Blonde I Go Tanning Girl
The Christmas Shopping Season offered me the chance to not only verify the accuracy of my recent analysis of the soon-to-be-late Abercrombie and Fitch Co. (then again, perhaps they'll go back to what John Steinbeck said they did best - barometers), but also to check the status of the Blonde I Go Tanning Girl.
Upon mentioning her, even the dog's ears prick up and the suspicion in his eyes is readable. It seems the Blonde I Go Tanning girl can just by name arouse all the fear of a bath in even the most loving canine. But clearly the dog, I and anyone else that are rather, to put it bluntly, freaked out by the Blonde I Go Tanning girl are in the minority, because she's multiplying.
And how! I was privvy to her inception years back. There were always one or two tanning places in town, eeking out an existence until the last of the 1980s trophy wives moved to Florida. Then, suddently, Malignant Melanoma Mania was born! Who or what is to blame? "Baywatch?" Perhaps Pam, Donna, Gena and the cadre of blonde lifeguards really were taking up too much time among the adolescents and, by the looks of it, of the neglectful husbands too! The 1990s? Did the pre-dot com burst really leave suburbanites with so much cash that they invested in tanning because there was nowhere else to put the income!?
I think it's simply teenage immediacy reinforced by education and pitiful experience. Life does, after all, end at 30, if not 25. Didn't you see Logan's Run? Okay, so she hasn't, either. But seriously! Come home from cheerleading practice and see Mom mixing Prozac and Valium while sneaking swigs of Smirnoff after a rough-and-tumble day of doing anything to not look so much over 30 while Dad comes home in his prized Boxster to retire to his den with Johnnie Walker because today's Wednesday and the fellas can't play golf until Thursday...
If they went to Church, they'd probably pray for cancer!
Of course one mustn't generalize so they say, but 9/10 times this is a pretty fair bet. Whatever the cause, she arose! If blondes have more fun, the Blonde I Go Tanning Girl is the queen of fun. She arises to High School drama which will soon enough be State College drama (no difference) with endless nights at the bar or in his arms (he has many names by the time she graduates) all drowned by the screams of "Bitch, finish that shit!" from a fellow girl who can, you know, relate. Their teachers in high school and now even moreso in college are teaching them little more than just how awesome they are, so bottom's up! Take the keys to the Jag and joy-ride that thing down the highway until the tank runs dry. Top out at 180 and go with it, blurred visions on the side of the road all that you'll have when she finally stalls out.
Did I say freaked out? Clearly this is only half my attitude, because pity is what I see resonating from my words. No freaked here.
But I am repulsed by the Blonde I Go Tanning Girl. Especially the19 or 20 year old that started when she was 15. Week in, week out, perhaps even 3 times a week for 5 years. No melanoma yet, that's years away, but... whoa...
Upon mentioning her, even the dog's ears prick up and the suspicion in his eyes is readable. It seems the Blonde I Go Tanning girl can just by name arouse all the fear of a bath in even the most loving canine. But clearly the dog, I and anyone else that are rather, to put it bluntly, freaked out by the Blonde I Go Tanning girl are in the minority, because she's multiplying.
And how! I was privvy to her inception years back. There were always one or two tanning places in town, eeking out an existence until the last of the 1980s trophy wives moved to Florida. Then, suddently, Malignant Melanoma Mania was born! Who or what is to blame? "Baywatch?" Perhaps Pam, Donna, Gena and the cadre of blonde lifeguards really were taking up too much time among the adolescents and, by the looks of it, of the neglectful husbands too! The 1990s? Did the pre-dot com burst really leave suburbanites with so much cash that they invested in tanning because there was nowhere else to put the income!?
I think it's simply teenage immediacy reinforced by education and pitiful experience. Life does, after all, end at 30, if not 25. Didn't you see Logan's Run? Okay, so she hasn't, either. But seriously! Come home from cheerleading practice and see Mom mixing Prozac and Valium while sneaking swigs of Smirnoff after a rough-and-tumble day of doing anything to not look so much over 30 while Dad comes home in his prized Boxster to retire to his den with Johnnie Walker because today's Wednesday and the fellas can't play golf until Thursday...
If they went to Church, they'd probably pray for cancer!
Of course one mustn't generalize so they say, but 9/10 times this is a pretty fair bet. Whatever the cause, she arose! If blondes have more fun, the Blonde I Go Tanning Girl is the queen of fun. She arises to High School drama which will soon enough be State College drama (no difference) with endless nights at the bar or in his arms (he has many names by the time she graduates) all drowned by the screams of "Bitch, finish that shit!" from a fellow girl who can, you know, relate. Their teachers in high school and now even moreso in college are teaching them little more than just how awesome they are, so bottom's up! Take the keys to the Jag and joy-ride that thing down the highway until the tank runs dry. Top out at 180 and go with it, blurred visions on the side of the road all that you'll have when she finally stalls out.
Did I say freaked out? Clearly this is only half my attitude, because pity is what I see resonating from my words. No freaked here.
But I am repulsed by the Blonde I Go Tanning Girl. Especially the19 or 20 year old that started when she was 15. Week in, week out, perhaps even 3 times a week for 5 years. No melanoma yet, that's years away, but... whoa...
LEATHERFACE!Caked Revlon compounds, moisturizer and all that UV... throw in a chainsaw and I'll pay a quarter to see it around Halloween. But Christmas? No. It's become an obsession, and ironically she'll look 30 well before she's 25 thanks to those "beds." But for now she's living the life, empowered by all the literature, Dad's pocketbook and her own set of keys, perhaps well on her way to a Gender Studies major before finally settling down to life after 30, or death.
*Sigh*
*Sigh*
posted by Michael Glud at 4:28 PM
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