(Editor’s Note: The above video is a little over nine minutes long. Enjoy my pain.)
I am sure many of you women out there do not think we men can handle pain. You may think that all men are a bunch of pussies, who cannot handle paper cuts or pushing a baby out through an orifice that geometrically should not have a baby go through. Well I’m here on behalf of men everywhere to prove that men can handle pain. If I had the plumbing, tools, and feel good medications necessary to give birth, I totally would, but instead you’re going to have to settle for getting my chest hairs ripped out.
My hair ripping dominatrix for my morning appointment was Terry, who specializes in Brazilian waxes. Unfortunately, unlike most dominatrixes there weren’t any “safe words” I could use if the pain became a little too much to bear. I just had to suck it up, like all guys forced to watch the movie Atonement with their lady friends. Although, I did come with a few possible “safe words,” like “peanut butter,” “Stop! Hammer Time!,” and “Perez Hilton is an attention whore.”
The application of wax felt good. The warm sensation was like putting on a pair of boxers straight from the dryer or tenderly embracing someone covered in Icy Hot. Terry used two types of wax on my pudgy body: a strip wax, which was used for large areas, and a hard wax, used for smaller and sensitive areas (ie. nipple). Both may have felt good going on, but the strip wax was pretty much a bitch coming off.
The strip wax was more painful since it was responsible for pulling out the majority of my fur in large clumps. I really didn’t want to know what it is like being Velcro, but thanks to the strip wax I now know. The hard wax was not so bad. It felt like a band aid being ripped off of my body or pasties being ripped off of my nipples.
Some areas were really painful, while with other areas I felt nothing at all. Overall, I thought it was not so bad of an experience. Sure, if you watch the video, I yelp out in pain many times, but I also do that with, Vixen, my real dominatrix, and whenever I yelp out in pain, our “safe words” are not far behind, which are usually, “Peter Cottontail hopping down the bunny trail.” I did not expect it to be a painless procedure and if I did not get it done by a professional, it probably would have been extremely painful.
After the waxing, there was redness, which wasn’t painful, but stuck around for about four days. Despite the redness, it felt nice having a smooth chest and I rubbed my chest quite a bit. As a matter of fact, I rubbed it so much that if I had sandpaper for hands, I would no longer have nipples. The smooth feeling lasted a little bit longer than I expected. Stubble didn’t start to show until two weeks later and my chest hair feels softer than usual.
Would I do it again? Yes, I would and I’ll probably make another appointment to see if it is easier the second time around and to get closer to my metrosexual side. But now with a smooth chest, when women have sex with me, they can close their eyes (or put a bag over my head) and imagine I’m someone else, instead of a furry woodland creature.
(Editor’s Note: I would like to thank TIB friend Cian for setting my appointment for pain and I would also like to thank Terry from Heaven on Earth Spa for making my experience as memorable as possible.)
Item: Chest Waxing Price: $40 (regular $55) Purchased at:Heaven on Earth Spa Rating: 7 out of 10 Pros: Not as painful as I thought. Smooth chest for the ladies. Professional waxers. Lasted longer than shaving. Applying the wax felt good. Safe words. Putting on a pair of boxers straight from the dryer. Cons: Redness for several days after. Not permanent. Strip wax. Being Velcro. Dominatrix prices. Getting waxed by a non-professional.
There are some benefits to being hairier than others.
First off, winter nights don’t seem so cold because hair is wonderful insulation and I can somewhat understand why the Olsen Twins use actual animal fur to cover their meatless, Cryptkeeper-like bodies.
Secondly, having ample hair follicles means having a large field available for harvest if there is ever a need for hair transplants. Sure, some of them might be coarse or pubic-ish, but that’s what smelly, harsh hair-straightening chemicals are for.
Thirdly, if you’re a dude, you can open a few shirt buttons and play Magnum, P.I. whenever you want, if you have access to a Ferrari 308 GTS and can get Higgins, T.C. and Rick to play with you, which shouldn’t be hard, since they’re probably not doing anything anyway.
If you’re a long time reader of The Impulsive Buy or have seen me naked, you know that I am somewhat hirsute. For you newer readers, to give you an idea of how hairy I am, here are some posts that show some evidence that I may possibly be a descendant of the Yeti in the Disneyland Matterhorn ride. In the Veet Rasera review I showed off my legs, during the the first anniversary prize drawing post I gave readers a glimpse of my arms, and in the Axe Dry Clix review I scared off TIB readers by showing them my armpit.
So with a little convincing from TIB reader Cian, I decided to review the experience of getting some of my hair ripped out of their follicles via waxing, and you will help choose which body part of mine will feel that pain. I’m going to give you five options and you can vote on which one you like best or the one that will cause me the most pain.
(Extreme Editor’s Note: Getting a Manzilian IS NOT an option.)
The body part with the most votes will be declared the winner and I will get that part of my body waxed by a trained professional and then review the experience. Yes, in the review, there will be pictures of the procedure and just like a Rambo IV preview, if there is blood, I will show it to you.
To vote, either leave a comment with this post that contains the body part you want me to get waxed or email me at theimpulsivebuy AT gmail DOT com with your choice in the subject line. Only one choice and vote per person.
Iâ€™ll be accepting votes until Friday, January 11th (11:59 p.m. Hawaii Standard Time).
Now go vote like you’re helping to create one of the gazillion lists out there for the best and worst of 2007.
I don’t walk into a Hallmark store for greeting cards anymore because when I looked through the aisles filled with folded cards, colorful envelopes, and middle-aged women, I couldn’t find a card that truly expressed what I was thinking or feeling.
I find that most of those Hallmark cards are predictable, like the use of the word “beaner” in a Carlos Mencia joke. “I love you,” “Happy Birthday,” “I miss you,” “Merry Christmas,” or “I have herpes” are just some of the phrases that you might find inside a typical greeting card. I want my greeting cards to say more than that. If I already know what it’s going to say inside, why even bother opening it? Just pull the card out, shake it, and let the cash, personal check, gift card, or condom fall onto my lap.
Thank goodness for Bald Guy Greeting Cards, which have more to say that a typical greeting card and does it with sarcasm. With these cards you won’t find rainbows being used as a metaphor for friendship, love, or the bridge into womanhood.
Instead, you have cards that say what you’re truly thinking, but too afraid to say out loud, unless you’re an asshole. For example, one of their birthday cards I picked up says on the outside, “Happy Birthday (I guess),” then on the inside it says, “For the record, my birthday was on _______ and you didn’t get me a card. Not even an email. But that’s okay. Happy Birthday to you, I guess.”
There have been several occasions when I really needed a card like that.
Another card I picked out for a future wedding says on the outside, “Congratulations on your wedding,” while on the inside it says, “I hope you like your gift. Since you went to the store, picked it out and registered for it. Actually, if you don’t like it, it’s kind of your fault.”
Despite them being honest, I really wish there was more profanity in the cards. You know, to keep it real. One card I found used the word “asshole,” but that was pretty much it. Seriously, which would have more of an impact:
a. For the record, my birthday was on _______ and you didn’t get me a card. Not even an email. But that’s okay. Happy Birthday to you, I guess.
b. For the record, my fucking birthday was on ______ and you didn’t get me a fucking card. Not even a fucking email. But that’s okay. Happy Birthday to you, fucker.
Another thing that slightly bothered me about the Bald Guy greeting cards were the drawing on the front of every card. Each emo-ish character looked like something that haunts my dreams, much like New York’s eyelashes do.
Speaking of dreams, I once dreamt of becoming a greeting card writer, so that whenever the dreaded question “What are you going to do with an English Degree?” came up, I could reply “Write greeting cards, bitches!” to my aunts and uncles.
You know what? I think that might just make a good greeting card for English majors.
Item: Bald Guy Greeting Cards Price: $3.00 (per card) Purchased at:www.baldguygreetings.com Rating: 3 out of 5 Pros: Sarcastic cards. Honest. Perfect cards for certain situations. Profanity. Money inside a card. Cons: Drawings haunt my dreams. Needs more profanity. New York’s eyelashes. Rainbows being used as a metaphor for friendship. love, and the bridge into womanhood. Getting a card that says, “I have herpes.”
Good news: I’m still an eligible bachelor…ladies. (Sprays Binaca in mouth and gives a wink)
I do a lot of things over the internet, like check the balances in my bank accounts, Google ex-girlfriends, read up on current events on CNN.com, self-diagnose any psychological symptoms via WebMD, download music through iTunes, and learn how to please a woman through the millions of search results found by typing “how to please a woman” at my favorite search engine. So it only seems natural that I find a date over the internet.
Sure I could do it the old fashioned way and walk up to a complete stranger, introduce myself, tell her she’s beautiful, ask her if she would be interested in a date, she replies “With you?,” I say “yes,” wait during an awkward pause while she thinks of a good excuse, and then says, “I’m sorry, I already have a boyfriend” or “I’m sorry, I’m not into guys,” but getting a date via an internet dating site is so much easier because, if you do your search correctly, women on these sites are most likely single and not a lesbian.
Match.com offers a very simple solution to get you into the dating scene, unlike competitor eHarmony which makes you fill out a SAT-long questionnaire that’s hard to do in one sitting. With Match.com all you need to do is come up with a username that isn’t already taken and then fill out your profile, which consists of normal things like hobbies, likes, dislikes, job description, describing yourself, and describing what you look for in a date.
(Tip: In your profile, do not add any fetishes you may have or put down the number of cats you own, if that number is above three.)
You can sign up at Match.com for free, but that only allows you to “wink” at potential dates which lets them know you’re interested, but you won’t be able to contact them or visa versa. This is somewhat like the digital equivalent of the rule at most strip clubs, “You can see, but you can’t touch.” In order to contact a potential date you have to subscribe to the Match.com service, which you can do for one month, three months, or six months. The longer plan you subscribe to, the cheaper it is per month. I chose six months, which cost me $101.94, because I enjoy buying things in bulk.
Once you’ve become a subscriber, you can now contact potential dates and get rejected electronically, which I admit stings much less than being rejected face-to-face. A wink is a good way to let someone know you’re interested, but contacting them via email is even better and more effective. Don’t worry, the service doesn’t use your actual email, instead they create one specifically for Match.com using your username.
(Tip: If you contact a potential date via email and they don’t reply, please don’t send them another email asking them why they didn’t reply. That is fucking creepy and irritating. Just accept the fact that they’re not interested in you and move on. They were probably out of your league anyway.)
You can search for potential dates and also narrow your searches down to be more specific. So if I wanted to find a 5’2″ Asian woman with a college degree, makes $50,000 a year, and is a sexual Scorpio, I could. The service allows you to save three searches, which I found wasn’t enough for me. I created a search for all the women of Asian persuasion, a search for those who are within five miles from me, and one for those who could become my Sugar Momma, making more than $100,000 a year.
(Tip: The more specific your searches are, the smaller the pool of potential dates gets. Stop being so fucking picky. Go out on some dates and have fun.)
With your profile, you have the option of putting up a picture or two or a dozen or more, depending on how vain you are. While searching for potential dates, about 70 percent of profiles didn’t have a picture. The profiles without a photo are given a plain generic image with the words, “Ask me for my photo” over it, all of which could be considered the digital equivalent of putting a brown paper bag over their faces. I did put up a picture with my profile, because in the particular picture I put up, I look fucking hott. The blurriness of the photo definitely makes me look better, like beer goggles would.
(Tip: Putting up your picture greatly increases the attention you’ll receive. Unfortunately, it also increases the attention you receive from people you don’t want attention from. However, Match.com does offer to block specific users from contacting you. Also, if you’re not interested in someone, you can have Match.com send the other person a nice “No, thanks” for you.)
Within the first few days I received over a dozen winks, which was a total ego boost, although most of them were from women either from the Philippines, Romania, or Indiana. I believe those were spam since their usernames were made out of random letters and numbers, like they slammed their head against their keyboard. These same “women” also had profiles that went something like this:
I the romantic girl, like to have fun, but I have no harmful habits. At me quiet character and before that that to make I all over again I think. I the good friend who always will help a difficult minute. Certainly I have lacks as well as any person, but concerning them I not a complex To me such person will be necessary which to love me and to understand, which will live in the big city and which will not have children I will need to move the man a bark with me on life and to not give in insult.
As the months in my subscription went by, I got fewer and fewer of these blatant spam winks.
(Tip: Do not put in your profile, “I’m shy at first, but I’ll open up as we get to know each other.” So many people use that line that it’s become a cliche. Use “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours…personality, that is.”)
During my six-month subscription, I dated four women. I could tell you about each of them, but I’m a gentleman and we gentlemen don’t talk about our dates…also, some of them read this blog (Hi, Tricia, Terri and Jen!) I enjoyed the dates I went on and all of the women were really nice and a pleasure to talk to. However, none of them turned out to be long-term material because I just didn’t feel that strong of an attraction to any of them and I’m kind of a picky mutherfucker.
Dates were fun, but sadly, perhaps the most entertaining part of the whole Match.com experience was deleting women from my searches, which made me feel like the anti-Cupid, pointing my arrow-shaped mouse cursor at their delete button and breaking their hearts without them even realizing it.
If she had the word “gypsy” in her username, I deleted her. If her username had the words “happy” or “smile” in it, but she’s not smiling in her profile picture, I deleted her. If she typed “a lot” as “alot,” I deleted her. If she looked like she could kick my ass, I deleted her. If her entire profile was done with the CAPS LOCK button on, I deleted her. If she looked like someone who has way too many stuffed animals in her car, I deleted her.
(Tip: Deleting profiles can be more fun if you follow every deletion by saying out loud, “You ain’t good enough for me” or “You ain’t gettin’ none of this.”)
Despite not finding true love, I had an overall positive Match.com experience and renewed my subscription for another six months, which was ten dollars cheaper than the first six months. I think it was successful because I went on more dates in the last six month than the six months before joining Match.com.
There were a few downsides. Being in a smaller market here on this rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, new profiles don’t show up as often as I would like and there are many profiles that have been inactive for three weeks or more, making the pool of women even smaller. Also, many profiles didn’t have pictures, making some dates nervously exciting like a blind date or a Craigslist meetup.
(Tip: When meeting a blind date or someone on Craigslist, meet in a very public area or carry a weapon with you.)
If you’re not a bar or nightclub person this would make a great option to meet new people and perhaps find love. It’s cheaper than most other popular online dating services and you don’t have to fill out a long questionnaire. Just because it didn’t work for me, doesn’t mean it won’t work for you.
So again, ladies, I just want to let you know that I’m still available.
Item: Match.com Price: $101.94 for six month subscription Purchased at: Match.com Rating: 4 out of 5 Pros: Great way to meet people. Easy to get started. No long questionnaire to fill out, like eHarmony. Cheaper than most other popular online dating services. The internet. Deleting profiles. Cons: Didn’t find love. Most profiles didn’t have a photo. Free account only allows you to wink at others, but not send emails. Only able to save three searches. Some wink spam.
Please do not smite me for not buying any of your Swedish-designed furnishings during my last visit by dropping one of your yellow and blue football field-sized stores on top of me!
I’m sorry that I didn’t purchase any of your cheap furnishings with names that sound like they were created using random Scrabble letters puked out by a five-year-old who didn’t know better. But believe me I wanted to walk out with enough furniture to put my modest two-bedroom apartment through an extreme makeover, but it would be difficult to ship all of it from California to this rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, unless you IKEA, made a cheap boat that could be put together with single sheet of simple instructions.
To appease you IKEA, I did not leave totally empty-handed. I purchased one of your IKEA plastic shopping bag for five cents at the checkout counter. Sure, other stores don’t charge me for plastic bags, but I was more than happy to buy one from you so that I don’t get a VIREN or a LILLHOLMEN reamed up any of my orifices by you.
Actually, my friend purchased it and I have yet to pay her back for it. To make up my debt to her, I plan to stand at the corner and flash a little skin at those who pass by and hopefully someone will throw a nickel my way to make me cover myself up. I actually wanted your big blue 59-cent reusable IKEA bag, but I would have to go down on too many people to make that kind of money.
Although, I can reuse your five-cent IKEA shopping bag if I wanted to. I can use it as a trash bag, water bucket, interrogation tool, for a kindergarden sack race, the worst deep sea diver’s helmet EVER, or storage for all the other plastic shopping bags I have. I can also use it for making cheesy rain sound effects in the background whenever I sing the Guns N’ Roses song “November Rain” at karaoke or for making really good plastic shopping bag crumpling sound effects whenever someone is bagging my groceries at the grocery store.
While the bag’s transparency makes it hard to hide from others unwrapped gifts, chopped up body parts, or a collection of Lance Bass clippings from Teen Beat and Tiger Beat magazines, its size is significantly larger than the plastic shopping bags from most grocery stores.
These two attributes make your IKEA Plastic Bag the ideal bag for carrying a baby or toddler…if the bag didn’t say “Esta bolsa no es un juguete, puedo causar sofocacion, mantenga bolsa plastica fuera del alcance de los ninos o bebes.” The transparency of the bag would’ve made it easy to see what a kid is up to, while its size would’ve been able to hold not only a child, but also a few toys, some snacks, and a snorkel to help them breathe.
Well IKEA, hopefully the purchase of your five-cent plastic bag won’t cause you to punish me for not purchasing any of your inexpensive furniture, because I don’t think I could handle the punishment of eating a billion of your delicious Swedish meatballs in a row.
(Editor’s Note: IKEA in the US is now charging five cents per plastic bag to discourage shoppers from using them, which in turn will slightly help reduce the waste caused by plastic bags every year. You can read more about it here.)
Item: IKEA Plastic Bag Price: 5 cents Purchased at: IKEA Rating: 3 out of 5 Pros: Big plastic bag. Big IKEA logo on both sides. Comes with built-in handles. Would make a good kiddie transport, if not for the warnings on the bag. Inexpensive Swedish-designed furnishings. Cons: Most expensive plastic shopping bag ever. Being punished by IKEA for leaving a store empty-handed. Bad for the environment. Bag’s transparency makes it hard to hide your clippings of Lance Bass. Having clippings of Chris Kirkpatrick. The number of people I’d have to go down on to make 59 cents.