So, You Finally Have Hair on Your Junk: A Guide for Teens and Parents

So, you finally have hair on your junk. Congratulations!  Now that you've finally reached the Hair Down There stage of puberty, you may have some questions and concerns.  This pamphlet aims to address your questions and help you move forward through adolescence with confidence and ease.

Why do I have Hair Down There anyway?

Anthropologists believe that we humans developed our bushy, wiry, pubic, armpit, and (for males and a few very unlucky females) chest hair to act as a sort of brightly flashing sign, blinking out the message "I have reached maturity!  Let the mating begin!"  In addition to being a visual sign of reproductive maturity, your special hair also acts as an odor trap.  A virtual hormonal stink bomb.  Before the days of Justin Bieber perfume, humans attracted mates via the irresistible aroma of crotch and pit stink.  Ah, the good old days.


So...What do I do with it now that I have it?

Right now your special hair is all very new (and probably very sparse).  There's probably not a lot that you need to do with it.  You just keep doing what you're doing:  Admiring it in the mirror and thinking, "That's right, bitches.  I'm officially knee deep in puberty.  Take out the garbage?  You take out the garbage.  I have pubic hair now. You can't tell me what to do." In a year or two your private area will probably start to look a reject from The Muppets.  When that happens, you'll probably want to start doing a little care and maintenance. 

Care and maintenance?  What do you mean?

Just like the hair on your head, the hair on your junk occasionally needs some grooming to be at its best.  Chances are your parents were raised in the 1970's.  They're part of the final generation of au naturale personal grooming.  In other words, they're probably not going to be of much help to you in this area unless they happen to spend a lot of time on the internet reading smut.  You're quite literally going to have to take matters into your own hands.  Invest in a good razor, some small grooming scissors, and spend some quality time with Google. 

Are there any rules of pubic hair etiquette I should keep in mind?

I'm so glad you asked!  Yes there are.   First, if you're going to wear a swimsuit, be sure to follow the grooming tips listed in the previous section.  You don't want to look like you're smuggling a hedgehog in your Speedo.  That just makes everyone uncomfortable.  Second, always be actively aware of stray hairs that have gone rogue.  No one wants to find a pubic hair on the soap, not even one of their own.  And when your mother cleans your bathroom, she does not want to be confronted with hard evidence of your hormonal maturity on the floor and the toilet seat and stuck to the bottom of her sock. 

Anything else?

Just relax and enjoy this period of your adolescence.  It's a magical time.  Remember that your junk hair will be with you for the rest of your life, like a close friend, or the twin you absorbed in utero that's now just a small lump of undeveloped teeth and hair on your back. If you take care of it, it will always take care of you.

We aren't supposed to talk about the bloody mole, but there's a bloody mole winking me in the face. I want to c-u-u-t it off, ch-o-o-p it off, and make guacamole.

(1000 points if you can name that movie.)

So, internets, some things happened while I was on my blogging hiatus. For one thing, we got a new kitten who I'm pretty sure is one of Satan's minions, if not Satan himself.  But that's a post for another day.  Another thing that happened is that I finally saw a dermatologist who thinks that my face moles are totally removable if done by a good plastic surgeon.

This is a big deal for me.

Meet Bertha, Beulah, and Brunhilda. 

(Tangent Side note: Why is it that what I see in the mirror isn't anything like what I see in pictures of myself?  Is it like hearing a recording of your own voice?  When I look in the mirror I'm pretty sure I'm about 15 years younger, had several more hours of sleep, have an actual top lip, and pregnancy did not do such terrible things to my nose.)

I despise these moles.  I've had them for at least 20 years, if not longer.  And they've gotten larger with age.  Whenever I see a dermatologist (which is fairly often because of the Not-a-Tumor), I ask about getting them removed.  And every single time I get told the same thing.  "Well, I could shave them off, but that type of mole tends to grow back darker and larger than before." And then they refer me to the one between my boobs that I had removed that did, in fact, grow back darker (although smaller and flatter.)

Recently I saw a new dermatologist, so I asked again.  He looked and poked and prodded and looked at the one between my boobs for comparison and then looked and poked and prodded some more. 

Then he said the words that made me want to sing with joy.  "I don't think I can remove them with very good results, but I think if you see a plastic surgeon, they can be removed with minimal scarring and regrowth."

Two days later I saw a plastic surgeon and he confirmed what the dermatologist said.  And internets, TODAY IS THE DAY.  In three hours these suckers will be GONE. 

I'm a little nervous.  I mean, I'm having three holes cut into my face. One wrong move and moles could be the least of my worries.  But it's a pretty straight forward procedure, so I'm trying to be calm. 

I'm also trying to imagine a life without giant face moles and I can't.  I mean, what is it like to not have little kids ask you what those things on your face are every time you go out in public?

I'll keep you posted, internets, and when the incisions heal you know I'll post after pictures. 

Hmmm...now I'm wondering if I should ask to keep them in a jar? 

Long time, no blog.

So, umm, hi there.

I know.  I know it's been months and months.  I don't even know if there are any of you still out there who'll read this.

I wish I had some grand, important reason for not writing (I got a book deal and I've been writing that!  I took a 'Round-the-World cruise! I got a boob job and it was just too painful to reach the keyboard!), but the truth is that I just didn't want to.

I'm not sure that I really want to now.  But I want to want to.  I miss it.  Mostly.

And I don't think it's the writing part that I miss.  I think it's the YOU part. So I hope there are still some of YOU out there.

I'm...well, I'm lonely. Really lonely. And I felt less lonely when I wrote here nearly every day. I don't even know most of the people who would read and comment or send me e-mails, but that didn't matter.  I was among people every time I hit publish.

I kind of want that again.

Now, a little business.

There is no winner of the Yarn Vagina Picture Contest.  Well, there was, sort of, but it was none of you.

I tried to donate the $77 I'd promised, but Fisher House wouldn't accept a donation that small. (WTF, Fisher House?  Money is money.)  So, I went to the local Fisher House to see if there were any wish list items I could purchase for them instead.  They needed a Pack-N-Play, so that's what I bought. All thanks to you, internets.  They also needed some help with some yard work, so I helped with that for an hour one afternoon.  I was talking to one of the volunteer directors as we weeded together, and I started to tell her about how I had been trying to raise money through ad revenue by giving away a knitted cowl. (I try not to say things like knitted vagina to elderly ladies I've just met.  I'm classy like that.)  Before I could get any further, she said, "Oh!  I just love those!  Do you know someone who could make one for me?"  And the winner of the lovely blue yarn vagina was decided then and there.  I brought it to her the next day.  She loved it.  And I spent the rest of the day feeling guilty for sending this sweet lady off into the world looking like tired, old labia. But she was a happy tired, old labia.

Also, I know I promised you a modesty rant.  Luckily, some A TON OF other bloggers had been thinking the same thing.  There's nothing I could say that they haven't already covered--so much more eloquently than I could have.  So, enjoy: 
Sue's Epic Modesty Rant
Immodest Angels
How the Modesty Doctrine Hurts Men Too
Modest is Goddess
Fresh Meat
She's a Little Girl, for Crying Out Loud!