Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Tanning Fail, but Still Win Because I Am Tan **UPDATED**

I've said it before, and I'll say it again when my skin looks like a leather handbag: I am tanorexic. I love to be tan, whether it's from the actual sun or a tanning bed, it makes no difference. I just hate to be pasty. Lecture me all you want about wrinkles and UV rays, but mark my words, I will go to my grave the color of terra cotta.

Before you start wagging your finger at me about how unhealthy I am, the whole point of this post is that I tried something new and NOT unhealthy to get tan: SPRAY TAN. Not the kind you buy at Walmart, but an actual spray tan from an actual salon. And before you start rolling your eyes, I did not turn out the color of Snookie. I have a lovely glow, if I do say so myself. And while I'm thrilled with the results, the process, persay, was not exactly what I expected.

I had never tried a spray tan before, and I was a little leary, having seen terrifying spray tans on Toddlers and Tiaras. And also on Jersey Shore, Jerseylicious, Mob Wives, and pretty much any show about people in New Jersey. But based on these shows, I had an idea in my head of what the experience of spray tanning would be like: I go into a private room, lock the door, put on a shower cap, step into a booth, alone, and get hosed down with tanner like I'm going through a car wash. Or, I go into a private room, put on a shower cap and some kind of cover-up for my lady parts, and a gal comes in and sprays only my essential parts with tanner. In my head, those were the only two possible outcomes.

I did not know that my salon utilizes a third option. The kind where I go into a private room, put on ONLY a shower cap, awkwardly stand there and try to figure out how to cover my lady parts, waiting for a gal who comes in and gets all up in ALL my parts, hosing me down with tanner, while I'm still trying to figure out how to keep my no-no square covered.

I was informed of option three when I got to the salon, and it was too late to back out. But as fate would have it, the gal who does the spray tans is the same gal who does the waxing. The same girl who used to do my waxing. She's the only person in this world who's seen the scary places of my body that should never be seen by the naked eye (read: my bum crack). Not only has she seen those places, but she's waxed them. So, I suppose that if I had to stand naked in front of anyone, awkwardly for several minutes, then she'd be the person I'd choose, because she's already seen it all.

You'd think that I would've been perfectly comfortable in the newd in front of her, but, I was not. I was not "prepared" to be seen naked. As in, I hadn't even shaved my legs for like a month. I'd come straight from work, so I felt all greasy and swassy, I'd started to sweat as soon as I heard the words "totally naked", and I was a bumbling mess. She told me she'd give me three minutes to undress and then she'd be back.

It took all of about twenty seconds for me to undress and put on the shower cap. Please to enjoy a self-illustrated pictorial on how I spent the remaining two minutes and forty seconds waiting for her to come back in: (Illustrator's note: I added censorship bars where I thought necessary. Pretty much just for the sake of my brother. Thank you.)(Also, I am aware that I drew my hands and feet anatomically incorrect. Everything else is perfectly to scale.)







What's funny is that, as you can see from the pictures, I was least concerned with keeping my whoody-whaty covered, and more worried about keeping my stomach and boobs concealed. Or at least trying to stand in the most flattering way possible.

I finally gave up trying to cover myself and accepted the fact that it was impossible to have any shred of dignity whilst being spray tanned by someone who's already seen your everything.

She was so nice about the whole thing, and kept friendly conversation going. I was finally starting to relax a little, when she told me to do a lunge. And this, my friends, is what I did:
Not a lunge. She politely showed me how to do a lunge, and I said to her, "Look at me! Are you really surprised that I don't know the difference between a lunge and a squat?" Apparently what I was doing wasn't really a squat, either. I don't know what I was doing, besides making a complete and total ass of myself.

But a tan ass, nontheless.


**UPDATE** For those of you who haven't gotten your fill of Bone Junior TMI, you can find my original post about waxing here . And for those of you who can't get enough Bone Junior TMI, the original illustrations are up for auction.

8 comments:

Janay said...

Of course you didn't do a lung or a squat . . . you were too busy getting your eagle on!

Josh and Gloriana said...

Best. Post. Ever.

Josh and Gloriana said...

Best. Post. Ever.

em said...

OH, the pictures. (You can even illustrate your own book!!) I think you should update this to include a hyperlink back to your original post about waxing, PS.

But oh, the pictures. The facial expressions are the best part!!! I'm with Janay...how can you be bothered to simply lunge when you get your eagle on so awesomely?? (Did you pull anything?)

Tarable said...

Made me laugh... Your illustrations are hilarious.

Mary Jane Smith said...

I completely agree with Gloriana.

C.M.Steeves said...

Oh.My.God. I am a random follower of your blog (yay Fresh Meat!) and when I got to the end of this post to see the picture of your "lunge", I died. I snorted, I spit out my beer, I made hiccuping noises that made my husband in the next room worry I was having a seizure. Well done.

andi said...

Lunge, girl, LUNGE!
This will be re-enacted (most likely fully clothed, however) at our next girls' weekend. Put it on the agenda.