Hi Ho, Hi Ho, its not to work I go...

I actually really like this whole not go to work and still get paid thing, I'm currently searching the want ads for similar positions...no luck yet but there must be someone who wants to pay me for sitting on my ass and eating bon bons I’m sure of it. I realized there is truth to the statement you are a product of your environment. This became abundantly clear when I watched my Buddha bellied little roommate leave his position within arms reach of the television to search for the remote to turn up the volume. No wonder why I can’t get skinny, I have an “other” who eats ice cream for breakfast and a roommate whose greatest exercise is a frantic search for the remote. So I was supposed to go to spring break at South Padre Island this weekend right?(hence the personal trainer, whatnot)… Well one of my supposed best friends ditched the plans we have had for over 2 months to go to Germany to visit her boyfriend and oh by the way forgot to tell me until I found out accidentally like 2 days before we were supposed to go. Sucks to be me right? This year was supposed to be our last year, I mean at some point you become too old to do this sort of stuff right? One such indication of this point is when the personal maintenance to make yourself presentable for this trip exceeds 200$. It becomes like that mastercard commercial:

Personal trainer 150$,
Mystic tan 25$
Cute flippy haircut and college girl highlights 50$
Supposedly less painful sugar waxing 70$
Yawning at 11pm because its 2 hours past your, Sex in the City watchin, gotta go to work Monday, 20 year old, Dirk Diggler frat boy wanna be pimp is hitting on me, middle-aged ass betime….Priceless.

It was a battle of wills between me and my bikini line this weekend. Since I was still clinging to making the whole trip work (Dirk was awaiting), I was in the race against time to find that small waxing window of opportunity that would ensure I still had enough recovery time prior to donning the 2 oz of swimsuit material that laughed at me from my half packed suit case. Naturally a suitable Waxist was nowhere to be found on short notice so I found myself wandering the hair removal wastelands at Wal-Mart. I had previously attempted a home job about 5 years ago, and vowed imbetween very bad words never to resort to such stupidity ever again, yet here I was face to face with a vast array of choices before me. Some boasted less pain, others slower regrowth, while still others boasted an all-natural edible waxing substance. Edible…? At what point in this process does it become a viable option to consume any part of a product you have just ripped off your crotch? Personally, picking a particular product seemed on par with going to an underground fetish chamber and choosing which instrument you want to become intimate with; nothing good could come of it. And of course nothing did….Hours, a big fat waxy mess and a few bald patches later I stood in front of the mirror like john Wayne in a wild west movie standoff (well except for the being naked part) fingering the trigger of an electric hair clipping device. There just isn’t any dignity in being 25. I’m convinced it’s like the worst age ever. You already finished with school so you have to find a real job, waxing your bikini line becomes a significant emotional event instead of just routine maintenance. All your friends are having kids and without any you have nothing to blame for why your ass is now eating your pants. Calgon, take me away….