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Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Fake tans are whack

Last night I decided to give myself a fake tan. Normally I don't subject myself to this sort of thing. But I'm going to the beach for the Fourth of July and I didn't want to traipse around in a bikini while appearing consumptive.

So I used L'Oreal Sublime Self-Tanning Towelettes. Here is the resulting photo:



It was a great trauma. There are streaks everywhere. I have even more sympathy now for the toddlers of Toddlers and Tiaras who are led unwittingly into chambers called "tanning tents," which are like nightmarish reimaginings of the circus. Also, who am I kidding, their lives are way more terrible than mine, it's just really sad.

But what gives! I did everything right! I used the little cloth thingy all over my body, trying to guess where it was going, where it had been, as at that point the tanner formula was invisible, like carbon monoxide the silent killer, and I just had to have faith in myself, and in tanning.

Perhaps I didn't wait long enough for it to dry? But listen to this: I waited thirty-five minutes! Thirty-five minutes of standing around, naked, while I rotated my body like a rotisserie chicken in front of the air conditioner. After thirty-five minutes I was still covered in a sort of unsettling, muggy film, like a physical manifestation of guilt, but what else could I do? I decided it was dry enough. It had to be.

So I went to bed. Like Christmas Eve, the magic was supposed to happen during the night.

And by magic I mean: streaks down my arms, between my boobs, on the inner part of my thigh...it was a mess (see photo), but I suppose it was magical, in that it magically went from looking okay to looking terrible.

Now I am left with the question of why. The package said "wait until dry." Perhaps I went to bed prematurely and smudged it all over myself and my bed sheets. But how long must a woman wait for her tanner? I had to move on, my friends. I had to move on.

Maybe I am sensitive because I feel this experience demonstrates an overarching theme of (and problem I have with) beautifying practices. They...take...so....long. I don't have time to stand around naked for longer than thirty-five minutes. I'm sorry, I just don't. I would like to run errands or stand in front of my window or take out the trash and would prefer not to do it while naked.

Am I alone in this feeling?

In the end, I have decided not to blame myself, but the product. And the fact that my 1/8 Irish heritage somehow overrides my 7/8 Italian heritage, depriving me of a ruddy and sanguine complexion, and leaving me pale, confused and covered in self-tanner.

Please share your thoughts on the practice of self-tanning and/or Toddlers and Tiaras. Are any of you giving yourselves fake tans, right now, as we speak? If so, stop!

--FR

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Vine: another great way to be weird

Hello! How are you? Feeling weird? Good, me too. This is why I'm here to tell you about something called Vine -- the latest social media craze.

What is Vine, besides a thing on which grapes grow?

Vine is an app for your phone or tablet or [name of other strange, reality-displacing device] that allows you to film short films by tapping on the screen and holding. When you lift your finger, the filming stops. You can't go back and edit. And you only get six seconds.

A Twitter exchange that I enjoyed

Recently I tweeted something sort of funny, and then a bunch of people tweeted a bunch more funny things in response, and now I would like to share these things with you. Okay, bye!