This is my weblog. I don't know what exactly I'm after here, but ready, set, go.

There are a lot of noteworthy things going on in my little world right now, any one of which might make a good post. For example, my brother moved away today. My baby brother, in a big U-Haul with his girlfriend in the passenger seat and his little car rolling along behind, headed for Texas. He graduated from college two weeks ago and now he’s off to do a grown-up job. This is noteworthy. I could write about this. Don’t feel like it, though.

Other things I don’t feel like writing about tonight, but will definitely show up later:
-The past two years of my life, in which I was a brave and noble Peace Corps volunteer, bringing the light of Outcomes Based Education to rural South Africa. Ha. (note: according to that Sargent Shriver fellow, the first director of the Peace Corps back in the 60’s, the word ‘volunteer’ is supposed to be ‘Volunteer’ in this context. I just can’t do it though. First, it’s not a proper noun in any way. Also, the capitalization makes me think of that crazy Jefferson Airplane song. "VOL-un-TEERS of A-MER-ica-ah-ah!" No thanks.

-The next three years of my life, in which I will be a law student.

-The upcoming summer in between, in which I will work at a very cool summer camp.

Rather than documenting any of these interesting and relatively normal things, at the moment I think I’ll write something about … um … body hair. Just one of the random and not-normal things I think about when I’m bored. Which I am. Extremely.

Women have body hair. This is a normal and natural part of life, since we are mammals. Apparently the function of said hair involves pheromones in some way. I don’t know. That’s just what I’ve heard.

Anyway, different cultures respond differently to this body hair, and in our culture, much of it is generally removed. Usually chopped off at skin level using a razor, at alarmingly regular time intervals. Like daily. Highly inconvenient. I prefer waxing, for the following reasons:

1.) When you wax, you really feel like you’re doing something. It’s a bit like ironing a shirt that’s extra wrinkled, or power-washing a very old deck (something I did last week). These are great tasks, because you can see serious results. Frumpy shirt is instantly crisp and professional-looking! Old, moldy wood looks new again! Gross hairy pits are suddenly smooth, sexy “underarms!” Painful, yes. But strangely satisfying too.

2.) It lasts weeks. Lots of weeks.

3.) Eliminates that dark hair “shadow” that non-blondes can have in the underarm region, even when freshly shaven. I am not a blonde. I don’t even pretend to be one.

4.) In between waxings, it is necessary to let hair grow out a bit. This is sometimes inconvenient, depending on what’s going on in my life and what sort of clothing I want to wear. Nonetheless, when it’s convenient (usually winter), I like it. It reminds me of my days as a river guide when being a little bit hairy was in, or at least totally acceptable, and everyone was pretty much enjoying life a lot, all the time.

Well, if my goal here is to tell the world how strange I am, or how much I like things in list form, that ought to suffice. Good thing NO ONE is reading this. :-)