follow up.

So, this is the kind of torture a prudent bridesmaid subjects herself to after negligent sun exposure, as evidenced below.  Let it be known that the last time I entered a tanning bed, (ahem, cancer rocket) was pre 9-11.  Boy have times changed.  The perky adolescent working the counter slathered me in some tropical smelling, soy based, brown tinged lotion, and shoved me into a stand up tanning bed.  She instructed me to put these cone shaped stickers over my eyes and hold on to the railings on both sides.  I pushed the start button, and was time warped through reality into the Matrix.  I'm serious, it was trippy in there.  The lights run in tight vertical columns, shine bright green, and have mirrors filling the space between them.  there's a hand rail on either side of you, and I may or may not have used the 12 roasting minutes in there to flex my biceps against them and try to monkey bar across the booth.  Well what the hell else are you supposed to do?!

addendum: I had to follow up this experience with another session at a mom and pop tanning place in little ol' Astoria, OR.  The very leathery elderly man at the counter, upon hearing that I hail from LA, declared that he was throwing me in the "cooker".... you know, because that's the one he uses.  Oy.