Three Years Later

Hello,

I have slunk out from under my moss-covered cave once more to write. I don't think anyone actually reads this blog, but this is mostly just my online diary, in any case.

(If you are reading this blog, welcome [back]. Yes, I'm still alive.)

I now live in Edmonton, where it is cold and dark 75% of the year. Hence, I am grumpy 75% of the year. But spring has sprung, so here I am to stretch these writing muscles after so much hibernation.

Speaking of hibernation, bears. Speaking of bears, they are furry. As am I. Segue into another story about waxing. *applause*

I am still as hairy as ever, so one would imagine that I am fertile, hormone-abundant, full of health and vitality, all other virtues of perfection, etc., etc..

Yet, when I went into my local salon to wax my winter layers away, please explain why I apologized thrice to my aesthetician for being so unkempt. So shaggy.

To be fair to myself, by societal standards, I was the embodiment of Planet of the Apes. I am gifted with thick, coarse, black hair that likes to stand strong and proud instead of lie flat (those non-submissive little bastards! - how dare they reflect my own personality?).

As much as I like to think I don't care how I look as a woman, I clearly still carry this subconscious shame that I grow hair. Which is ridiculous. It's like saying:
"Sorry I have eyebrows, eyelashes, and hair on my head," or,
"Sorry I have nails, they just won't stop growing!" or,
"Sorry my skin is tan in colour."

I have body hair because I am a female who has passed puberty (physically - mentally is another thing). It grows and I cannot help it. Neither should I have to stop this growth (laser treatments, anyone?), nor should I have to remove it (yet I do), nor should I feel bloody embarrassed about it (yet I do). Dafuq?

Pretty sure I've already discussed this on my blog, but this is my 2017 take on it. So suck it.

K bye.

Psht, FREEZING is my middle name!

I've lived in Canada for 15.5 years and every single year, I completely underestimate how cold it becomes as winter approaches. I always assume that the transition between seasons is a subtle art that happens with a drop of one degree (Celsius) per day until it's just blatantly cold and winter-esque. Darn you, linear models, for not applying to reality!

I have this one jacket that I'm pretty sure was made solely for looking good and nothing else. I think the designer had a fabulous idea, but didn't realize we are situated near polar bear habitats, thereby including zero amounts of insulation inside. But because it is so stylin', I keep wearing it and figure if I concentrate hard enough, tufts of wool and cashmere will grow into the lining. And I figure if I look hot, heat will automatically be generated, bahaha.

As you may know, humans are mammals and we all have hair on our bodies, i.e. FUR. And let me tell you what a wonderful mechanism it is. After undergoing any hair removal procedure, I can literally feel a decline in body temperature. In light of such revelation, I would like to take this moment to appreciate my body fur for being a free and sustainable form of heat retention. Be green, be hairy!

Also, I have calculated that I smell the most vile after two days of not showering. I know ladies are generally assumed to smell like daisies and strawberry ice cream, but we too are capable of generating body odour. I've decided that it can be used as a superpower to deter anyone you choose! It's like a mosquito repellent but for humans!

I am not condoning smelling bad, just that it's a natural function, so don't worry about those days when flowers wilt as you walk by :).
On the flip side, cleaning yourself is also a highly enjoyable activity. I suggest taking note of how fulfilling it is to glide deodorant onto clean armpits.

Anyway. This is about as un-ladylike as I get, but I'm sure it is only adding to my charm... :|.