humor

Thoughts Inside a Tanning Bed

I enter the tanning room……

Whoa! That Tanning bed is Ginormous! Seriously it is like the size of a shipping crate. Please tell me what person is the size of an ocean liner?

Starts to undress….

Dang its cold in here! One would think if people are getting naked up in here, they would turn up the heat.

I Strip down to my birthday suit, and open worlds smallest packet of tanning lotion for $5.

There is no way this is going to cover my whole body! 

I rip open tiny package with my teeth, loose a dollop to the floor.

Seriously?! That was like $2.50?!@!#

I consider using fallen lotion….decide it would only lead to some incurable skin condition, and leave the lonely dollop on the floor. Rub remaining lotion on my skin.

Awesome I smell like a stripper….This must be what they use hehe.

Notices footsteps outside door. 

Did those footsteps just stop outside my door?  what is he doing out there… Oh hell I hope he doesn’t come in.  Did I lock the door? not sure it matters these doors are a little flimsy any way, I am sure if Mr. footstep wanted to get in he would have no trouble. Is he just standing out there?  Why doesn’t he move?

<coughs> <clears throat> in hopes that stranger will know I am in here, get scared and run away. lay down on the cold bed, afraid to press my goose pimpled flesh onto the icy glass.

Must find distraction until this rocket takes off.

Finding good song on i-pod

Did, I really download all of these?

<Skip…Skip…Skip..>

Note to self: create playlist of songs you actually want to hear. I wonder if anyone else gets sick of their music? Why don’t you just pick what song you want to hear so you can stop flipping?

 <Skip…Skip..>

Fine! No more skipping next song is staying on no matter what it is!  Ugh Brittney Spears… <Skip> surly I downloaded that as a joke!?

<Skip…Skip> Tanning bed finally Fires Up 

Whoa! this thing is loud.  teeeheee its like I’m inside a rocket ship. BLAST OFF!! So that’s what the goggles are for! damn its bright in here? Body looks so cool in neon! I wish I could be in neon all the time. That would be weird though. What if I was the only one with a neon body. People would see me and be all like ” Is she from the future?” And of course I would respond. “YES!”

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  Wait……. are all of my body parts getting hit with this thing? I hope there isn’t some crazy skin roll in my back, because then I’ll have some weird stripe, and people will call me  crazy zebra lady.  Maybe I could get a spot on National Geographic channel like that lizard guy? What about my butt crease?  Am I down far enough?    Stop thinking about it, just relax…shhh shh shhhhhh.

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Adjusts back, legs, neck and whole body….

I’m feeling so fly like a cheese stick, like a cheese sick…that cant be what they saying. Cheese sticks  are good and all, but I never equated them with feeling fly. Mental note: look up song lyrics when I get home.

What if the glass I am laying on collapses, and my naked body falls on shards of hot light bulbs, would I die instantly? or would  I have to pull my bloodied body out? I would then become hysterical and run out of the room. I’d be screaming, naked, and running around the hallways frantically searching for help. They’d have to call 911 because I would be burnt, bloody and super dramatic about it. I would make the incident look like a scene from a gore filled horror flick. Wiping handfuls of blood all over the walls…. On second thought, that would be awkward, and maaybeeee… a little too much.  I most likely would pull myself from the wreckage and slide my clothes on over the glass shards, calmly, approach the counter and explain what happened. “Excuse me mam, I believe your tanning bed is broken, as evidenced by my blistering and bloody glass filled body.” She would be all horrified, and I would then demand a refund, at least!  Did something just shift beneath me, did I just hear glass crack? 316260

Turns off music inspects tanning bed. lays back down sighing in relief.

That girl I saw, the other day, looks like she spent so much time on her appearance, I’ll bet she farts glitter. If a person really did fart glitter, would they need to wear some kind of filter type underwear, like cheese cloth or something?  Seriously where would all the glitter go?  It would probably all accumulate in your pants until you took them off, then there would be a huge glitter pile on your bedroom floor. That would be hard to get rid of, you’d have to vacuum the glitter spot for weeks, nay decades and there would still be glitter! Seriously that stuff never goes away!  If I farted glitter I would sport ass-less chaps, that way I wouldn’t have to worry about dealing with mass amounts of glitter in my panties. I could also spread the glitter love, a little puff here, a little puff there, MAGICAL! No robbing banks after eating taco bell though, because it would leave a trail of glitter for the cops to follow….BUSTED!

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Cuz you make me feeeel like……. I’ve beeen locked in a heaaad lock, for too loooonnng.

hehehe Shark Nado! hehehe. That was a terrible movie!  Ill bet they make a sequel. They always make a sequel, wonder if the sequel will be just as bad….or worse?  Maybe it won’t be about sharks but centipedes. I’m Pretty sure if a centipede tornado came I would drop dead from fear! those things are freaky fast, and all the legs…soft bodies…running around on my skin…AHHHHH!

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I jump up and itch my whole body checking the floor and tanning bed for centipedes.

What is wrong with me?!  I must be the weirdest person alive. I’ll probably end up in a nut house at some point in my life. That really wouldn’t be so bad though? I could play bridge with all the other crazies all day long. I’ll bet half of them are not crazy, they are just so brilliant that people think they are crazy. I’ll bet one of them is a time traveler, he’d be interesting to talk to.

Am I burning? feels like I’m burning? its pretty hot in here….. I wonder if tanning beds ever start on fire? That’s silly Shelly you would know if it was on fire, Right?  What if my tanning bed IS on fire? and I can’t feel it because its hot in here, and I don’t notice the flame because it’s so bright? If it did start on fire do you think it would spontaneously combust, and any chance for escape, would be futile? Or would I realize I was burning and have time to remove myself from the tanning bed and roll around on the ground.  Would I STOP-DROP and ROLL? I have seen a few shows on television where people were on fire and I felt the need to scream at the T.V.  They would run around flailing their arms, in a panic, making the fire grow larger. I really feel like the whole STOP DROP and ROLL thing was a big part of passing kindergarten. Maybe when your on fire you lose all your senses and forget?

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Gets up to make sure tanning bed is not on fire, just in case.

I feel like I’ve been in this thing forever. how many minutes left… I wish I could just sleep in these things like normal people do.

Tanning bed shuts off.

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The Meat Man.

There are three kinds of people in the world. The ones who immediately answer the door when someone knocks,  the person who asks “who is it?” before answering the the door, and then there is me. I am the person who hears a knock at the door and crawls around on the floor looking out every available window, like a ninja, to find out who it is.

I am not sure where this irrational fear comes from. Perhaps it stems from my extreme dislike of small talk. I really hate plastering myself with pretend smiles and fake friendliness in the face complete strangers, while they spill out the contents of their boring mundane life. It may seem harsh but I never found any personal benefit from these small meaningless interactions. Hence my fear of answering the unexpected banging on my chamber door.

At the time I was living in a studio apartment with my boyfriend, whom for all intents and purposes we shall dub Sam. Sam and I were both in college and had little time for anything other than books and bars, you know the important things. It was a normal quite evening, we were so deep in our respective homework that when it happened, I thought the plaster walls would crumble. A knock at the door. My heart jumped, Sam shuttered with discontent. Millions of unspoken anxieties passed though us, as the knocks became increasingly louder and ominous. KNOCK! KNOCK! Praying it wasn’t some solicitor, or the land lord dropping by for some mind numbing small talk. The banging continued as if the stranger on the other side of the door could see us, as if he knew with each intimidating knock our hearts were welling up with annoyance.

“You should answer the door” I whispered. In my head I figured the best course of action would be to let Sam take the brunt of the offending solicitor, while I try to contort myself in the worlds smallest bathroom to hide from the attack.

“You get it.” Sam slowly answered as if not fully committed to his statement. KNOCK KNOCK!! the deafening sounds of offensive knocks filling our tiny sanctuary with a profound foreboding, escalating to an anxiety ridden crescendo.

“Wait, maybe they will just go away, they will think we are not home or something.” I postulated, hoping I could put up with the excessive knocking until they gave up. “No no no that’s stupid! the T.V. is clearly on, they know we are here.” KNOCK KNOCK… and apparently they are not going to go away. Great.

Sam gently eased me off the futon, and by ease I mean prodded with force .”Just get the door Shelly.” Sam flippantly said as he returned to his books. All the muscles in my body were working against me as I scrapped myself off the futon and nervously headed for the door. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Honestly, one would think a person would be like; maybe they are not home and give up at this point? My arm reached out to grasp the cold brass knob and with a quick turn the door was open.

There he was, the person who had intruded my deep thoughts on organic chemistry, with his thunderous knocking. Standing in the hallway, an old black man. He was slightly taller than myself, which is not saying much seeing as how most pre-pubescent boys are taller than me. His frail frame was adorned in a burgundy polyester suit, the jacket hanging long on his slim figure. The flashy suit was probably the picnicale of high fashion back in it’s hay day, but now it just looked like something found at the local thrift shop for a buck fifty. I smiled at the man, the sweet kind of acknowledgement smile that you would give an older lady at church. He lifted his head full of wiry grey hairs and said the most absurd and shocking words I ever expected to hear out of this slight mans mouth “Do you want some Meat?” There was No hello, No introduction. He just blurted out the phrase as if it was a perfectly normal thing to ask a complete stranger.

I wish I could re-capture my exact inner dialogue at this moment, I am pretty sure it went something like the following: “No.” Instead of listening to the voice of reason, instead of closing the door on this apparent lunatic, I shrugged my shoulders and replied ” Sure I guess.” I know what your thinking, why would someone who is nervous to answer an innocent knock at the door accept meat form a complete stranger? I have spent countless sleepless nights pondering my actions of that day, but to no avail my thoughts elude me and no answer was ever forthcoming.

I gave a quick glance at Sam both of us appalled with my apparent inability to assert myself and say No to the freakish mans request. I twisted back toward the man, and gave him a sheepish smile. He rewarded it with an eerie thin lipped grin, the kind a villain in the movies gives when his underhanded plans to trick the unsuspecting victim are realized. He said nothing, turned on his heal and began to walk across the dimly lit hall, beckoning me to follow with a curled finger pointing to what was sure to be my final moments. I shot Sam a look that could have won me an Oscar if I was cast in a horror movie, and continued down the hall after the man in the blood red polyester suit.

We reached his door and slowly it opened at the softest touch. I gingerly placed each foot on the soft white carpet of this strangers dwelling. His living room was adorned with copious amount of trinkets, brass statues, old records, and porcelain nick-knacks. These must be trophies from his previous victims I thought. Smoke from burning incense wafted about carelessly in the air, filling my lungs with the sweet false stench, surely created to cover up more devious smells. I heard the door gently closing the soft sounds of the locks whispering their song of finality. I followed him into the kitchen area, with a polite nervous smile plastered on my face, secretly glancing around for a window or door that would lead to my freedom, but alas none was to be found. His dark black eyes lifted to my face, as he gestured to the open freezer door. My body shifted to face the horrific mess that was this mans kitchen. The dirt stained door was wide open, and packed full of Meat and ice. The ice was half melted and mixed with bloody juices, dripping onto the dingy linoleum at the rate of a human heart beat. Drip..drip….Drip..drip….Drip..drip. The flesh was lean and cut into deep crimson strips, approximately the length of a human thigh, raw butchered steaks were laying listlessly in their icy coffin. Clearly this was not store brought meat. I inhaled sharply, and held my breath, as if a lack of oxygen would help me. Have you ever wondered what you would do in a life threatening situation? I always imagined I would be all heroic and bad ass, but then you find yourself in one of those situations only to discover you are just a wuss covered in a coating of distorted fortitude. The old mans eyes danced with delight as they grazed my frightened face ” Just take some meat!”

To afraid to deny his request at this time I reached my shaking hand into the cold dark and bloody abyss. My fingers caressed the first piece of un packaged meat, I felt the ice flakes crush beneath my sweaty palms. With a quick jerk I aimed to swipe a few pieces and high tale it out of this nightmare, but that was not to be. The “human steaks” were frozen together and then frozen to the bottom of the freezer. I gave the bloody iced over muscle a gentle tug and giggled nervously at my would be killer. With his hunched back turned to me he reached his spindly fingers into a rickety narrow drawer next to the food crusted stove. This is it Shelly, hit him over the head with a frying pan and get the hell outta there! In one swift motion he pulled out a long shiny object and pointed it to the ceiling looking at it with admiration. incense filled my eyes, trying to focus it dawned on me, this murderous man had a butcher knife in his hands! My skin instantly broke into a cold sweat. RUN, RUN!! my mind was yelling at my now lifeless legs. I tightly closed my eyes and waited for the smooth blade to cut my exposed neck. Like I said, I am apparently a giant cuckold. His wrinkled hands grabbed my clutched fingers as he placed the wooden handle in them. ” Here use this to break the meat free from the ice.” He proposed with a voice as smooth as custard. Relief washed over me. This man is not going to kill me, He honestly just wants to give me meat. I shifted my focus back to the bloody steak freezer and proceeded to chip away blocks of ice and meat.

“That’s good enough for now, you can come back and get the rest once it has thawed out more.” Holding chunks of frozen meat in both hands, I shrugged my shoulders hopping he would pick up on the obvious dilemma of running down the hallway with raw meat in my hands. He passed me some tin foil to wrap the grizzled meat in. (side note: why wouldn’t you wrap it in foil before freezing it?) I took my dubious packages and proceeded to walk to the door thanking the man for the meat. I must of had the strangest look on my face, because honestly that was probably one of the most peculiar encounters of my life.

Sam, breathed a sigh of relief when I walked in the door. “So he just gave you Meat?” He asked expectantly. I regaled the terrifying story, to Sam who was staring with a look of amusement and disbelief on his face. (It still bothers me to this day that he didn’t come with me on this meaty adventure.) After all was said and done one fact still remained: There is no way I am going to eat this meat! I shoved the raw frozen meat at Sam and told him to get rid of it NOW! Awkwardly the meat passed between us and there ensued the dilemma of disposing the meat.

“Where should I put it?”

” I don’t know just get rid of it! “

” Cant we just put it in our garbage?”

” No F-ing way, do I want that in here! “

“We’ll then You find a place to put it!”

” Hell No! I was the one who had to pick axe it out of some weird guys freezer, who could have killed me by the way! “

Sam shuffled walked out the door, with the miscellaneous meat, and disposed of it. Apparently he threw it in the dumpster outside the apartment. I was told that he thoroughly covered it with boxes and other garbage so that it would not be discovered, by the meat man, in hopes to avoid some awkward conversation in the future.

“Why don’t you want my meat, it’s good meat..?” The meat man would say. I would probably stand there starring into space, allowing the blood in my body to boil over with potential explanations, none of which would suffice, before I would just run away, spending the rest of my lease avoiding the man.

Over the course of the next few months this crazy dance played out. The meat man would knock on our door. ” Would you like some more meat?” I would grudgingly follow him to his apartment and proceed to chip away the bloody ice, freeing the meat. I would then return to my abode and Sam would sneakily hide the meat In the dumpster, in order not to offend the man and his meat gift.

Needless to say the whole experience was torturous for me. Strange man, innocuous small talk, bloody meat, and so on. I am sure you can imagine my relief when his freezer was finally empty and all that was left were meat blood ice chips. Except, instead of relief I felt empty, like I would miss the charade. I found myself missing the small talk, the meaningless recounts of our day to day activities.

It was Christmas Eve and it had been a few months since I last saw the meat man. Sam and I were preparing to leave the apartment I order to attend our families Christmas celebrations. When a familiar knock yet again graced our door. Instead my usual crawl around on the floor trying to hide from the visitor I excitedly swung the door open. On the other side stood my new acquaintance, the meat man. In a small voice he asked Sam and I if we would join him for a Christmas cocktail. I smiled brightly and replied “Of course!” We followed down the hallway after the man, and I entered his crowded apartment one more time.

In the middle of his living room a small gold table was delicately placed surrounded by three plush chairs. Upon the opulent table was a bottle of cognac, some melted brie cheese and crackers, and a few Cuban cigars. We sat as he poured us a generous glass of the aged brandy, and lit a cigar.

Throughout the night he regaled us with the most marvelous stories from his past. He told us tales from a time when he used to play jazz with the Thelonious Monk. He shared the story of the love of his life and her passing. He painted verbal pictures of his adventures in New Orleans. My meat man, whom I have shared numerous amounts of small talk with suddenly became the most interesting man in the world. The aged Brandy went down smoothly as we conversed all night, playing old jazz records, losing myself in another persons story. That would be the last I saw of him. I can’t say for certain where he went. I would like to think he is living peacefully, sharing his stories with anyone brave enough to accept them, and his meat.

It is easy to always think about ourselves and the happenings in our life. It is easy to judge someone based on our preconceived ideals of societal norms. It takes time and patience to listen to someone’s stories especially when they don’t pertain to you. It takes compassion and understanding to set aside your judgements and accept someone for who they are. But, If you are lucky enough, to step outside of yourself, if for only a few moments, and give your time and full attention to someone else, you might be surprised how truly freeing and rewarding it can be. I have been blessed to “meat” this amazing man even if it was in an unconventional way, and never again will I be fearful of opening the door, to someone strange.

To Bump or not to Bump

To Bump or not to Bump that is the question..

The fist bump conundrum is sweeping the globe. From the creation of the fist bump to present times. Many people are still confused and unsure of proper fist bump etiquette. What or rather when is the suitable time for a wicked fist bump?  How does one react when one person wants to bump, and you want to shake, or hive-five?

The “First Bump”

Lets start with the origin of the fist bump, someone had to start the madness, right? The fist bump, also referred to The Pound, Knuckle Blaster, Bro Fist, Fo’ Knuckles, or a  Knuckle touch, is a gesture when two participants form closed fists and lightly touch knuckles, (that really makes it sound Bad Ass doesn’t it?) The known first fist bump on record is a little “shaky”. According to some it can be traced back to the 1800s as the “Boxers first hand shake”. There is also a cited instance where NBA player Fred Carter of the Baltimore Bullets in the 1970s preformed a fist bump with another player. Despite all the controversy around the first fist, I like to believe the true origins came from the 1970s Hanna-Barrera cartoon classic “Super Friends” where the superheros would fist bump and say in unison “Wonder Twin Powers Activate!”

Again, pretty Bad Ass right?

However the fist bump started one thing is for certain, it is here to stay.

The collision of the bump vs. shake

You know that awkward moment, when you are going in for the bump and the other guy assumes the high five position. This soon can get out of “hand” (pun totally intended) in which a few scenarios are likely. One development that is very likely to take place is the legendary awkward  fist conversion confusion. This is  when both partakers chose to convert, and the game continues until someone recognizes the situation and verbally points out the unpleasant predicament or goes with it, and a flump occurs. Another possible outcome could be running into “that guy” you know the one who senses the impending fist bump confusion on the horizon. He improvises, and what you end up with is some one armed shoulder hug, with a gentle fist bump to the spine type thingy. No one is entirely sure what just happened, and after an interaction like that you are a little nervous for the next time the two of you intermingle. Last but not at all least is the notorious stand off, where neither party wants to convert. this will always end in a flump or worse, an end of all friendly gestures with the individual, until dominance is re-established.  This is usually accomplished thru the ritual of swapping sports knowledge until one of the participants backs down. In this heated discussion a mediator is usually present. Please note this situation will not apply to girls.

Bump etiquette:

1. Bumping is acceptable, at all sporting events sans NASCAR.

2. Bumping is not allowed when meeting a person for the first time, nor is it appropriate for business transactions, (please note above photo of awkwardness) a traditional hand shake is recommended.

3. Bumping is NEVER proper at a funeral or in the hospital, I really can’t think of any scenario where a high five would be appropriate here either. It is highly suggested you stick with the shake.

4. When wearing a suit or business attire, a fist bump is only acceptable when drunk, or when parts of your suit or clothing is tied around parts of your body, most commonly your head.

5. When inebriated fist bumps are always preferred to any other greeting. Mostly because high-fives require hand eye coordination that may not be available to you at that time.

Even knowing and applying the rules of fist bumping it is still inevitable that you will run into that unsavory situation when you have to make a conversion decision. Might I suggest you hold strong to the bump, for one it is much easier to convert an open hand to a fist, (perhaps it just feels like that because you  are the one with the fist and therefore no conversion is required on your behalf). By backing down and converting you risk appearing passive, allowing the other person to dictate the greeting. If you change course and convert to the open palm, you risk the other person converting to the fist, and thus the confusion begins anew. Of course this is all mute if you are the one with the open hand. So in conclusion whatever gesture you deem appropriate, hold strong fist or open hand. Show the other person who can greet like a boss. Don’t back down, it is you who decides your  friendly gesture fate, and will not be pushed around. Just make sure you’re a girl, or you know more than your buddy about sports.