Ahh Me So Hairy, Me Shave You Long Time

Woke up to a beautiful morning, smiled when I looked over at my beautiful Adonis of a son who slept with me last night (shhhh… don’t judge, he’s a good cuddler…), who was peacefully passed out cold.  Happy and well rested, I sat up and gave a big stretch, bending my chin to my chest and… oh my God.  OH MY GOD!  Is that… holy shit!!


hairy-armpit-womanWhere I live… well, not out here in the spray tan ‘burbs…but the general region… there are a lot of twig-eatin’, dirt worshipin’, braless nipple draggin’ women who think au naturel is a beautiful thing.  You know the type.  They ride their goofy Mary Poppins bikes to their job at a non-profit, wear pumpkin colored ankle length skirts made of hemp and smell of B.O., a recent romp in the hay, and patchouli.

That reminds me of when I used to do Bikram yoga.  Bikram is a kind of yoga that is practiced for 90 minutes in a room heated to approximately 105 degrees and 40 percent humidity.  The result?  You will sweat your balls off and if you don’t have balls your ovaries will do almost anything to escape your body and run from the balmy, scorching room screaming for mercy.  There was a cute little granola muncher and her yogi boyfriend that were frikking Bikram rockstars that often attended the late morning class.  As my legs were quivering like a bowl of lime Jello placed on a washer during the spin cycle and my hands unable to hold my foot in Standing Head to Knee Pose, slippery with literally GALLONS of my own sweat, those two were doing the move with expert grace while holding hands and doing pirouettes.  Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but you know what I mean.

I noticed that other people in the class would clear the area when those two entered the studio.  Silly naive me assumed it was because they were so fucking genius at the 26 poses that it was a narcissistic thing.  Bikram is performed in front of a wall of mirrors and God knows you don’t want to watch your own fat ass struggling to get into Bow Pose unable to actually locate your feet above your head in order to grasp them, while little Helen Hippie Buns does it in one swift move looking bored and nonplussed.

bow_poselYeah.  You do that pose while sweating your ovaries out.  Hell, give it a whirl without the sweat, I double dog dare you, toughy pants.

So anyway, one day they roll in and take a place on the floor just in front of me.  I’m thinking what the hell, if I have them to compare my positions to maybe I’ll learn, maybe I’ll improve.  Rather than relocate to another place in the room, I chose to stay put.  While lying in first savasana (basically lying there waiting for the instructor to bless you with her military cop presence while your body adjusts and relaxes in the heat) I happened to look up and for the first time up close saw Helen Hippie Buns’ feet resting mere inches from my head.

My eyes scanned up to her calves.

And thighs.

And armpits.

Holy hairy fuck!  I have never seen so much fur since I walked past the grooming station at Pet Smart!

hairy-face (1)

As I’m trying to process how a female homosapien could produce such a lovely mane of hair in her armpits, bad cop/Bikram instructor marches in with her headset and begins barking orders (no pun intended).  If you’ve done Bikram yoga you know there’s nothing zen about it.  It’s more like a military drill instructor kicking and berating your sweaty ass in the dusty streets of India.  No candles, incense, or twinkly music.  Think perspiration drenched death march through hell.  We are up and doing poses.  The room begins to steam with the additional body heat being generated.  And then the fan in the corner oscillates, passing in front of Helen Hippie Buns, with me quietly cussing my way through the poses just behind her.

Um.  Ew.  Just… wait… what IS that?!… EWWWWWWWWWWWW!

Three poses into the 26 pose set (that you have to hold twice so make that 6 poses into 52!!) I realize why the room shifts position when Helen Hippie Buns and her faux yogi loverboy join the class.  It’s not narcissism.  It’s not intimidation at their mad hot yoga skills.

It’s eau du granolette.  It’s the new Italian fragrance from Composto Pileano.

It is full on gagworthy.

What girlfriend has in mad hot yoga skills, she completely lacks in the basic skill of BATHING.  You know.  That really complicated shit you teach your kid to do when he’s, oh, I don’t know… FOUR YEARS OLD?!  The girl can probably go frikking spider monkey in an intensely challenging yoga class that kicks most everyone’s ass but she can’t fucking handle a bar of SOAP?!

Not to mention I’m pretty sure loverboy had given her a lovely, spiritually connecting morning of tantric sex prior to coming to class… if you know what I mean.


Somehow I managed to make it through that gut wrenching 90 minutes.  I recall holding my breath every time the fan passed our direction.  How I didn’t pass out from lack of oxygen or nausea I’ll never know… the human body is an amazing machine.  An amazing machine that sometimes needs a shower, a bar of Irish Spring, a bottle of Head and Shoulders shampoo, and a Venus razor blade, for Chrissakes.

Well, heck, this post went totally rogue on me.  When I realized I needed to shave my armpits it inspired me to write a post about the wonderful parts of living manless… instead, I introduced you to Helen Hippie Buns and probably scared you away from ever trying Bikram yoga.  But if you do…. avoid the hairy girl.

31 thoughts on “Ahh Me So Hairy, Me Shave You Long Time

  1. Soap works!! lol It is so hot and humid in Kansas today, that I could go out and do bikram yoga on the sidewalk in front of my office. But why in the name of all things air conditioning would I want to do that?? I hope you were inspired to shave your pits after writing this!! hahaha

  2. While I’m all for a woman doing the same job as me getting paid the same as me and such, I freely admit that sans hairy pits and legs is my preference. I was on a treadmill a few months back at a police station gym and a female commander laid down with her feet towards me and started doing sit ups. “HOLY FUCK!” i screeched before I could catch myself. When she inquired as to what the problem was, I told her I thought there was a tarantula in the room, but I was mistaken. Lol! I

  3. Hairy men yes, hairless no. Hairy women, No, I know I should be all for equality but No. When I used to teach adults to swim this one lady used to come to the pool. The fluff bulged outside her swim togs and her leg hair could have been styled and combed. Not a pretty sight.

    • Oh Tric, that was a visual I did not need! (However, Helen Hippie Buns was also blessed with a lovely “fluff” as well… I just didn’t want to gross anyone out TOO much by including that little detail, but you went there. :))

  4. that was hysterical and something I could SO relate to.
    by the way I wear patchouli! lol, BUT, I do have basic (and then some, hygiene down pat!)
    I have done Bikram yoga and have inhaled my share of people au naturel all around me.
    I love your description–Mary Poppins bike, wearing their pumpkin colored skirt to their non-profit job, so funny!! Reminds me of a trip I took to Oregon one year…love your blog!

    • Ok now. Let me just say, a little patchouli on a tidy woman can smell quite nice. It’s the women that use it by the bucket in lieu of bathing and to cover up their lady smells or to try and dupe us into thinking they don’t REALLY reek of weed that gets me! 🙂

  5. Dirty hippie yogi stank is the worst. No matter how much I focus on my breath and a mantra, I just cannot get past it. I finally broke down and bought a bottle of lavender yoga mat spray. I douse my mat in it to creak a barrier of lavender between me and the (literal) stinkers.

  6. Ok. that second paragraph was pure gold. I don’t know where you live, but here in Marin county, just north of San Francisco, you are either artificially inflated, artificially tooth-whitened, artificially tanned and driving down the middle of two lanes in your Range Rover with your phone in one hand and the other waving out the window to dry your new french manicure; or you are that paragraph. Thanks for making my day, I would like to reblog this thing, if you don’t mind.

  7. oh, i forgot, is that a pic of you combing your armpit? I mean its gotta be, right? I realize there is a lot of porn and stuff on the internets, but this? Surely not this! please?

  8. Reblogged this on TheDailyWyatt and commented:
    This is one funny lady. The second paragraph is a jewel:
    “Where I live… well, not out here in the spray tan ‘burbs…but the general region… there are a lot of twig-eatin’, dirt worshipin’, braless nipple draggin’ women who think au naturel is a beautiful thing. You know the type. They ride their goofy Mary Poppins bikes to their job at a non-profit, wear pumpkin colored ankle length skirts made of hemp and smell of B.O., a recent romp in the hay, and patchouli.”
    That is painting such a vivid picture with words that it borders on porn.
    Give it a read, it’s worth it.

  9. Lol, lol!, LMAO..I’m laughing in part due to the pics & because I can relate..Started to post on this topic before; just to releaseeeee the frustration, but didn’t quite know where to begin. But OMG some days I feel SO high maintenance as a woman..oddly enough just said that last night while I was polishing my toe nails. IS there ever a time we, as women, don’t have something to shave?!??? Genetically my hair grows fast; EVERYWHERE. Seems the minute I finish shaving, honest-to-God, hair starts springing up quietly somewhere else on my body. Lawd! Thankfully only the main parts(and no hidden parts I can’t reach; although I’m pretty limber..but even thats time consuming. And?! don’t let the hair start to come in and NO free time to shave..I hate that prickly feeling. What a topic to write about lolllll Had this debate before with women older than me..To shave or not to shave. I think its a generational thing..From my generation and ON we are loving our right to shave it OFF. Just feeeeeeels fresher & cleaner. Know why:? Because it IS.

  10. Heh. Nice writing. Picture makes me momentarily wonder if I’ve been kidnapped and trapped in Arcata. No offense to Arcata, but you know it’s a statistically valid statement. Patchouli and unshaven armpits both.

  11. I could do the pose in your second photo until I was 43. At that point I spent ten days in Magnitogorsk on the edge of Siberia in December, and my back went out (long story). Now my four kids have to listen to me say, “I used to be able to do that.” Drives them nuts.
    As for those without a sense of smell or cleanliness, yes, I have met a few. Do they really think no one notices? Holding your arms tight against your pits does not contain the odor. And neither does talking with your mouth almost closed; brush the pudding off your yellow teeth.
    Love the way you write, Cordelia. You have a wry, dry sense of humor.

  12. Pingback: All Twisted Roads Lead to Me… Apparently | Cordelia's Road Trip

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