Monthly Archives: May 2009

Weird Waxing

I’m Italian. Like, fully Italian. It should come as no surprise that I’ve been waxing nearly every part of my body since I turned 12. This post isn’t about hair removal as such; it’s actually about the woman who waxes me. I’ve been seeing her for more than a decade, so I know her pretty well. I’ve always liked her; she’s kind hearted, pleasant and always happy to see me. The thing, though, is that she’s crazy. 

I feel like I’m insulting her or laughing at her, so I’m going to choose my words very carefully. I truly do enjoy this woman and wouldn’t dare change estheticians. Plus, she’s already seen my vagina, and how many times am I gonna have to flash that thing around town before I get another reasonably priced Brazilian?* 

What I’m trying to say is that she often makes my appointments with her very, very awkward. I don’t have the heart to say anything, although thoughts along the lines of, “Are you kidding me?” and, “WTF?” constantly roam through my mind.

For example, she once asked me, “Isn’t it weird that people cheat on people?” while waxing my bikini line. Another time, she told me that she’s not ready for online dating. What am I supposed to say to these things?

By far the strangest situation she’s put me in occurred right before I went to the Dominican Republic. She was waxing my legs when she started telling me about another client of hers (something she often does). “This lady, she was seeing a police officer. They were an older couple, you know, maybe in their late 30s. They’d been dating for a while, they were happy. One day, as she was leaving a restaurant, three police cars swarmed her. The cops came out. She completely panicked, asking what she had done. A few seconds later, another cop car pulled up. The guy got out. It was her boyfriend. He proposed to her. She was really freaked out. What a weird way to propose, no? But she said yes!”

I didn’t know what to say to that either, although I can see why she thought it was a good story. Well done, I guess.

A week or so later, in the Dominican, my boyfriend and I only had access to two English-language TV stations, BBC & TBS. They weren’t like the ones we get back home; that BBC only played shows starring Gordon Ramsay and that TBS only played re-runs of Home Improvement and Everybody Loves Raymond. Whatever, we weren’t there for TV anyway. 

One rainy day, we had little choice but to watch their daily Everybody Loves Raymond marathon. I’d never really watched the show before, but I learned that I like it. It’s pretty funny, come on. Anyway, one episode featured Ray’s brother, who is a police officer, proposing to his girlfriend… in the EXACT. SAME. WAY. MY WAXING LADY. DESCRIBED.

So she didn’t tell me another client’s story; she really just described an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond.

She is starting to worry me.


*I am never getting one of those fuckers again. I remember the pain vividly.



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Crotch Rot

Alright, let’s get right down to it. None of this leg rash baby shit stuff. An issue far more pressing, not to mention annoying, is the yeast infection. I hadn’t gotten a single one of these bad boys until I started taking the pill. Apparently, my body was simply not made for oral birth control. After several gynecologist visits (not to mention several gynecologists – I had to change my original one because she was an idiot), I was finally told that when on the pill, my body produced extra plasma. This extra plasma stimulated the growth of yeast, hence the near monthly infections I ended up suffering.

My first yeast infection surprise-attacked me a little over two years ago, when I was 21. I was at work when all of a sudden, I felt a severe burning. I sat and tried to wait it out. After a grueling shift, I got up and started walking to the metro. Something horrible happened: I could barely walk. It burned like fire. I immediately called Maria Donna and started complaining. “God has done something awful to me,” I shouted. She told me to calm down, saying it was probably a yeast infection. I got home and made my dad go buy me Monistat. I could have asked my mom to go but I enjoy putting my father in awkward situations.

Thankfully, he saw how much pain I was in and went right away. In the meantime, I Googled symptoms. Burning? Check. Itching? Check. Cottage cheese-like discharge? Um, no. No discharge whatsoever. Yeasty, beer-like smell? Not really. Still, after reading several articles, it became quiet obvious that I’d fallen victim to the yeast monster.

So I stuck the cream thing in. It was uncomfortable. The stick looks like a dildo, only much thinner. I then went to bed, attempting to sleep with a towel wrapped around my bare ass (I was told the cream would leak out of me during the night). Unfortunately, I had some sort of reaction to the medication and it ended up burning EVEN MORE. Words cannot describe the amount of sheer pain I was in. I wept like a baby.

After an emergency gyno visit, I got my hands on some Diflucan (prescribed oral medication) the next day. It worked pretty well. The only problem was that for the next six or so months, I kept getting an infection during the first week of every birth control pack. I could no longer take Diflucan as my body had simply gotten used to it. So I looked up remedies online. I read that plain yogurt could alleviate symptoms, if not possibly cure the infection. Well, I was desperate, so why not? I dipped a tampon in yogurt in stuck it up there. The coolness felt good, and I actually recommend this if you have no means of getting to a drug store. The only downside was that family members were eating the yogurt, not knowing it was meant to go into my vagina.

 To avoid a potentially awkward conversation, I went ahead and tried Canesten – not the cream, the tablet. Success, finally. When I feel an infection coming on nowadays, I use only one of the 3 or 7 day tablets and I’m usually cured the next day. Of course, a more permanent solution for me would be to stop taking the pill, but I can’t bring myself to do that. It prevents me from having babies and it gave me bigger boobies (more on that in another post).

Lastly, another solution, depending on where in your cycle you are, is to wait it out. I’ve learned that your period will clear your yeast infection right up.



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Summer Bummer: Leg Rash

I don’t really hate summer; I just don’t think I can thrive during summer. There are several reasons why this season makes me cringe and grind my teeth, but I’ll discuss those in future posts. For now, I really have to bitch about my leg rash (commonly known as sweat rash).

The first time I noticed it was probably when it mattered most, in my late teens. This is when you (or maybe just me) stop dressing like a goth and realize that you have tits and legs and that guys might wanna makeout with you (yes, I hadn’t really made out ‘til my late teens). Instead of long, corseted dresses made of crushed velvet, I started wearing shorts, skirts and jeans. The shorts and skirts were and still are the real problem.

The friction between my thighs mixed with the heat and sweat creates these little red, unsightly bumps. They kind of look like diaper rash on babies’ asses. This rash is extremely uncomfortable and annoying. It makes you want to stop whatever you’re doing and slather on an entire Costco-sized bottle of moisturizer.

I thought that the rash occurred because my thighs were too fat (they are pretty big, I’m not gonna lie) – that’s why they rub against each other – but according to Yahoo Answers, your thighs are supposed to touch. When I started to type “are your thighs supposed to touch?” in the Google search bar, it actually filled out the rest of the sentence for me, so I guess this is a pretty common query.

But I digress; the real point of this post is to figure out if I am the only woman who suffers from sweat rashes. After much browsing, it appears that several men suffer from this condition, only they call it “jock rash”. None of my friends know what I’m talking about. I’ve tried sneaking a peak at girls wearing short shorts or minis but it’s kinda hard not looking like a perv. This rash has become a major handicap; if I wear shorts I have to minimize walking and if I wear pants, I have to die of heat. I’m at a loss. Summer has become a season I dread, the season that makes me think up lame excuses as to why I don’t want to walk around.

I’ve tried Gold Bond medicated powder; it alleviates the burning for a little while but doesn’t actually eliminate the rash. I’ve tried baby powder but I have to reapply every half hour and I always manage to somehow streak my clothes. I’ve tried zincofax (a cream for diaper rashes) but it leaves a white residue on my thighs. I’ve tried cutting leggings so that the region of my legs which rubs against itself is covered but that’s proven useless when I wanna wear shorts or a short skirt. My next endeavour is going to be applying deodorant to said region. For now, I have to stick with wearing shorts one day then pants the next in order to give the rash a chance to quell.

If there are any women out there who suffer from this horrible condition, please come forth. Stop hiding, stop pretending that the rash is “just an allergic reaction to a new cream” (I’ve used that one before), tell the world that you suffer from sweat rashes because your thighs rub against each other. Together we may be able to find a solution to this unbearable burning sensation, together we will finally be able to wear short shorts and walk long distances, together we will no longer fear spreading our legs without humiliation. Women with sweat rashes, unite!

-Maria D


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An Introduction Of Sorts

Welcome to Bad Bangs! Maria Donna and I created this blog so girls can complain about how much it can blow to be girls. It’s about everything from bad haircuts (I have one right now) to shitty sex. We think that contemporary media represents and discusses women in such a way that their very nature is vilified – guess what, there’s nothing inherently wrong with farting, having one boob bigger than the other, cellulite or the occasional ass pimple. We’re human and we’re gross. Bad Bangs is a place where you can read about all the supposedly embarrassing shit that’s ever happened to us. Hopefully, you’ll be able to relate, learn something or at the very least, have a laugh.


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