Spa Day

Had a crappy week. Feel crappy, think crappy, dream crappy. Crappy weather, crappy laundry, crappy service at the grocery store (damn the crappy crooked cart), crappy bills, crappy phone calls, crappy cat crap. (wow, didn't even plan that one) And yes, to top off this mountain of colonic wonder is the fact that I look like crap. No amount of reassuring, primping, hairspraying, viewing myself sideways or sucking in my cheeks is going to change that. The complexion went to hell, my "split ends" have split ends leaving my hair a crispy tuft of frizz, and my nails? I could try out for an extra on a "Thriller" video.

So Alice calls.....and suggests a Spa Day. "A what?" A "SPAAAAA day." A lovely day of scrumptious pampering with lotions, creams, steaming....hmmm...wait...like I have that kind of cash?? Three boys under ten, two birthdays coming up, boyscout fees, school fundraisers, and a youngest child that seems able to wear out a pair of shoes in world-record-breaking time. (did you eat them?) There is no money tree in the yard to pay someone to steam my head! But Alice (dear Alice) says, "no honey, you just stay home, don't answer the phone, and do all the little things you wish you had time to do--manicure, pedicure, facial mask...steam your pores, condition your hair...pamper yourself instead of everyone else!" Cool. I can do that.

Spa Day.

Kiss the kids and hubby goodbye, make an omelet. Egg beaters, green onions, leftover chili and cheese--yum. Coffee with gingerbread creamer--yumm-o. Upstairs to begin. Hmmmm.....ok, steam the face and OW! Little hot there--mental note: check hot water heater temp. Refocus. Apply clay facial mask guaranteed to "clear all pores and make you glow." Lets see....directions say "let dry." So....in the meantime, remove all ancient nail polish and file nails. Apply "cuticle remover." Phone rings. Ignore. Wait--my sister, going through stuff....answer...."hello? yeah.....blah blah" Ow....what the hell? "What is in cuticle remover? ACID?!?!" Ahhhhhhh! Drop phone, mad dash for sink. Trip and smash elbow on door frame. Rinse hands frantically in warm water swearing to send nasty letter to Salley Hansen. Pick up phone. Sister hung up. Try to stick tongue out at phone....realize cannot move mouth. Clay mask has hardened like black top. Back to sink. Rinse....rinse more.....clay in nose hairs--what the--!?!? Ow.

Ok, deep breath. Apply "regenerating eye cream." Ooooh, soothing! Paint nails with clear base coat while eye cream is absorbing. Crack knee into sink while trying to turn on water to rinse burning eye cream out of eyes without messing up nails. Fail. Swear. Dry face and notice that there are distinct red "moons" surrounding your eyes now....skip eye cream. Decide to wait on the nails in order to dampen hair and apply the "root stimulating hair conditioning balm." Slippery shit. Fall half in the tub soaking my t-shirt, and the rug. Shut the cat in the door trying to get a towel. Chase cat half naked down the stairs in front of the glass front double doors praying to GOD that the mailman is NOT out there in order to check the sucker for broken bones. Cat is fine. Swear. Limp back upstairs.

Repaint base coat on nails. Blow. Succeed in beautiful base coat!! Yeah! Climb in shower to rinse hair and shave. Fall on ass due to residual coating of hair "balm" in tub. Swear more. Turn on shower, rinse stupid hair for 20 minutes till it doesn't feel like pond slime. Apply "lavender scented" shaving gel and discover the razor is dull. Hang precariously out of shower, soaking the other rug, digging through crap on shelf for extra razor heads--knock new can of hair mousse to the floor where it explodes--covering a four foot section of the wall in foam....and the cat. Which goes howling down the stairs streaming foam. Don't bother following. Shave, love that lavender! Get out and find fuzzy bathrobe to relax in.

Eyebrows. Outta control and distinctly resembling Conan the barbarian. Tweezers...ow. Careful, careful....just when I'm about to pull--WTF!?! A tail, a damp sticky tail from the cat-a-la-hair-care, whips up under my bathrobe as he's attempting to grab my robe belt....ahhhhh! Crap. Where is the end of my eyebrow? Gone. Pulled 17 hairs instead of 3....um.....whoops. Squint, hmmm....no one will notice, right?

Paint the toes...lovely! Fingernails are a smashing "moonlit evening" and I sit back and....CRACK! The lid of the toilet snaps off and I whack my head into the window frame as I collapse into the space between the fabulous porcelain throne and the wall. Swear a great deal. Attempt to heave myself up with my elbows to save the nails....hair snags on wet polish leaving globs of "moonlight" in freshly "root stimulated" hair. Give up. Sit on floor, wet cat staring at me....and cry. Spa day my chemical burned, bruised, banged-up, goose-egged, eyebrow-missing ass.

The kids are home. "Mom?" "Go away." The husband comes home, hesitantly knocks on the bathroom door. "Honey?" Sniff. Door slowly swings open. He stares. "What, don't I look beautiful after my day at the spa??" He hesitates....."Um......."

Um. Thats the total result of my freakin' SPAAAAA day. Um. So much summed up in two spectacular letters. I'm gonna need a week to recover.

I'm never talking to Alice again.

Mattresses From Heaven

I just had a gallery opening.

This means that I ate/breathed/slept in/and never quite removed all the paint on me for several weeks no matter how hard I scrubbed. This also means that things were a little....tense in our house. (ahem) For all you non-marrieds, this is code for "I was a total neurotic bee-otch running on caffeine and adrenaline who tested my husband's patience and made nothing but hot dogs for 14 days straight.

Gallery opening....rocked. Sold some. Breathe.....it's all good. And then I crashed. Brain deadness in a delicious way, sleep, leftover wine, sleep more. So two days later and we're having this discussion about things that we've "meant to do" and just haven't gotten around to. Like my kid's bed. The boys were in bunkbeds but now that they have their own rooms--Sawyer has been crashin' on ye ole floor for a few months now. Not that he really cares--when you're ten, "camping" in your own room is cool. But we had the frame--just needed to get out and pick up a mattress--and drop a couple hundred bucks. Yeah, been dying to do that. And after the paintress-from-hell week we'd had.....well, I just wasn't really in the mood.

So I did what every sweet darling woman would--I seduced him. Yes, you read it right. With a little sigh and wiggle and flutter of the eyelashes....oh, and I threw in suggestions of block buster and some rum and ordering wings and garlic bread....mattress? What mattress? Let's hear it for sex, food, and entertainment.

Hop in the caddie and hit the highway and.....slam on the breaks. "Did you see that?" "See what?" Reverse. Miss the mile marker post. "Um.....is that what I think it is??" A mattress. A brand spankin' new, still-in-the-plastic, holy crap on a cracker (to quote my sister) twin mattress! What do we do? I mean, it's not like theres a missing mattress hotline, right? We stood there on the side of the road.....cars wizzing by, blurred faces gawking at us as we hummed and hawed and decided to wait like 10 minutes in case someone came back for it. (then I would have arm wrestled them) And then.....

Two freaks on the road high-fiving, whooping it up like crazy crack addicts as we just about wet ourselves laughing while trying to get this sucker into the trunk. I could fit 3 dead bodies in that caddie's rear end--and with enough jammin and slammin and a very handy bungee cord--we drove our fabulously free find home.

Um......God? Is there a car fairy?

Embrace It

It's getting colder. Actually, after that week in the "islands mon" it's like freezin'-my-butt-why-in-the-hell-did-we-come-back?? cold. It's only the first week in September and I'm ready to break out the mattress pad warmer and flannel sheets! Crap, I slept with socks on. However, it comes to mind....I wasn't always like this.

There was a time, in a land far away--YEARS ago....when I loved the cold. Kid you not. I raced from the house with my hair flying in the wind, yelling over my shoulder, "COAT?? MOM I DON'T NEED A COAT!!" There could be snow drifting from the heavens and we'd be traipsing about the neighborhood, driving with the windows down, icy flakes melting on my cheeks... Of course, I was like 15....and hard-headed, stubborn, (moi?) and had yet to discover that I was not immortal. (still working on that one) Cold smold, what was the big deal? Run a little faster, dance instead of stand in line, laugh when you feel like you might shiver--cold had no hold over me!! Ahhhh.......and now I sit here bundled in a 3 inch thick sweater and nursing a cup of steaming tea. And I wonder...did my skin get thinner? My nerves more sensitive? I mean I sure as hell am not skinnier! And it comes to me.....is it just that when I was fifteen and stupid--that I embraced it? I relished it! With arms wide open I flung myself into the chilly world, savoring the icy clench my breath made in my chest. And now thoughts of gas bills, head colds, snotty tissues, and frozen pipes leave me.......um, cold?

What else have I forgotten or lost the ability to embrace? Friendship for sure. After 7 years in a marriage that was rather a fraud--not to mention the relationships that went with it that vaporized as soon as the divorce was granted--I no longer assume that everyone is what they seem. I share little....listen alot....and wait. Headlong plunges into friendship are a thing of the past. (my husband has actually found me in the coat closet at church pretending to read the bulletin during "meet and greet time") Remember when you first saw the new girl at the bus stop? Buckteeth, zit on the chin, wrinkled denim jacket with "friendship pins" on your shoes--the two of you were inseparable by the time the bus arrived at school! Oh, to be able to trust like that again.

Then again--perhaps I have just exchanged "embracing abilities." When I think of my freakazoid 15 year-old self with the bad perm and ocean blue eyeshadow--I also remember hating all food that wasn't served on a bun. I had serious issues with my parents "mus-aaack" (gag, choke), and I only wanted Niki's. Now? I adore food--and the stranger more authentic it is--the better. Bring on the sushi, roasted goat, polish, russian, greek, pad my thai baby! Music? Everything goes. I love jazz and blues, will rock my ass off to anything from tool to garbage, yet have the classical station tuned in on the shower radio and can sing more dolly and alabama than I will ever admit in person. And fashion? I know what I like. I hate labels....and if it looks good--buy it. (and if you can find it at the good will--you can buy MORE of it!) lol

Funny how we change. I still hate the cold. I'm making soup tonight. And buying whiskey. I think I will also try harder to make new friends. Seriously, if I will embrace a plate of stewed pig with figs and funky cheese...I can say hi to the bizarre lady at church who wears bird pins and has pink hair.