Tanning

My lineage is that of pasty people. Going on vacation to somewhere sunny usually requires me to do some tanning before I go, but I rarely, if ever, actually commit to the venture. In fact the last time I went to a tanning booth was at least 15 years ago.

In one week I will be heading to Turks & Caicos with my family. Just in time too, because I'm ready to loose my mind in the frigid chill of the bullshit that is winter in Michigan. Why do I reside in a state where the weather makes me a vitriolic maniac five months out of the year?

To keep my pasty, winterized epidermis from scorching in a place much closer to the equator, I decided to cram a handful of tanning sessions in at the local fake bake shop before heading south. I fully intended to go for 8 weeks prior to my vacation, but kept putting it off and putting it off until this past Wednesday, when I had 9 days before my departure.

In California, according to TV, the people who work at tanning salons are bubbly, helpful cheerleader types. There, tanning is a sign of health and vitality. In Michigan, it's a sign of being a stripper, having a winter home in Florida or combating Seasonal Affective Disorder. Natalia was not so much a helpful cheerleader as an annoyed minimum income wage earner.

There are now "levels" of beds. Who knew? In a standard get-what-you-pay-for scenario, the options are old skool hex bed which will burn the hell out of you after three minutes and you have to go for weeks and weeks to see any results; a level two bed which is low burning but better tanning in a shorter time and finally the high pressurized no burn, tan in two seconds bed.

Also unlike almost two decades ago, they now have tanning lotion specifically made for using in a tanning bed. You can't use regular sunscreen or lotion, no sir. You have to get the special stuff which is developed for the types of rays used in a tanning bed. They come in a variety of smells almost all of which remind me of the '80's. I picked one that makes me smell like Orange Julius.

The bed they always put me in is called the "Pryzma", all spelled out in tropical letters. It makes me feel kind of cool, like I could be in Hawaii and I might know how to hang ten. I call this bed the UV coffin because I get in and pull the lid over myself, like I'm a reverse vampire protecting myslef from the doom of a cloudy winter. There is a really powerful fan that blasts away all the noise and most of the overbearing part of the heat.

I love that 6 minutes of bright warm, smelling like the '80's. Over the course of the next few days I will bump up to 8 minutes, then 10 then 12 and then I will be on the beach in the real sun for a whole week!

Lights Out...REM...Action!!!

I am lucky, because I have really weird, vivid dreams all the time. Occasionally, they are so visceral and acutely sensory that I wake up exhausted. They often become really good story outlines that I note down and save for future writings.

Last night I had a dream that on my lunch break I went shopping for a strapless bra and ran into an old friend Pam. We ended driving to New York, looking for horses, and going to a restaurant for lunch where they were holding an auction. Henry Rollins was a panelist at the auction and he had three kittens with him. One of the kittens was the size of a Matchbox car and was covered in pink rhinestones. The entire dream, I was worried about getting back to work so I didn't get fired.

One of the peculiar things about my dreams are the settings which seem to be more like movie sets. For example, there is a department store where I often go to shop in my dreams. The set up and feel of the store is exactly the same every dream, where the stairs are, the set up of the racks, the doorways, but the merchandise, employees and purpose change with each dream. I'm never shopping for the same thing or for the same purpose yet it always feels haunting and familiar.

Other locations include a downtown, the interior of the a home, a shopping mall, and a few other specific locations that seem like they are movie sets stored in some warehouse in my brain and are rolled out and dressed specifically for different dreams.

The weirdest part is that these dream places aren't replicas of places I've ever been to in my waking life. There's a sense of intimacy that throws me off every time I got to one of these places while I sleep. I recognize it, but it's totally new, every time.