Back with a vengence

Saw the new Batman movie tonight (finally, I know) ...note to self: watching scary crazy people on screen is not pleasant, though entertaining.

Here's an entertaining scenario: me, at a tanning bed...that is having a crisis.

Okay, a little background: I've never been to a tanning bed. In fact, for most of my life I have shunned tanning-bed goers with the self-righteousness of the very pale. Although, admittedly it could be a little bit of jealousy...since I used to look like an adopted Mexican child in my family, but went through a "not leaving the house" phase and lost my natural tan. So, here I am with an outdoors job this summer that has left me with a very tan upper body and extremely pale legs. I am two-toned, my friends...and by "two-toned" I mean, if you took a picture of me and cut it in half, you would not identify my legs as belonging to my body. AND that's what brought me to Palmetto Tan - a serious need to have my legs match the rest of me.

That Having Been Said. My first, nervous visit to the tanning bed was not destined to be peaceful. I strode up to the door and cautiously checked the hours - not open on Labor Day. darn. With a little d. As I peered around the door, the girl at the counter didn't look up, clearly busy with the red-necked client trying to hide beneath his baseball cap as he filled out the "new client" form. I stood awkwardly at the desk for a few minutes, taking in the pee-scented room and the various tanning lotions and products lining the walls. Gee, I didn't realize how many artistic manifestations there could be of the sun.

Finally, the girl looked up - "What can I do for you?"
I shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her eyes, but finally managed, "Well...I've never been here before" Her immediate chuckle/sigh and eye roll made me laugh nervously and shift my weight from one foot to another. She pulled out a small chart-pad, ripped off the first page and smacked it on the counter in front of me. "Do you have an ID?" She was glancing over the redneck's form as she spoke, clearly not expecting a response.

The man left for one of the rooms lining the hallway, and I had the girl's undivided attention. Well, sort of. "This damn computer won't work - it stopped working this morning, and...UHHHGGHH I think I'm going to have to replace it." I gave what I thought was my best concerned look (eyebrows brought to center, mouth scrunched into a "hmm") and tried to remember what a normal person would do in this situation. Scratch that, what would my mom do in this situation? Make a suggestion. Right. But what the hell do I know about computers? Nothing. Viruses. I guess. "Did you do a virus scan?" I asked helpfully, and it was apparently enough to keep the conversation going, "I've done everything" heavy sigh "even that woman" she gestured wildly "oh nevermind." Since I was unable to adequately mask my disinterest she moved on to the subject at hand - my new membership to the establishment in which we were idling.

As the girl rushed through the explanations of each package, "That Woman" came out of door #2. Wearing a dress resembling a jean jumpsuit that covered her large frame, and a haircut the Beatles would be ashamed of, That Woman was clearly a frequent visitor to Palmetto Tan. And She Had An Opinion.
And She Had An Opinion.
As That Woman dictated solutions for the girl's computer woes, I snuck into door #2. and stood there. The girl finally got a minute, grabbed her sanitizer bottle and quickly sprayed down the bakin' bed for me. Uttered some rushed instructions, which I had her repeat. twice. And still didn't get it. But I consider myself relatively smart, and I figured I'd simply read the labels on under the buttons and make do. It would have been a poor choice had I had an alternative.

Being that my legs are so pale (as discussed above) the girl suggested I flip around ainsi que my legs would be getting the more intense rays meant for my face. okay. but the fan buttons, etc, are on that side. Okay. So I undressed and got in (after hitting the start button on the wall and locating a pair of those eye-goggle things people get made fun of for all the time). I lay there for a second. Well. Do I just sit here? I guess I should close the lid. Man, am I supposed to adjust the fans with my toes? Geez it's hot in here. Okay, deep breath, you can do this. Eight minutes. You can do this. For normalcy's sake, you can do this. Oh! There're the fans. Okay, good. *Mental slap* don't look at the lights. Sleep, okay sleep. Man it's been a while - don't think about Final Destination. See it still lifts. Geez my bum feels like it's on fire. Well the girl said it would get hot. She was right. Okay, can't be long now. Okay...Okay...yeah. BUZZZZZ
And suddenly I could hear the overplayed pop radio station again. I was out and applying lotion. More tanner lotion. Yeah. Gotta have it, right?

I finally got dressed again, and as I emerged from door #2, there were no fewer than 5 people gathered around the malfunctioning hardware. "How was it?" the girl asked with a knowing grin. "It was, uh...good" I stuttered. "Okay, well, you're all set. See you later" "Okay...uh...thanks." I sort of shuffle-stepped to the door and pulled it open.

Well. I have learned my lesson: semper ubi sub-ubi. How bout you latin scholars try that one on for size? HA.

I've already been to the mall...and it SUCKED!

Half-way through moving a set of shelves, my friend Laura and I got distracted and went to buy some CDs.  On the way back, we again got distracted and stopped by Kroger to purchase food and Blenheim Ginger Ale (this, my friends, is religion).  When we arrived, we separated in order to increase efficiency and said we'd meet up in the fresh vegetable aisle. 

After ten minutes of unsuccessful searching (you gotta hit the stores at the right time for Blenheim), I picked up brie and french bread instead (my secondary religion) and trudged unhappily over to the veggie aisle to report.  But Laura was no where to be seen.  So, I browsed a little bit and then started walking back to the soda aisle, thinking she'd gone in search of the elusive Blenheim.  

As was to be expected, I got distracted.  By the Nora Roberts/Danielle Steele aisle.  Man, I have not splurged on a grocery store book in a long time.  I browsed for a minute, searching for the most ridiculous cover and title on the shelf.  It was as I was reading the back cover of Hot Property that I heard my name called.  I looked up to see Laura with an armful of stuff...more specifically, vegetables, soy sauce, ketchup, and two 'bodice-rippers'.  We both looked at each other, armfuls of unusual combinations of food (although if I'd found the Blenheim, it would've been better) and romance novels, and burst into uncontrollable laughter.  "Whew! Oh Kroger, where it all started," I finally contained my giggles, "I remember why we're friends."

On the way back, we listened to "Californication" and I did dramatic readings from Hot Property.  

---

Go on then, do it

I want to see your nose crinkle,

your eyebrows furrow - 

Bite your cheek and think,

she reads what?!

But I represent the real, the norm,

the not-so-special,

This is life, folks,

and I gotta be proud of something.

You can take your fancy words

and stuff it - 

this is me.

You...villain!

Lately, there seems to be a lot of speculation about who's going to be the next batman villain.   

My guess?  Clay Aiken.  Here're my reasons:

1. His resemblance to Joel Osteen (look at the eyes)

2. His apparent ability to brainwash people (don't look at the eyes)

Thoughts, anyone?

Back to Atlanta...

Okay, so the story in Atlanta, DAY TWO cont.

After the anti-climactic trip to the consulate, we made a trip to, where else, the mall.  Mom, in her ocd way mapped out exactly where we came in and how to get back to our car so as not to run into trouble on the way out (fancy that).  We browsed the stores - walked in an Aldo that had about 10 SALE SALE SALE signs in the front & a rather flamboyant associate in the back who glared at us as we walked in.  You could see him mentally size us up: Will they buy something?  I think not. hmmph.  

Almost to prove him wrong, I did buy something - a pair of light pink pointy-toed pumps on sale for 19.98 (did I mention it was conveniently tax-free weekend? ...and somehow high heels go under "educational"), which I tested before purchasing by strutting around the store to a Mika song, irony of ironies.  When we went to the register, the man's mood had significantly improved, and he graciously moved the 3 pairs of sneakers from in front of the register so as to make it more convenient for us to pay.  yeah. 

Eventually, we met up with my sister, who kept sighing deeply in an I can't believe I just took THE Bar way and was continuously using lawyer terms in normal sentences such as "Well, he did avail himself to the state" etc etc.  

Sarah, being who she is (a rare type of creature that sheds clothes like skin, in whose natural habitat we were currently wandering), led us directly to Anthropologie.  It was there that I fell in love.

We all waltzed in (because you can't walk in Anthropologie, the store is too...noble for that) and of course, being who we are (people with jobs and bills) we went immediately to the back of the store where there was a giant "Sale" sign hoisted over three mess-hall-table-sized clothing racks full of color-coded tops and skirts and pants and short shorts and bermuda shorts and sweaters and shrugs and, and, and...basically heaven to any female who wears clothes.  Of course, there were a few boyfriends and husbands here and there sheepishly toting shopping bags full of women's underwear and make-up products, all looking at the walls and the ceiling, as if trying not too appear too interested in women's clothing.  

As I was perusing the racks, an older woman came up beside me and started thumbing through the hangers.  Man, something smells like...soup.  Startled, I glanced at the older woman.  She paid me no attention, intent on her task.  Some people just don't understand the need for deodorant.  I walked away, annoyed.  But the smell wouldn't go away.  I looked around, wondering where it was coming from.  Geez, this whole place smells bad.  Then it dawned on me.  Pizza dawned on me.  I was carrying a pizza to-go bag left over from lunch.  I stuck my face in the bag, then quickly withdrew it.  Yep, soup-pizza.  Lovely.  

Ignoring the smell, I went back to the racks.  Then I saw it - a cream-colored knit shrug with a hoodie.  Wow, that is beautiful.  And suddenly, I was imagining our future together - wearing it everyday - with tank tops, with t-shirts, with skirts and pants, it would go with anything - taking it to Paris - sporting the knit shrug with the pointless hood, I knew could feel stylish even among the fashion elite.  I was in love.  

I didn't have to try it on, but went straight to the register.  Thirty minutes later, it was mine, and we were on the road home.  

Have Heart

Okay, so I know this isn't the story about falling in love in Atlanta like I promised, but that'll have to wait because I told my brother I'd write some song lyrics by tomorrow so we can make a song.  ...Now I've never attempted to write a song before, but I write a good bit of poetry, so I can't imagine it would be too different (just add chorus and music?)  In any case, here's my first attempt [Atlanta story to be continued later]:

Have Heart

You weren't perfect -
not what I wanted,
not what I needed.

You weren't made for me,
no, no

but I didn't have experience
and your jaded heart had bite.

You told me
who you wanted
so I could mold me
so you could hold me
and tell me
I have somebody's love.

Listen, I know it's not love,
I have hands,
I have eyes,
I have lips,
I have heart -
baby, I have heart,
and I know it's not love.

it wasn't serious -
falling asleep
and waking,
it simply was -
you were,
and I was,
we were

not here

my senses were worn,
tortured, guilty,
and your rough hands taunted,
and your smooth voice soothed,

like liquor, you soothed.

Listen, I know it's not love,
I have hands,
I have eyes,
I have lips,
I have heart -
baby, I have heart,
and I know it's not love.

[Clearly songwriting is not my forte, so don't judge] >_<

the moon rises. the sun also rises.

>_<  (oh, but it gets better)

After a night well spent watching PBS' America's Ballroom Challenge, which takes place in what looks like a high school gym and is attended by droves of over-dressed latino stereotypes who catcall to the (obviously russian, but supposedly "Canadian") dancers as each pair comes onto the stage; and Discovery's Shark Week, which pretty much speaks for itself, I dreamed about zombies (which makes complete sense) and woke up in the morning feeling calm and refreshed/like my soul had been eaten.  

Okay, if you managed to get through that incredibly long run-on, I am impressed.  Here's a brownie: 

*Insert Deep Breath Here*

Hhokay, so check-out and everything goes fine, we tip the valet and climb into our car (sounds familiar...) 

HOWEVER, we are preempted by four men in blue button-downs, all sporting sport jackets thrown sportingly over their shoulders, who toss their luggage in the bed of their silver Silverado (I kid you not) in a very "I'm on a commercial" way.  They proceed to pull a 56-point turn in order to get out of our way and off to what I'm sure was a business meeting in a conference room with an oval table, rolly chairs, and a good view of the Atlanta skyline.  

Meanwhile, Mom and I finally get on our way, and, without further distraction, make it to the consulate.  We pull into the parking deck of an elegant blue-glass 20-story building, walk through the black marble vault-ceilinged lobby, and stare at our shiny reflections in the elevator doors as we wait for the little arrow to light up.  Eventually, we get an elevator, and wait nervously inside for the small compartment to come to a stop.  The doors open onto a dingy, taupe-carpeted hall area, and my eyes go directly to a small table in front of a pair of glass double doors clouded with smudges.  A man too large for his folding chair and (very) obviously American looks at the pair of us with amusement and asks if I have an appointment.  Yes I have an appointment, I got here 30 minutes early, so you better not send me away.  The man in the folding chair sends my mom back to the dramatic lobby and me around the corner to a small waiting area in front of a what looks like a window from a movie theater - complete with bullet-proof plexiglass, microphone, and very small space to slide papers and money under.  I wait.  10 minutes later a girl shows up.  She sits down next to me and immediately pulls out her cell phone and begins chatting.  I wait.  Folding chair man is making jokes to a friend about how little french he speaks.  Cell phone girl gets called to the window.  I keep waiting.  Finally, the girl (who apparently was a flight attendant for Delta, which I will be boycotting for a while...) gathers her stuff and leaves, and I get called to the window.  They ask for my documents, which I provide, tell me I'm missing two things that were not listed on the site, keep everything (including my passport), and send me on my way. ten minutes later.  

...It's late again - More to come tomorrow about how I fell in love in Atlanta.  Congrats on getting through that.  You deserve another brownie.  

Well, that was anti-climactic.

The journey to Atlanta to get my visa yesterday did not start off well.

Since I had (naturally) waited until the last minute to

 get my important papers together, there was a thunderstorm.

Now, just a little history:

We moved to the boondocks three years ago, and in the first 2-3 months we lived here, our power went out literally six times. At least. So, being the rational, clear-thinking people that we are, we put about five hundred lightning rods on our roof, turning our house into what looks like the headquarters of a radio station. But at least it solved our power-outage problem because our power has not gone out since.

...Until yesterday, when I needed to use the copier.

But not wanting to wait around for the power to come back on, we decide to go to the UPS store to make copies. So we load up and hop into the car, and proceed to realize that - there ain no way we gettin out of the garage.

Well, a ladder, some pullies, and two diet cokes later, my mother and I (two minute females) manage to manually open the door, drive the car out, and manually reclose it (which, believe it or not, was the more difficult feat), and finally get the trip underway. By the time we have made the copies at the UPS store and run the errands that my mother had conveniently left until then to run, it was well past five o'clock, which put us right in the middle of getting-off-work traffic.

We did finally make it, munching on the way on burnt popcorn & chocolate chip cookie "100-calorie packs" that tasted like popsicle sticks. As we arrive into the hotel, check in and waddle, encumbered by luggage, up to the elevators, several other people have also arrived (at this point, I want you to take out your list of stereotypes and see if there's anyone missing in this crowd):

1. Family of four - the children hugging pillows and following doggedly behind the parents

2. Two middle-aged heavyset businessmen with New Jersey accents and probably violin cases in their rooms

3. Two blonde "early thirties" businesswomen being chatted up by the men, "You two look like sisters! harharhar"

4. Asian delivery man holding two or three bags of chinese food

5. Us - Vera Bradley-toting, shorts sporting, unassuming southern us.

And we all crowd into the elevator together. ...well, everyone but the asian delivery guy who stands at the back of the line to get in, then, realizing with dismay that there's no more room, backs off to wait for the next elevator.

----Okay, I'll post more from Day 2 when it's not past my bedtime.