Let the Blogging commence. Son.
C4 Presents: Taking it like a (wo) Man... Part Deux
I got a bikini wax last week (though in none of the styles above). Yes I did. A bikini wax. No, not for fun. For work.
For yall that don’t know me personally, I’m an actor. I’m currently working on a role as Bernard, the gay lover of the Prosecutor in this hilarious farcical play called Romance, by David Mamet, that premiered this past weekend at the American Repertory Theater. Pardon the shameless self-promotion, but it’s my blog and I can do what I want to.
“But C4, what does this have to do with getting a bikini wax? Sound like you went out of your way for that one. I don’t know, son…”
Funny you should say that, Hater. Bernard, or Bunny, as he is sometimes called, appears, as mandated by the script, in nothing but a leopard g-string in his first scene. That’s where the waxing comes in. No, no one demanded that I get a bikini wax, but as I have previously tried on my barely-there costume I have noticed that my pubes were all over the place, grossing out even myself just a little bit. I thought, “Nobody wants to see that shit. That’s not sexy.” For as insecure as I may be about appearing damn near completely nude in front of hundreds of people a night, I am just as vain to look my best and hopefully pique the interest of women who will found out for themselves after the show that the gay thing was just for pretend: YA DIG?!
So yes, when the costume designers asked me if I would like to go get some manscaping done for this role, I said, “um…yeah!” Ever since that day I had been getting advice from women I know and trust on what to expect, cuz quite frankly, for a dude, a bikini wax is some bugged out shit! And I had NO IDEA how detailed the process was.
Jeannette: “OK so make sure that the day before you take a couple Advil 3 times a day, then another one about an hour before you go in. First time can be pretty painful.”
Careena: “It hurts like a bitch, dude. I always have a cocktail or two before I get mine done. I mean, don’t be sloppy drunk cuz they won’t like that, but you’re gonna wanna have a nice buzz.”
Lauren: “Oh man, you’re gonna feel so good afterwards! I always have a new pep in my step when I start walking around.”
Katherine: “It’s really not that bad. You’ll be fine.” “
Yeah, I will be fine. I ain’t no bitch! I’m a grown ass man,” I said to myself. But I ain’t retarded. I was all ready to take the Advil. But then the appointment got rescheduled and I forgot. What I did not forget was the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol, ya dig?! But much to my chagrin, a shot and a beer just isn’t as effective as it was when I was 18.
Cut to me, in a swanky salon, classicial music playing in a room with fancy curtains and ambience and shit, sitting in this reclining chair reminiscent of the dentist office (but way more comfortable, AND HEATED, son), with nothing on below my waist other than a little towel to keep me (relatively) decent in front of my wax lady, Meredith.
Honestly, keepin’ it 100, it was not that bad. Yeah, it hurt. True story, I am a hairy 40% Lebanese mutha-ukka, and having hair ripped out from upper thighs to all the way right next to my balls was an hour-long process in which I periodically felt a shocking, briefly intense sting. But the key word here is BRIEF. Each rip happened so quick that it was over before I knew it and Meredith was already smoothing it over with whatever soothing agent she happened to have been using, so the pain never really lingered. And with my pubic hair being so thick, I always knew when to brace myself cuz ol’ girl had to give it a couple of practice tugs just to make sure she was gonna come with enough force to get it all done quickly. So no, your boy DID NOT pull a 40-Year-Old Virgin scream like punk ass Steve Carell. I made no sounds, cuz I ain’t no bitch.
And not for nothing, Meredith was cool as shit. We basically shot the shit the whole time. My homegirl who was in the waiting room for moral support only heard the sounds of me occasionally laughing about whatever we were talking about in that room (there was an anecdote about some dude who couldn’t pee straight because of his Prince Albert that had me in stitches). That definitely made it easier. Well, that, and the fact that I’m sitting there in my Smart Is The New Gangsta T-shirt and a leopard g-string (I eventually put it on so she’d know how much to take off [no, I did NOT get a Brazilian]), getting waxed, occasionally holding my package out of the way, and somehow shooting the shit like none of the above is going on. My eyes did water though when she accidentally caught a sac hair. I can’t even front, that was crazy.
So we get done, Meredith is like, “how do you feel?” I felt pretty. Pause. It was weird. I felt like I could move more freely. There was skin there I just hadn’t felt probably since I was 10. True story though, it was a little tender for a day or two, but not that bad. In fact, it strangely made me feel more comfortable and less naked on stage, because no one could see my pubes. I walked all over that stage in that thong, looking as flamboyantly gay as the script dictated I be. Needless to say hilarity ensued.
So what did I learn from this endeavor? A lot actually. Ladies, I can truly say that I feel your pain. I know what it’s like. I empathize. That said, now I feel like I have more right than ever to take a stand with whichever woman I may be sharing relations with at the time, and demand that you groom the nani! This ain’t the ‘70s! Crotch forests are not cool!!!
I can see the convo now. “You don't know what it's like!” Gotcha b****! Yes I do! Sike I wouldn't have the balls to say that first part...sober. But seriously: now that I understand all that goes into the process (did I mention that my wax took an hour? Most women are in shock and awe when I tell them I was in there for that long. Shorty was like giving me a fade on my thigh and all that so there wouldn't be just a distinct line where the wax job ended. Oh. Yes. She was on her job. Mos def earned her tip. But I've digressed so long that I have to repeat myself), now that I know exactly what it feels like, I have no qualms requesting, with authority, for the nani to come with a shape-up. Ladies, it's the same way you feel about a brother's hair line. If I can't get none with a widow's peak, you can't get none with the Amazon between your thighs. Well. You can. But I'll be much more reluctant to dine in that neighborhood, YA DIG?!?!
Fellas, you may use this testimony in your defense if you feel like I feel. And NO! You don't also have to go down that road that I did. It's really not worth it for us cuz if you're not getting paid for it, as I am, it might a questionable move, and one that does not reap nearly as many rewards as when the ladies do it for us. Like I told you get waxed. No. C-Fo did that so hopefully you wouldn’t have to go through that.
Once More, 2 Ya Door, C4