Bronze Goddess

I know you've been on pins and needles since reading about my self-tanning efforts. By now, you are picturing me as a bronzed goddess, no doubt. And since I used the 'firming' self-tanner, you are no doubt imagining me as a lean, mean muscle machine as well. That's how I imagined the results myself. Twice a day, I slathered and dreamed, slathered and dreamed. I became so proficient that I could slather mirror-less, which was better for my mental health. The self-tanner and I developed a close relationship... I was worried the Hub would be jealous of my commitment to the tanner!

What is that statement? Oh yeah, 'tan fat looks better than white fat'.

For those of you that uttered this phrase, live it, or even remotely thought it... may you struck with a thousand oozing boils and a really bad zit!!! Bronze goddess? Nothing could be farther from the truth!!!!

I AM STILL WHITE!!!!!

So, now, white-boy Hub has recommended a spray-on tan, with bikini so I have tan lines... because he thinks that's 'cool'. And he's declared that he thinks he wants one too! 

But I'm recommending he skip the bikini...

Fish and Family

We had house guests this week: three young British (one was Polish, but lives in Britain) Challenger Soccer Camp coaches. Never met them. Delightful folks. Took them to the lake a few times, cooked, supped, shared some good times, and got to know one another. Such a neat program that Challenger runs so that kids benefit from a great soccer camp, and these young adults get to travel the US, and make a little cash as well. They get to eat with their hosts and have a warm bed - cuts down on their costs significantly! 

They were here a week. Very unusual for us to have house guests for a week. Now a days, our schedules are so packed that 'we' generally only have a long weekend or 'a few' days to spend with family and friends. We are too busy. And this week was a classic example of busy - but that isn't what this was about.

These coaches were fabulous house guests. Polite, grateful, and very chilled - and they really liked the Masses... in fact, Neva Kate has found herself a man!!! She really took to our Polish friend, and him to her; alas, it isn't to be, as he has a girlfriend, and is much too old for her....

The whole visit got me to thinking: why am I able to tolerate complete strangers in a relaxed, happy manner, but not my own family? Seriously. If this had been DOD or Sybil, I'd have slit my wrists and dove into ring of sharks!! A week with my family?? There is not enough Diet Coke in the state to get me through that - and I know because we've done this before!!! 

Could it be that we have so much baggage that I wonder when the train will lurch and it will come crashing from the overhead bin right onto me? Yes. And most likely is. I tread a fine line with Sybil - you never know who you're getting (please see previous blog about Sybil, or blogs)! And I do worry about DOD, and his various annoying habits... such as constantly talking about what he wants to talk about (mainly himself) which we've already covered at least 15 times since he arrived (this is NOT an exaggeration). I count the hours until they leave... OK, I'm lying... I count the minutes!! And yet, out of guilt for feeling this way when all the movies in the world say I should feel warm fuzzies toward the fam, I let them come. And they do. And they are. This summer. Because I am powerless in my guilt to stop them. And therefore am questioning my decision to NOT install a fountain drink machine in the new house.

I have no immediate solution to this problem, except moving without telling them, and the Hub said I couldn't do that.... My cousin is coming this summer, too, and I adore her, and am quite thrilled and very happy and excited - no worries... only fun to come!!!  But that smile turns upside down when I hear the others may be headed east of Texas, and I suddenly get the desire to join  WitSec; really no good if the Hub is gonna rat me out, though. 

So, today, we said good luck and farewell to our new friends, and sent them on their way.... Sure would love to see them again. Sure wish I felt this way about DOD and Sybil.

Perhaps we are related somehow....

My White Legs

I want to make a dangerous statement, that in NO WAY is meant to racist, or racy: I am a white girl. My legs are white, my butt is white, my arms are white... I am white. I was white when born, and have been except for a few years when I tried to lay-out and get a tan: this for me consisted of one hour of prep for about 30 minutes of sun time; I hadn't had hair removal yet, and I get bored easily. I tried a tanning booth for two months, but found it too much like a very unmotivated dating relationship that left my skin smelling funny; this was not for me.

I was white when the Hub married me; white for the past 13 years of marriage. White today. But, recently (for the past 13 years or so) the Hub has been making noises about how he thinks it would be sexy for me to get a spray tan, or self-tanner. And he mentioned something to Sister Lunch Lady, too. So, I decided to take him seriously. And try to do something about being white.

I am sitting here, buck-nekkid under my bath robe, trying to recover without alcohol from the shock of seeing myself naked not once but twice now, as I slathered self-tanning lotion on my whole body. My vision is blurry, and I can't remember the names of my children! I almost passed out during the back of the thigh area!!! All this in pursuit of some color. That the Hub thinks he'll find sexy. Well, sitting here for 'several minutes before dressing' with a look out of a horror movie plastered on my face (imagine talking-severed-head-glaring-at-you-scared face) ain't particularly sexy, folks!

All this has led me to believe that we should have fewer, and smaller... MUCH smaller, mirrors. I, for one, could care less about what color I am, or anyone else. I think, live and let live. And I am too lazy to care if my legs can reflect rays from outer space. This is how I was made. I'm stuck with it.  Or am I? I suppose in light of my recent blog about hair removal and vein zapping that I am a ginormous hypocrite for NOT doing something about the glow-in-the-dark properties of my extremities!!!  In fact, I suppose the horror of my nakedness reflected back at me, which surpasses the intense pain of abdominal surgery, rings in with 'painful to be pretty'. Of course, after what I witnessed today, I think pretty is terrifying!!! But, I will continue to slather and color, and slather some more... only now, I think I can do it without a mirror.

But, I will have that wine now....