Brazilians vs Turks

I'm Turkish and I guess I am glad the waxing of the shibshib and c-nut to a silky, smooth hairless, overexposed wonder is not called a Turkish. We Turks have enough to overcome with Midnight Express, cabbies who masturbate while driving and Mehmet Oz, but I digress.

The Brazilian unites. I was at a party on Saturday night and had three wide-eyed, completely enthralled women around me--intently listening to the wonders of how the Brazilian will change your life. And really, it does not hurt that much. They had never before met anyone who actually enjoyed the process...

So, one of the women I got along wonderfully with later Facebooked me and we are now friends. Because of me, she made an appointment to get the Brazilian. Upon seeing her FB picture, I realized that she is a neighbor of a friend of mine. And she has a little boy--that my son once said "fuck you" to.... I wonder if she realizes I am fuck boy's mom....maybe once the Brazilian changes her life, she'll forgive me.

This town is too small.

Reactions to My Blog

"sweet god in heaven...the first blog i've ever followed. it better be good!" --anonymous follower.




(I am feeling the pressure, people. I think I can deliver the goods though.)

TheRapist (Ok not my spelling idea, but it is kind of appropriate)

I went to a therapist recently. He asked me why I was there, what I wanted to get out of it. I told him perhaps it was not good for me to always wish my ex husband would just accidentally drive himself into the Pacific Ocean. He looked at me for a few (enormously long) seconds and cooly said "Why Not?"

I've never looked back.

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