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)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





**NEW PAINTING** "ON THE WAY TO CAPE MAY" For My Friend, Michelle McTague

 

 

www.etsy.com/shop/arcticbarbiegirl

 



My friend, Michelle, and her husband, Brian, just had a little baby boy named Jack not too long ago. Jack is adorable, and the spitting image of the perfect 50/50 split of his parents. I had told Michelle back around Christmas that I was planning on doing a painting for Jack's nursery. This is what I came up with.

 



 

Brian and Michelle were married in Wildwood, New Jersey, and their wedding reception was on Cape May. It was seriously one of the most beautiful, and fun weddings I have ever been to (and those of you who know me know that I absolutely hate weddings--however, I would've gone to theirs 10X if they had let me).

 

www.etsy.com/shop/arcticbarbiegirl

 

The (actual) Jersey Shore (not the ho bag TV version) is gorgeous. When we lived in Delaware we would go there all the time. I spent hundreds of hours on my board in Ocean City, NJ. The waves were amazing. I loved getting up in the morning, going for a long run on the beach, playing in the waves all day, and then hitting the boardwalk at night. Michelle is a photographer and came down to the shore when the twins were little and took photos of them. Brian and Michelle also spend as much time in the summer on the Jersey shore as they possibly can.

 

Below are the photos Michelle took of my baby girls.

 

 

http://www.momentsbymichellephotography.com/

 

 

http://www.momentsbymichellephotography.com/

 

 

http://www.momentsbymichellephotography.com/

 

 

http://www.momentsbymichellephotography.com/

 

www.etsy.com/shop/arcticbarbiegirl

 

Michelle and Brian created a "shore themed" nursery for their son. At their wedding they played the song, "On The Way To Cape May", so I included some of the lyrics on the painting for Jack's Nursery.

 

www.etsy.com/shop/arcticbarbiegirl

 

The painting is in brilliant metallic acrylics. It includes my signature handcrafted frame, and texturized style. It also includes beaded, and metallic glass embellishments, and it is sealed in a high gloss glaze for protection.

 

 

This photo of the Cape May lighthouse was my inspiration for the painting.

 

Brian and Michelle, you have a super cute kiddo on your hands! I hope you enjoy yet another Whitney Madison original painting for your home!

 

To view more of my paintings, please visit my online art gallery at

 

www.etsy.com/shop/arcticbarbiegirl

 



My New Rule For Dating

 

 

The past few weeks have been very interesting for me. The prospect of dating new people has somehow become a bit intriguing, and exciting to me. I think I'm on the verge of heading in that direction and may accept a couple of invites for dates. With this, however, has also come some serious reflection about how to actually go about choosing people I should, or should not date (I'm very picky).

 

Some of you might be like, "Dude, it's not that hard. Do your hair, put something on that isn't too "Renee Zellweger in Jerry Maguire", and go out with some random man for food so you can stuff your face, and keep your mouth busy in case the conversation goes south. Nuff said."

 

Well doesn't that sound just easy and fabulous? (I'm lying)

 

Dating is very overwhelming for me. I have not been on a real or normal date in about 15 years. I was married for 8 years, and dated the Cute Alaskan Man for 4 years, but prior to that, I think it had been about another 2-3 years since I had gone on an actual DATE. I'm a rookie. So what do I do now?

 

After serious thought (about 20 seconds worth in my car on the drive home this morning from work), and reflections on current potential suitors, I decided on one thing in particular. I have decided to revert back to second grade and start weeding out potential dates by pairing my first name with the potential date's last name.

 

"But Whitney!--you said you didn't want to get married again! If you pair first name with his last name it will sound like you want to marry him!!!"

 

This is not the case. I have, however, decided that if any man is even going to stand a chance of surviving a dating relationship with me that he has to have a last name that isn't going to make my first name look stupid--ever. And this still has nothing to do with marriage. I know you must be confused as to why I would start axing men off the date list due to last name, but here is how I feel about it...

 

Let me give you an example of suitable suitor last names paired with mine:

 

Whitney Harbaugh (see--it has a nice ring to it...a Super Bowl ring)

 

Whitney Manning

 

Whitney Robertson (of the Duck Dynasty Robertsons)

 

 

Now let me give you an example of a guy with a last name who would be cut from my dating list immediately:

 

Whitney Butkis

 

Do you see my point? We can keep playing this game...

 

Acceptable:

 

Whitney Levine

 

Unacceptable:

 

Whitney Dingledorf

 

This list can go on and on and on, but you get my point. I realize that some of you think I'm pretty shallow for going about cleaning out my dating pool this way, but it just seems like a good way to go about it for me. And some of you probably still think it does have to do with marriage, but it doesn't. I NEVER want to be known as the girl that is dating Richard Dingledorf, or "Dingledorf's girl". Nope. Nope. Nope.

 

Just to give you a head's up, here are some other people I will never put myself in the position to be:

 

I'm never going to be Mrs. Richard Chopp

 

I'm never going to be Mrs. Clifton Dumfarht

 

I'm never going to be Mrs. Juang Takeashita

 

I'm never going to be Mrs. Phat Ho

 

It just isn't going to happen. I'VE BEEN THROUGH THIS BEFORE! I used to date this guy back in highschool who had the last name of Peepers. Really? Really. I could've saved myself the trouble of even dating him because I would never in a million years have EVER agreed to be Whitney Peepers. And I'm lucky he was not the father of my son, Beau, because then I would've had Little Beau Peepers.

 

Not. Gonna. Happen.

 

So yes, NEW RULES! The very first step in getting back into the dating game is going to be for me to play The Name Game.

 

Who knows...I may end up as Mrs. Whitney Mele Kalikimaka someday. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?

 

:)

 

 

 



One Of My Favorites...I Always Seem To Come Back To It

 

This is one of those songs that reminds me to get back to the basic fundamentals of things when the whole world seems like a centrifuge spinning out of control.

There are also some little hidden things in the lyrics that I love about this song. Things that I have been thinking about a lot lately--probably more than I should be with respect to matters of the heart, but nonetheless... ;)

 

Breathe--Anna Nalick

You have to love modern times. You can end relationships and adjust one little setting on Facebook and all of the sudden...THE WHOLE WORLD KNOWS ABOUT IT!!!

 

I know some of you probably saw my Facebook relationship status change today and thought, "Oh Whitney, you have broken up so many times with this man...can't even keep count. Just looking forward to the next status you post that you're "IN A RELATIONSHIP" again with the Cute Alaskan Man."

 

That would be fabulous. I would look forward to that post...if it wasn't something that neither of us needed. So what's the deal here? Why am I writing a blog about this? WELL HOLY CRAP!--how can you keep from telling the same story hundreds of times?...WRITE A BLOG ABOUT IT!!!!

 

 

I do not want to minimize or cheapen anything that I might be going through, or that the Cute Alaskan Man might be going through with respect to our (final) breakup. There are probably multiple reasons why we will both be in pretty bad shape for a good long while. Why? Because when you love somebody, that is what happens after you let them go.

 

"Well why in the hell did you let him go then, Whitney?"

 

Pretty simple answer. Because I love him. I finally have achieved loving somebody so much that I am incapable of being selfish. It's a weird, depressing, and euphoric reality when you reach this point. It's like Red Bull, on Prozac, on coffee, on some other sort of downer I have no experience with.

 

Anyone out there know what it's like to be in a long distance relationship for years?...with someone you LOVE...who you have known FOREVER, and who has been your best friend since you can't even remember when? If not then shut your trap. You have no say here. The bumpy ups and downs, the multiple Facebook relationship status changes...you have no say because you can't fathom what has gone on (since JANUARY 3, 2009) for the Cute Alaskan Man and myself.

 

So listen up a little. I'm only going to say it once so I don't have to repeat it a bazillion times. Mkay? Mkay.

 

I (kind of) get marriage. There seem to be two extremes of people I know in marriage. People who are SO entirely, blissfully happy, that they can't ever fathom their lives without the other person...and the other 60+% who say, "What the crap did I get myself into?" and "Holy crap...I can't live the rest of my life like this...LET ME OUT!!!!"

 

That being said, and as someone who has actually gone through a divorce in the past (for reason number two up there), I am not someone who is ready to just jump into marriage again with blinders on. I DO believe that love is blind. You can convince yourself of anything under the guise of love. But there is something that should trump love, and that is HONESTY. Some people would argue this (saying that the greatest of these if love), but you might lose if you fight me on it. Honesty can trump love. As it just did in my relationship. Love without honesty is...well..not super sweet.

 

So here is the long and short of it.

 

I adore Tristan. I always have. I never dated him in college, but he was a huge part of my life. Not many people can fathom what I went through to obtain a college education, but Tristan can. Why? Because he was the first one to listen to my frustrations, my gripes, my groans, my heartache with respect to my family. HE KNOWS ME. Down to the core. He knows how hard I have worked to overcome obstacles in life. To go above and beyond. He knows how hard I work right now. My current gripes/groans (apparently they never end). He knows.

 

I also know him. I know more about him than maybe anyone ever will. Why? Because we were always friends. The relationship changed things a bit, but the core remained the same.

 

Again, I'm sure there are some questions as to how things could end if all this stuff were in place. I will tell you (a little).

 

This is a beautiful man. A man who is patient. A man who is kind. This guy does stuff that blows my freakin' mind to help other people out. It has been a HUGE struggle for us to bring our two worlds together. He has never failed me during that process. Even when we couldn't make them mesh, he always cushioned the blow.

 

After many years, and many, many, many, many discussions about where we should head next, we finally reached a conclusion. And this is what it looked like.

 

Tristan is a homebody. He loves his town. He loves his family. He is everything that represents Palmer, Alaska. And that is not a bad thing. I have been accused by his friends that I think I am too good for that town, and the people in it. But I am not. It is just a culture shock for me, and has proven more than I can handle at times.

 

That being said, it is a beautiful town, and a beautiful life. He built an entire life up there--including a house. A house built for a family (not mine). You have to understand...this house was designed, by the two of us,  and at a time when I was SO incredibly sick. This man saw me through one of the worst illnesses of my life. A huge surgery. A huge recovery. We sat in a hospital room making these house plans.

 

The house is beautiful. But it has a different purpose now. This house is amazing. And it will be amazing when Tristan has a family to occupy it. And I am finally okay with the fact that it is not for me, or my family. Alaska is not going to be my home. How could it be? Holy crap!!!!! I'm a Hawaii girl!!!

 

The other night, Tristan and I sat down to talk. We've both been feeling it. About six months ago, I finally realized that I didn't want to be married again. This worked out well since our relationship wasn't going anywhere fast--we had proven that after nearly four years. The only thing I failed to realize?...HONESTY.

 

Tristan is an amazing man. He is so calm. So patient. So caring. He loves kids. He WANTS kids (of his own). I can't give him that. I've been a mother for 21 years...and I'm still not very good at it, but I've been a mother for more than half my life, and I'm just not willing to bring more kiddos into the world. We joke all the time about it, but there is reality at the base of it...I'm not that good with kids. I've already made a pact not to date a man with kids...ever...because I don't want to ruin his kids, too. It's bad enough I've had 4 kids of my own to ruin. There will be no "Brady Bunch-ing" of families here.

 

But he DESERVES that opportunity. We aren't getting any younger, and now is the time to make that whole Alaskan dream come true...with someone that doesn't want to live in Hawaii.

 

So what happens to me? For the longest time I've had one goal. Some people dream about Prince Charming. I dream about the Hawaiian Islands. I love the ocean. I love the peace and perspective that it brings. I know it sounds strange to a lot of people, but all I want is to move to Hawaii. And I won't let anything get in the way of that. I'm also a princess, so if I meet some man who says, "Whitney, I am here for you. I want to satisfy your every dream... AND we're moving to Hawaii in 7 years!!" then I might consider dating him. If not?...good luck, Homeslice.

 

I dropped Tristan off at the airport today. Prior to leaving my house we sat there hugging. We held hands. We kissed. We told each other how much we loved one another. We told my kids that they would not be seeing him again. He hugged me, and my kids. He kissed me goodbye on the cheek at the airport and said to me, "You will always be one of my best friends, Whit."

 

It doesn't get much better than that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



I Love This Song. I Used To Sit And Listen To It Over & Over & Over Again

 

Stephenville, Texas by Jewel