks in the Jurassic couch rendering my lower body immobile) and noticed what can only be described as the Miss Moffet storage unit from The Silence of the Lambs. I wondered if there was a jarred head by the hair washing station. Then suddenly Zelda threw the phone down with force and beckoned my only friend (I use the term loosely) to a chair.

“You! Sit!”

The difference in directions was purely in inflection. So with my friend gone, I sat for some time, to the point where I was worried I was actually becoming part of the couch. I hoped in my heart that due to the violent nature with which Zelda ripped out my friend’s hair that someone else would be cutting mine. And then, in a flurry and covered in sweat he came in: Hans.

“Hey girl, I am SO sorry I’m late, I got hit by a bus!”

Hans settled down, wrapped his wrist in some sort of tourniquet and we were off to the races.

“So here’s what I’m thinking. You have one of the biggest faces I’ve actually ever seen so I’m not really worried that much about volume.”

Volume. That dannnngerous word. That statement alone really should’ve been my 5th clue to get the hell out. Some people need volumetric assistance but I’ve always been reverse that. Compound volume with my voluminous cheeks and I look like a Q-tip on steroids. I’m not 100% sure what I mean by that but I decided against my better judgment (let’s just call the blog that, shall we?) I was there, I hadn’t melded to the couch, so why the heck not.

And then I really don’t know what happened. What I DO know is when we started there was an entire container of Volume Pomade on the counter in front of me, and when he had finished there was not. While it’s difficult to draw a direct comparison to any figure in particular, I managed to draw a picture when I got home, prior to jumping in the shower to attempt to manage my newfound volume.

It took legitimately 15 minutes to get all of the pomade out of my hair and for days after I’d like… find it in places around the apartment. But volume aside, I went on undeterred with my groupon insanity.

“So you got stuck in a couch. It’s not like you ever FOUND the jarred head!” I told myself. And then I came across the groupon that would forever change my pain tolerance and perception of normality. I present to you:

Pt. 2: The Curious Case of Groupons and My Crotch

Had a blog existed prior to my going to this thing that detailed what the hell happens with laser hair removal, I don’t know if I actually would’ve gone through with this business. But by god, it did not so of course I went through with it. What kind of laser hair removal you ask? Did you read the chapter title? Remember, you have been warned and frankly the public needs to know what in the blazes happens. And so I am here to perform my civic duty and inform.

I decided one day to just pony up and buy the groupon because, while I have no problem how people manage or don’t manage their nethers, I was tired of managing mine and had been thinking about this for a while. And one day it just happened. That’s the thing people don’t talk about- half the time you’re just sitting there at your computer and BAM suddenly you have a groupon! Your fingers like, act on their own. I can’t really explain it. But look out for that. It’s like phantom pain only not really.

Anyways, I found the one closest to my apartment and that of course wasn’t close at all. In fact I had to get on a bus and travel about 40 minutes each way to this place. I was feeling adventurous (read: stupid) though and decided I had to do this as my phantom pain had purchased the thing. So there I went. Eventually I got to my stop and hopped out. I had absolutely no idea where the hell I was. Somewhere between nowhere and a laser center. I followed my phone’s navigation (thank you Jesus for smart phones, I’d probably be dead by now) to a decrepit looking “doctor’s building”. The kind that have different kinds of “offices” in them for different kinds of “services”. Well, I’m here. I’m sure this is legit, I thought to myself. So I took myself up to their office. Inside was a tiny waiting room and some trashy mags, but my visual senses were being completely overcome by both my sense of hearing and smell which started to almost shout “DANGER DANGER DANGER!”.

The smell is something you’ll never forget in your life. It’s a combination of things you know exist but have never put together on your own. Freshly baked cookies and gasoline, for example. The best way I can describe it is like burning hair and… a certain je ne sais quoi. Burnt skin? I didn’t know what that had smelled like prior so I was trying not to panic. The SOUND is also completely unique.

Chick-baaa-chick-baaa. The laser makes this interesting repetitive noise as it zaps the shit out of your hair. Or as the promos like to say, “gently removes unwanted follicles.” Anyways, eventually it was my turn, so I walked into this room with a lady who looked about twelve and was like “Ok, I’ll give you a second and you just have to take off your bottoms. You can put them over there.” I’m not really shy so I hopped up and made my bottomless self at home. Although I gotta say, it is slightly less comforting to drop trou when there’s a gigantic laser a foot away from your snatch. She came in a minute later and said

“Oh, you don’t want a cover up?”

There are cover ups? Well don’t I feel naked. Not one though to ever feel awkward, even while naked in front of a complete stranger, I deftly replied:

“Listen. We both know why I’m here. I’m fine if you’re fine.”
“Oh good! Girl I see these all day, I don’t know why people even bother covering themselves.”

And with that I knew things would be fine. But I’m a moron and shouldn’t listen to myself. The lady took the laser and tested it on my thigh so I would know what it felt like. Now, please let me tell you something that no one bothered to tell me, that has proven invaluable moving forward:

Your thigh is not your vulva.

This was yet another instance that I would have to learn this the hard way. Of course it doesn’t hurt on your thigh, so you’re thinking “Aw, I can do this! Easy peasy!” Now I don’t care how many people blatantly lie to your face and say it doesn’t hurt. That just ain’t true. And let me elaborate on the word “hurt” for a moment. A friend of mine had recently given birth and told me that the pain was so intense, she had to pick a spot on the wall and almost meditate while looking at it. Well, I did that, too. I’ve never given birth but I have had my crotch zapped and I gotta tell you, I’m pretty decent with pain and tears were coming. I had to have them take a break not once but twice.

“It’ll get better the more you’re here, and we can turn the laser down.”
“That’s… fantastttticccccc,” I sobbed.

But let’s take a moment and discuss recovery. I know you wanna know, don’t kid yourself, you won’t make me blush. Basically, your crotch has no idea wtf just happened and goes into a state of shock. You had BETTER have comfy undies, lemme tell you what. It’s almost as if you’ve been burned, and essentially you have, so for about a week you gotta take it easy in all departments. Even like, going for a run the next day is kind of out of the question. Showering- watch the water temp for real or you’ll curse the day you didn’t read my blog post about crotch zapping. After that initial few days though, it’s ok. It’s just that… you gotta go back.

After the first visit I think I had almost a mental break. “Why are you doing this, David?” I asked, but the truth was, I didn’t have an answer. And so I did what any other idiot would do- I kept going. I thought that eventually it would pay off and all be worth it. And so this went on for months. I had to go back every six weeks once the hair was grown in a little more. But I’m going to tell you something RIGHT NOW that you need to pay attention to (everything in here is good, but seriously, you need to remember this). It doesn’t get rid of your hair. That’s right, I said it. The groupon is always, always for 6 sessions and you wanna know why? Because 6 sessions doesn’t do it and you’d have to go back and pay full price like a money squandering masochist. Does it make things more manageable? Sure. But is it worth the pain? I gotta be real, I don’t think it is. Get your legs or your armpits done. Hell, have them do your eyebrows like they accidentally started with mine one day (you gotta be on your toes at these places). Those won’t almost kill you. But if you’re looking to take care of down there, let me tell you what ELSE I did because I’m ridiculous. I give you:

Pt. 3: The Day I Bought Not One But Two Brazilian Waxes Having Never Had One Ever

Apparently I like to buy things in pairs. I can’t explain why, and if it’s something like apples or bracelets, I don’t think there’s a problem. But it seems to extend to other potentially painful things as well. For instance I got two tattoos having never had any (Sidenote: I would not buy a groupon tattoo knowing what I now know. Just saying.). And so when I got an email for “You bought laser hair removal so you might like this!” I saw one for two brazilian waxes at a salon downtown. And to be honest, I don’t actually remember buying these. Phantom pain is a killer on the wallet, man. Anyways, there I was suddenly with two waxes to use. Once I bought these I of course had to tell my friends who of course had lots of questions pertaining to the term “brazilian”. So…. yeah, here is what that is in its most basic terms.

A brazilian is everything. Listen to what I’m saying: Everything. You will not have hair below the belly button and above the top of your leg. Comprenez–vous? So to the literal bevy of people that bravely asked “Do they go up the back” I repeat one more time: Everything. So I show up and for a second I had to stop and think. Are you doing this for yourself or for the sake of blogging? And I realized I didn’t have a solid answer. I also realized I’d reached the point where I no longer cared. Reason was out the window. And here is what I have to report because, frankly, I know you wanna know.

The first few minutes are eerily similar to when you’re at the laser place: Drop trou, if you want a cover up etc. But here’s the thing: There’s no gigantic laser threatening your crotch’s well being. It’s a tremendous relief, I can’t even tell you. And the whole thing’s done in under 10 minutes. I was overjoyed! I even went right to work after. Should you wear comfy undies? Yeah, it’s a good idea. But you aren’t incapacitated afterwards and people around you don’t ask if something’s burning (did I forget to mention THAT happened?) . Recovery, while better, is still a little not fun for a few days, and by the time that seems to get under control you do have some follicles starting to percolate again. But to be totally real, I’d SO rather do a bunch of waxes to eventually kill the follicles than laser.

And so the takeaway from today is again, threefold:

1) I apparently no longer care about my own personal dignity.

2) NEVER drink and buy groupons. You’ve now seen what happens when someone purchases them sober.

3) The one positive from getting the laser is that your perception of pain is DRASTICALLY different. I went in to get my tattoos and didn’t even blink.

Now, had they tattooed my crotch, that would be an entirely different blog post. And no, I won’t go that far for the sake of blogging. THAT at least, I am sure of.