2025.042
At the gym a stranger shares his thoughts on my workout posture as I do my dumbbell curls. He tells me to bend my knees when I lift & I say thanks but I feel like if I bend my knees after what he said, it means I listen to men I don't know. & I guess there's nothing wrong with taking advice from men I don't know but the advice from men I know is already an overflow in my life. I tell A about this & he says maybe(most definitely) my posture was awkward. I get furious.
Living in the age of Kendrick in bootcut denim & Trump presidency 2.0, plus sort of moving in with A, I feel like I'm an inch away from my mother's death, my great grandmother's resurrection, a miscarriage, & a spiritual awakening. I was a sick woman in January but no longer. I'm staying hot & I'm staying nimble– I type as I take a sip of my cold decaf coffee & check if it's time to head out for my appointment (waxing my vagina)
After almost 2 years of monthly brazilian I can confidently say it's better than a visit to your gyno but spreading your legs under intense overhead lighting is solid 15 minutes of discomfiture. Now that I reside in Bushwick I have to try a new wax center & say goodbye to my Bedstuy waxer who has heard about all my foreign & domestic travels. My new waxer H is nice & we don't talk much at all. I tip the same amount I always tip & wonder if I should've tipped my former waxer more since she had to listen to my takes on Canadian McFlurry & was kind enough to share her takes on bars in Boston.
With Valentine's day looming, I'm in a curious & girly spirit, ankle-deep in the slutty side of substack. & I still don't have a grasp on how to style my hair since the haircut & look rather exceptionable but my forearms are getting kinda huge & butch.