I often spend my evenings at the tanning bed.
And I know by me saying that, you all just got an image of me being way too tan—Snooki like—obsessed with my looks, peppering my vocabulary with “like” and “as if.”
And that perception is pretty much true. I went to the tanning bed a lot in high school, because I was part of a dance team, so I needed that year-’round glow. Since then, I really never thought about going—I lay by the pool like a fiend.
However, when I got dumped a year ago I decided I needed to get out there! I needed to look good! I should care about my looks! So, like, dammit, I do!
And it makes me more stupid every day. But, when you hate your job, are single, have no friends, and are terrified of becoming a cat lady, the tanning bed becomes your savior.
So there I was, waiting for my turn in the platinum lay down, when the sales lady asked me what lotion I was currently using. Hrmm…some triple bronze cellulite reducing tingle glitter cocaine shit, why?
“We’ve got the new J-Woww lotion!!!! It’s soooooo gooooood. I like, just looooove it!”
How could I fucking miss it? The place put up signs when they got it in, saying it was bound to sell out and here this chick was licking my twat just to get me to shell out the $80 for it.
While I enjoy watching J-Woww and her gravity-defying tits on tv, I sure as shit don’t plan on looking like her. Does the tanning lotion promise pre-mature aging and an abusive boyfriend on the side?
So I went for the biggest insult I could find.
“I doubt it’s the lotion that makes J-Woww so tan.”
“But….but, it’s so good. You don’t even smell like a tanning bed afterward,” she pleaded.
“I heard J-Woww does a TRIPLE THREAT.”
“What’s THAT?” she asked me.
“She goes into the UV bed, then gets a spray tan, then goes back into the UV bed,” I said, raising my eyebrows in all the right places.
“Oh my god!…but wait! I didn’t think you could tan more than once a day?” she said.
“She’s JAY WOWW. I’m sure they let her do whatever she wants…or she probably has a tanning bed in her HOUSE.”
Wait. Why the fuck was I having this conversation? And wait. How the fuck did I even know this little tid bit (I definitely read it somewhere).
I do what they, in the tanning biz, call a double-dip—UV bed, then a spray tan. And I come out looking like Snooki, minus the chub.
So, there, I said it. The tanning bed has made me stupid, and quite catty. It’s also made me unaware of just how tan I am, which results in my coworkers being like, “You’re soooo tan!!!” when I think I’m pale…so I’m in a constant state of paranoia.
Anyway, my Easter alone was quite fabulous. I put a smoked ham in the oven and made a gourmet meal of coriander glazed baby carrots, scalloped potatoes with cheese, and a raspberry truffle tart for dessert. I pretty much ate all day, and drank a bottle of white. And I felt closer to Jesus.
This week, there’s a ton of exciting things coming up that I know you’re all going to be excited about. 1. The Royal Wedding. Who else is excited? I will get more into this on Thursday, but just know that I’ll be up in time for ALL of the coverage on Friday. If you’re on the fence about watching it, please do! I will be on Twitter, commenting on all the glory that is (no more) Waitie Katie!
In the meantime, I want to know, what are you doing to celebrate? I was thinking of making myself a grande dinner worthy of the new queen-to-be, but what does one queen-to-be eat? Tea and crumpets? William’s ballsac?
Anyway, this weekend is the kickoff to wedding season in my world. I have my first bachelorette party, which is happening a few hours away, so it’s an entire weekend long (let’s hope my liver rivals that of J-Woww’s) and when I get home? I have my first bridal shower of the season. It’s gonna be one giant love fest—everyone going on and on about their lovers, and me, raving about my new tolerance for vodka on the rocks.
I’ve totally become the hired talent. Oh, Lucky! She’s just soooo funny!
Ahem, I’m leaving out one huge moment of the week—my work retreat.
Yes, you read it, you said it, you stole your mama’s credit, MY. WORK. RETREAT.
Friday, during work hours, I have been roped into a work retreat. A world of free pizza, semi-circles, and cumbaya. My Lord.
I’ve heard the stories of previous work retreats. People cry. People yell. People Cuss.
This year? Lucky laughs.
I’m seriously looking forward to it—solely hoping someone loses their shit. I’m banking on an episode of Springer to happen right before my eyes.
Luck-y! Luck-y! Luck-y!
A girl can dream.