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2005-06-05 @ 11:51 p.m.
flab abs are fab....right?

Okay, I don’t have much money, but I’m incredibly vain. What can I say? Need money for food? Oh P’shaw, I’d much rather get my eyebrows waxed. First things first, you know. This all actually started with “A”s rather stringent appraisal of my appearance last Tuesday. The “You should get your hair cut and colored and lose weight” thingie. I tried to just think of it as “What a strange thing to say to an insecure person, so I guess I’ll just have to prove him wrong and be so damn gorgeous that rich guys will be driving their Porches off the sides of the road. Because, I know I’m nice looking in my own way and just because some guy said I needed to change to fit some impossible image of what I looked like 25 years ago (I had shown him pictures of me in my 20’s and yes, I was kind of a looker), doesn’t mean I have to do it.

So I fought really hard to hold onto that thought....the “I’m beautiful just the way I am” thing, but it didn’t last very long, because the very next day, when I was getting dressed for my art class, I had pulled on my tightest pair of jeans and put on what I call my Biker Babe black tank top and thought, daaaymnn, I’m hot. But then when I was twirling around in front of the mirror, I started noticing all these "flaws". Like a roll of ab fat protruding somewhat substantially slightly over my waistband. My boobs looked lower than usual. Even my arm pits looked pudgy. So I was wondering, was this all in my head, or was this reality? Mirrors don’t lie, you know. Why didn’t I notice this before? How embarrassing. I mean, the Being a Legend in my Own Mind has always been my best defense against reality, so why not now???


So about 1 minute, 8 seconds before I was supposed to be walking out the door to my art class, clothes were being abruptly pulled off and spiked angrily to the floor, you know, like you stupid, fucking clothes, how dare you make me look fat, and then I ran over to my closet and tried to find something...just something to cover my massively overweight-call Maury Povich and have them come chop an extra three feet off the width of my front door so that they can get a crane into my bedroom and lift all 1047 pounds of me out of my bed and get me to the hospital so I can get my stomach stapled so I won’t be so freakin’ fat.

(cough) drama queen

I finally found one of my full length hippie sun dresses and slipped it over my head. It’s actually all I was wearing that night. A dress and sandals. Nothing else. Hey, it was hot out. And NOTHING ELSE FREAKIN’ FIT BECAUSE I WAS THE SIZE OF FOUR GILBERT GRAPE MOTHERS set end to end.

See, what you did to me “A”? You’re supposed to be healing me of neuroses, not creating new ones!! So when I went outside, and the guys from Macys were waiting for me. You know...the ones who control the ropes on the HUUUUUGE balloons at the Macys Thanksgiving parade? I had to get to my class somehow. And I certainly wasn’t going to fit into a mere car.

So I went to my art class and we had one of our more well rounded models. I felt a little better about myself, although somewhere, deep within my overly sensitive cranial lobes, I could still hear my mom saying, ”I guess we’ll have to call Omar the Tent-maker.” anytime I asked for new clothes. In other words, someone who could sew together vast amounts of material for my rather large and plump body. Thanks mom. Oh and happy birthday today! How much do you weigh? Over 200 pounds? And how tall are you? 4 foot, 11 inches? Ok, just checking.

”Hey Omar....we got a live one here....

Naturally we celebrated her birthday today with yet another pig-fest. A serve yourself brunch buffet with huge server trays full of bacon and sausage and pancakes and french toast and fried potatoes and pastries and scrambled eggs. I don’t think there was a thing in there under 500 calories. But it was the kind of situation where you think, hey I paid $4.99, I’m gonna shovel every last morsal of food into my piehole until my pants explode. It’s just human nature, you know, so I did, and I felt colossally pig-like, but it was my own damn fault, so shut up about it, ok witty?

But back to the sub-terranean wittykitty makeover. So being told I needed to lose some weight initially made me really overeat. I just went way overboard, oinking my way through the bulk candy department at the yuppie grocery store and eating several pieces of cake at our art class Wednesday, because we were celebrating its birthday. And then Thursday, we had the restaurant birthday party for my mom....more cake. Friday...who knows, I’m sure I ate seven cows and don’t remember. Saturday, we went to my aunt’s house and she made a delicious spice cake for my mom’s birthday, so I had a piece there....


witty, be truthful now. O-fucking-kay!!!! My aunt put SIX pieces of the remaining birthday cake into a plastic container for me to take home and it didn’t make it to midnight. Fruck! It was my evil twin eating them! Honest! I really think I need to have an exorcism arranged by Father Wade Watchers. I know he’s the man for the job. And then today....mounds of eggs, pancakes, which I don’t even like, pastries, fritatas, 27 36 pieces of bacon. Oh, and a DIET coke. How totally conscientious of me, huh?

I did pay for today though. I went to a flea market afterwards and had to keep jumping over guys with mullets to get to the various restrooms scattered throughout the compound. Oh, and by the way, I think I saw Kevin Federline, Britney Spears husband selling mood rings at one of the booths, but it could have just been a sugar buzz making me hallucinate.

So, what to do, what to do? Hmmm. could go get your entire fekking face waxed by a filipino!!

Dear “A”: wittykitty is losing it. Signed, Barbarella, her evil (and much thinner) twin.

Ok, for some reason, in the interest of “looking better”, I decided to go get my chin waxed. I’m an older 40 something lady and I’ve starting to sprout some hairs in odd places. OK, I look like Burl Ives, ok??? So I had a coupon for a $5 waxing and I thought, hey, I can afford $5 for a beauty thing that’ll make me goofy good looking, so I headed to Magic Nails (subtitled Nret Yng, which roughly translated means “We secretly bite heads off chickens in the backroom and prey on old naive American guys with gold VISA cards”). I totally admit, I have issues with filipinos. I’m sure there are many, many nice ones out there, but the one and only one I ever got to know, pretty much fucked things up. And that was the Filipino Mail Order Whore my Dad bought out of a magazine back in the late 1980’s.

So I walk into this shop and there were two young filipino women and a filipino man standing at the counter. Their business wasn’t exactly booming since the entire place was empty in the middle of a weekend afternoon. And their shop offers manicures, pedicures, massages (??) and waxing. I took out my little $5 coupon and started asking about their prices. The guy said it would be $5 for eyebrow waxing, $5-$8 for the chin (I guess depending how many you have) and $3 for mustache whiskers. I made the quick, magnanimous decision that I would get BOTH the eyebrow AND chin waxing since it was so darn cheap (I’ve paid $12 just for my eyebrows at another place when I used to work full time), and the filipino guy immediately surmised that my chin was one of the Eight Dolla Jobs. Fine. Whatevah!

I was then led back to this separate little room with a table to lie down on. Lie down on?? You mean, kinda like a massage table/waxing table? Yeah, I think so. The girl doing the job only looked about 16. She placed a headband on my hair (which eeked me out since I’m a germ-a-phobe and didn’t know what she was doing until it was already on my head). And then she dipped a popsicle stick into some hot wax and kept blowing on it. I had a sinking feeling that the health department might have a few things to say about the setting and the procedure. She then started slathering on the hot wax, which kinda felt, in the immortal words of Paris Hilton, HOT! Now Witty, this isn’t the wax thing you do at home by yourself now, so settle. And then she applied the cotton thingie and RRRRrrriii-iiiippppp! Man, I kinda liked that too, in a way. RRRRrrriii-iiiippppp! RRRRrrriii-iiiippppp!

And before I could even catch her, she had already applied wax to the left half of the upper lip whisker area, but guess what? I hadn’t requested that. So I’m flailing around like a flounder on a boat deck, saying “No...No! I don’t want that. I’m not going to pay for that!” But what can you do when you have a steaming glob of wax on your whisker area?


She did say she wouldn’t charge me for that and then asked if I wanted her to do the other side. Like, duh? Would Geraldo Rivera shave off half of his mustache and do a news report? Well, ok, bad example. So I said, yes. RRRRrrriii-iiiippppp!

By then the second filipino girl had come in and the two suddenly exploded into this high pitched filippinese. I always hated when the Filipino Mail Order Whore would have her friends over to the house, because there is no such thing as a quiet, subtle conversation amongst these women...its all excited, high pitched exclamation point-o-ramas.

Like I would walk through the room, and all the Mail Order Whore’s filipino friends would smile sweetly at me, and as soon as I cleared the doorway, they would explode into high pitched chattering, which went something like...”nytnny nynt nntnny ntny L’s daughter ntnrnr tnmn ntnnr tnnrn big baby nntn rrtte tnn ntrty”. I mean I knew they were talking about me, because when I would stop briefly, and look back over my shoulder, and they would all be staring at me like a bunch of cheetahs eyeing a baby gnu and then when I disappeared, I’d hear, “nwntn tnntnr No inheritance, bitch ngntntn (laughter).”

So I guess when I was laying there getting my chin waxed up and hearing two filipinos going , “nfnnrw tnntnw nnwn chin hairs....ntnynt (laughter)”, I got a little upset. But, of course, they had the upper hand so to speak... RRRRrrriii-iiiippppp. RRRRrrriii-iiiippppp. RRRRrrriii-iiiippppp. My chin was quite an undertaking it seems. Definitely $8 worth. Because after the waxing was done, Filly Pina came after me with a pair of giant gnarly tweezers to pull out the remaining steel wool bristles. How totally embarrassing. How did I even walk down the street before. Maybe you were right, “A”? No wonder I can’t get a guy....I look like freakin’ Sasquatch.

And I think perhaps, the filipino girl might have sensed my slight animosity, because after she was through plucking every last thing that wasn’t attached to my freakin spine, she took a cloth bathed in ALCOHOL and ran it over my newly raw face.


She then handed me a mirror and I couldn’t figure out if I looked like the naked ass of a donkey or a really ugly drag queen, because I had the skinniest eyebrows I’ve ever had in my entire life. Because instead of taking hair from underneath, she did this weird thing where my eyebrows now go straight across and arc skyward just at the end. Yikes!!

So, just a word to the wise, if you want to go for an extreme makeover, please leave it to the professionals. Its safer that way.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty