Mani Pedi

Later today I'm going to try and sneak in a manicure and pedicure. Let's start there. I hate saying mani and pedi. Or mani pedi. It really embarrasses me. I think it makes me sound like a stereotypical superficial annoying girl, the same way I feel when I have to ask the gas attendant to help me fill up my tires, or when I park crooked by mistake.

So, by now, you know I'm not a huge fan of small talk. You're usually not a fan of things you stink at. I'm also not good at understanding people with strong accents. Therefore, I'm not a fan of those conversations either. So when I'm face-to-face with a woman with a strong accent who wants to do small talk, you can imagine my uneasiness.

If they have a tv, I watch it. If there are magazines within reach, I grab them. If they have a fish tank, I'm staring at it. Anything to avoid conversation. I give one word answers with a smile. I never know what they ask so I try to think of the most acceptable way to reply. "ohh haha." "yup!" ...I can't think of any more, those are my only two replies.

I sound like a bitch, right? But I can promise you, I don't think thats how I come off.

There is something about being in a nail salon that suddenly brings on all these feelings of inadequacy, ...more than usual. I feel out of place, like I don't belong there and don't deserve manicures and pedicures, and they know it! I think they pity me, and talk to me like a child and give me condescending smiles and speak in their language about how retarded I am. I think.

Throw my mother into the mix, and it becomes unbearable . This is something we do for fun with each other every couple of months. Except, I'm not sure why, because its never fun for us. We always end up wanting to cry-laugh or fighting. As soon as we step in the door this wave of self-consciousness settles in and we might as yell, "Listen up! We are the Telian girls and we're here to make everyone around us feel as physically and mentally uncomfortable as possible!" Finding a place to hang her coat, knowing where to go to pick a color, when to go sit down, understanding what they just said, what to ask for, how to pay, when to pay, how much to tip, ...it's all so painful, and its the same each and every time, like, we/she never learns the routine.

So sometimes I'll go alone. Which I don't mind and its fine usually, until they start scrubbing my feet. Do you KNOW what its like to giggle, alone, when a stranger is doing something that tickles you? Do you understand how UNCOMFORTABLE you're making that person by accusing them of tickling your feet?

I guess I could just start painting them myself again and maybe grab ice cream with mum instead. It would be worth the extra calories, for all parties involved.

Let's Bowl

The Davis Square bowling alley recently reopened and now serves dinner and drinks. Awesome. That means I have to bowl. Less awesome. Not because I don't love bowling, but because of everything that comes along with it.

Like, planning a wardrobe. I mean, really bowling owners, still with the shoes? When we were kids these were a non-issue, they probably even added to the fun. Now, I try to tip toe by the counter guy and pray he's blind or retarded so he'll forget to ask my size or not see my feet. It changes your whole look. For guys, who cares, its just another pair of shoes to wear with loose-fitting jeans. Ever head out in skinny jeans and high boots, unaware of where the night may take you, only to find yourself on a hard plastic bench in awful lighting with 5 people around you trying to get you to put on those God-awful kicks? Nope, sorry kids, I'd rather have a bowling ball drag me down the lane than have everyone watch my even-fatter-in-skinny-jeans-and-small-shoes ass bending over three times in a row.

Speaking of asses, it's not up for debate: People are gonna look at your bum. They can't help it! So you're faced with a choice: stick to your guns, bowl a 200 (I'm going to go with that number like I know what a good bowling score would be) and stick out your butt in perfect form for all your teammates and opponents to visually disect? Or do you straighten that back, dip a little in the knees and looseley let the ball fall out of your hand with your pelvis pushed forward? Depends who's on the bench, I say. If they're uglier and/or fatter than me, I'll risk giving them a show they don't want for a high score.

But in order to get a high score, you have to have good form. And nothing affects your form like your stepwork. As I walk to the bowling ball stand, I say to myself, "Left right left. Left right left. Just three steps thats all you need!" I hold the ball up to my chest, and visualize what my steps will look like. Ready, go. OH GOD. I stood back too far and now I need more steps to get me to the line. What do I do?? The FRED FLINSTONE, that's what! As my cousin Katrina reminded me, that quick, panicky pitter-patter move right at the end to try and make up for footwork-gone-awry is one sure way of guaranteeing you'll immediately hate yourself the second the ball leaves your hand.

But what's done is done. Now you just have to wait and see what happens, which may very well be the most painful part of this whole experience. Stay bent over. Straighten up and wait with hands on hip. Stand in a way that makes you look thinner. Lean your body in the direction you hope the ball goes. Yell awkward cheers for yourself. So many choices! But if that's not bad enough, what comes next will surely put you over the edge.

Your reaction. You knocked over all or almost all of the pins! Fist pump? Spin around fast with your arms in the air, and yell "yaa!"? Or just smile awkwardly and return to your seat? You only knocked over a few pins: "okay, thats not bad" or some other equaly lame statement. Or you can turn to the bench and give an awkward shrug, that's usually approriate. Gutter ball: Sad face maybe? Fake some anger? Hang your head and return to bench quietly while everyone just stares at you totally unamused? Sometimes, I'm so preoccupied with trying to decide how to react, I forget to pay attention to the pins. Like it matters.

But, this place has drinks. Lots of drinks. Cheers.