at first glance, many have struggled to pinpoint my nationality. with my almond-shaped eyes, olive complexion and eyebrows rivaling those of peter gallagher (no worries..i don't share his love for show tunes), i have heard everything from spanish to lebanese to thai. however, once a few choice four-letter words escape from my lips or it's revealed that my weapon of choice is not a .44 or prison-issue shank but a shoe, my secret is revealed: i am so italian, my last name may as well be corleone. i'll take the cannoli every damn time.
since my people are known as much for their ability to tan as much as they are for their tiramisu, it may seem a bit precarious that i would seek out a bronzing from a bottle or booth but let me explain: 1. i'm in chicago in the middle of one of its infamous cold-as-fuck winters; 2. my ability to get time off to venture to an exotic locale is downright laughable and 3. my friend sam convinced me it was a great idea. said friendship is currently under review.
i knew the error of my ways the moment i walked into the salon and my nostrils were filled with the aroma of coconuts and burnt flesh. the face of the gal behind the counter resembled the shade of a mixed citrus smoothie. the classy establishment was named after a land filled with fake tits and even faker personalities. still, if two minutes standing ass-naked in an icy blue box getting sprayed with a concoction of god only knows what would rid me of the winter blahs, i was so freaking there. unfortunately, now i could be mistaken for the help at willie wonka's factory.
my sister, a true fake-and-bake junkie by the age of 13, was horrified when i told her the news. "what are you, retarded?" she said when i revealed my faux pas. "spray tanning is for the micks..respect your roots, ho!" ah, to be 17 and obnoxiously politically incorrect again! mini-me then proceeded - for the next eternity or so - to dispense the rationale her tried-and-true regimen of how she keeps her pelt resembling a balenciaga bag. though i nodded off sometime between exfoliation and moisturization, i know one thing for certain: i will never treat my body as a paint-by-number again.
..ask me which way to the fizzy lifting drinks and i'll punch you in the mouth in front of your friends,
lex
since my people are known as much for their ability to tan as much as they are for their tiramisu, it may seem a bit precarious that i would seek out a bronzing from a bottle or booth but let me explain: 1. i'm in chicago in the middle of one of its infamous cold-as-fuck winters; 2. my ability to get time off to venture to an exotic locale is downright laughable and 3. my friend sam convinced me it was a great idea. said friendship is currently under review.
i knew the error of my ways the moment i walked into the salon and my nostrils were filled with the aroma of coconuts and burnt flesh. the face of the gal behind the counter resembled the shade of a mixed citrus smoothie. the classy establishment was named after a land filled with fake tits and even faker personalities. still, if two minutes standing ass-naked in an icy blue box getting sprayed with a concoction of god only knows what would rid me of the winter blahs, i was so freaking there. unfortunately, now i could be mistaken for the help at willie wonka's factory.
my sister, a true fake-and-bake junkie by the age of 13, was horrified when i told her the news. "what are you, retarded?" she said when i revealed my faux pas. "spray tanning is for the micks..respect your roots, ho!" ah, to be 17 and obnoxiously politically incorrect again! mini-me then proceeded - for the next eternity or so - to dispense the rationale her tried-and-true regimen of how she keeps her pelt resembling a balenciaga bag. though i nodded off sometime between exfoliation and moisturization, i know one thing for certain: i will never treat my body as a paint-by-number again.
..ask me which way to the fizzy lifting drinks and i'll punch you in the mouth in front of your friends,
lex