Tag Archives: hair

From Hair to There

I’ve been adrift in a thought-sea for days now.

Just lost in waves and waves of thought.

About me, my future, what next, why now, where to go, who to see, and a million other things.

I can’t write during those times. I get a little discombobulated and things don’t really happen linearly for me. Writing tends to start, then stop, languishing in the land of Unfinished.

There’s probably a dozen drafts I’ve conjured in the last week for this blog, for me. All starting and then hitting a mental dead-end. But they sit there in the hopes of one day getting cranked into reality.

I don’t really feel into writing today, either, but it’s one of those times that needs to be noted. I’ve spent a lot of time lately working out — turning a lot of lost-muscle-flab back into strength and tone. It’s been a hard, hard, full couple of weeks. I’ve made it past the initiation, though.

The returned-to-it pain that comes from going all Olivia Newton-John on my ass and getting physical is finally settling into a full-body strength and intensity that tells me things are changing, and how. Doesn’t hurt anymore, it’s just a new normal of feeling like I can kick all your asses with ease. I kinda like that. Throwdown Steff, yo.

Today’s a pay-off day, too.

Haircut time.

I’ve been slowly growing my hair out since Christmas. In less than two hours, I’ll be under the scissors as someone turns me into a hair model. I get an experienced stylist hacking my overgrown mushroom cloud of a haircut into something fierce and sexy — because my getting-longer thick mane’s made for fierce-sexy — for free. Why? Because I’m a genius and know where to look for such things.

Adversity isn’t something you need to bend over and take like some listless doll. It requires creative thinking, a smiling face, and a willingness to seize chance as it comes. Me, just because I’m unemployed doesn’t mean I can’t be resourceful about how to enjoy elements of life.

Soon, haircut.

There’s really nothing like a new hairstyle for defining who you feel like at any point in time. I don’t know who I’ll look like in 3 hours, but I’ll know that girl really earned that new look.

I need to feel differently when I look in the mirror. There’s something I’m wanting to see looking back at me, and it’s not there yet. I don’t mean a size 4. I don’t mean something hot. It’s not that. There’s just a sparkle in my eye I want to find every time I catch my own gaze.

I want my amusement back. I want my perennial grin.

I have this card on my bookshelf:

I find that smiling makes people wonder what you’re up to.

It’s that going-through-life equivalent of When Harry Met Sally, after Meg Ryan fakes her orgasm in the deli and the old woman (Rob Reiner’s mom) tells the waitress, “I’ll have what she’s having.”

There’s something fun about BEING the person who LOOKS like they’re always having fun. Other people vibe off of that in really interesting ways, and life gets more entertaining and unpredictable as a result of their reactions.

It’s probably something to do with the law of attraction. Look fun, feel fun, and fun finds you.

For me, that starts with a haircut I can really own, something that, when I look in the mirror, I know for realz that that ain’t the girl who was stuck in neutral for a long, long time — just reacting to life rather than shaping it (for a short while, anyhow).

A makeover doesn’t take much, but it sure has a massive impact when your biggest goal is a different you.

My desire to change myself shouldn’t come across as some “Wow, I sure hate ME, so I’m gonna do something about it!” because it’s actually quite the opposite.

I think I’m awesome. I think I’m funny and entertaining as hell when I’m in the right mood. I can be electric. I know what I’m capable of, what I exude, what I can be.

But most of the time I get in my own way.

Because of stupid, stupid insecurities that have taken a lifetime to develop and need to be undone one at a time, in slow and lasting ways.

As time progresses, more and more of those insecurities fall away. Since my weight’s increased and not been lost in the last year, it ain’t recently about weight or my size.

It’s something internal that’s shifting. That’s how it should be.

A nebulous growth of a new self or worldview, a seedling — small and blooming. That’s real change. It sprouts where you don’t expect it, and it gets along just fine by itself for a while — some inadvertent sun, rain, and away it goes. Then, one day, it needs more and you have to be ready to train it, support it, and give it something to hold to, then it grows taller, and stronger.

That’s kinda where my change is. I’ve sort of got it started, and now I need to define it, make it taller, stronger.

Which is where my head’s been for so long of late.

And today my head gets a new look. My inner self gets a new perspective on its outer self. And change becomes obvious and defined for the first time in a year or two.

All because I get to have a haircut.

For free.

Long hair! Sexy hair. It’ll be awesome. I haven’t had bob-length hair in eight or ten years. Oh, yeah.

So what do you want to change?

Look around.

See what little opportunities for harnessing your life and taking it in a new direction might be waiting for you to discover. If you’re not looking, you won’t see. Pretty simple. Life Through Remedial Math 101.

So, today? This week? Open your eyes. See what you’re missing. Go where it takes you. Enjoy the ride.

I know I am.

Doing My Bit to Curb Surplus Forests

One of the things about suddenly becoming single — in the midst of a harrowing depression — is that I tend to begin to neglect myself. I ran out of hair removal stuff about six weeks ago and have continuously forgotten to buy it every time I’m in a drug store. Finally, yesterday, I remembered.

Thus, I have taken to my bush like Weyerhauser in the Amazon, my friends. Clearcut, baby. (Okay, I lie. I favour the landing strip. There are some things I just won’t do to my clit, you know?)

There’s something nice about going to bed all sexed up even when I know it’s just a solo show this evening. I don’t care.

I know there are some guys who favour the bush look, but ugh. No. Just can’t do it. The funny thing is, I’ve never been into ridding all the hair beyond the bikini line until the last couple years. Now I love it. It feels cleaner. There’s nothing like hair down there, and panties, and a pair of jeans, and SITTING on it all to make you feel like you’ve got some groin-area sweatbox going on. I love a shorn twat in a pair of jeans. It feels great. Much, much better. It also makes sleeping naked a little more fun ‘cos I’m more susceptible to breezes and such.

Yeah, I used to be a very Amazonian woman. Strange how drastically I’ve changed that way. I guess the moral is to never presuppose something’s not for you until you’ve tried it.

Anyhow, I have nothing more to say. I’m naked, ready for bed, and things are liable to get much more entertaining than if I were sitting here tapping out words for you to digest.

Which brings to mind a great saying from one of my favourite writers, Truman Capote: The good thing about masturbation is that you don’t have to get dressed up for it. (And Steff ads: Or make dinner, or wash the sheets, or sleep on the wet spot, or pay the bill, or say the right thing, or laugh at jokes you’ve missed the punchline on, or make sure you’re not caught eyeing some sexy beast across the road, or… or… or…)

My bed no longer beckons. It bellows. So, adieu.

RANT: Another Fucking Bad Hair Day

I should be leaving for an appointment right this very second, but I’m SO mad! I HATE my hair.

There is nothing worse (esteem-wise) than bad hair days. Except maybe bloating days, but We Don’t Talk Of Such Things.

I splurged. I came into a few bucks and went to my fancy-pants expensive hair guy, paid him a ridiculous $65 about 3-4 weeks ago now, and got the cut I have. Which I hate. And in the process? Had to put up with the dresser being, essentially, a stereotypical “pissy queen.”

My best friend is GayBoy. I love him to death. Gay? Not an issue. But standing there and being a negative, pissy bitch of a man while getting paid more per hour than I’ve ever gotten is pretty much a fucking affront to anyone. Worth it, MAYBE, for a good haircut.

Which this is not. Unusual for my fancy-pants coif-man, but there it is: It SUCKS.

And because he spent the whole fucking hour whining at me about life and people and traumas, I won’t be going back.

Know what? Here’s a fuckin’ memo: Shrinks get $120 an hour, or more, to listen to people bitch, piss, and moan. Know why? Because they fucking DESERVE it. Whiners suck! Issues suck! Who wants to hear them? Not many people. That’s what best friends and lovers are for. Not fucking hair-dressers!

Now I’m gonna make myself even later by dunking my head under the tap and hoping it dries in better positions when I put my motorcycle helmet on. Fucking people. $65 for a whine-at-me session and a bad haircut.

When I say I like to get screwed, that’s not exactly what I have in mind. GRR!

To Shave, or Not to Shave?

erotica_scoop

That is the question.

My answer is, absolutely. I just spent some quality time taking care of nature’s overgrowth before a long hot soak in the tub with a little oil. It feels great.

Depubing your privates goes a long way to improving sex. Personally, not only does a guy’s facial stubble enhance my oral experience, but so does being relatively hairless where it counts.

I’ve said it before, oral puts the pleasure in sex. For me, there’s nothing quite so enthralling as well-done oral. (Of course, a girl can’t live on oral alone.)

But oral can be a dirty job. In which case, I say: Run like the fucking wind.

Let’s face it. Better hygiene gets you better service.

Spelunking can be downright nasty when you don’t know what you’re about to encounter. This is true of cavernous spaces as well as muff and cock.

Now, I realize hair is natural. There are those who will wax poetic about keeping your pubes intact. In fact, once upon a time, I used to preserve my forests. It wasn’t a moralistic thing, though. It was all about razor burn.

It’s bad enough to have razor burn anywhere on your body, but to have it between your legs, in the folds of the skin, is damned unnecessary.

That’s one of the problems with “maintenance.” For those of us with sensitive skin, it can be a chore. Fortunately, thanks to lovely chemists and chemicals, the gods of the Bunsen burner have made it possible to go mostly hairless without the nasty skin reactions.

So the question is, why should anyone resort to harsh chemicals, razor burn, waxing, or electrolosys just to remove hair that belongs where you found it?

Because there ain’t no food group that includes hair. Because there are better ways to floss.

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Now, I enjoy giving head. I do. If the guy is clean and trimmed, that is. Hygiene means I’ll go the extra mile to give that extra special service. If things ain’t spiff? You’re banished to the quickie lane, my friends. Trust me, it’s better I linger and do a little detailing. But do your share.

Body odor? Don’t even pass go. Too hairy down there? I’ll be cut off at the path.

After all, oral pleasure isn’t about routine. It’s about moving around and applying pressure, sucking, nibbling, licking, and massaging all over the region. It’s not about just the head or the clit. It’s about the inner thighs and everything in between. Without excessive hair, a lover feels more like roaming and nibbling. Face it, skin tastes awesome. Hair, not so much.

Besides, too much hair robs you of some great sensations.

For example, that tingling, arousing feeling that hits you when your partner pauses mid-oral, and you’re sopping from a mixture of saliva and your juices, and they lean almost completely in, hovering, and breathe long, hot, slow breaths onto your your moist skin, causing this titillating mix of hot/cold that’s enhanced by their breathy breeze. It’s like the perfect day at the beach.

These days, I may not “shave” per se, but I’m very well trimmed. I praise the makers of Veet and other fine products for making my life a little more comfortable and sexy. I can’t believe I ever tolerated the bushlands, because I now find it itchy and the wrong kind of moist. I enjoy the extra attention my lovers give me.

That said, I gotta say, it’s nice to see more guys caring about their coiffs now. If it helps to do the job better…

After all, it’s very empowering to deliver quality oral, and taking the long, twisted, scenic route makes it all the more rewarding.

When proper forestry practices are maintained, of course.