Superficial

6:34 a.m.

Because I am baring my belly to the world in June, and also I hate my gym and cannot wait to unjoin it when we move away this summer, I got a cardio dance/ab workout DVD. For the ab part. And let me just say, hardest thing ever. The box said, "Easy steps! Ten minute step guide!" But the step guide was seventeen minutes. That is NOT ten. After stumbling through the step guide, the woman promised I was ready for the workout.

What followed was thirty solid minutes of me tripping, mouth-breathing, praying no one could see me through the windows, and feeling like a dolt because arm rolling? Really? A few times I actually stopped and stared in utter confusion, and perhaps shouted at the television, "Slow down! I don't understand what you're doing with your feet!" Perhaps a dance workout isn't best for someone who is famous for clumsiness and falling down constantly. I have enough random bruises, without coffee table bumps from attempting to do combias and grapevines. It was exasperating, to say the least.

But!

The ab workout!

That part is amazing, and my tummy has been screaming in agony ever since. Agony in March=surely I will look hot in a bikini in June. Right? Right?

On a completely superficial and related note, the tanning? The tanning has been a little sketchy so far.

My first appointment was at nine on Saturday morning. I got there at five 'til, but the place was still dark and locked up. I waited for fifteen minutes, but no one showed. After running to a store and then stopping back by twenty minutes later, the place had the lights on and said "Open" but the door was locked. I knocked. I mean, the place was supposed to be open. Come on. Finally a very disheveled tan girl came out and opened the door, mumbling something about "Why is this locked?" Her hair was a mess and her face was sleepy, and she was wearing what looked like pajamas. I told her I had had an appointment at nine, but the place wasn't open yet, and she apologized, and said she had closed the night before and she was so tired she overslept. (For the record, they close at nine. I mean, that sucks, to close and then open, but I would imagine 12 hours is enough time to not use closing as an excuse.) So, I tanned briefly, she told me next time to up it two minutes, the end.

My next appointment was after work on Monday. She (the same girl--why do these girls have such carefully mussed pony tails? Why?) promised nine minutes wouldn't burn me, and I went into the room. They're supposed to give you three minutes to undress, lotion up, and get in the bed. So I quickly did that, and then waited. And waited. And waited. I started to feel like I had been waiting a long time, and finally got out and checked my phone. Twenty minutes. (It's hard to tell, when you're just alone in a room.) I pissily pulled back on my jeans and shirt, went out, and said, "Did you forget?" "Oh, yeah. I forgot to push start. What time did you want, again?" I am afraid I sighed, and also I'm afraid I slammed the door a bit. Is that awful? Not slamming slamming. Just sort of a curt shut.

I mean, I spent tons of money, and the first two times I've been there I've been treated like shit.

Also, I burned a little on Monday. Which isn't her fault, but it makes the taste in my mouth that much worse. You know?

The burning is especially bad because I am not admitting to my boss I am tanning. I am willing to say I'm spending a lot of time in the sun (true) or that I'm playing with lotions (also...technically true, especially if you count the Burt's Bees stuff). But she will be freaked out. She is very homeopathic-use-heavy, and gets into lengthy conversations with customers about how they shouldn't shop at Wal-Mart (which, I know, but the options in this town are SO LIMITED), gets her dogs acupuncture, etc. She was shocked to find out I eat Arby's. And sometimes gravy. After working with me for two years, during which time every day I have consumed one-two diet sodas a day, she still says, "I can't believe you drink pop!" She eats vegetables and rice for dinner nearly every night and usually skips lunch. And makes her own granola. She practically forced me to get my house checked for radon, and worries about the world's energy field and our shakras. She was upset I wasn't using a homeopathic vet. I mean, great, and I respect how she lives, and I'm doing my best, but. Yeah. Sometimes I just don't want to be arctic white when I go to Hawaii, I guess. Sometimes I want some chicken tenders.

I'm not telling her.

I feel guilty enough doing it.

So I can't burn randomly on a Monday night, is what I'm saying. It's too suspicious looking.

Love,
black sheeped