I don’t get the chance to have Spa Day very often, but thanks to the recent Christmas and birthday gifts from my in-laws, I was able to go today for the works – a 50 minute massage and 50 minute facial. Heaven.

Today’s special event was at the Crescent Hotel Spa, which is terribly hoity-toity, and therefore intimidating to me to some degree. Lots of society-types with a gaggle of girlfriends in tow lazing about the ladies “lounge” in terrycloth bathrobes and rubber slippers, sipping lemon infused water or hot chamomile tea. I felt a little more comfortable and somewhat ironic when I sat down on the couch and saw that Paula Deen was on the television, cooking extraordinarily fatty desserts and saying “y’all” a lot. Even better, my favorite thing in the world was added to this display. The closed captioning was on! I simply ADORE closed captioning. And whoever or whatever was doing it was having a field day trying to make heads or tails of Paula’s accent. Half the words typed were so wrong I felt I might have to apologize to closed captioning on behalf of all Southerners. I can’t imagine that Siri can understand a word out of that woman’s mouth. But, back to “Spa-palooza.”

My masseuse was a lovely woman who did an amazing job of finding every little (a.k.a. huge) knot in my neck and right shoulder. Notorious troubled spots. She practically “squeed” with excitement at having a real challenge before her. (I am notorious for my neck knots. Believe me, no socialite has the boulders in her shoulders that I do.)

When I was on my stomach, she worked her way straight down either side of my spine – from the neck to the waist – and I jumped out of my skin. Apparently, when muscles are tight, and you apply just the right amount of pressure, it can create seriously ticklish spots. When I jumped, the masseuse jumped, and I could tell she was wondering if she should try it again or just skip it. I wasn’t going to give her any clues. Hey, she’s a professional, I can’t be the first person to respond like “Surprised Kitten” to her ministrations.

Yes. Surprised Kitten. I assume you’ve seen the cute little ticklish kitten video. If not, please refer to this link and witness what was taking place on the massage table.

Surprised Kitten.

I swear, in my head, that’s totally how I responded every time she touched my back.

Eventually, we got past this awkward little dance and on to actual relaxation, during which I started thinking about my very first massage experience. I was probably 23 or so and went to South Padre Island with a friend. My mother recommended a masseuse and offered to pay, so I, of course, accepted and scheduled an appointment.

Having no previous experience with massages – except from boyfriends who were really just trying to pass off a bad massage as acceptable foreplay, (which, by the way, it’s not), I had no idea what to expect. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t have a clue something was wrong with the whole scenario when she started talking…and talking… and not just “Gee, the weather’s really warm.” This conversation went something like, “I had a dream last night and realize now that it was actually a flashback of some kind.”

“Oh?” I responded, trying to feign interest.

To my horror, the woman continued to describe to me her dream and the resultant conclusion – she had been sexually abused by her father. Yep. Nothing more relaxing than a massage with someone describing child abuse to you. Stranger yet, as she rambled on and I lay there with a sheet covering me, feeling terribly vulnerable in my first massage session and wondering if I had wandered into a Candid Camera episode, the nimble little minx climbed atop the table I was lying on and began WALKING ON MY BACK, without ever breaking the conversational flow. (Or saying, “Hey, I’m gonna’ shimmy up onto the table and walk on your back while talking about this very personal and horrifying topic, so don’t freak out or anything, okay?)

I cannot believe I ever tried massage again. The human spirit is indeed resilient.

Meanwhile, back to the actual GOOD massage. After the ticklishness/jumpiness passed, all went well. In my semi-comatose state, I was directed back to the lounge to await the facial person. Facialista? Facial therapist? Aesthetician?

I have to say that she was as nice as could be when she told me my face needed a little extra exfoliation – for a little extra money. It’s always amusing to me when they ask how long ago your last facial was. I told her probably some time in the past year. “Oh, why? You don’t think about it? You forget?” Yes. I tend to forget about my face as often as I can.

Regular facials are just not in my typical monthly budget. Are regular facials in anyone’s budget – other than those who are featured on “The Real Housewives of…?”

Maybe they are, but I prefer to go in offering people a real challenge. It takes a lot of time and work to get these knots in my shoulders and dry, non-exfoliated skin on my face and neck. These spa days cost a lot of money, and I see no reason to make it easy for them.

They DID remind me that Mother’s Day is coming up – so maybe they’ll get another shot at me before too long. In the meantime, I’m going to go enjoy my jello-like state. And maybe make some biscuits and gravy with a stick of fried butter on the side.

Damn you, Paula Deen. You and Surprised Kitten have annihilated my hoity-toity day.



This is going to be a quick post because I am way too busy freaking out on multiple levels to spend a lot of time analyzing my thoughts.  As far as I can tell, my current thoughts sound something like this, “Aaaauuurrghghhhghhhh!!” 

Here’s why:

1.  I have a great job that I love most of the time, but right now I need it to slow down so I can THINK, or take a few moments out of the day to make an appointment to have something done (like a doctor’s appointment, hair, pedi, etc.) before I leave town in 15 days. Leaving my desk for lunch would be awesome, and maybe managing to get away from the computer long enough to pee would be even better. (Sorry, Mom, I mean “Powder my nose.”)  If new requests would just STOP coming in on an hourly basis, I might actually dance with relief.

Due to this overabundance of work, I am getting annoyed with the people who keep presenting me with more. Really really annoyed. So annoyed I’m thinking of printing this sign and hanging it at my desk, or using it as my screen saver:

I can hear the response now. “You don’t LOOK calm. And your left eyelid is twitching. Oh, and I need this tomorrow.”

2.  I get to go on an amazing trip to Wales in 15 DAYS.  That gives me two more weekends to gather what I need and get mentally prepared. 

Ready for the part where I start hyperventilating? I’m freaking about credit cards and something about a chip & pin versus magnetic strips and the potential to get some sort of pre-loaded Master Card, and all this stuff that sounds really complicated to my brain, which automatically shuts itself down like a blown breaker every time financial transactions, exchange rates, or foreign currency in general are mentioned.  I just want to be able to hand a card to someone and have them take my money. This apparently CAN happen, but I also have to notify everyone (the bank) that I am leaving town and will be using it somewhere else, etc.

I’m sure this will end up being no big deal at all, but for some reason it completely FREAKS ME OUT. What if I get there and my card doesn’t work? What if I can’t buy any cheese at the cheese festival?  Should I just take cash? Euros? Shiny beads? Valium?

I got so crazy about it this weekend – with hubby flashing 3 different credit cards at me I never knew we had and telling me to go online and open electronic accounts blah blah blah…login blah blah blah… verify blah blah blah… that at some point I went in my closet and kicked a box.

Confession: I am not the most mature person on the planet. (This is where you politely plaster a surprised look on your face.) 

Luckily for the rest of the planet, when frustrated beyond words I rarely strike out against anyone but myself. (At least physically.) In fact, I’m lucky I am not in a cast now, as I had no idea what was in the box I attacked. Chances are pretty good that it could have been a stash of books).  I DID limp around for a few hours afterward with some tingling in my toes and a tendon that seemed to be a bit annoyed with me. I know all of this is completely over the top and I will have plenty of time to get everything done and it won’t be the end of the world if I don’t.  It’s going to be an amazing adventure. If I don’t have a stroke before we even get to the airport.

Sandy, (beat the rush and start pitying her now for selecting me as her traveling companion) – when I get like this on the trip, we’ll need a cue so you can signal me that I’m losing it.  Just say something like, “OMG! There’s cheese tossing!” and I promise to shut up and take a deep breath. 

After I kick something. (With my adorable new boots I bought last weekend for the trip!!)

Plus, just in case, I am packing this. Use it at your discretion.