My Leg-Shaving Needs A Saving.

As a female, society tells me it is not socially acceptable to have hair on my legs. Because of this, I shave my legs. Actually, that's a lie. I shave my legs because I like them to feel soft and smooth and amazing. I'm kind of addicted to that feeling.

The point is, I shave my legs.

Like most women, I have been shaving my legs for many years. It seems like a fairly simple thing. For those of you who are not familiar with the leg shaving process, I have included a step-by-step guide:

1.) Acquire razor.
2.) Wet legs/get into shower.
3.) Apply shaving cream or conditioner to legs.
4.) Drag razor over legs.

Sounds easy, right?

Well it's not.

I am a redhead. Many redheads have sensitive skin. I have sensitive skin. Thus, whenever I get weird rashes and red spots all over my legs that FREAKING HURT. I am also a klutz. Thus, I get cuts all over my legs. This is a problem, because I love to wear shorts, and when I do wear shorts, I get tons of questions from people who want to know why I look like I've been attacked by a velociraptor. When I tell them what happened, they give me all sorts of advice.

"Use a different brand of shaving cream."

"Use a sharper razor."

"Use a duller razor."

"Go slower."

"Go faster."

And so on.

This has led me to the truth about leg-shaving; It is a magical power. You are born with the power to shave legs. Some have it, some don't. It's like Harry Potter. You get your letter to Hogwarts or you are a muggle. I am a leg-shaving muggle. I never got my letter to the Hogwarts of leg-shaving, and it's very likely that a school like that exists. That is the only explanation as to why I cannot shave my legs. I have about 13,000,000,000 scars on my legs from shaving them. The picture above is of my biggest one. The outline of it kinda looks like a heart. An evil, painful, makes-you-bleed, heart.

Now that scar is not that big. It certainly doesn't compare to Bullet Wound (my other scar who you will meet before long) but believe me, it was bad. The tub was so red, it looked like a scene from Psycho. I was in the shower for an extra 30 minutes waiting for the bleeding to stop. And it didn't for a whole freaking day.

But I got a sweet scar, so it's all good.

Adventures on Public Transit.

Today, I made the weekly 1 hour, 40 minute bus ride to campus for a robotics meeting (yeah, I'm a nerd and proud of it). After an hour or so, nobody had really shown up and we gave up for the day, forcing me to venture out into the heat--hey, 70 degrees is hot by Washington standards!--and endure another 1 hour, 40 minute bus ride home that would bore most city dwellers to tears.

But not I!

You see, up until ten months ago, I had never used the public transit system before. The wonders of a simple ride still fascinate me. The bus and I are kind of like newlyweds; the awesomeness that each of the two of us emanate is still a modern marvel to one another, for the magic that was created when we got together has not yes worn off. At least that's how I feel about the bus. But I'm sure it feels the same about me.

So I choose to view every bus ride as a life-changing adventure! I don't see creepy men, elderly folk, dirty floors and dirtier seats! No! I see the chance for enlightenment!!!

Today, however, was not incredibly enlightening, save for a small child, a boy of no more that four or five years. I'm pretty sure that whole dang bus was into what he was doing. Chatting to anyone he saw, squawking, and reveling about the great powers of trains. He even made a teen aged sk8er boi smile. Kudos! (And yes, that was an Avril Lavigne reference.) Plus, the women who appeared to be the boy's keeper was a redhead, and you know how us red heads stick together.

So thank you. Thank you little boy who made everyone on the 1 smile, even that skater.

And thank you, redhead women, for bearing said child of immense power (at least, I'm going to assume you did).

And sorry to the mailman, who just managed to complete his quest to delivering me my mail, even though I was wailing a Train song at the top of my lungs. I will remember to keep my front door closed from now on.