I don’t often go out for lunch during the work week.  There are a few reasons for this, the first being that there aren’t many people to go out with since the attorneys will only eat with their own kind. Second reason is that it’s tough to get a really healthy and economical sit-down lunch around here. Third is that I often just like to stay in my office and work through lunch.

When I do go out, I usually just grab a soup, sandwich or some such and cart it back to my windowless little cave.  I’m not complaining about the office though, it’s private and thank god for doors. The last place I worked had an open office plan with “touch-down spaces” for your laptop and movable screens to create a sense of “privacy.” The earlier you got to the office, the more screens you could horde and therefore use to build a mighty movable fortress around your little space. Which is why I used to work at home, the territorial warfare was just too stressful.  Plus my screens kept disappearing every time I went to the ladies’ room. Bast-eds.

Where was I again? Right. Lunch.

This morning, while exchanging stories about our weekends, a work friend told me that she and her husband had gone and bought a new car.  Not just any car...this car.  And I was very, very jealous.  You see, Mr. K and I are thinking about trading in my trusty (and paid-for) 2003 Toyota for something more, well, family-sized.  Something that would eventually hold dogs and kids and beach chairs and obscene amounts of tomato plants and perennials. We were being practical and budget-minded, thinking this or this.

But that’s not what I really want.  Oh, no.  These are the cars for which I yearn.

The instructions on this innocent-looking box seemed easy enough. Take out wax strip. Rub between hands to warm. Peel. Apply to area. Rub strip 2-3 times. Pull off and *poof* fuzz-be-gone. (ok that part wasn’t on the box) Sounds simple, no?

Yeah, I was ready to rock and roll.  Rub strip, peel, put on bikini area, rub strip, yank. *Huh* Nothing, no pain, but no removal either.  So I’m thinking maybe I didn’t warm the strip up enough and tried again.

Better. Not great, not smooth, but better. (Now mind you, I’m doing all of this in the bathroom, standing up, pantless, in a sweatshirt, socks and slippers. How’s THAT for a mental image.)

I get the brilliant idea to try the tender crease where your thigh joins your, well, you know. This time I’m a star, furiously warming up that strip in my hands like a desperate craps player betting away the farm on one last dice roll, slapping that sucker on, fixing it to the skin and giving it a good confident rip.

To me, blossom waxing seems to fall in the same category as bathing suit shopping - a whole lot of money for not a lot of product and a whole lot of pain in the process.  Part of me finds it incredible that it costs so much to wax such a small area. The another part is willing to hand over any amount of money to a woman who, minutes before, had my leg slung over her shoulder and my tender bits in shocked full display.

It’s a quandary.

However, my current budget is finding the impact of monthly fees of $50 (plus generous tip I mean, my god, that woman has to wax coochies all day…hopefully it’ll help with the future therapy bills.) a little hard to swallow.  So I’ve decided to travel into dangerous territory.

Self-waxing.

Respect me and even the most menial task is a pleasure.

Disrespect me and even the most interesting work is a burden.

Another entry for self-portrait Wednesday, probably one of the last.  I mean really, there’s only so much self-absorption a girl can handle. Also?  I’m not a terribly creative photographer.

But anyway. This week’s edition was snapped scant moments before the magic happens. Warning: Not suitable for young children or the faint of heart.

I can’t believe I let the whole day go by without sharing this:

I’m just about on my last nerve this morning.  Why do people assume that I have time to drop the 1,839 projects I’m working on to take on someone else’s work?  So far, two people have come to offload work, saying to me “I have too much work to do this.” Like I do?

If it was an attorney making the request, well, that’s a whole different story. I’m supposed to drop stuff to help them out. But it wasn’t.

And another thing? If you need more supplies then I suggest you do what the rest of us do and check around the office instead of expecting me to run around on a scavenger hunt for you.  You think we need a “better process?” I agree.  If you have a better idea I’m all ears.

Thank the power that kick-boxing is tonight.