Your face is as pock-marked as the moon's surface; your nails look like a homeless person's; the skin on your legs is hidden under a blanket of fuzz. You vaguely recall a time when you had two eyebrows (not one long one); your armpits need a weed-whacker; and a Boeing 747 could use your roots as a landing strip. And your lady-ness is now the size of a Super Wal-Mart parking lot. Sure, you could spend three consecutive days shuffling between the salon, nail technician's, waxing studio, and spa. Or you could head to Millenium. This family-run place offers ladies (and gents) an array of primping options, including manicures, pedicures, facials, waxing, plucking, and hairstyling. Prices are competitive ($25 for a Brazilian bikini wax, $25 to $30 for a pedicure), and the friendly staff — most of whom are Colombian and hail from the same family tree — are always polite, respectful, and competent. If you've never had someone incompetent pour scalding wax over your nether regions and then repeatedly yank at a five-square-inch tuft of your prized garden amid your shrieks of terror, then consider yourself lucky. The rest of us understand, and appreciate professionalism in this delicate arena. Rest assured, you'll find that and a lot more at Millenium.

At this moment you have approximately four to twelve pounds of shit in your colon. So in addition to feeling bloated, lethargic, and gassy, you're walking around with two shopping bags full of feces. Isn't that sexyç Have no fear. Suzy Herzfeld at Feel the Heal has just the thing for that little problem. Her colon hydrotherapy treatments are 45 minutes of a tube up your derri?re while water is repeatedly forced into and out of your body ($85 for a single session; $300 for four; $700 for ten). Although this might sound like 45 minutes of hell, Suzy's gentle bedside manner and super-zen spa make this start-with-the-rear process easy to bear. She cheers you on the entire time, cooing "awesome" and "good job" while you lie face up on one of her heated beds, passing last year's lunch with a sarong draped loosely around your waist. Suzy's depth of knowledge of colon health and her down-to-earth approach definitely make you feel at ease. Then there's the wide-ranging collection of DVDs — you can giggle at Napoleon Dynamite while you, um, dump. And when you're all done and feeling like a million bucks, she sends you off with a clove of pickled garlic, a tasty continuation of your much-needed cleanse.

Laundry is hell for those who don't have their own machines. Where to do it is often dictated by one of three things: price, location, and cleanliness. Big Wash has two of the three, hands down. It's cheap and clean. Don't let the fact that it's in the heart of Liberty City bother you — laundry knows no race, color, or creed. Once inside Big Wash, you're among the sisterhood (and brotherhood) of Folks Who Don't Have Washing Machines. Big Wash doesn't take coins, so you don't have to dig out those quarters from between the couch cushions. Put a dollar or five into a machine, it spits a card back at you, and voila! You can pay for your suds, your dryer, and your soda, all without cash. Big Wash also runs cool little promotions: Buy a box of soap with a green sticker attached, you get a turkey! Or a TV! If you hit Big Wash on certain days of the week, there are specials on specific machines, such as $1.49 for one load in a 25-pound capacity machine. Regular-size dryers are always 33 cents for ten minutes. The place is clean, the bathrooms are clean, there's Dr. Pepper in the vending machine, and there's a Subway next door. TV sets show a variety of sporting and entertainment shows. There isn't much conversation among patrons, but who caresç You're there to get clean, not make friends.

A good tailor shop is only as good as its tailor, and in this case, that's Basil Graham. Meticulous as he is professional, Graham makes an impression from the second you walk in his shop. Don't expect him to chat casually, because he's serious about his craft. He'll scrutinize every inch of fabric, every stitch and cut. Since 1989, Basil has produced custom suits, pants, shirts, and altered garments. The price depends on the material and complexity of the work, but a simple pant hem starts at $18 and a custom suit at $1000. Basil won't take the easy route when altering a garment. He'll make certain the fit is right, even if it means taking apart every seam. It won't be cheap, but when you want an article of clothing to fit like it was molded just for you, Basil is the man to do it. And he plans to open a second shop later this year.

Colombian native Elsa Moreno is 79 years old. With no immediate family to speak of, she has dedicated herself to a different love, costumes. Her two-room store on Calle Ocho is packed with thousands of outfits. And she has designed them all, and had two seamstresses make them by hand. We're not talking prepackaged corporate brands that every kid on the block has pulled on at one time or another, but one-of-a-kind pieces that range from scary to sweet to sporty to sexy to downright silly. Elsa, quite possibly the youngest-looking woman her age on the planet, energetically claims to have a piece perfect for anyone, of any age, fit for any and every occasion. And if you can't find what you're looking for, she'll make it to order. The only bad thing about Costumes Made by Me is that there are so many to sift through that choosing just one might be impossible. But with prices ranging from $20 to $300 for a day's rental, you can probably afford to splurge and snag a few.

Dade Corners Marketplace is the last supply stop on Eighth Street before you hit the Everglades. It sells everything a feller would need in the swamp: bug repellent, bullets, jerky, diesel, car parts, ten-gallon hats, knives, et cetera. But its flagship product, the one billed high on the marquee out front, is a full leather jacket for $19.95. Sure, it appears to be stitched together from the clippings of other leather items, but it's the real McCoy, and it's really $19.99. Located conveniently at the intersection of the Tamiami Trail and Krome Avenue, this place is a shining beacon of civilization for all those prepared to wade into the swamp. You could walk into Dade Corners naked and starving, and walk out stuffed and totally awesome in your new cowskin getup.

Attention, ladies: When you see a man carrying an Arrive shopping bag, it's safe to say that he just might have more style than you do. As one of the hippest clothing stores on South Beach, Arrive modestly touts itself as "the premier lifestyle destination for the ever-growing young and travel-minded jet-set consumer." When you walk through the glass doors, you better have cash or plastic. Or both — because looking good can hurt so bad, at least in the wallet. We're talking $250 to $480 for Y-3 tennis shoes. It can cost the same to clad your torso with ¨ber-cool labels like Chip & Pepper, Evisu, Nicole Farhi, Alexander McQueen, and the store's own line of essential luggage pieces. Arrive has a selection of women's wear, too, but clearly, this is a man's world.

Located in a green building in the middle of a residential neighborhood booming with new condos, Green's has been around since 1954. It originally belonged to Henry and Sam Green, but since 1982 the Triana family has continued the tradition of automotive repair. Says Orestes Triana: "We fix it right the first time," which must be why Wackenhut and Supra Telecom trust the place with their fleet work. "We've been here so many years that the trust we have with our clients, it's beyond anything else. We take the time to explain your options, why we should do certain things." Say you drive a Toyota and need your brake pads and rotors refaced. Expect to pay $120 to $140, or about $200 if you drive a Ford Expedition. A complete A/C check, including dye to spot leaks and a Freon top-off, will run you $80. Students and University of Miami employees get a ten percent discount. Whyç Because, Triana says, "I've seen grandfathers, fathers, third-generations bring the cars to us." And Green's Garage wants to keep it that way.

Conveniently located next to the Bottoms Up Strip Club on Southwest Eighth Street, Miami Police Supply has been satisfying gun lovers since 1989. Check out the Glocks, AK-47s, and semiautomatics on display. "Everything that a government agency would need, we have," says the store's owner, Javier Alonzo. Stun guns, batons, gas masks, Tasers, and other military weapons designed to protect you from terrorists are available here. Need an armored, covered vehicle with bulletproof windows and sirens? How about a trained police dog? Or maybe just some pepper spray? This is the place. Of course, you are not allowed to try out the Glock before you purchase it; there is a five-day background check; you must be a U.S. citizen; and it is illegal to impersonate a cop. But again, Bottoms Up is right next door.

In a town where stray bullets are a major problem, there appears to be only one solution: a four-pound revolver that fires shotgun shells. That's right, shotgun shells.The Thunder 5 (named for its five-round capacity) is manufactured by three old fellas up in Piney Flats, Tennessee. But John Lindahl, the only guy who distributes the Thunder 5, lives (where else?) right here in South Florida. It's too big for stickup men. Too short-ranged for drive-bys. But it's just right for the guy trying to clear out his hallways in the middle of the night without having to worry about killing anyone in the next room. It costs $545, plus $15 for shipping and handling. But wouldn't you expect to pay that much money to be able to fire shotgun shells out of your handç