Greetings from a very cold Brighton, and as I prepare to venture south again, back to my Home in Sunny Dubai, I must share with you an experience I had a few days ago which in hindsight I find amusing.
T’is the 5th of Jan, 2010 and a happy new year to all of my readers, and to the rest of the world who are in need of love, empathy and consideration, 3 emotions sadly lacking in many individuals who reside on this planet I’m afraid… Not to worry, they will learn in time the difference between real love and the shallow kind which is merely an attachment to form, and the frequency needed to actually understand the difference. Until such a time arises for the emotionally retarded among you, Karma cannot be cheated, nor side stepped which I learn on a daily basis.
I know some of my readers enjoy the occasional spiritual blog I write, and I promise to do more this year, or maybe create another blog site to which I can indulge on that particular subject without boring those who enjoy my sarcasm, satire, and vitriolic humor to which I have become known for.?? Let me know.
Ok, to the story at hand. I decided long ago that I definitely look healthier and more radiant with a sun tan, and the process of vitamin D synthesis which make me feel great, but alas, my genetics were programmed from birth to have the skin tone of Michael Jackson,( later on in years mind, when he decided white was the way forward, and saw the light, literally) which is ironic, bearing in mind his gene pool determined from birth he should be as Black as Obama’s backside.
So I decided I would nip down the road and get a spray tan, and for fans of the series Friends out there, I am sure memories of Ross getting it horribly wrong are still imprinted in the memory banks, and I’m sure that episode has been the bane of spray tanning facilities the world over as assistants are constantly reminded before the individual enters the booth of the ‘’ROSS’’ effect if they get it wrong…YAAAWWWWNNN!!!!...
So, I got ready and went to grab my Ipod head phones from my man drawer in the house, which contains as you know a plethora of items, very idio- synchratic to a male, keys to locks no longer in existence, coins of differing currency’s appertaining to country’s which changed their names many moons ago, and batteries which lost their charge long before the aforementioned countries had even changed their names, but above all, chargers of all shapes and sizes for phones I never owned, and wires of all descriptions which give the impression of being able to charge laptops, kettles, car vacuum cleaners etc. And here is the funny part, it matters not how neat and tidy you wrap these cords of varying description and place them within your man drawer, over night they WILL fornicate and tie themselves into knots and shapes so illustrious, that the great Houdini himself would have taken one look and said’’Na,not for me, a man’s got to know his limitations’’ I kid you not, how the fuck does this happen?... Really, I want a scientific explanation on how the copulation of varying wires and chargers can tie themselves in knots, literally…
Anyway, this time I was in no mood to sit there, Dalai Lama like and hum whale music for an hour as I unravel the fucking things, and I reverted to my reptilian brain complex, brute strength, plus a knife called Stanley, and A bicep 18 inches around, which soon had my head phones free, but alas, my trophy collection of useless wires well and truly butchered and ended up in the bin in a fit of rage.
With my I pod and me in complete harmony, I cycled to the tanning shop and prepared myself to be teak’d like a garden fence and walked in. Greeting me, as always in any tanning salon you care to walk into the world over, are Women usually, whose skin resembles that of the mother in the film ‘’something about Mary’’, and a monotone voice greeting you like they have known you all their tanning lives… ‘’Morning babe, Come for a spray, or a bed darling?’’. ‘’Umm, a spray’’ I reply. ‘’Great, naked or G string babe. ?I would go for the naked love, and Gill here will do you, ( carry- on type laughter erupts for roughly a minute between the girls in the shop as I stand there and pretend to enjoy the comedy gold, NOT!!! Fucking morons, leave the jokes for somebody else., and u concentrate on the job at hand.) She’s not shy, and seen it all before darling, really, you aint got nothing between your legs she aint handled before baby.’’ Comforting I said, but let’s go for the G string shall we so I can keep a modicum of dignity, Plus Gill is circa 108 with skin like a salt water crocodile, and not the most appealing thing to look at, which I guess could be construed as a bonus when stood bullock naked in front of a female. You work it out…
So, the ivory skinned joker gave me these plastic black thongs and told me to go prepare in the booth and shout when I was ready, so in I went and unraveled this garment used, solely by Women I wager, as it had no distinguishing back , or front to them. Now, I used to wear a thong, back in the early 90’s in my Ibiza heyday, so very familiar with how they look and which are the back and consequently the front, but this sucker’s had me confused… I realize for many of my friends reading this blog, for them this would not present a problem, All 3 Rob’s, for starters, and Christian as well, whom by their own admission like to wear their girlfriends/Wives Thongs back to front, which still manages to cover the whole 3 piece suite, but alas, not me, so I had a problem. How the hell do I smuggle my wedding tackle into that small paper package without hanging out the side???... Just as well it was fucking freezing and my nuts disappeared into my stomach like a pre pubescent school boy , and my blood penis had been drained of its life , and I managed to tuck it all in, which I considered a major triumph, and up there with the Sistine chapel paintings if I’m being honest.
I called Gill in and as she stood there admiring me, I made light of the situation and stated’’ Can’t imagine many black guys come here Gill’’, making reference once again to that most basic of social stereotypes, as I looked between my legs and gestured at the size of the loin cloth covering my now very shy fella…. Then made another factual statement to the tune of’’ Come to think of it, why would a black man be coming for a spray tan at all, won’t do him an ounce of good, and a complete waste of money’’. Gill laughed and wheezed like a drain at my observations and proceeded to spray me from head to toe, back and front, 3 times before proclaiming I was done… ‘’Now babe, don’t have a wash for 8 hours, and let yourself dry for 5 mins before getting dressed, alright darling, been my pleasure babe to do you’’, as she wheezed and coughed, stroked laughed her way out of the room..
I Looked in the mirror and indeed I was very tanned, but the female friendly thong had given me a very distinguished tan triangle above my pert, muscular bottom, which is fuck’d up... and the color on my buttocks had turned green, which I looked at with horror. The old witch comforted me with words of wisdom as she replied to my screams of horror, that all would be fine after I took a shower the next morning. Now, I must admit after taking a shower the next day, my incredible hulk impression dissipated and was left with a decent tan, although she failed to tell me my skin would smell like David Beckhams Jock strap for 4 days after, and that my toe nails still look like they enjoy chain smoking 60 Benson and hedges every fucking day, I kid you not.. My feet look like that skeleton pulled from the peat bog who was labeled the missing link in evolution, more like rotting talons, than toe nails, and all in the name of vanity.
So will I be having another one, I ask myself, and the answer is a resounding yes, as I empty my 5th bath since, which resembles a dirty old pond as the smelly tan disappears down the plug hole, but whilst I’m in the UK, I will endure and suffer all that and more not to look like Casper the friendly ghost… We Humans, GO FIGURE…….
UNTIL THE NEXT TIME, ''MAY THE PALM BE WITH YOU''
