Tag Archives: wedding season

Suntan lotion is good for me.

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.

Idiot.

“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.

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Karma is with the bride.

Remember that post I wrote a few days ago…you know, about how I’m broke because of wedding season? Yeah, well all the brides-to-be must have gotten together and plotted a scheme against my life because I was complaining. But before I begin the rant on my latest failures…the Sex and The City episode I was referring to was “A Woman’s Right to Shoes.” Coincidentally, when I got home Tuesday night, that was the episode I had reached in my 3-week marathon of Sex and the City dvds.

The best part of the episode is when Carrie calls Kiera, leaves her a message saying “I’m getting married…to myself. And I’m registered an Monolo Blahnik,” and then she gets the shoes (as a wedding gift) from Kiera.

I need to do that.

Anyway, late last week I was doing the usual cleaning of the apartment, when I noticed a cluster of tiny black bugs near my kitchen sink. I figured they came from the drain, so I bleached my sink and drain, and called it a day. Well, that is until I went into my bathroom to brush my teeth and saw another cluster of little black bugs.

Weird.

The next day, when I got home from work, I spotted a few more…not near any sink. One on the wall, one on my couch. I was utterly disgusted, so I got out my trusty vacuum, put the tiniest attachment on it, and proceeded to vacuum my entire place…every molding, every corner, even up to the ceiling.

I was bug-free. Or so I thought.

I had been doing some major Googling, trying to figure out what these little beasts were—they were a little bigger than a flee, body of a beetle, smaller than an ant, didn’t fly. However, many pictures and descriptions I found didn’t help. I searched my flours and pastas for weavals, and found nothing, I searched my mattress for bed bugs, again, nothing.

Tuesday night, I had just wrapped up my nightly routine in the bathroom, waltzed into my bedroom, to see a little black bitch on my clean white sheets.

Oh no he didn’t.

I had had enough. I refused to live in a garden. So I whipped open my computer again, to try and find the answers. A few scrolls down, and I saw a suggestion—bugs that eat cat food. Aha!

So I marched into my kitchen, and flung open my cat cabinet. Eh, saw a few bugs, nothing to satisfy this as the source. The article said to store cat food in air tight containers. So, I found some tupperware for the time being, and prepared to pour. Starting with a box of Friskies, I poured.

What came out of that box was quite possibly the sickest thing I’ve seen in my life. Every single morsel of food was half eaten…and the bugs were there. Everywhere.

I cried.

I cried because it was gross. I cried because I hate bugs. I cried because my cat had been eating bug food and I failed to notice. When I looked in his dish, sure enough, bug city. I was a shitty mom.

I composed myself, grabbed a trash bag, and started to throw everything away—the box of Friskies, any cat treats, even a new bag of Iams (i checked it, to find it oddly bug-free, but I didn’t want to take any chances). I emptied my cats dishes and put everything in the dishwasher. My kitty was left with a hungry belly for the night.

When I got on the Friskies website, I saw many complaints of the same thing. Apparently, I purchased a box of Friskies that was infested, and I was being punished for it.

I could hardly sleep that night, unable to get the image of the bugs out of my head, worried about my cat’s health, and overall just feeling disgusting. At lunch yesterday, I made a trip to the pet store and bought all fresh catfood (I opened everything before I bought it, inspecting for bugs) and it wasn’t Friskies.

I also purchased a large collection of air tight containers. Now, all my catfood, flours, pastas, sugars, etc are stored away, safe and sound.

On my drive home from work last night, I got an e-mail from Jesus Belt, saying the magazine was cutting back on freelancers.

Just what I needed to hear.

When I got home, I saw a few straggling bugs, which I expected. I’m still waiting for the rest of the crop to die of hunger. However, I dragged myself around the kitchen, cleaning once again. I was exhausted of my recent life. I was upset about losing freelance money. And I was tired of cleaning up bugs.

So here I am. Stricken my karma. Because I’m a big, single, bitch. Where’s The Bieb when I need him?

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