Let me begin by saying that cancer is bad. So is looking like J-Wow’s Jewish Doppelganger. But like most hoodcats, I like to do bad things. I love a good fake bake, or as I like to call it, a trip to the Freckle Factory. Problem is, getting burnt on your fanny hurts something awful and makes sitting down semi-awk. So my trips to Planet Beach are reserved for emergency situations. Enter self tanner… my ultimate vice. It’s so stinky, and so easy to eff up. But I don’t give a flying fookalook.
Ah, a young Gingery La Vida Lohan first dabbling in the Snooki Paint.
The art of painting yourself a golden hue of Orangina is a delicate, intricate, mind-numbing process. Literally mind-numbing because of the fumes from some of these GD sprays. But it’s worth it. Some of you may be asking yourself, “Why in the tits would a pale milk maid like Babygirl want to douse herself in funky-smelling bronze body smegma?” Because Pasty legs are a no no and being tan is frankly impossible when you inherit daywalker genes.
The solution? Professional spray tanners. Forget the mystic tan booth, I’m here to testify that they are nothing more than Guido Gas Chambers and the movements you must make while getting squirted are insane. It’s jazzercise inside of an Orange Soda fountain. Don’t do it.
What you see above is not the backdrop of a soft core porn shoot. It’s where some washed up cougar named Lorraine takes her magic spray paint gun loaded with bronzing liquid and fires at you while you stand in silly linebacker positions – buck nekkid- and gab about those low down dirty exes and Dancing with the Stars. I love it. You pay Fifty-ish bucks and you walk out of there tan as a mofo, smelling like Pad Thai, and get more shit-talking and venting accomplished than any Upper West Side therapy session.
Plus, its UV-free, mothersuckers.
When you can’t squeeze in a professional spray tan sesh over at Beach Bum, I’ve found some fool-proof home self-tanners that will make your friends wonder if you stole their bronzer for the 109859348576013975806789th time.
St. Tropez, available at Sephora
Sevin Nyne, available at Sephora
And yes, Lindsay Lohan is the mastermind behind these pink bottles of brown goo that will seriously destroy your makeup bag and when applied incorrectly, will make it look like your poodle had an accident on your grill. But they smell like a Baby Prostitute’s day at Jones Beach, mixed with self esteem problems.
Charity Event with Lawyers +Doctors = Must have gleaming gams. Whammy.