**NEW PAINTING**: Hawaiian Hibiscus Flower by Artist, Whitney Madison

 

I decided to get all rowdy and make my new painting bold, and bright. I have really been missing Hawaii, and decided that my next painting was going to be a giant Hawaiian hibiscus flower.  Bright metallic reds, and yellows, with pink and pearl white accents. Fully texturized in my signature style. This is in an acrylic medium. High gloss glazed for protection. :)

 

To view my other artwork, please visit my online art gallery at

www.etsy.com/shop/arcticbarbiegirl

 

Custom orders welcome.

Beauty And The Hair Removal Beast: One Blonde Girl's Journey Through Laser Brazilian Hair Removal

 

So, I totally realize that some of you are like, "Oh, crap...here we go! Whitney is talking about bikini waxing on her blog...AGAIN!!!" But really, if you missed the first installment of my endorsement for the Brazilian bikini wax in my earlier blog titled, "The Thrill of Brazil--Taking The Taboo Out Of Bikini Waxing", then you can probably handle what is about to go down here.

 

I love my wax girl. Not like, "OMG...I totally think my wax girl is hot!!!" Her wax is hot, but I don't roll that way.

 

Anyway, I have been getting consistent Brazilian bikini waxings, every four weeks, for approximately the past 4 years. I've been through many waxers (the preferred title is "Cerologist"--AKA scientists of ripping your pubes out by the roots with hot wax and watching you yelp). I finally found one that was AWESOME. I've been going to her for years. We have long chats during my 45 minute wax sessions. I lie there naked, and we chat as if we're old friends having tea. It's a little weird, but definitely a sign of the times. This is normal human behavior ever since most of Hollywood went hairless and made us all feel like yetis.

 

I had never thought of waxing until one of my best gal pals was sitting there chatting with me during dinner one night and said, "Oh Whit! You have to get "the wax"!!! It's so freeing! No more shaving! And goodness knows I don't want my hoo ha looking like Buckwheat trying to stick his head through a coin slot! No hair for this girl! You HAVE to try it!!!"

 

So I did. And I never went back. Once you go bald, you can never go back. Mostly because if you did it would feel like stuffing a Sasquatch into your cute Victoria's Secret thong panties--Ewwwww! As if!!!!

 

"So Whitney--If you are so thrilled with your Brazilian waxings, then why are you making us read though this painful blog?"

 

I'm glad you asked. Hey, I'm not in this to make all of you suffer. I AM here to EDUCATE you on a little something I am now calling, "Waxing v. Laser of the Greater Brazilian Area".

 

I got super tired of paying a metric boatload of cash to get waxed every month. I've been hearing commercials on the radio about all these new pop-up laser hair removal centers, and I decided that, instead of waxing from now until the day I die, I was just going to annihilate the stupid monkey fluffer hairs forever. I WAS GOING TO GET THEM ZAPPED OFF, AND THEY WOULD NEVER RETURN!!!! At least that's what it said on the laser people's website.

 

So, I signed up. I committed to 8-12 laser treatments over the next 12-18 months. Why? Because even though waxing is a good "temporary solution" to the hair growth problem, it keeps coming back, and I will have to keep going every 4 weeks until I'm too ugly to care if there is a forest growing in my pants. That's a lot of money, honey! However, the laser?--that is a permanent solution! And it costs the same as my monthly waxings, so I decided I really wasn't losing anything by taking the plunge into Laser Land.

 

I had my first treatment today. I didn't think too much of it until I walked into the office and heard loud noises coming from the back rooms. It was at that time that I heard my privates start screaming in my head, "Whitney! Run away! Run while you can!!!"

 

I didn't run. I had signed a contract, and paid for it, so I tried to ignore the voices, and started filling out my new client paperwork.

 

The paperwork was interesting. Ok, it scared the living hell out of me. Burning? Blisters? Skin peeling? WHAT THE CRAP!!!!??? I had to talk myself back down. It was going to be ok. I was not going to be a giant wuss...

 

Wait...what is this? What is this right by the signature part? "Client will allow photographs to be taken to keep on the chart for comparison of before and after progress. These photos may be used by the company to then promote laser treatment through various forms of media." WHAT?????? ARE YOU SH*TTING ME?

 

Ok...FOCUS! Get a hold of yourself, girl!!!! It's just your private parts!!!! Who cares if the whole world sees them--RIGHT? Um...(still having internal conflict with this, but still faced with non-refundable payment for 8-12 laser treatments). Fine. My genitalia, is your genitalia, Laser Treatment People. Or as they say in Mexico, "Mi coño, es su coño." You'll have to look that up if you want to know what I just said, Gringo peeps.

 

So I signed. If you see someone's hoo ha on a billboard, and it's ugly, it was probably the lady who went before me. Just kidding. Actually, I rationalized signing my life and photo rights to my privates away by deciding that I wouldn't worry about it unless someone actually tried to come after me with a camera while I was naked. I'm mean, really--I'm not the first person to get a laser Brazilian, so their photo album is probably already full, right?

 

So into the office I went. The first thing I saw was a GIANT machine that looked like it had one of those high power pressure washer guns they have at do-it-yourself car washes lying on top of it. I was like, "Holy damn...is that a semi-automatic?" I felt like crossing my legs and hopping out the door.

 

However, reluctantly, I took my skirt off. I got my half-naked self up onto the chair that was lined with that crunchy paper, and covered up with the giant paper napkin that they gave me. They even gave me the option of wearing paper underwear, but I decided that was just way too kinky, and too much to process with everything else going on. They could just deal with me going commando. On top of the paper napkin were some huge, green, thick-lensed glasses that I had to put on.

 

So here's where the mental picture stands. Me. Half naked. Crunchy paper under my bum. Giant paper towel on lap. Protective eyewear that makes me look like a huge fly. Giant gun waiting to blast pubic hairs lying on top of machine next to my head. And I'm paying for this. Awesome.

 

My laser person walked in. I don't know what you call them. Maybe we should just call her the "Pube Ablater". She asked if I had any questions. I said, "Yes...DOES IT HURT?" (cuz it sounds HORRIBLE from the waiting room!!!!!). She told me that it was actually only mildly painful. Then she showed me some little hose on the pube laser shooter thingymabobber that blows ice cold air on you while they obliterate your hair folicles with the laser beam. Sweet. I feel much better now. NOT!!!!

 

I was in too deep. I had committed. I had to go through with it.

 

I removed my life-sized Brawny paper towel, and closed my eyes with my giant bug glasses on. I grabbed both sides of the chair. And she began...

 

I felt like I was half naked and getting ready to blast off the launch pad into outer space--only, I didn't have any pants on. It was awkward.

 

ZAP! BLAM! ZZZZZZZ!!!! ZAP!

 

It's getting hot in here.Why does it smell like there's a campfire? Is anyone else getting hot in here?

 

I felt like my hoo ha had hit a bug zapper. It was electrifying. The weird part was, there were some zaps that I barely felt, and others where I felt like a puppy who had just been shot in the butt with a paintball gun (**YIPE!!**). All of the sudden, all of those pictures of the horrible things they wrote in the "side effects" on the entry paperwork came to mind. Blisters. **ZAP!** Burns. **ZAP!** Peeling skin. **ZAP!** OMG...I'm going to need a hoo ha transplant after I get done here. My "thing" is going to look like Freddy Krueger's face!!! I've just cooked my crotch!!!!

 

I was too scared to look down. Besides--my giant bug glasses would've fallen off my tiny pinhead, and then I'd probably need new eyeballs, too.

 

Then came the next part. They come at you with their semi-automatic lightsaber from the backside, too. They put their bug zapper in my bum!!!

 

**ZaaaaAP!**

 

 Great. Now I need a new arse, too.

 

But then, in a flash (ok--50 flashes), IT WAS DONE! 10 minutes, start to finish! Beat the crap out of lying there for 45 minutes for the hot wax! AND I SURVIVED!!!! Bonus! And everything looked like it did before the chick came after me with the gun and the campfire smell started! I didn't see anything out of the ordinary--it looked like my normal privates! Wooo-Hoooooo!!!!!

 

Scary? Yes. Painful? At times. Humiliating? If you are shy about being naked in front of strangers with laser guns--YES. Worth it? Not sure. Since it takes 8-12 visits, I will not know. However, because I have a blog, and nothing is off limits on here--

 

I'LL LET YOU KNOW!!!

 

However, cost-wise, and getting a permanent solution to this unwanted hair thing is worth it in my opinion. 

 

If it works, I will subject more body parts next!!! I would love to stop shaving my legs! On average it takes me 20-30 minutes to shower, so I would cut that time in half and be able to live more life, right? ;)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



To All My Fellow Nurses...HAPPY NURSES WEEK!

First of all--HAPPY NURSES WEEK!!!!

 

Second of all--yes, I really did make this card for all of you nurses. I'm just that clever. I've pondered quitting my day job (ok--night job), and becoming a professional "Someecards" writer, but as luck would have it, the nursing world still seems to need me.

 

I've spent a few moments reflecting on my career today. It does happen to be Monday, and it really is "Nurses Week". We can't make this stuff up. We nurses decided to claim an entire week instead of just one day to celebrate...well...BEING NURSES! 

 

See, any lame person can claim a day--like, it's "National Pirate Day" or it's "Yellow Yarn Day" or it's "Blow Up Your Ball Park Frank In The Microwave Day". Nobody cares. However, when you claim the entire week--people have to listen. Why? Because you're on Facebook, and you're going to cram your self-proclaimed week of holiday festivities down their throat whether they like it or not--THAT'S WHY!

 

**SO, HAPPY NURSES WEEK!**

 

I have been thinking a lot about my career lately. I'm transitioning from one hospital to another at this time, and as overwhelming as it is, one thing remains the same--I'M STILL A NURSE! Regardless of the chaotic changes I'm having to combat with new computer systems, new doctors, and new forms of paperwork, the nursing part of my job--the "staying in touch, and healing humans" part of my job remains the same.

 

**HUMANS ARE GROSS**

(I'm just sayin'...)

 

I think this concept separates us nursing folk from the rest of you faker faker belly ache-ers. We are REAL. No matter how awesome Cosmo Magazine portrays how sexy humanity is, I have a few words for you --STEP INTO MY OFFICE!...cuz whether or not we like it, we humans are a little bit on the side of disgusting at times. I don't care if you're a Victoria's Secret model--when you have a stomach virus, you look just as gnarly at the rest of us poor, unfortunate, genetically deranged souls. And who gets to clean up after you when you are gushing body fluids from your GI tract in every direction?

 

**NURSES!!!**

(Yay! sarcasm)

 

I'm not going to sit here and start listing all of the gross things that nurses have to do. You know why? Because for some reason, nurses are just genetically enhanced with something in our soul that actually allows us to do "gross things", and not over think the situation. Why do we do it? Because there is somewhere deep down inside of us that actually cares about humans on a level that some people can't comprehend, or begin to understand. Heck--I don't think we even understand it. We are just blessed with the gift of being able to care for people in their most vulnerable state, and somehow "make it better".

 

I decided when I was a teenager that I wanted to become a nurse. Granted, some of you are probably like, "But Whitney!--you went to college to be a geologist! How did you ever end up as a nurse!" Believe me, it was a calling I tried to avoid for a long time. I had dipped a toe into the water of nursing prior to committing to college to become a geologist. I couldn't handle it at that point. So how did I become a nurse?

 

I'm glad you asked! (hint of sarcasm in voice)

 

When I was a teenager, I had my first child. It was a very scary experience. I ended up having to go to the hospital at one point because I went into labor too early, and I was treated like a giant pile of teenage, white trash, garbage. The nurse who was performing procedures on me was hurting me, and I had the audacity to cry because it was so painful. She told me, "Shut up! You shut up, and just sit there! You got yourself into this situation, and now you just need to deal with it!!!"

 

I was traumatized. At that point I was already devastated about my situation. On top of it all, I had to feel the wrath of the nursing staff at that particular hospital. It was awful. My doctor got wind of the situation, and transferred my care to a different facility--one that was more "kid friendly".

 

I ended up at a different hospital--a hospital with amazing staff. Staff who made me feel like they really cared about me, and about getting me from Point A (pregnancy) to Point B (delivery) without beating me up verbally in the process. I took those two situations--the bad one, and the good one, and I said to myself, "If I was ever a nurse, I would NEVER treat anybody that way". And it was at that time that a small spark was ignited inside of me to become a labor and delivery nurse. But not just ANY labor and delivery nurse--I was going to be different. I was going to be better at it. And I was never going to let anyone feel the way I felt that day when I got reprimanded for getting myself into such a "ridiculous" predicament.

 

So here I am today--a labor and delivery nurse!!!

 

Everyday I go into my job, and I don't just look at it as bringing home the bacon. I give myself to my job. Why? Because I will always believe that there is more healing in reaching out to touch the human soul than there ever will be in the administration of medication. There are times when I come across situations where I have young moms, and I'll be taking report, and people roll their eyes and tell me "it's just another teen mom", and I say, "HEY!!!! I was that girl--SO BE NICE!!! There's hope for her!"

 

I guess that's what keeps me going as a nurse--HOPE. I have a unique opportunity everyday to make a difference...to plant a seed. I can be an example to others. It's not a responsibility I take lightly.

 

There is a prayer I pray everyday before I go into work. I've never shared it, but it goes a little something like this:

 

"Dear God,

 

Thank you for this day, and the opportunity that you have given me to serve You through helping others. Please watch over me, guide me, and direct me today as I go into work. Please bless that I will be competent with my medication administration, and that I will be competent with my cares unto others. Please bless me with Your spirit, Father, that I may have Your direction, and that Your light will shine through me, and stir curiosity in the hearts of others.

 

Amen."

 

You may call me crazy. However, my sister is not super religious, and is also a nurse, and she prays everyday before going into work, too. Only, she is less formal with her prayers and they look a little bit like,

 

"Dear God, Please don't let anyone die on me today, and please don't let me kill anyone. However, if the person I am taking care of does go into cardiac arrest, please grant me the strength to jump up and down on their chest during CPR like an unruly gorilla who is learning how to pound out cookie dough on a granite countertop." Amen.

 

Regardless...

 

I am blessed to have the career that I have. There is a lot of good, bad, and ugly that comes with it. However, there is a lot of joy, triumph, and healing that does as well. I have learned that the people, like the crappy nurse who took care of me when I was a teen, are in the MINORITY of my profession. Most nurses are the most caring, kind, compassionate people I know. And it doesn't matter how much smack we talk, or how much we joke around in an effort to make our jobs lighthearted enough to handle them emotionally--I WORK WITH A STELLAR BUNCH OF NURSES.

 

We care for our patients. We rejoice with our patients. We cry in celebration with them, and weep in sorrow and devastation beside them. Our job is not glamorous. Our job is real. And it is such a blessing to be such an integral part of the human spirit.

 

To all of my amazing nurses out there--

 

HAPPY NURSES WEEK!!!

 

(PS I couldn't do it without you)