Am Not Dead

I am pretty sure this trip to Mexico is going to kill me.  Before I even get to the airport.

I have had a nervous breakdown in a Walmart dressing room over the size of my ass and how much cleavage is too much for a trip taken with colleagues from work.

I could not find a dress at Old Navy that didn't hang like a muu muu off me.

I thought my arm was going to fall off after the first Twinrix shot.

I am having a crisis over which bags to take and which to leave home.  They all want to go to Mexico and I think only two or three will be making the journey.

I have been told so many diarrhea stories that I am already taking Imodium.

Travel Companion A turned out to be a total ass hat of a boyfriend.  Travel Companion B said if I could not find someone of the male and available persuasion to go, she would.  Travel Companion C was a douche bag about coughing up a copy of his passport, taking days off, and cost me my entire budget for resort wear hundreds of dollars because he did not answer an email.  Travel Companion B then had a family crisis that involves funeral plans.  Travel companion D is happier than a pig in shit to be going.

Travel Companion A, no I will not have hate sex with you and you can go hump an ant hill.

Travel Companion B, stay strong girl.  Be brave.  Chin high, shoulders back, heels in the best pair of stiletto's you have.

Travel Companion C, you are not the only ride in the amusement park.  Your loss.  Again.

Travel Companion D, let's rawk.

Ya, so there's that.

Now, if you know me, you know my skin is pale.  The kind of pale that is only one shade darker than albino.  And when one is off to Mexico but is currently residing in the North Pole, one must "pre-tan."  Sounds simple enough, right?  I have been tanning before, I own ceramic protective eye wear, and I know how to nude up in less than two minutes.  Yes, this is important information for all of you who do not tan and keep in mind, I was naked for what I am about to describe to you.  OK, just the tanning bed part.  Things can get pretty sexy at The Office, but we keep it G-rated.  Who am I kidding, it is all NC-17 in that place.

The lovely Della, Queen of the Countdown to Mexico, and I have been tanning buddies for a couple of weeks now.  Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I have a date with Della at 12:30 to go get microwaved.  Last Friday was particularly stressful as I had to empty my savings account onto my credit card to pay for Travel Companion C's cluster fuck bullshit game playing (ya, I said it and I meant it).  It was exacerbated by Judy The Travel Agent when she called to say the credit card number I had given her was invalid.  Big sighs of relief when it was discovered she had transposed the last two numbers.  BIG SIGHS.  I have never been so close to needing to jump half the people I work with for their antidepressants.

The lunch date tanning session was supposed to relieve all these frustrations.  On a regular day it would.  Not on this day and not in tanning room three.  I did the typical flight of the bumble bee to nude up, goggle up, and jump in the bed.  As I lay there na-na'ing with Rhianna, I heard some creaking from above me.  I was mindful of it but did not pay much attention as I was more concerned with finding the optimum tanning position and Drake's "uuuuuuhh".

I should have paid attention.

At about the seven minute mark, the Plexiglas from the top side of the tanning bed came crashing down on me.  Yes, it was no longer part of the tanning bed and I was nakedly sandwiched between it and the rest of the bed, having a near death experience and totally freaking out leaving me to quickly ponder my future.  Why?  There are speakers attached to that tanning bed.  Speakers that have electricity flowing through them and they are about to kill me.

I cannot remember all of what went through my mind at that moment but it was all prefaced with "I am naked, I am not a size two, I cannot scream for help.  I am uber fucked."  I managed to slide and then push and fall my way out from under the Plexiglas and onto the floor of the tanning room.  By this time, I was nakedly crawling about the room with my eyes squished shut (protective eye wear seems to be the first thing to fail you in a tanning crisis), feeling my way around to the stop button, not so conveniently located in the back of the bed.  When I opened my eyes, I was relieved to find that the speakers on the Plexiglas are actually just covers and the speakers are actually hard wired into the top of the bed.

Big sighs.

Am not dead.

Am naked on my hands and knees, with my ass up in the are like I am worshipping some tanning god.

Are we there yet?

PS:
To the The Office Goddess... thank you for being you.  Thank you for having shoulders to cry on, hugs that make the pain go away, and boobies to rub up against.