To tell you about today, we must begin with yesterday. Yesterday, I was over at my good friend, Hearty Babe's, house. Her daughter was throwing a birthday party for her little boy. One of the cutest boys ever, by the way. Anyway, she does spray tanning on the side. I asked her if she was still doing that. She said yes and asked if I wanted to try it. I said sure, but that I was worried about turning orange. She said, "you won't turn orange." I say these words in quotation marks because my dear friend, whom I shall now call Spray Tan Barbie was not completely correct in making that statement. I can't say much about it because, afterall, she took a bullet by standing in front me while I was in nothing but my skivies and airbrushed me. She didn't throw up or anything. That's bravery, and for that, Spray Tan Barbie, I salute you! I did all my poses and she sprayed everywhere. She didn't spray me a six pack on my abs, but she did spray the existing keg that was already there. She said if I wanted to come back so she could spray my "girl parts to match" we could do that. This is true friendship. I mean the list of people that are willing to spray tan my hoo hoo is short. Really short. I mean, I guess I haven't really asked a lot of people, but I think if I did, the list would still be short. Anyway, I didn't really see the purpose in that, so I declined. It isn't like anyone is going to see my undercover girl parts.
So, the parting instructions last night were, "Don't touch yourself a lot." Ok, well, I could make any number of inappropriate comments here, but I did tell her, "Well, I don't really know how I am going to keep my hands off myself, but ok, I'll try." As soon as I got home, I went to bed and the first thing I could not resist doing is making myself a "Cassondra Blanket" and attaching myself to Will's side. HA! Take that pasty white boy! I held on like it was a rodeo in spite of his attempts to peel me off. By the time I was done, mission accomplished, he had spray tan boob and belly marks on his belly. Mean? No. Funny? Yes. The thing is, karma does have a way of coming full circle because come morning, I woke up and found the palms of my hands to be dark orangey-brown and white hand prints on my belly. Apparently, while sleeping, I put my hands on my belly. This is exactly the kind of thing Spray Tan Barbie advised me not to do.
I went down and took a shower and I thought, okay, this is okay....it's kind of orange, but kind of really tan, I'm tropical. I"m not George Hamilton, but I'm not a Tahitian beauty either. I considered covering up as much as I could and then I thought, no. If I can rock this fat body on a daily basis, I can rock this fat orange body. Own it! I put on a nice off-white, knee-length linen skirt and an off-white top with short sleeves. I'm orange and I'm proud. Actually, if you ever see orange sherbet ice cream with vanilla mixed in, that is what I looked like. I was a creamcicle.
To forewarn my co-workers of my new nationality, Orange, I posted the following message:
"spray tan update: I am from the villiage of Tonga Tonga. Do not be afraid. My orangey skin is normal...and no, the splotches on my armpit and boobs are not disease. And, yes, I know my palms are orange, turns out I slept with my hands resting on my belly. Loofah, Lather, Repeat. LOL. Well, I had to try anyway, I don't think this body is meant for these type of cosmetic enhancements."
I arrived at work and did what any girl would that wanted to hear the truth, I went straight over to my gay friend, File Bitch, and asked him point blank, "Am I orange?" Without hesitation, without considering me at all he simply stated, "Yes." Others came over to see me and said, "Wow, you got a lot of sun." Okay, first, we all live here in the same area, where exactly do you think I got that much sun on an overcast weekend? Boss number one said, "you've been spending a lot of time on the beach." Yes, because that is where I hang out when it is 55 degrees outside in my fat girl bikini. I said, "no, I was spray tanned." He looked me up and down. I said, "I know, I'm orange." He looked up and down again and said, "I don't think you look orange." His lips said no, but his eyes said yes. Oh, well. I rocked it. Not everyone can. Orange isn't for everyone. Three different people thought they were hilarious and called me an Oompa Loompa. For this, there will be a price, but at a later date. Foolish people. One of the guys that came in for a typing test stared at me a lot. Mostly at my chest. Dirtbag. That's okay because the whole time he was talking to me I was staring at that ugly, huge mole under his nose. No one that is tall, hairy, weird and smelly can work a mole. No one.
One person said to me as I was leaving, "if you were nervous about being orange, you sure wouldn't know it with that outfit. You just put it all out there." That's pretty much what I do, put it all out there. Take it, or leave it, you're getting it.
So, the parting instructions last night were, "Don't touch yourself a lot." Ok, well, I could make any number of inappropriate comments here, but I did tell her, "Well, I don't really know how I am going to keep my hands off myself, but ok, I'll try." As soon as I got home, I went to bed and the first thing I could not resist doing is making myself a "Cassondra Blanket" and attaching myself to Will's side. HA! Take that pasty white boy! I held on like it was a rodeo in spite of his attempts to peel me off. By the time I was done, mission accomplished, he had spray tan boob and belly marks on his belly. Mean? No. Funny? Yes. The thing is, karma does have a way of coming full circle because come morning, I woke up and found the palms of my hands to be dark orangey-brown and white hand prints on my belly. Apparently, while sleeping, I put my hands on my belly. This is exactly the kind of thing Spray Tan Barbie advised me not to do.
I went down and took a shower and I thought, okay, this is okay....it's kind of orange, but kind of really tan, I'm tropical. I"m not George Hamilton, but I'm not a Tahitian beauty either. I considered covering up as much as I could and then I thought, no. If I can rock this fat body on a daily basis, I can rock this fat orange body. Own it! I put on a nice off-white, knee-length linen skirt and an off-white top with short sleeves. I'm orange and I'm proud. Actually, if you ever see orange sherbet ice cream with vanilla mixed in, that is what I looked like. I was a creamcicle.
To forewarn my co-workers of my new nationality, Orange, I posted the following message:
"spray tan update: I am from the villiage of Tonga Tonga. Do not be afraid. My orangey skin is normal...and no, the splotches on my armpit and boobs are not disease. And, yes, I know my palms are orange, turns out I slept with my hands resting on my belly. Loofah, Lather, Repeat. LOL. Well, I had to try anyway, I don't think this body is meant for these type of cosmetic enhancements."
I arrived at work and did what any girl would that wanted to hear the truth, I went straight over to my gay friend, File Bitch, and asked him point blank, "Am I orange?" Without hesitation, without considering me at all he simply stated, "Yes." Others came over to see me and said, "Wow, you got a lot of sun." Okay, first, we all live here in the same area, where exactly do you think I got that much sun on an overcast weekend? Boss number one said, "you've been spending a lot of time on the beach." Yes, because that is where I hang out when it is 55 degrees outside in my fat girl bikini. I said, "no, I was spray tanned." He looked me up and down. I said, "I know, I'm orange." He looked up and down again and said, "I don't think you look orange." His lips said no, but his eyes said yes. Oh, well. I rocked it. Not everyone can. Orange isn't for everyone. Three different people thought they were hilarious and called me an Oompa Loompa. For this, there will be a price, but at a later date. Foolish people. One of the guys that came in for a typing test stared at me a lot. Mostly at my chest. Dirtbag. That's okay because the whole time he was talking to me I was staring at that ugly, huge mole under his nose. No one that is tall, hairy, weird and smelly can work a mole. No one.
One person said to me as I was leaving, "if you were nervous about being orange, you sure wouldn't know it with that outfit. You just put it all out there." That's pretty much what I do, put it all out there. Take it, or leave it, you're getting it.
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