Spotty

I look like a cheetah. Only not pretty. Tired of having skin the color of the underbelly of a fish in mid-summer, I decided to take action and make an appointment for an air brush tan. I've never had luck avoiding streaks with the self-applied products and find laying in a tanning bed quite frightening. To avoid sun damage and personal stress of do-it-yourself-tanning, I figured this was the way to go. I went in not knowing what to expect, but I was determined not to come out as orange as an Oompa Loompa.

Initially, I was pretty happy with the color and the natural look of a non-streaky golden tan, but as the week wears on, I've noticed that it is fading unevenly despite my attempts to stay moisturized and avoid exfoliants. In certain lights, the skin on my legs look patchy, and, when I use toner on my face and neck, the cottonball turns brown. I thought enduring 20 minutes of standing naked in a small curtained booth while the technician, armed with a spraying device, calmly commanded me to "Put your leg out as though you're doing a lunge...Perfect! (spray)...turn your leg so your toes are pointing out...Perfect! (spray)...turn around and put your arms out with your hands against the wall, please...Perfect! (spray)" was enough punishment for my vanity. Apparently not. At this point, I think I would be better off scribbling on myself with a tan Magic Marker.

I am happy to report that I am writing this post on my new laptop. Yippee! I surprised myself when I discovered that this is the first computer I've ever truly owned. I am making headway, through furniture and electronics purchases, in my quest to become an adult. First, I retired the old futon this year and bought an actual bed. Major step. Now, I have my own computer and can stop using my roommate's. And, in a short while, I will move into my new apartment, where I can paint the walls any colors I want, and will become responsible for the first pet of my very own, Kitty. Good times.