First, I went and got a pedicure after Arabic class:
I went to the salon down the street from my graduate department's office. I don't know why I was surprised to see the all-Vietnamese staff there, but for some reason I was... probably because I haven't seen any other Vietnamese people in all of Tucson. However, it was a nail salon so I suppose I should have expected it.
Anyway, I got the only male attendant in the house, which made me feel particularly anxious about my positively disgusting looking feet. I hadn't gotten a pedicure in about nine months, and I've been wearing a lot of sandal-type shoes, exposing my feet to the elements. It's an understatement to say that they weren't looking very hot.
For those of you who know me well, you know that I am already paranoid about my nobbly, bunionated feet (dubbed by Miguel as "the Velociraptors"):
Not to mention, my home-painted polish job was half-way scraped off, and my heels looked like cracked leather. Making matters worse, I didn't bother shaving my legs that morning (ummm, or the morning before that either) so the poor man probably had rug burn after massaging my German-esque, stubble-covered lower legs that must have felt like pig bristle and looked something like this:
Therefore, I felt particularly paranoid every time my male pedicurist turned and spoke Vietnamese with his co-workers, who I believe looked over at my feet/legs and then laughed in derision. I felt very much like Elaine in that episode of Seinfeld where she is sure that the Korean salon workers are talking about her...
Anyway, I did finally walk out of the salon with much better looking peds... now prettified with some lovely hot pink polish.
Despite my "5 o'clock shadow" legs, I felt that an afternoon at the pool was in order and headed over to spend a couple of hours soaking up the sun (with 45 SPF sunblock, mind you) and swimming laps. After procuring a comfy lounge chair, I opened up a text book and attempted to read but actually spent most of my time watching the 20-something, testosterone laden boys oogle at the overly-tanned West Coast tarts who were baking themselves in baby oil a la George Hamilton...
Oh, if I could only get as tan as this!
Here's the pool on a quieter day:
However, it turns into a meat market on warm days like yesterday.
Lindsey came and joined me for a while, and then we decided to each go home, clean up and then meet up later to have Mexican food at a place called Micha's in south Tucson.
After some delicious enchiladas, we started our drive home... but then something caught my eye as we were passing it... The Tucson Greyhound Race Park, which appeared to be in full swing.
Casting my animal welfare concerns aside, I suggested that we check the track out and see what it was all about. We pulled into the fairly empty lot and made our way into the rather deserted looking gambling area. The only customers appeared to be beer-bellied older gents puffing on cigarettes and swilling Budweiser at the depressing snack bar and pub area while watching simulcast racing events at other tracks.
We headed outside, hoping to find something less Prozac-inducing than the "grandstand" area and found the dogs being paraded out on the track by Mexican teenage employees before the next race. We checked the Greyhounds out, hoping to pick a winner based on body type and signs of good health, but they all looked pretty malnourished and were wearing large muzzles that made it difficult to see their faces clearly.
The muzzles.
The dog I picked in the first race (which looked small & sleek) came in dead last, which didn't increase my confidence level regarding my ability to pick a fast animal.
However, we decided to bet on one more race, and I chose a dog with very large balls to "place" (come in first or second) because he looked like he had extra testosterone compared to the others. Of course, just my luck, this dog came in third place --- so I won nothing and walked away $5.00 in the hole. Lindsey also lost her bet. Given our pathetic "track record" (haha), we decided to quit before we lost more money we didn't have to spend.
I suppose it serves us (or primarily me, since I was the instigator) right since, according to the Humane Society, we shouldn't have been attending the greyhound races at all...
Oh well, I figure I am doomed to hell anyway...
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