The Wax Museum

Austin Powers has always been a bit of an inspiration to me.

The reasons:

A) He has crooked teeth and a hairy chest - just like I do.

B) He gets girls even with those repulsive traits - just like I would like to do.

You see, Austin Powers made me believe I could get a girl despite having teeth a gorilla would be ashamed of and chest hair it'd be jealous of.  Mr. Powers brought hope to my lonely heart.

And then Nathan Ballard took it.

"That was in the 70's man. Girls were different back then."

Oh yeah. Crap.

Thus I came to a crossroad in my life. To win a girlfriend I had to remedy one of these problems via braces or a chest waxing. Helping me decide between the two options were the facts that

1) I hate dentists (orthodontists, whatever)
2) my younger sister needed someone to wax for her college class, and
3) it would cost me nothing to have the wax job done.

Thus it was that I decided to follow Robert Frost down the road less traveled. (You can monitor my facebook relationship status to see if it makes 'all the difference'.)

For your convenience I kept a running diary (Bill Simmons style) of the waxing in its entirety, starting at 2:25 p.m, when I left work to go to my sister's class.

2:25
Me:  "Hey boss, is it alright if I get off work a couple hours early today?"
Boss:  "Yeah, that's fine. What are you heading off to?"
Me:  "Well, nothing much, just stuff, you know, getting my chest waxed."
Boss:  (Silence)

Note to future accountants: this is not the best way to build credibility among your pocket-protected peers.

3:00
Arrive at the classroom. The instructor remarks that my hair may need to be trimmed beforehand if it's too long. I remove my shirt. "Yup, someone bring me the scissors," she commands. Ugh. Off to a bad start.

3:08
Four college girls rub hot, sticky goo onto my stomach. Hmmm. Not such a bad start after all.

3:08
I realize one of these girls is my sister. Man, I really need to get Lasik.

3:11
One of the girls informs me that I will not be able complete my dream of having all my chest hair removed and treasured on one giant strip. Sorry mom, you won't be getting that rug I talked about for Christmas after all.

3:14
Attractive girl:  "Here's a hand towel. You can bite it or mop your eyes with it once we start pulling."
Me:  (Gulp)

3:17
After 24 years of peaceful living, the first six-inch strip of hair is ripped from my skin. Pain. Blood. Agony. Why would you do this to me attractive girl?!? Whyyyyy!?!

3:25
Tattoo Girl:  "Getting a tattoo on your chest hurts a lot more you know."
More hairs extracted. More dots of blood.
Me:  "I don't believe you."

3:33
On the bright side, my upper chest is completely hair free.
On the dark side, I may be missing a nipple.

3:33
Phew. Still attached.

3:42
Instructor: "Sweat is our enemy. Cool him down with the fan."
How bout that? Apparently having burning wax glued to my body and then yanked off makes me sweat. You learn something new every day.

3:55
50 strips, 55 minutes, 1 pint of sweat and 4 girls later, my stomach is almost done being weeded. Maybe if I'd thought of this a year ago there would no such thing as Sister Deem ...

4:02
Mission complete. My stomach is as smooth as a rock. Well, a soft, pudgy rock anyway. Regardless, Chester the molester is no more.

I would include a pre-wax picture here for comparison, but this is a family-friendly site.

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The most frequent question I've been asked post-waxing is if I thought the procedure was worth it. I respond that it was painful. It was embarrassing. I now itch all the time. And true, my man-breasts are more prominent than ever, being no longer concealed by hair. But, yes, it was worth it in every sense.

Anything that gets you off work early always is.

Sheriff Doug

“Well, time to go to my softball games.”

Once you're done reading this you'll understand why that's my favorite quote of all-time.

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The summer of 2008 led my parents on a cross country trip  to various church history sites. The one week voyage included stops in New York, Pennsylvania, Canada, and Ohio. The night they were to fly home, their flight was canceled. Passengers slept in the airport. My mom secured a spot on one of the rows of chairs, while my dad picked out a nice area on the floor. They eventually made it home, and 5 minutes after the 4,500-mile journey, the tile bed, and the 5-hour flight, my dad dropped his luggage in his room and uttered the now famous words:

“Well, time to go to my softball games.”

He changed, grabbed his mitt, and was gone. Off to a double-header.

If I were him I would’ve gone to sleep. You probably would’ve too. I don’t even think A-Rod would’ve been willing to play a game at that point. But my dad was.

The 7-day trip didn’t tire him. Neither did the jet lag. Or the lack of food. So I guess I should’ve figured that sleeping on the floor of the airport wouldn’t stop him either. And that is why I admire my dad so much. He works so hard in everything he does. Doesn’t matter if it’s preparing proposals at work, weeding the garden or playing second base. Somehow the person I know who works the hardest is the same person I know who gets tired the least.

I don’t know where all his energy comes from. I never see this guy take a nap. When we’re on vacation at Bear Lake, he doesn’t lay out and tan on the beach – he spends hours building sand castles.

When I go to shoot baskets at the church he comes along so he can mop the gym floor once we’re done. He’s one of the biggest BYU football fans I know yet he doesn’t go to their games. Why? Because if he went to the game he’d lose the “free” time he has Saturday to mow the lawn, fix the sprinklers, or do other fun tasks like preparing church lessons for 12-year old boys who don’t pay attention.

My dad must really understand what President Eyring once said:

“Your inheritance is time. It is capital far more precious than any lands or stocks or houses you will ever get. Spend it foolishly, and you will bankrupt yourself and cheapen the inheritance of those that follow you. Invest it wisely, and you will bless generations to come.”

This quote makes my dad the best investor I’ve ever met. Surprisingly, he doesn’t work on Wall Street.

This ability to invest time wisely and work like the energizer bunny is what has made my dad a success from every angle you could shoot from. Family-wise, every one of his kids turned out normal (with the exception of the writer of course). At church there were no cheers when he was released as Bishop (well, my mom was happy but I think she was the only one). He’s been so successful in his career that his reputation alone landed me my first accounting gig at his previous employer (5 months later I’m still meeting people who tell me how great a co-worker he was). At age 55, he’s still good enough to play second base for his softball team. And as seen above you can count on him to show up under even the most ridiculous of circumstances.

As Sheriff Doug celebrated his 55th  birthday, I though a bit about the phrase, “like father like son.”

I only wish I could be like him.

A Pit-iful Post

To avoid unwanted questions, judgments, or rumors one must use caution when applying deodorant in the workplace.

Especially if this happens to be your preferred stick:

And you are male.

In retrospect, I can't remember why I needed to smell well for my aged, male, tax hound co-workers anyway. Guess I just don't like going about my business while knowing I stink. Regardless, my experience in stealth application led me to a step-by-step process that you too can follow if you happen to be without protection in the workplace.

step 1 - Create a distraction by jamming the group printer.

step 2 - Recline in chair until shirt becomes naturally un-tucked.

step 3 - Conceal deodorant in hand using Hindu palming technique.
(First-timers may want to practice with travel size versions)

step 4 - Scatter loose change away from cubical as additional distraction.
(tax men love loose change)

step 5 - Scout area to ensure solitude.

step 6 - Nonchalantly position hand under shirt making sure not to smear deodorant on clothing.

step 7 - Perform rapid strokes. Max of two per pit. Withdraw.

step 8 - Tuck in shirt.

step 9 - Recover loose change if at all possible.

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Hopefully these tips will be as effective for you as they were for me. If not, at least I now know what it would have been like to be earn a technical writing degree.

Additionally, similar steps of stealth are suggested when scratching one's crotch.