The Story of a Manicure
By singerz
I am a chronic nail-biter. Those of you who know me, know that I bite my nails like they are the last remaining pig-in-blanket at a smorgasbord. And so recently, thinking that if my nails were cleaned up a little and shinier I would have incentive not to bite, I decided to get a manicure.
I went with a female friend of mine to her salon in midtown Manhattan. FIRST MISTAKE. Big window in the salon, right on 6th Avenue, everyone could see me sitting there drying my nails like a little girl. It was funny. For them. Not for me.
So I walk in, and the lady takes one look at my nails and yells “Ewww. These disgusting. Yong, come look, disgusting nail man want manicure.” SECOND MISTAKE: Letting Yong give me a manicure. Little did I know at the time, Yong was an expert at the ancient art of maximizing cuticle-ripping pain.
Yong starts the manicure, and I lose 3.6 pints of blood through my hands. I’m sitting there with more blood on me than a vampire at a nude beach. Yong is clipping away, and my friend is laughing hysterically. But its good, Yong is cleaning up my nails. And then… the hand massage begins. THIRD MISTAKE: Moaning with pleasure during the hand massage. Unlike a full-body or back massage, I guess its bad hand massage etiquette to make noise. But it was excellent either way. I’ve never had a hand massage and the thought has never appealed to me, but this was glorious.
Finally, Yong finishes and I go to sit by the window with my hands under the nail-dryer, in the least masculine pose humanly possible, staring out into the street. And then I feel hands on my shoulders and jump. “No massage?” I am asked by a cohort of Yong’s. Massage? Yes, yes, massage! Definitely massage! I reply, a little too eagerly. This time, the sounds I make are socially acceptable. I leave the parlor a happier, albeit more effeminate, young man.
Needless to say, I only lasted a week before beginning to bite again. My shiny nails were gone in 17 seconds, record time. FOURTH MISTAKE: Biting nail-polished nails. Nasty. Tastes like shampoo flavored cottage cheese (not the good tasting kind of shampoo).
So now I understand a little more about why girls like this stuff. It’s not just about looking pretty - its about the experience, the massages, the blood, the Yong. FIFTH MISTAKE: Sharing this story with the entire world-wide-web (or at least the 9 people who read the blog).
I am a chronic nail-biter. Those of you who know me, know that I bite my nails like they are the last remaining pig-in-blanket at a smorgasbord. And so recently, thinking that if my nails were cleaned up a little and shinier I would have incentive not to bite, I decided to get a manicure.
I went with a female friend of mine to her salon in midtown Manhattan. FIRST MISTAKE. Big window in the salon, right on 6th Avenue, everyone could see me sitting there drying my nails like a little girl. It was funny. For them. Not for me.
So I walk in, and the lady takes one look at my nails and yells “Ewww. These disgusting. Yong, come look, disgusting nail man want manicure.” SECOND MISTAKE: Letting Yong give me a manicure. Little did I know at the time, Yong was an expert at the ancient art of maximizing cuticle-ripping pain.
Yong starts the manicure, and I lose 3.6 pints of blood through my hands. I’m sitting there with more blood on me than a vampire at a nude beach. Yong is clipping away, and my friend is laughing hysterically. But its good, Yong is cleaning up my nails. And then… the hand massage begins. THIRD MISTAKE: Moaning with pleasure during the hand massage. Unlike a full-body or back massage, I guess its bad hand massage etiquette to make noise. But it was excellent either way. I’ve never had a hand massage and the thought has never appealed to me, but this was glorious.
Finally, Yong finishes and I go to sit by the window with my hands under the nail-dryer, in the least masculine pose humanly possible, staring out into the street. And then I feel hands on my shoulders and jump. “No massage?” I am asked by a cohort of Yong’s. Massage? Yes, yes, massage! Definitely massage! I reply, a little too eagerly. This time, the sounds I make are socially acceptable. I leave the parlor a happier, albeit more effeminate, young man.
Needless to say, I only lasted a week before beginning to bite again. My shiny nails were gone in 17 seconds, record time. FOURTH MISTAKE: Biting nail-polished nails. Nasty. Tastes like shampoo flavored cottage cheese (not the good tasting kind of shampoo).
So now I understand a little more about why girls like this stuff. It’s not just about looking pretty - its about the experience, the massages, the blood, the Yong. FIFTH MISTAKE: Sharing this story with the entire world-wide-web (or at least the 9 people who read the blog).
posted by SINGERZ at 12:02 AM
9 Comments:
what an unfunny pretty boy...
anonymous, you're really in for an ass-kicking aren't you?
I once open mouth kissed a horse. The horse was very angry when it realized I was a dude (My gender is unclear at times). It proceeded to keep me in my meager sac of manhood. As a result, my voice is very high and I am very angry. This is why I write these furious posts.
I just thought you should understand where I, anonymous, am coming from. Did I mention that I have a tiny, bruised ball sac?
Zev should really do us all a favor and post pictures of his wonderfully raw cuticles.....You really haven't lived until you have seen these wonders.
yep... thats my brother
The closet door opens a little bit wider....
should have considered having your manicurist a woman....then your moans of pleasure wouldnt have been so.....faggotty
but props to ya Singer, it takes a Man to be able to get a manicure and not flinch
Wow, I gotta give it to you guys. This was definitely the funniest post you have done since the blog started.
Ignore 1:05 anonymous, he's an asshole.
Speaking of traits, You musn't forget Zev's football player like shoulders...What a hunk.....
of Sh*t..
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