The Story, The Horror, Monkeys, and Patient Controlled Pain Medication

So, a week has gone by and I wanted to get this out of the way as I feel it's getting to that point of "If that bitch makes one more lung joke or reference....'"

I still ask myself if it really happened & probably will for a while.

8:30 p.m., after my day had gone extremely well. I kicked it with George & Jon, got a good news phone call from a dear friend, had an excellent dinner, was excited for the return home of my mother the very next day, after she had been in Florida for three weeks....

And out of nowhere I'm in the car with Jon driving me to the hospital.

Sure, I've gotten chest pains before, even endured the pain of Pleurisy swelling up my lungs a few times in my life after bouts of Chronic Bronchitis.

Something was very different. Something was urgent & telling me I couldn't lie down on my side till it went away, not this time. Something had pretty much paralyzed the entire upper right side of my body, front to back.

The triage nurse wastes no time & I hurriedly follow her to X-Ray.

The technician is a raging bitch until she realizes she sees something on there that she shouldn't.

I overhear the conversation - "What are they talking about? I have what? Where?

A sudden flip of the switch to sympathy & she walks me back to an ER room with a sharp, blunt look of "This is gonna be a long night for you, kid."

Fast forwarding through being informed my lung had spontaneously collapsed (For no reason apparent to them) & the explanation of a possible chest tube procedure, the surgeon comes in & decides to give me an IV, a few mg's of Dilauted & keep me overnight for observation.

"What? I have to stay here?"

My inner child at that moment.

Half an hour to an hour & the X-Ray machine enters the room & this time I'm flying high on pharmaceuticals while they're taking the X-Rays from the bed.

"It's getting bigger. The doctor is coming back, we're gonna do the chest tube."

` "The fuckin' wha again?"

I still didn't quite get what was about to go down here.
Wtf had even happened between my relaxing night & ending up where & how I was.

I saw myself at home the next day dancing around like Mary fucking Poppins, blowing air bubbles out of some lil straw sticking out of my clavicle through a pinhole.

I pretty much didn't realize wtf was going on until the doctor barged in, rolled me over, shot up the side of my breast/underneath my armpit with two bottles of Novocaine, cut me, and plunged a tube 2 in. in diameter of what seemed like PVC piping into my chest cavity, rubbing against my lung with. every. breath.

With a giant box attached to it monitoring my every breath, compressing the air & fluids that need to be drained from my pleural (lung) cavity.

Very similar, my level of shock & the way I felt violated.

The PAIN (After the procedure). Holy shit, the pain this would be for however long this tube would be in was now a new reality I couldn't handle. Because of my Endometriosis, I have a high tolerance to pain meds & "Shit, they're gonna have to kill me.", I thought.

After yet more Dilauted & my new shocking reality along with the discombobulation of what just happened combined with the strong meds, I am taken up to Med/Surg. And in not knowing how I would ever get through the unbearable discomfort, I often wondered why they didn't bar the windows on this unit?

A few different times during my stay, I had to battle the logic in simply getting up & throwing myself out of it.

"Pain. Baaaadd. Bye-Bye", would occasionally run through my head.

These sweet, sweet nurses, lots of them my age & where I once wanted to be, but now on the other side; the patient.

They heard my pleas, they called my doctors, they tried Morphine, more Dilauted, Torodol, Ultram, and it escalated & escalated as I waited for the doctor to come in & say "Okay, let's get this thing out & get you home."

After an entire day waiting in hell, the doctor finally arrived.
First he had heard me cursing to dear Jon  (My ex who slept in a recliner beside me in Med/Surg & refused to leave my side the entire time I was in there, God love him) about how long I had been there with this unbearable tube stuck through me already & that the doctor had forgotten me (This was really the intolerable pain speaking), so when he came in he first made it clear he didn't wanna get beat up by a psycho chick with a tube in her chest.

"Now, I don't wanna see you in Shaws sometime down the road & have you throwing bananas at me.
Okay, well just not COCONUTS!"

"Hey, there's the asshole! The doctor guy. Go round up some pineapples."

"I like him."

When he ever uttered the words "Probably tomorrow or the next day", the look of horror on my face was too much for even him to bare. He started stroking my forehead & hair & joking with me to console me, just the like the ER nurse downstairs who tightly held my hand & comforted me through the whole tube procedure. I didn't even cry for my mother as I normally would. I had angels by my side the whole time. I owe those angels so much thanks, I can't even describe it.

(Except for my nurse, Lindsay, whom regardless of being a sweetheart, almost ripped out my tube, stole me an assload of scrubs from the washroom, ripped the giant vat of hand sanitizer off the wall to give to me, stated she had a cardiac problem with an average pulse rate of 120, and is probably too much of a danger for the nursing field. Not to mention that this whole time the girl across the hall is pushing the call button EVERY. FIVE. MINUTES for three days & treating the nurses like shit, and Jon is sitting there on his laptop attempting to hack the bitch on the hospital network, while I'm in so much pain, I can't even scream.)

I was angry that whole day but I gave into the fact that this was only to save my life & I had no choice.

They had a choice, though - To help me manage the pain or watch me tumble out their unit window.
This is when they decided I was a special lil case & brought in an Anesthesiologist to discuss PCA.

Some of you are probably wondering what that is. Well, I'll tell ya because this is where it starts getting good.
Patient. Controlled. Analgesia....
Let me repeat - Patient. Controlled. Analgesia
Their way of shutting up patients yelling for more Morphine every hour. Or really, just their last resort for patients in such excruciating pain that hardly anything will make a dent in it.

So the Anesthesiologist gave me options...
- Morphine (Peppermint)
- Dilauted (Wintergreen)
- Fentanyl (Or Watermelon)

The Dilauted made me too sick & dizzy, the Morphine didn't make a dent, but the big fucking F & I were familiar. It was prescribed to me in duragesic form at the pain clinic.

Now, I'm no idiot & I'm cautious with myself. I'm a medical buff for fucksakes, so I was scared shitless & figured they were out of their ever-lovin' minds when they told me I could press the button to deliver the medicine through my veins every 6 minutes & that the machine itself would lock me out after so many pushes of the button over a period of time to keep any risk of overdose down.

Shit, I was about to take a ride down the motherflippin' euphoria rainbow, and possibly so hard that they have to take your vitals every half hour at the start of the insanity. "The Rainbow Ride" as I'm calling it.

"SOMEBODY KILL ME OR I'LL DO IT MY G'DAMN SELF! WTF is going on here?!"

.
.
.
Then the liquid pain candy machine makes its way into the room.
.
.
.
.

You okay, man? You mellow?
Yeah, you're alright! Pain's easin' up.

.
.
.

And then the moment hits where you realize it's actually possible to overdo it with things you're convinced you have under control.
.
.
.
.

Listen, that dinosaur was supposed to be a unicorn & sometimes you draw things a lil weird & then realize they'd look better with guns, wearing diapers & don't fucking judge me, K.

But it worked. I got sleep that night after I had finally learned not to be afraid to keep pressing that button if I needed it like the nurse told me.

The tube came out the next morning, with the biggest sigh of relief, but they kinda had to pry the pump from my hands, and I'm hitting it as much as I can *Beep Beep* "Patient Lockout" as they were getting ready to take it away.

 I floated across the unit that afternoon, in my gown, with my monkey, and went around to the nurses station like it was fn' Cheers & everybody should know my name.
"They're starting me on Percocet now, and where the fuck is Norm, guys?"

And here I am, home, a week later, and sore as HELL!!
And guessing it'll be another week or so before I feel pretty normal again, but I'm getting there. Lots of trouble sleeping with the discomfort.

And there were many comical moments during that stay, but I couldn't exactly write a novel about it here, so I just included all the key moments.

Now, where's that pain medicine button again?
Aww.......... Shit.................

________________________________________________________

On a few side notes: I would like to bring up the Blog Of War.
(No, I'm not a participant, but rather an observer of the contest.)

Mr. B over at BlackLOG has been advertising it & was searching for more interested participants.
I'm not sure if I'm already passed the deadline for mentioning it at this point, but if you're interested, please go visit BlackLOG for the details. This blogger is so talented with his style of comical writing, I'd love to see a few people go head to head.. ;~}

And lastly, I have a new Facebook account especially for my blogging buddies, so if you intermingle the two & have such an account, Friend me on that shit. It's fun over there, and inappropriate 90% of the time, I promise.

Hope you all had a great weekend, and things should be back to normal here before you know it.

Absence Makes the........Lung Re-Inflate?

Okay.

Much as I would like to make this long & thoroughly explanatory, I am still very sore at & around the sight of my incision & I'm trying to rest the whole right side of my body for a few more days.

Wednesday night I was rushed to the hospital with a spontaneously collapsed lung. I was just released this morning, and to say I've just been through the scariest & one of the most draining experience of my life would be a great understatement.

I just wanted to jump on here & let my lovelies know I haven't abandoned you, and as much I'd love to jump right back into the swing of things, I need to give myself a few more days of rest & recovery now that I'm finally home. I've been so shaken, scared, traumatized, and will be pretty sore all week & forced to take it easy due to the tube that was surgically inserted through the side of my chest for 4 days.

I may just end up going into detail over the whole experience once I feel fully healed up, pin-pointing the humorous & touching moments of even a near death experience. Could it be any other way with me, scary as it was?

I love ya'll, and just wanted to let you know that as well as why I haven't been around.

And this....

If you're ever one of those disrespectful douchebags who doesn't understand or appreciate this, I'll kick you in the shins.

Don't make me kick you in the shins. My back hurts.

Love & miss you, my dearies. Hoping to be well back in the swing of things soon. 

~XoXoXo~

That Friend When You're Growing Up

With the car that was a total hazard & danger to society.
(It could have even been YOU.)

For us that would have been Damien.
(Okay, there were a few but none quite like this.)

Damien was already a lil fucked up, but he was more just one of those kids that didn't always have the best of luck.

He would roll through my door in his wave of teen angst & my ex & I would cheer him up & console him, being his last friendly visit on the way home.

So, you know, finally it happens, and Damien inherits his first car.

We hear about how amazing this mechanical piece of work is, so we stand out on the curb & await the moment.

"Jon, what's that?

"What?"

"Did you hear a gun shot?

Are those birds flying south for the winter?"

And there it was, struggling to turn onto my street worse than a tugboat in despair, with a tailpipe that made it both audibly & visually obvious it was prepared to start the mother of explosions at any moment.

1970 Cadillac Eldorado.

Except Damien's ElDorado was no shiny cool blue. It was beige with rusted spots of brown.

I was so convinced this car could be the start of the apocalypse I had officially tried to ban it from driving up my street.

"He can't come by here in that car.
He's going to kill us all!"


*BANG*


"Cover your ears & DUCK for fucksake! Run! Ruuun!!"

My version of Damien's car.

Yes, I'm well aware of the irony that a kid named after the spawn of Satan drove Satan's Cadillac.

And although the very first car I owned is now considered a derby favorite...

Anyone remember the movie "Crazy People" where the guy was madly in love with the Saab Turbo hatchback? Yeah, that's how I felt about this car at the time. That's why I bought it. Don't ask. My sister had the same one.

It wasn't exactly plotting for world destruction. Actually, all that car needs is a giant over-sized panda in the back window & you're good to go.

Whereas the 1970 ElDorado seemed to have a lust for war & mayhem.

It was mean, cold, and ugly. The beast had a mind of its own.

It probably backed into the woods at night & planned some of the most evil things known to man.

It was out for blood.

A car like that only serves one purpose.

(As long it's far the hell away from me, always, making sounds & expelling gases like that.)

Please observe.

One night it finally happened - Lil Satan was spotted on a main road with the car of death wrapped around a telephone pole like Christmas ribbon as he sat there on the curb in the cloud of black smoke having a pity party for one.

I rejoiced in the reality that the beast could no longer threaten to harm life on this planet.

And I think many of us rejoiced that we wouldn't have to look at it again.

Many first car stories always seem to be entertaining, esp. if you're going back in time to cars from the 70's-early 90's. As much as it produced a few cool cars, this era really knew how to produce fugly.

You see those tailpipes? BAD. ASS!
You'd have to be insane not to drive off of the lot with this beauty brand spankin' new, am I wrong?
"Carol, look what I bought today! AWW YEAH."
- "Uum, nio....Nope."

Now if only my first could have been an older BMW bubble car.

Now, imagine if you had to go kick somebody's ass driving this thing. 

You'd look so bad ass getting up & out the front of that half a roller skate like that, probably hitting your nuts or what have you on the wheel.

Make sure to honk the horn while you're yelling you're gonna kick their ass. I can imagine what that sounds like. That's gotta strike the fear of god in em'.

I actually just read that they're infamous for the steering wheels coming off. Who woulda thunk?

What does it matter?

If you're ever driving a car like that & you don't look like this...

My sincerest apologies to Thundercat. It's like not even funny.

You better not try to get out in front of me cause I'm gonna push your ass right back in & send you.........probably off a cliff. 

Back down the mountain, whatever, depends on your attitude.

I've wandered off topic once again, but with clowns & bubble cars & I really do apologize for that.

If you have a story like I have with Damien, well, you know just how funny that shit is.

It hit me the other day how I haven't seen anything on the road like it since, and how glad I am about that.

No Funny Here Today, I Am Sorry (Devastation Content)

No, I don't feel I should limit what I blog about if I really want to speak up about something.

Granted, nothing is better for the heart & soul like comedy, but I am a human being who lives through other emotions as well.

(If you don't like it & absolutely must laugh through everything, I'm sorry you're weird. You'll have to excuse me. I get over emotional sometimes.)

And I particularly apologize to new followers. This is not my usual content at all.

Fear.

Sadness.

Devastation.

August 29th, 2005, a dreadful day as you may remember, a category 3 hurricane (A.K.A. Katrina) struck New Orleans, Louisiana.

My ignorance held me under the impression that nothing this catastrophic could happen, and most certainly not right here in the U.S.

Your home? Your great city? The foundation on which you had built your entire life?

It was an extreme awakening for most of the country.

It CAN happen. It HAS happened to people you know & love, just like it's happened to others in other countries, and maybe now we can acquire some damn sympathy for the devastation which takes place beyond our own "turf".

(This is a problem with many Americans, don't try to deny that shit.)

At this very moment I am watching our cozy, dolled up lil anchorwomen smile & discuss this catastrophe with the look of a thrill in their eyes, as families in Japan are full of tears, pain, and utter devastation.

I'm sure a wave of debris & bodies crashing through the building & sweeping your peachy looking ass away would give you something to smile & crack jokes about.

"Winter's been tough, lemme tell ya. Hahaha!"

Fuck you, lady.

You don't know tough besides trying to find a new hairstyle that's not from 1983 & where you're gonna meet your posh ass friends for lunch this week.

(Excuse me, that pisses me off.)

Whether there was a possibility of it happening to us or not (and there is without a doubt), this country needs to develop a keener sense of empathy. As well as some major concern.

As many earthquakes & cyclones that have occurred in Haiti since the 1700's with it's last major catastrophic event recorded in 1946, "A magnitude 8.0 earthquake that struck the Dominican Republic and shook Haiti on 4 August, producing a tsunami that killed 1,790 people and injured many others." courtesy of Wikipedia...

The new & technologically advanced  (and ignorant, my honest apologies but I have been one of those people too) world saw devastation the likes of which we never thought we would - January 10th, 2010 a 7.0 earthquake hits Haiti. "An estimated three million people were affected by the quake; the Haitian government reported that an estimated 316,000 people had died, 300,000 had been injured and 1,000,000 made homeless. The death toll has also been suggested to be much lower at somewhere between 92,000 and 220,000, with around 1.5 million to 1.8 million homeless. The government of Haiti also estimated that 250,000 residences and 30,000 commercial buildings had collapsed or were severely damaged."  90% of the town at the epicenter was utterly destroyed.

(Do you think about how these people have been living when you prance out onto your tile floor in the morning, in your snuggy, and smear jelly all over your delicious fresh baked bagel? You think those people would like some of that just as you would if you were homeless, trudging through dangerous infested waters? You think about when their last meal was, when their last peaceful sleep might have been?)

And with very recent events in Japan along with reports of tsunami waves possibly headed for multiple other countries, including the west coast of The Unitied States, perhaps some will wake up a bit more now?

Right now residents of low lying U.S. communities have been urged to evacuate.

Ask yourself "How long before events like this hit someone I love or right where I live?"

"What are these people really going through as we sit here comfortably & sip our gourmet coffee watching the news?"

Do you think something may be going on with our planet, particularly over the past 10 years or so that we can ignore awareness of?

(Did you know that on Jupiter, on which there is a visible belt of various latitudes, there is a constant anticyclonic storm that may now be a permanent feature of the planet? A storm "large enough to contain two or three planets of Earth's diameter". Who knows what it once was.)

Back to the topic at hand, I felt it when it happened in NOLA. I felt it when it hit Haiti, and it's becoming evermore apparent now. Geological devastation is more rampant.

I am of the opinion something is slowly changing that we need to take heed of.

Put down the fish tacos & wake the fuck up, America. Just because it doesn't happen doesn't mean it can't, and suddenly.

How long do you think we're going to live in our lil bubble while comets & cyclones fly by & shit, not to mention the ever so popularly ignored blood spilling all over foreign soil.

Ah, I know, I got it - We're so damn special the gods built us an invisible shield dome, therefore we don't have to worry about that shit.

Fucked up as it is, it's not far from what most people believe.

I LOVE my country more than any other I could ever love, but my disappointment, and sometimes disgust, in some of its inhabitants is something I'll never at times be able to fathom.

Now, please pray for Japan, and every region affected by such tragedy in the not-so-distant pass, and all the folks it could possibly still affect.

Please feel some damn empathy for your fellow humans.

And count your blessings, people. Count your blessings. They're precious.

Be thankful you don't have to flee nor start your life from the ground up today & live through all that comes with that.

WTF Happens Here (Applesauce & Shiz)

It's not a myth - Most kids hate vegetables!

Notice I didn't say "all" and I do love how I hear more & more these days about youngens loving their vegetables, but in my opinion this is kind of like a new trend such as the whole foods craze, because growing up when I did you signed the petition & hopped on the anti-vegetable committee, if only in your mind, but you still made a pact with yourself.

I remember my grandmother in Florida threatening me to eat her string beans as I cried & pouted & rebelled for over two hours.

I think I eventually ended up snorting some up my nose in dismay.

(Not limited to just veggies...)

Things like applesauce, Spinach, Squash, Zucchini, Tapioca, and Kidney Beans made me want to cry at the mere thought of them.

Things like turnip were unheard of, but you'd give the word a lil giggle

("Mofos & old people food." That's what you were thinking, right?)

And now?........

NOW?!?

Better watch your back cause I'll come up on your ass in the grocery store & run you down on one of them scooters like Santa on the way to his Amphetamine dealer.

Gimme all your vegetables!

This dude's packing some serious drugs in those boxes, not dollies & chocolates.

I've come for your brussels sprouts.

Just kidding. I don't even like brussell sprouts. 

I'll never like those. I'm not that crazy.

In fact, brussels sprouts & cabbage should get together for a suicide orgy.
I'm pretty sure brussels sprouts are actually just the evil demon spawns of the unholy that is cabbage.

I'm also pretty sure this is what an adult candy store looks like...

Not even sure if they both are cabbage. Who cares, it is the Antichrist.

But my taste buds go into frenzies for crisp, fresh bell peppers, tomato slices, stalks of celery, grilled asparagus & corn, piles of plain, boiled spinach with nothing on it.

It goes deeper - I require applesauce. I wouldn't be insane enough to have pork chops without it.

I love tapioca balls, and I so have to refrain from making a statement here about them in my mouth.

(*Wipes sweat off brow*)

I didn't......but I like, did......Know what I mean?

But back to the topic at hand, could you pass me those turnips? Because I seem to have left my entire dinner just to eat the whole bowl.

In fact, every thing's dead in the garden because I was out there earlier eating all the seedlings out of the ground like a fuckin' Brontosaurus.

More re-fried beans, please!!

How long before I'm using my senior discount card to enjoy a nice, cold prune juice on tap?

Maybe garnished with a radish. *Vomit*

It kind of just progresses- Loving the things we once had an absolute hatred for as we grow older.

And you know it goes much deeper than vegetables because it's happened to you too.

Don't deny it. We all have things we love that we once hated or turned us off.

Now I'm thinking I should cut this off before it goes where the tapioca thing went...

Ever had something you've grown more fond of that you maybe once despised?

(Did you hate your damn veggies? Did you snort pole beans? Cause I totally didn't, although I can't remember what had happened to those things that night. The trauma that was blanked it out.)

Or better yet, some tastes you just know will never change for you? Like cabbage & lentils.

Could you hand me that bag please?  Thanks.

Too Great An Honor

I'll say it again. I know I've intended to take on a new way of linking & passing on awards under my f'n flair page.

I started this when I received the same one for the second time so you wouldn't have to see me go through all the motions again & just come here to get your entertaining read on (As much of a huge honor it was to receive it from the person I did), but I find myself unable to let something I consider as prestigious as this honor & brand new award slip under the radar.

Do you have a blogging soul mate out there (Someone who just gets the way your mind works)? Maybe a few?

And maybe it took you a while to find em'. I feel lucky to have found mine pretty quickly.

Don't let the name fool you, brilliant as I think it is.

Kelly is not some knife wielding clown who wants to sell your organs on the carnival black market.

He is a joker, a radical thinker, an exceptionally kind soul, exceptionally wise soul, and an incredibly talented & imaginative, untamed writer of both fact & fiction.

Kelly has the unique ability to see the world around us with the naked, unpolished eye.

The true freaks, the conformists, society for what it is today, things a lot of people sadly seem to ignore these days. "Where the hell are we going, and why is the world as effed up as it is?"

Shit we shouldn't be ignoring. And all this relevance combined with humor so well written, I always have a rosy glow from laughing so hard after a visit to his blog.

And he has just recently created & bestowed upon me his new award for Originality.

How awesome is that?!

Click here to visit the laugh your ass adventure that is Psycho Carnival

The rules are as follows......

First- Copy, paste and display these rules and this award upon your blog, if you so desire.

Second- Give this award to anyone who exemplifies originality, in some way, in their blog.

Third and Three Quarters- Answer this most important question: Ketchup or Pygmies?

Fourth- Write an original thought (or something that seems like a rare idea) or display a photo for everyone to stare at, in awe, that will cause the peeps to fall down upon their knees and smile with tears of profound realization. Or just say the first thing that comes to mind.

Fifth- Give a link to the one who bestowed the award to you. No, I don't mean a savory sausage link. That's the image I just saw in your mind. Amazing, yes?

As for passing this on, there is definitely a blogger who immediately came to mind.

Anyone here who has been to her blog knows what I'm talking about.

Thundercat832 of Colorful Rants of A Fed Up Sista

Now anyone who may be unfamiliar with this blog may be thinking "But Pixi, many people rant, many blog about their life, and occasionally life in general."

Maybe. But nobody is as fucking awesome sauce & engages their readers in such a way that I've seen.

Talk about sinking your teeth into a blog. She wants your opinions, she wants your experiences, and she is so wise & so good to everyone who crosses her path. She responds to every single commenter with genuine focus on what they're saying. She is verbally shameless (<3) & hilarious, and if there were anymore to love about this girl & her blog, my head would explode!!

For the love of god, check these two bloggers out!!

Time for Three & Three Quarters - 

Answer this most important question: Ketchup or Pygmies?

I could quote where you gave the answer on Facebook, but that would be the easy way out, wouldn't it?

Obviously I'm going to go with lil hunting dwarfs who live in the forest over something made from tomtaoes with a spoogey consistency.

Fourth- Write an original thought (or something that seems like a rare idea) or display a photo for everyone to stare at, in awe, that will cause the peeps to fall down upon their knees and smile with tears of profound realization. Or just say the first thing that comes to mind.

I'm gonna do you one better, my good friend-Tackle all three.

You mean like camera lenses behind the eyeballs by 2030, or windshield wipers for spectacles?

Which turns out is completely unoriginal...

As for "a photo for everyone to stare at, in awe, that will cause the peeps to fall down upon their knees and smile with tears of profound realization"

Realize THIS...

I just blew your mind. 

Or completely disabled it.

(Oh, I'm good!)

Sorry you're not smiling (I can see you), but probably just listening to your brain fizzle out.

The realization is "The strung-out naked man gets the early breakfast" or some shit like that.

I really haven't had sufficient sleep.

As for the tears, you should be crying from the realization that there's no goddamn bacon coming up over the horizon.

And the first thing that comes to mind - Trees. With wild pubes. Don't ask. I won't be able to tell you because I have no idea why.

I really don't become human until around noon.

That's why I almost forgot the link.

And now that I'm unsure if what kind of link that refers to; a blog, something the recipient enjoys, some good porn..

So I'm going to pull a random rabbit out of my asshat for this one...

So much love & farts. 

A Twenty Spot & You Too Can Look Pretty Much Horrifying

I know tanning can be a controversial subject; the potentially harmful effects on the skin, yada, yada, but that's not what we're discussing here today. No, today it's about the fact that I have been somewhat addicted to that cocoa glow on & off for years now, and yes, I tan indoors occasionally because it gets you evenly, quickly, and you don't have to bead sticky sweat under the blazing sun for hours to get a beautiful color.

Mere minutes, some crazy, incredibly high-powered fans, grooving to some music in the nude & you're a walking bronze statue. How could some pasty Irish girl not be alll over that shit?!

So, even though I'm convinced I know what I'm doing with my excessive moisturizing & avoiding burning, my fears still creep up on me once in a while. ESP. with my Irish skin. What if I start getting those spots?!

I don't want to end up one of those women who's a walking piece of beef jerky & skin soup because she fried herself constantly for 20+ years like a leather wrapped strip of bacon.

As you may know, there are many alternatives nowadays. You know, from instant tanning lotions that don't work to pills that turn you fucking orange.

I call bullshit on where all the oompa loompas came from.
I'll give you a hint-Spring break.

Considering I recently started tanning again, I've been reminded of my spray tanning incidents gone awry.

 So, in the past few years Mystic Tan has come out with something I figured was the answer-The Mystic Tans spray tanning booth.

It seemed to be the answer for many people with fears of the risks of tanning, it had to be the answer for me, right?

Well, this is where I point out to you that this pixi's luck in some arenas may be a lil different and that I've learned time & time again that what works for most probably isn't going to go right for my ass.

So, on this day of my first spray tan I am so psyched. I have a weekend long date in VT with this hot guy I liked (Who turned out to be the loser of losers & careless, shitfaced drivers, but another story for another time maybe), and I'm happy I'm able to pull off weeks worth of tanning in one 6 minute spray session.

I don't buy all the special before lotions they suggest because the ditz behind the counter tells me I can do without it & gave me some simple lotion they had on hand, so I pick out my color cartridge & head for the booth.

The booth............

(The robotic goddamn gas chamber)

"I will break your legs, boss you around, and spooge in your face."

I had no idea this was really the case till it was too late.

I walk into Captain Picard's lil capsule there onto this octagon metal floor traced with footprint patterns.

I wasn't sure if this was like one of those Dance Dance Revolution games where I had to dance to the Macarena just to turn this on, but because of the cheap lotion (And my lack of booties. And how TF was I supposed to know I needed booties), I was slipping & sliding all over this thing like I was fighting for dear life.

I finally get a lil bit of a grip & insert my cartridge (Uh haha, Beavis), and this voice echoes from all corners like fucking 2010 Space Odyssey.

I have no time to think or even blink before I start getting hosed down in this chemical substance that smells so toxic it really seems like no living thing on this earth should be within 100 miles of it.

This robot bitch is yelling at me, telling me to move my feet onto all different numbered footprints & positions with my naked ass in a shower cap while this machine is giving me golden showers from every angle & I'm just trying so hard not to breathe or break my legs, and this lil routine either unlocks some key to the universe or it's a futuristic game of nuclear Twister. Either way it's like McDonalds meat-I'm hatin' it.

The only thing this was missing was a robotic hand that picks you up & slams you into the walls till you're knocked unconscious.

Here's an older, less deluxe version.

See what I mean? For that type of shit I at least expect breakfast in the morning.

I was thrilled a few hours later when I noticed myself getting darker & darker, and the color itself did look natural.

But when I got to Vermont & was sitting on a grassy knoll with my date in my cute lil mini skirt & noticed my Zebra legs, it wasn't so awesome.

I KNOW it's not a Zebra. It's a Jack Ass, take a hint.

Now this is an ongoing issue with me & you're bound to hear the words "You'd think I had learned my lesson" many times in the future of this blog.

Because a year later I found myself in some weird no name tanning salon that was probably just someone's basement, naked & being sprayed from a canister I swear I have in my garage, by some weird lady, only to have it start raining the second I walked out of there, and have YOU ever seen somebody literally peel & chip like the led paint on an old house?

Remember Death Becomes Her?

I could have used my own mortician too.

This IS what happens when spray tanning goes wrong.

It's like, The Hulk dipped in golden hershey squirts.
The guy on the right, not the one on the left.

I'm going to stick with the lamps until there's a better solution or I learn to do that shit right me thinks.
I mean, even if it can look normal on some people when done right, the facts are still the facts. The reality is a lot like this till your next few showers & tanning session....

Be smart. No one takes a clown seriously.