Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Wax On. Wax Off.

Dave looked at me like I was nuts when I asked him if my nose hair was heavy or sparse.

"Whaddya mean?"
"Do I have a lot of nose hair?"
"I don't know."
"Look," I instructed, doing my best ballet move so that he could effortlessly look into my nose.

He asked for his reading glasses.

Rather than getting Dave his reading glasses, I sat down at the computer.  Besides, my back hurt from all that bending.

I was trying to decide whether or not to test drive a Nose Hair Waxing product.

But I'm a good consumer, and I never invest in a product, especially something as cutting edge as a nose hair waxing system, without first reading reviews.

Should I go for it?
I was nearly convinced after reviewing the first several reviews on AMAZON.COM:
- These nostrils are clean as a whistle!
- Excellent product that can be used as ear hair removal as well.
- This is simultaneously disgusting and amazing!

But then I happened upon a review written by man who called himself "Lost Out".

Mr. Out, who apparently has massive thickets of hair in his nostrils,  was clearly disappointed with his Yoffee Nose Wax Removal system.

He had previously used spinning trimmers, tiny scissors, as well as very thin disposable razors to trim his pesky nose hair.  But he was looking for a more permanent method for deforestation.  He considered plucking the hairs, but lacked the time, given his humongous hordes of hair.

Mr. Out did his homework before using his nose hair waxing product.  He read the instructions thoroughly and even watched some YouTube videos.  He chose to ignore the guy who cried in one video, labeling him a wuss. 

Mr. Out himself claimed to have a "decent tolerance for pain."

Mr. Out put the waxing compound in his microwave to melt it, and inserted the applicator stick into the melted wax.  He then stuck it into his nostril, clamped down on said nostril, and set the timer for 90 seconds.  When the timer went off, he yanked on the stick.  He whole head bobbed, but when "he gave it a good pull", the stick came out.  

Only a few nostril hairs were attached.  Leaving an entire forest behind.

Mr. Out, feeling more confident and even more determined, reheated the wax, re-inserted the stick, changing the angle, in an attempt to harvest more hair.

According to Mr. Out, his second attempt felt as if he was turning his nostril inside out.

I believe the words he used were "Holy Hell."

Mr. Out was able to remove the stick, and, upon inspection, realized that he had scored.  Big.

He was downright cocky as he moved on to his next, and final nostril.

Mr. Out reheated the wax and inserted the stick.  He decided to use a bigger blog of wax so he could clean out his nostril in one pass.

He inserted the stick into the second nostril and clasped it closed.  After 90 seconds, Mr. Out gave the stick a tug.  When he saw stars, he realized that he must have gotten a lot more hairs than in his previous two attempts.

He tugged again and felt his nose attempt to separate from his face.

And the clock was ticking.  The stick had to be removed within 30 seconds or it would never come out.  Without medical attention. 

Images of the Jaws of Life danced in his head.

I cannot possibly do justice to Mr. Out's description of his harvest from the Yoffee Nose Wax Removal system.  I'll let him tell it:

I finally pulled up my big boy panties and with about 3 or 4 eye-watering-profane-laden-pain-inducing yanks pulled that ball of malevolent compound out of my nose.  I was sure there would be a gush of blood following it out as I had surely removed actual skin and veins and other stuff with it.  But I hadn't and there wasn't.  What there was though was this villainous blob of compound that now looked like it had a full head of hair.  It looked like some bizarre circus sideshow freak or something out of a horror movie.  I could hear the barker now..."Come see the smallest full head of human hair, you won't believe it when you feast your eyes on this miniature coiffure!"

After reading Mr. Out's review I ambled over to the mirror.  I really didn't have any nasty nose hairs to speak of.  

A Nose Wax Removal System would be a complete waste of my time.

Friday, September 1, 2017

The Disease

I am diseased.

I have a fatal disorder that is slowly killing me.  My prognosis is guarded.

The symptoms of this disease are many.  The most serious of which is loss of control of bodily parts.

It started with the skipping.  Down halls.  Into conference rooms.

And then it spread to my mouth.  Word hemorrhaging.  Things I wouldn't have said, say, six months ago.

Like when I said, "Oh, good!  We're finally forced to read a book that I actually like!" In a staff meeting.  In front of my boss.  Who I love.

Who used to like me.  Before I became afflicted with Short Timers' Disease.

I've been especially atrocious to my team.  I say things like, "I'm assigning this project to you because (uncontrolled laughter) I don't want to do it!"

And, "We'll do a follow-up analysis in October.  I mean YOU'LL do a follow-up analysis in October."  Followed by unconstrained giggling.

Short Timers' Disease.

I bring brownies to my staff meeting, put my feet up on the table and share my infamous Multicollinearity Rap on YouTube.  I hadn't intended to share.  It just happened.

Only a Short Timer would be so reckless.

Another symptom of STD is Adrenalin rushes.  They manifest themselves as I carry folders and notes to co-workers who will pick up my work.  I explain the importance of each and cross my fingers that they will find the project as intriguing as I did.

I throw away files.  Reports.  Binders.  Stuff.  And more stuff.

I dance my way to the shredding bin.

I carefully decide who gets the good stuff from my office.

Christine wants my Alien Abduction Lamp.  And the binoculars, so she can watch the Canada Goose nest next spring.  (I will miss that.)

Jeff will get my Official Tom Brady Deflategate Whoopie Cushion.  

I'll give Bettye my red blanket so she can survive the air conditioned induced winters that last 365 1/4 days a year at our campus.

Elle will receive my Barbie Doll pens and Cathy will get my "I'm silently correcting your grammar" placard.

Salem gets my fake hand because I know she will use it to scare small children.

Matthew and Max will each receive a pair of my Meat Locker Mitts.  Since neither of them is ever cold they can use the Mitts as cube artwork.

My last day is September 29, and I fear that my STD may worsen by then.  I'm thinking of bringing my unicycle to work, and finally mastering the damn bike by maneuvering through the maze of cubes with my arms outstretched.  

On my last day, when the only items remaining in my office are my Barbie Roller Blades I will probably begin to dance.  On top of said desk.

Security will likely be called to my office.

"Lou.  Get down.  It's time for you to leave," the guard will say.

I will invite the guard to dance with me.  When he says no, I will reluctantly step down, miraculously maintaining my composure.  I'll throw my purse strap over my shoulder and head out to my car, holding my head high.

Until I scream, "Wait!!!!!"

The Security Guard, who by this point will likely be annoyed with me, will say, "What, now?"

As I run back to my office I will shout over my shoulder, "I'm not going anywhere without my Barbie Roller Blades."