I can't believe the summer is half way over. Seriously? How lame. What do I have to show for it, really? Not even a half-decent tan.

Speaking of tan. (I know, bad transition - who cares? I've got a head cold and I'm loaded up on Sudafed and Nyquil. OK. And percosets.... I'm kidding!) - I'm gonna go get one of those mystic spray tans. Only because my pasty white skin looks horrid in my light blue best-man dress. Has anyone out there reading my blog experienced a spray on tan thingy? Let me just state for the record that I am in no way, shape or form a girly girl. At all. I never have been. Seriously, I'm borderline lesbo. I'm serious! I hate the mall. I only have one pair of dressy shoes....I've had my nails done maybe 4 times (my sister's wedding and the senior prom being two of those 4), I mean, until my trip to Florida last month I owned two dresses - one from when I was pregnant. The other dress which I nicknamed (you'll love this) *the* dress. I'm so creative, aren't I? You can see *the* dress in any photo of me in the last 3 years at a formal outing. At any rate... the thought of getting naked and standing in a small booth while some automatic spray jet covers me from head to toe in bronzer is - well - it's sickening to me. But not as sickening as looking like Marilyn Manson come August.

Here - for reference:

I mean, when I look at Marilyn Manson, I think of his mother and how sad she must be. Actually, that's not true - I look at him and think 'too bad he's not available'. Actually, I don't think either of these things because I try not to stare directly at Marilyn - for fear I will turn to stone. White stone. Or worse, for fear that one weird eye of his will lunge out and try to attack me like an alien. You'd think with all that money, he'd get that eye fixed. Hey Marilyn! If you're reading - less money at Sephora, more money at the eye doctor! Oh - what? His eye is like that *on purpose*? Oh. Well never mind then.

I'm not even sure where I'm going with this. But now you see why I must do something about my Casper-like complexion. And I could go the route of real tanning, but there are many issues involved in this - one being that it takes a lot of burning, immense patience and Buddhist prayer rituals to get my skin beyond a pinkish red hue. Secondly - you know, the skin cancer. And the subsequent spreading to my brain and then inevitable death. It would be horrible and everyone would stand over my coffin crying and saying ' what a shame. if only she had cared less about looking so pale'. It would be tragic.

Sigh. It's late. I did promise a blog of famous separations. But I never follow through on my promises & my nighttime dose of cough elixir is making me feel a little - how you say - shaky like a crackhead. Plus tomorrow I go pick up the keys to my new apartment and I have lots to do. I need a personal organizer.

Email if you're interested in the job - it doesn't pay anything, the benefits are horrible & the boss is a crazy medicated bitch. But I'll get you a hat. A big one. With a chin strap.