Table Seven

I rarely mention boys to the White Buffalo. No real reason why, except maybe I worry it makes him uncomfortable, or it makes me uncomfortable. I don’t think it’s in me to analyze it all right now, actually. But I did decide to share with him tonight. I pitched him a conundrum. I really should pitch him conundrums more often really, his insight is priceless. Or maybe his commentary is priceless.

Long story, which I am not sure is worthy of actually getting into the details, but I gave the Buffalo the cliff notes because it was hard enough for me to bring it up to him in the first place. As the cliff notes go, in an even cliffier version basically cute boy, I ran into after not having seen him since before I moved back, he got my number, word is out he has been collecting info, he called one night, he didn’t leave a message…

dk - … so, after all that, I texted him. I thought it was clever and at least worthy of a response. But nothing. Nothing? I have decided that he didn’t receive it. He couldn’t have!? And that’s why he didn’t text me back. I mean, he couldn’t just not respond. My text was worthy of at least a response.
wb - It can’t be Christmas everyday, Baby D. He got your text. Everyone gets texts and calls these days. It’s 2007. He is just too embarrassed to respond.

It can’t be Christmas everyday? I suppose it cannot. Although, I wish it was. And even more profound than that, the White Buffalo gave me some of the best dating advice I have ever received.

wb - You need to get yourself a caddy.
dk - A caddy? Like golf caddy?
wb - Exactly. Just like Tiger has one that helps him decide to use his nine iron or his putter. You need a mutual friend that will act as a caddy. Boy or girl, it doesn’t really matter, but get yourself a caddy that can stage a “run in.”

And with that tidbit of knowledge, I got myself a caddy tonight. It’s a girl. And lucky for me, my caddy is friend’s with his caddy. I doubt he knows that he has a caddy, but he does. Frankly, I like just having a caddy, it gives the golf course of love a little something extra it was lacking up until tonight.

I have laughed.
I have learned more about cancer than I ever feared.
I have a new affinity for the Daniel Powter song Bad Day - blame the 6 yr old mini in London.
I have cried.
I have had night sweats. Waking in the middle of night, sweaty. Alone. For no reason, not fun.
Spent too much money on clothes I probably didn’t need.
I have snapped with the big lens, but not nearly enough.
I have wondered if my phone was broken because it went so long without ringing.
I bought a car.
I went to Dallas.
I sadly was reminded kinda why I moved.
I have been to too many doctors for an undiagnosed lump. A lump that has made a home in my boob for too long and is on its way out.
I explained that lymphnodes were little beans that rested on your neck and carried blood throughout your body, in greek, to the 93-yr-old wonder.
I was reminded that random kissing is fun, but that kissing someone randomly that isn’t makes my lines real muddled.
Finished greek school for the semester - my accent might still be questionable, but my vocabulary has blossomed.
Stocked up on my favorite lip gloss because it is being discontinued. Bastards.
Made new park friends, different than gym friends, and yet kind of the same.
I still watch and love Law & Order
I fought for something I believed in.
I read too much craigslist
I hurt my back trying to play football. And although, my spiral lacks, my receiving abilities are solid.
I am disappointed in Grey’s, DH and even more so in Mike Fleiss and The Bachelor
I learned from a 5 yr old the evolution of the butterfly. They don’t cook, Daay-nah, they Kris-tal-ise for 10 whole weeks
I felt guilt, not new, but yet again.
I went to Austin.
I cried, again, I am sure of it.
I still think Angelina Jolie is stunning, that Paris Hilton needs to just go away and that Perez Hilton has too much time on his hands as well as too spies in the mix.
I did so many lunges it hurt my bum to walk.
I got upset for getting upset.
I had the most honest, heartfelt conversation with one of the men in my life. Could be our most honest, heartfelt conversation ever. And because he brought it up.
I realized, yet again, that I need to relax.
I went to several first birthdays.
I have prayed harder than ever, I think.
I have been overwhelmed by interest, kindness, friendship and caring.

But I am back now. I promise. And I am not sure if you missed me. But I missed you.

Last night, I come home from work and I decide I need to be tan. It has been on my brain for a few weeks now and although tanning in a tanning bed is MUCH easier, my want for a small army of children has prevented me from lying down in a tanning bed, I read some article that it burns your ovaries, not to mention causes wrinkles and since I am against plastic surgery, I decided to take a different approach…. mystic tanning. Everyone says its great not to mention so easy a monkey could do it… I am obviously, sadly, dumber than a monkey.

So I get home and I begin my research. I take out the yellow pages and begin calling nearby tanning salons. No one in my neighborhood has mystic tanning chambers as of yet. They are all going to get them in the next few months… but everyone that I speak to is pushing me towards one particular tanning salon. They have mystic tan, they are the best. I call, I talk to Laura. She re-itterates that it is so simple, everyone loves it, it looks great, it is $20, I tuned out after that. I was sold.

What is $20 for a golden brown hue that is so simple to achieve. I am ready. I have changed clothes I have it in my head that this is an excellent idea. I will be golden brown and beautimous. I will glow in the midst of winter. I am full of crap.

Walking into a tanning salon, I have come to the conclusion, is probably quite similar to what it must be like to go to an adult XXX video store. Not that I am for certain, just a hunch. There is that nervousness that someone you know may either see you entering the said establishment or worse you may see someone once inside, who will probably be just as embarrassed as you. There is that heinous scent that takes over your entire nasal cavity, not to mention the terrible scent jumps into the fibers of your clothing and onto your skin and sticks to you, and its grasps on for dear life - its not going anywhere and its so disgusting. And it lingers as a cruel reminder of what you have done. Finally there is that dirty feeling. There is that question if they really are as sanitary as they make themselves out to be and if you really allow yourself to ponder the thought - it makes you want to soak in peroxide. Naked. For several hours.

I park and as I am walking in i notice that its empty. Lucky for me, no one will see me and I will have the workers undivided attention, as I am new to the experience, and I think will need all the help I can get… I was so mistaken. Yes, I walked in alone, but within seconds there are 15 people behind me. Standing at the counter what appears to be a 12 yr old boy, who is desperately trying to grow facial hair, smiles and says, ‘last name?’ dk: Oh? I am not a regular. I am here for mystic tanning. I called earlier and spoke with a Laura. 12 y-o boy: Ok, well have you done mystic tanning before? dk: No. This is my maiden voyage. boy: Oh! you will love it! It’s so easy and looks great. Fill out this sheet and I will be back with you in a sec. dk: thanks as i am filling out the paper work, the tanning salon is being inundated with college students whom I would bet are trying to get a base tan before they head out on their respective spring break beach trips. One attractive boy-child even says, “is bed #10 available? I have the best results from bed #10.” Sadly for him, its not, someone still has 8 minutes in it. He chooses to wait… where am I?! I have entered another dimension, one that I havent a clue how to deal with…

I hand him back the papers… boy: You can have one for $20, or buy in packages. 2 for $31, 3 for $48. dk: Yes, laura told me that. But its my first time, I better make sure I like my results, before I over-invest… boy: (obviously upset he didnt make the upsell, but not going down that easy) Smart idea, Dana, but what about some of our products that help to make the mystic tan last longer, and appear more golden. dk: yeah, I will check those out on my next visit (have to be honest, I really didn’t think there was going to be a next visit, but I was going to try it.) I continue with the young boy who is trying so hard to get me to spend more of my money - let’s just have one session of mystic tan and no products. Thanks.

The action of only purchasing one time and no prodcuts was the first of ONLY two smart moves of the 15 minute adventure. Here we go… $20 down the drain, literally.

I follow the 12 yr old back to room #3. we enter. he looks at me… boy: Dana, its simple. You are going to undress. You will use this barrier cream (on the wall is barrier cream, it is called barrier cream because it somehow, amazingly makes a barrier on your skin and where you place this barrier cream you will not be mystic tanned) put the barrier cream on the palms of your hands, on your feet, in between your toes and your fingers, rub a layer across your cuticles. (please note he is sort of acting out every move. I, on a 2 second delay am also acting out every move, so as not to forget anything.) Put on a shower cap. Be sure to not cover your hairline, or your ears. step into the gas chamber (ok, he didnt call it a gas chamber, but at this point, he should have) with your legs shoulder width apart, arms bent, fingers slightly curled. Press green button. About 2 seconds after you press the green button, the spritz will begin. It will spray you for 14 seconds. it will stop for 2 seconds, turn around. Same position, back facing spritzers. When your back side is finished, step out, and rub off any excess mystic tan with this towel. Wipe yourself down, put back on your clothes, and dont shower or work out for the next 6-8 hours. Got it? Any questions?

At this point, I reinact all the steps. I repeat it back to him. He is all smiles, and says, “I am telling you, It. Is. Easy” Famous last words.

He steps out. I lock the door behind him. I stare at myself in the mirror. I have a moment of a nervous chuckle. And de-robe. As I stand naked applying the barrier cream to my palms - I wonder what the person who is probably sitting in the back watching me on some total invasion of privacy video is thinking. I chuckle again and put on the shower cap.

Here comes the second and final smart move of the mystic tanning adventure. I had a doctors appointment the day before. My face is sensitive, it has been through a world of trauma from the laser and I think to myself - I don’t know what kind of chemicals are in this secret golden spritzer, I should probably cover my face - I don’t want to have some freak out face explosion. I shower cap my face. Plus three cheers for thinking, but minus 8 for the entire extravaganza. So barrier cream is applied. Shower cap on head. Shower cap on face. Naked, otherwise, ready to enter chamber.

I stand there, legs shoulder width apart. Arms bent, remember once you start you have to complete both sides… deep breath. push green button. Spraying and praying begins. I am not inhaling. I am only on a constant exhale. I am trying not to breathe this heinous chemical. 14 seconds is so freakin long. Spritz stops. I quickly change sides. Spraying resumes. It finally ends. I jump out. I take the towel that is hanging there that the 12 yr old assured me is clean, “we are very sanitary, we clean every room after each patron, new towel, disinfectant, blah blah, I tuned him out I couldn’t think about it in too much depth or I would sick myself out. so I am wiping myself down, back of my ankles, calves, backside, shoulders, arms… I am wiping feverously, so as not to have it dry randomly on my body. I had yet to realize I am a lost cause. I take a second and look at myself in the mirror. Figured I might as well give the guy watching me on the invasion of privacy video a look to see how the mystic tanning has paid off. I see no difference. Except for what appears to be black vericose veins on both my legs. I take the towel to them again and rub rub rub…. still there. Let’s just pray they fade. I walk out of room number 3. Throw out a thanks as I am walking through the lobby, trying not to make eye contact with anyone that may be sitting there wallowing in that god-forsaken I am cooking myself scent, and exit the front door.

I think my favorite early response was, “oh dane, you have this mark on your back that looks like you got hit with a paint pellet gun and it splattered down the rest of your back, but if you are wearing a strapless shirt, this marking should fall below it…

I am going to tell you, that it amazingly gets darker over the next few hours, so we are going to have to inspect in the morning… ” I woke up at about 330am. I smelled so so so bad. I went into the bathroom and applied a flowery lotion of some sort. I dont even know what it was. It was dark, i was still essentially asleep and I just know it smelled pretty. I climb back into bed. When I awake, I cannot shower soon enough. I spent longer than usual in the shower. Scrubbing my body. Head to toe. 2 different exfoliators. One with sand, one with hell if I know granuals that are supposed to take off all the dead skin. I had a secret hope that the scent had killed the top layer of my skin overnight and if I was lucky, it would flake right off with the exfoliators, in plural. Parts of my body appear to have been plagued with that Michael Jackson discoloration disease. lucky for me they are parts that dont really count. The black vericose veins are non existant. My wrists look a little unfortunate. The palm of my left hand will not be waving at anyone over the course of the next 2 days, maybe the week. Knuckle bumps for everyone….

My heels are truly the unfortunate parts. Truly. I am missing an entire tiger stripe on the back of my right calf. And it is in an odd diagonal shape and I have no idea how it could have happened… Lesson learned. Mystic tanning isnt for me. I have showered. I have exfoliated. I have lotioned myself with enough lotion for a small olympic diving team after being in the sun all day. I even perfumed. A lot. And as I sit here at my desk, I get random whiffs of the tanning salon. I am not sure if it is my imagination or if its a vicious reality. I spent $20. I cannot watch it go down the drain fast enough. Mystic tanning is not for everyone.

This is from about 3 years ago. I still don’t mystic tan. Although, when people have heard this story along the way, they always try to convince me how great it is…

I am not particularly volitile or confrontational. In fact, in most cases, I just let it roll off my back. And for some reason, with age, perhaps, I am not for certain, but I point out, or strike back when something hits a nerve. Maybe it is from a few too many bosses that pushed hard enough for a reaction.

I never really liked arguing, if the truth is to be known. I am not very good at it. Especially when up against someone who is paying more attention. I think I might be a little bit a.d.d. - I lose the moment and don’t listen with both ears. I took the LSAT in college and if the truth is known, I think that between the logical thinking and the need to maintain my side of the argument, I lacked the faith in myself to be good at it… so I didn’t try. That is a whole other issue, but the truth none the less.

Somehow I unintentionally fought with a friend the other night. He made a comment and I reacted. I might have over-reacted as I had been at a happy hour, but I reacted none the less. I felt as though I was being lumped into a negative comment directly to my face and I called him out. And thus an argument began. And it grew. And I wasn’t taking a second to listen to what he was saying. And I don’t think that he would have intentionally been mean to me. Perhaps naive, but I don’t he would do that. It was my most sensitive topic, and therefore I left all logic at the door. It was awful, everyone at the table cleared out as the argument continued.

I got up to leave - so now the argument is continuing outside in the parking lot. At this point, I am confusing my words, I am so dishartened that I can barely fight back. My skin is hot, my voice is starting to crack and my body feels like what I imagine a blow-fish feels like when he is angry. I was arguing, and while the words were coming out of my mouth, my eyes and face were staying the same and the rest of me was blowing up like a balloon animal. My skin hot, my head swelling, my body filling up with helium as though the weight in my feet being all that is keeping it on the ground. Discombobulated, trying to listen and still struggling to explain why I became upset in the first place, the tears started to well up.

In that moment, the swelling feeling went down, as though the pressure was released through the tears and in turn, I transformed into someone upset for getting upset instead of upset for what was initially said. It was the twilight zone.

I turned my body as though to mask my frustration. There was no masking it, but I was determined to make the attempt. Showing emotion was losing the battle and the war.

I cried every day of the third grade. I was a sensitive child, evidently. I assume that it started out with me getting upset about something, made fun of for being chubby or a slow runner or the chicken pox scar on my shoulder and children catch on so it became a regular occurance. The neighborhood was filled with children my age, boys and girls. I lived closer to the boys of the neighborhood and therefore I would walk home with them. Early on, I had men in my life in a non-threatening sincere friendship way. They would make me cry by day and then play outside by night. Somewhere along the way, I subconsciously figured out that crying, showing emotion, to them would make me a girl in their eyes. Soft. So I suppressed it. I show emotion with my girlfriends, with the men I date, and even with random commercials, movies and moments, but I rarely show it to the men in my life. And I don’t think that I ever realized it until the other night.

It isn’t as though I made a decision aloud, “I will be strong and emotionless around the boys.” I received an odd acceptance and comfort with them. I could play dolls, office & school, and find comfort and friendhsip in the girls and I could try to defeat the Legend of Zelda, ride bikes and play outside with the boys.

I tried so hard to hold back my tears in the parking lot. And then I admitted, aloud, “I am more upset that I am getting upset. I don’t like to get upset in front of yall.” It just came out.

There is no real reason for me to be bothered that I got upset in front of him. And yet it ate at me when it happened, and has eaten at me since. I tried so hard to be myself without emotion when really I am emotional. I think about it, and maybe I was only fooling myself. Crying seemed to be a sign of weakness, like I was trying to get away with something so I played the tears. That isn’t the case at all… me crying means that I have been pushed to the limit. It usually takes a lot. In this instance, I was so passionately fighting for myself for being lumped into an off-hand comment that wasn’t intentionally intended for me that I lost sight of the situation.

Hindsight is so often 20/20. I wish I would have let the comment slide, not taken it to heart and rushed to quarrel so quickly. I wish that I could figure out why I hide my true self from certain people. I’m too old for that. Who knew that being yourself around the people that genuinely like you for you could be an instance in which you try so hard to be someone else.