Thursday, June 27, 2013

Gel Polish is a Serious Commitment

I never ever go to the nail salon. Maybe I've seen too many episodes of Dateline and I'm certain that an incurable infection is just waiting to attack my feet or maybe I'm just cheap. Sure, both of those factors play into my shunning of the pedicure world, but the main reason I don't get my mani-pedis is because I hate when the ladies at the nail place have secret Vietnamese conversations right in front of me. I just know that they're talking smack or making fun of me and I can't do anything to stop it. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I can't stand the thought of someone hating on me right in front of me.

If they put boiling hot water in the fungus covered foot bath, I don't say a word. If the lady is torturing me, I don't say a word. If she's tickling my foot to the point that I'm going to pee my pants, I pee in silence. I don't want to give them any reason to start the smack talk. I refuse to make them mad or even irritate them a little. I cringe when someone in the chair next to me starts getting specific about how they want their toenails trimmed or criticizes the nail ladies in any way at all. But on the other hand, I like it, because it takes the heat off of me. Go ahead nail lady, talk smack about the complainer in the chair next to me. I'll just mind my own beeswax and enjoy the beating that this massage chair is giving me.

The whole experience isn't relaxing for me if I haven't already painted that picture for you. So it may not come as a surprise that I go there as a last resort. I went the other day and all my worst case scenarios played out. Tons of foreign language laughter and shit talk, old lady complaining up a storm in the chair right next to me, and who know if any tools were cleaned before I got there.  Only this time, I added to my own drama by making an awful decision right as I walked in the door. I asked for the gel nail polish. This stuff is like UV light cured, permanent polish. In other words, choose wisely because you are practically getting your nails tattooed. It's no time for dolphin designs and experimental color combos!

I survived my pedicure experience and all was going well right up until the end when I was faced with decision time. The lady asked me to choose a polish color and I chose a nice gold and coral glitter polish. It was light and subtle and just what I wanted. The nail lady informed me that it wasn't really a color, so much as it was just a glitter that you put on top of a color. She then urged me to put an orange toned polish under the glitter coat to jazz it up a bit. She might as well have held a gun to my head. I think I made it clear above that I don't argue with women who are fluent in Vietnamese, EVER. So I panicked and shook my stupid head up and down and smiled out the words, "Sure, whatever you think is best".

BIG MISTAKE, HUGE MISTAKE! I walked out of the salon ten minutes later with a color that can only be called, "Florescent Glitter Construction Cone Orange". Hideous doesn't begin to describe it, but I didn't show a hint of horror as I smiled and tipped her generously. I walked out into the sunlight and shit only got worse. I was blinded by my own toes.

So I go home and take to Facebook to figure out exactly how I get this gel polish off my nails and it turns out it will be a long process that involves lots of Acetone and filing and scrubbing. I can't put my toes through that process, so I've opted to do the next best free thing. I'm painting a normal nail polish color right over the top. Two coats ought to do it I think. It's been a shit-tastic  lesson to learn, but at least I know that I can't handle making long term decisions at the nail salon. Thank you universe. It won't happen again.

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

My Gym IS NOT a Meat Market

I recently joined a tiny little 24 hour gym and it's a dream come true. There are no waiting lists to use the cardio machines and there are no roid rage meat heads grunting away at the squat rack. The place is great! It doesn't even have that lingering body odor aroma in the air. It's clean and fresh and practically all mine. I love that there is hardly anyone there, but I would have hated that when I was younger. The non-meat market atmosphere would have sucked all the fun out of going to the gym. The thrill of the hunt would have been gone. Boy how times have changed.

Years ago, before kids and marriage, I had a membership at a different gym. That gym was VERY busy and it was most certainly a meat market...for me anyway. I would get all set up on the stairmaster, listen to some hip hop or metal on my disc man and then workout in oblivion while enjoying all the eye candy. The time just flew by. There were guys everywhere and most of them were decent looking (if you squint your eyes a little bit) and they were all very friendly. The gym was like a rated PG, daylight, dance club. It was fun and it made going to gym sort of exciting. It was a great distraction and a motivator to get me to the gym.

Fast forward to the year 2013 and my reasons for going to my new gym are very different. I go there for a little alone time. Me time. Kid-free time. My nearly vacant gym is sort of like my own apartment. I can go there at the end of the day and unwind.  I don't even care about the fit factor. I just like being there and enjoying a little peace and quiet  in my air conditioned oasis. The upside is that I'm actually working out for an hour too! My body is going to look great because I now go to the gym even when I don't really feel like exercising. It's a win-win situation!

 It's not even awkward when a stranger walks into my oasis and hops on the treadmill because the weirdos at my gym completely ignore each other. This is amusing to me. I have never experienced this behavior at a gym before. I haven't been going there for very long, but I'm already learning about the regulars. This is a dull cast of characters indeed, but one in particular I find very strange.

I call him "treadmill guy". He seems normal enough. I couldn't really guess his age. He could be anywhere from 25-40. He walks in, gets on his treadmill and he runs 7 miles, without any music. He silently alternates between staring directly at himself in the mirror and closing his eyes. When he's done running, he gets down on the floor and does the kind of leg lifts that ONLY ladies do. It's bizarre to say the least and that behavior leads me to believe that he has an eating disorder and body image issues.

 Yesterday I was running on the treadmill next to him and I kept looking over at him to see if he was even aware of anyone next to him. He didn't acknowledge me at all, to the point that it was comical.  I was trying so hard not to bust up laughing. I got a hell of an ab workout just from that alone. Then he did something only a dude would do...he sort of blew his nose into his bare hand. I don't know if anything came out, but I'll bet he blew a snot rocket, and I was very grossed out. Why do guys do that and think it's okay?  No woman in her right mind would ever do that. He's now a serial killer as far as I'm concerned. Be warned "treadmill guy", I know your secret and I'll be keeping an eye on you (even if you want to pretend I'm not).

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

I Tried on a One Piece

I opened my mailbox the other day and found my worst nightmare inside. My credit card bill. I'm not in debt, but I HATE that moment when every purchase from the previous month is brought to your attention all at once. I find myself wondering why the hell I needed this much stuff over the course of one month. Why is my grocery bill higher than my wishful $100 a week budget? I spent how much on gas? I don't even remember buying something from Amazon, so why is there a charge from there?

The whole list of expenditures just brings me down and ruins and my day. But there is one teeny tiny upside to spending too much money on my credit card....REWARDS!!! This is why I put my last C-section on my Old Navy card.  I get rewarded with free clothes from Old Navy. This isn't exciting for most people, but I love it. Old Navy is one of those wonderful stores that puts clothes on clearance quickly and constantly. This means that I can get a lot of bang for my buck. So you can imagine my joy when I uncovered a reward check for $35. At Old Navy that amount of money might as well be a hundred dollar bill. I had a shopping spree in my immediate future. I loaded the kids in the car and the rest was history.

I hit pay dirt as soon as I walked in the heavy glass doors of the store. My favorite workout shorts were ten bucks a piece and I get an additional 10% off just because it was Tuesday and I'm a card holder. Then it was on to some plum colored denim shorts and a super soft T-shirt in a coral shade. I wasn't as wild about the stuff in the kids department, but my girls found a few cute things to try on and we hit the jackpot on sale priced children's swimwear. 

On our way to the dressing rooms, I spied a lone rack of women's swim suits that had beautiful, bright orange sale stickers covering the original price tags. I was intrigued. I perused the rack and did something I've never done as an adult. I picked up a one piece swim suit to try on. The color was a nice purlplish magenta, the price was right and I thought, hey why not? Then the kids and I piled into the handicap dressing  room to begin trying on our soon to be loot.

I have several regular thoughts that pass through my head in the Old Navy dressing room:
1. Was this even designed to be worn on a human body?
2. Holy shit I'm short!
3. Cambodian sweat shop workers are weird.
5. OMG, Do I really look like this in real life??? Gross!!!
6. How did I live before I owned this? It was meant for me!!!!
7. I'll buy this if it goes on clearance, but they are up in the night if they think I'm paying twenty six bucks for this!

After putting on a one piece swimsuit and stepping in front of a dressing room mirror, I could add a new phrase to that list and it goes something like this, "I feel pornographic!".  I don't even know how this is possible, but I felt over exposed in that purple one piece. It felt so weird to have it on. I have worn bikini's for so long that it just felt wrong to have all that spandex clinging to my body.  It felt dirty and I felt somehow shorter than I really am. I could not imagine stepping onto a beach, taking off my sundress and exposing myself to the public in that thing. I can't understand why a bikini doesn't make me feel naked and weird, but they just don't. It's almost like all that extra material was hiding something mysterious and it draws more attention to all your flaws. I don't get it, but it wasn't my cup of tea at all. I'm cringing as I relive it right now. Needless to say, I didn't buy it, but my kids got a good laugh over seeing mom in a one piece. Even they saw the awkwardness of it all.

 I know there are tons of women who feel like they can't wear a bikini, but you have to try a few on (preferably at home where the lighting is better and you're not confined in a dressing room that forces you to stand two inches away from the worlds most unflattering mirror). Who knew that the world of one piece shopping was this traumatizing? I thought it would be easy to find one that looked nice, but that experience put me off them for life. I'm destined to be that nasty old lady that wears a bikini and all her sagging glory. You're welcome world!