I got to hit one of the items in my list yesterday, thanks to Ann. We had spa day at a Burke Williams dayspa in my city that I didn’t even know was there. “That’s sad,” my massage therapist Scott said about that, “We’ve been here ten years.” But I’m so glad Ann looked it up, found it, and we went!
It was a much needed girl day; we started by meeting for a brunch of crêpes at Lulu’s Creperie Cafe, a local favorite of mine. La Galette with ham, mushroom, & spinach Brittany topped with 2 poached eggs, yum. Then we wandered into a Mediterranean bakery where Ann bought a bunch of little pastries before we hit the spa. I soaked in the whirlpool for awhile, slinked into the steam room to sweat out all my impurities and months’ worth of stressers, then met back up with Ann in the Quiet Room to read in fluffy recliners before an attractive man came in to collect me for my 80 minute relaxation massage.
I had a great time on that massage table. Scott is the therapist who trains the other massage therapists there on the deep tissue technique. He also does physical therapy and personal fitness training at a rehab gym in an affluent nearby area. I happened to have a lot of gymming soreness. “I guess I got lucky,” I said, face-down.
“I’d like to think so,” Scott joked.
I had one of the best conversations I’d had in awhile. The topic started off with physical training and nutrition, transitioned into his other job, and by the time 80 minutes were up we’d hit sociology, theories on what motivates human decisions consciously and unconciously, religion and its effect on the masses, personal searches for defining and achieving happiness. It wasn’t too unlike the conversations I have with Dwaine, even recently, but it was a great uninterrupted 80 minutes of it. What I also liked, was that he actually listened to me and wasn’t afraid to call me on something that I’d said without putting sufficient thought behind it. Kept me on my toes. And he made me laugh. “Do you and your friends sit around coffee shops and have long talks like this?” I asked.
“No,” he answered fairly quickly. “I don’t have enough friends like this who I can talk to about anything philosophical.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, and I meant it. It’s not often I find a really introspective man who can also be blatantly honest about himself with a stranger. Then again, Mr. W is always astounded at how much random people open up to me. The rarity with this guy, though, is that the conversation wasn’t one-sided. It wasn’t just him telling me stuff, asking me how I see his situations. We had a very nice mental tennis match. Entertainment like that while getting an effective sports massage and diagnosis by an actual trained physical therapist who was able to relieve my sore muscles and tell me how to tweak my workout routines made for a great first half of the day. He also provided a new perspective that balanced my flailing spirit, but he’ll never know.
My attempt to “do” yesterday didn’t work out too well. I tried to race home after work, but the awful congested freeways stopped me. When I finally made it, I grabbed Mr. W, and we went to a Oggi’s Pizza & Brewery to watch Game 1 of the Lakers-Magic playoffs, but it was so ridiculously crowded we knew we wouldn’t get seats, much less service. We came home and had a night in instead. It allowed me to harass the other people in the playoffs bet with me online, anyhow.
I want to spontaneously go away; it doesn’t have to be far, just different. Maybe even San Diego for a weekend, live a short fantasylife at Hotel del Coronado.
I want to disappear to sorta-faraway places, too, like finally stay in that bed-and-breakfast at the Niagara Peninsula, just for a few days.
I want to have random highlight-of-the-week wine dinners and spa days with friends.
I want spur-of-the-moment barbecues and lake kayaking with my local cousins, some of whom have never been to this house or the private lake.
I want to romp around Orlando waterparks with Jordan.
I want to visit Bathhouse Row in Hot Springs, Arkansas.
I want to drive through and explore the Old South, walk in the old plantation areas, see if I feel anything, any tugs, while I’m among the ghosts of the past.
I want to feel comfortable on a street bike and a sea-doo.
I want to tap a maple tree and extract my own maple syrup, boil it, and make maple candy by pouring the syrup on packed snow.
I am aware that I may have lost my mind.
I had an epiphany in my car on the drive to work today. Relive it with me. Play this below as you read.
Okay. You’re flying low, 90 mph with 306 horses purring underneath the control of your right foot, leather steering wheel of your luxury sports sedan smoothly steady in your hands, this song pumping in Mark Levinson premium surround sound.
As your right hand involuntarily lifts off the wheel to mark each pulsating rhythmic beat, you find your body swaying ever so slightly left and right, and then more defiantly now, until you are dancing in your seat. The music matches your elevating mood, draws it farther upward, triggering your body to release adrenaline and endorphins. “Let it rock, let it rock!” I’m sick of being stressed. I’m sick of feeling immobile. I choose, right now and here, to be AWESOME instead. Thank you, Barney Stinson.
I refuse to be powerless. I will not spend my youth watching things pass by. Screw the walls I keep turning into. I can’t wait to start doing, effective immediately.
The stress has done its thing in the recent past days. The below photo is from Tuesday, when I was so not-feeling-it that I called in sick to work. Some hours went by when I moped in bed for awhile, but then I forced my body into submission (so to speak) by making it trek the 2 hilly miles to the Lake, kayaking for an hour, and then of course returning on foot.
The result was kind of funny. During the hike there and back, I was in a tanktop, which resulted in a deep bronze tan on my arms and outer shoulders. Kayaking was done in the outfit above, and I got sunburned with the reflection off the water, so my upper shoulders are pink. Of course the parts the straps covered, which also re-covered the Dominican Republic’s bikini tan, is soft white. My shoulders now look like Neopolitan ice cream. I am now Awesome Neopolitan Ice Cream.
(I can’t wait for “How I Met Your Mother” to return.)
Somehow I found myself involved in a Lakers vs. Magic wager with some Orlando friends last week. At the time, although both the Lakers and Magic were doing well in their games, it was still up in the air who would be involved in the finals. As of this weekend, it became official. All I can say is, I’d better not have to walk around wearing a Magic bikini.
