I am not shy about my body. I was even less shy when I was, ahem, "Smokin'" but even now with the sags and the bags, I like wandering around in the all together.
Which leads me to the happy nakedy joy that is a Korean Spa.
I was craving some cheap beauty treats and I got what I wanted and more. For $45 a small and powerful woman clad in black bra and panties scrubbed me cleaner than Martha Stewart's fridge.
And none of that idiotic fancy-pants sheet over your private bits, that only serves to make me feel like a dork trying to turn over while getting a massage and trying not to flash and offend the masseur, it was all naked all the time. I don't think the neonatal nurses scrub a baby as well as these ladies will scrub the dead skin off-a you.
It's strictly no robe in the wet room. There is a super hot spa, a steam room, a salt bath, a freezing cold pool, and little shower stalls all over. What I love is looking at the myriad of different kinds of bodies, even though I know I'm not supposed to stare, I do peek a little. It makes me feel good about my body, for which I have ISSUES (right, I'm a girl?!) 'Cause most people's bods are lumpy and bumpy and odd and still pretty darn cute.
And one of the most amusing things: My scrub lady took a break in the nude and then put on her regulation bra and panties to get back to work.
I'm always cold, and the delicious HEAT from a hot salted spa is divine.
Just what I needed to survive Thanksgiving!
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Monday, November 01, 2010
We laughed so much at lunch today. We gorged on meat at a Brazilian Churrascaria, and chatted and rehashed and laughed. He is it for me. I love him so much. He makes me shout with laughter.
and for gifts:
a bike for ADVENTURE, of which we don't lack. For every episode of puffing, climbing, cursing up a hill there is the sweet WHEEEE of the flight downhill.
Kisses on a silver chain for sweet, sweet, sexy, delicious kisses.
Love in a locket. where I will hold my boys tight.
Crazy kittens and spiders on a chain, essentially me.
Japanese dishware, in the Queen Mary's colors, make me think, "we soon will be able to put this on a shelf in our house and bring out the Super Chief dishware," delightful domesticity.
Sweet, weird sexual vase? Sake cup? Weird and wonderful
A light to light up our nights. A trip to Tokyo?
and I love you too, sweet man.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Cal-i-for-ni-a-a-a-ah
It's one of those insanely beautiful SoCal days today. The winds have swept the basin clean and you can see details on the mountain range, and Catalina looks like it's 20 feet away. This kind of day is responsible for our staying here in spite of being sick to death of the traffic, the politics (at work and everywhere) and our tiny little apartment. Of course, in NYC this apartment would be considered huge, but we are chaffing at the bonds and ready to find a house with a yard.
Which is where I would be typing this right now. Actually, I should be working, but I can't concentrate with this pretty day outside my window. Tom and Susan's play, Caddie W, is about a week away from being published and T and I have been frantically editing, rewriting, formatting, Sibeliusing. He has contracted a phenomenal graphic artist to give us a recognizable logo/brand/cover (the talented BM, an old friend and a huge talent.) My back aches from sitting on the couch, on the bed, anywhere possible, to try and find a comfortable place, as I clack away on the computer. It's pretty fab to see the proofs with the venerable Samuel French logo right under the names. Actually it kinda makes me sick to my stomach with excitement. T and I are suffering from major stress, but neither of us can pin down why. Everything is on track. We weren't able to get the rights to the original drawings, which led us to get a better one, that will reflect SleepTillNoon's brand. The piano score is almost perfect, even if I did go crazy when his Highness demanded proofing and re-proofing and re-editing, but damn it, he was right. So why the stress? Maybe because it feels like a huge door is about to open, and we are gearing up for the challenge.
I have to get back to work, deadline is a week away. Once more unto the breach.
Which is where I would be typing this right now. Actually, I should be working, but I can't concentrate with this pretty day outside my window. Tom and Susan's play, Caddie W, is about a week away from being published and T and I have been frantically editing, rewriting, formatting, Sibeliusing. He has contracted a phenomenal graphic artist to give us a recognizable logo/brand/cover (the talented BM, an old friend and a huge talent.) My back aches from sitting on the couch, on the bed, anywhere possible, to try and find a comfortable place, as I clack away on the computer. It's pretty fab to see the proofs with the venerable Samuel French logo right under the names. Actually it kinda makes me sick to my stomach with excitement. T and I are suffering from major stress, but neither of us can pin down why. Everything is on track. We weren't able to get the rights to the original drawings, which led us to get a better one, that will reflect SleepTillNoon's brand. The piano score is almost perfect, even if I did go crazy when his Highness demanded proofing and re-proofing and re-editing, but damn it, he was right. So why the stress? Maybe because it feels like a huge door is about to open, and we are gearing up for the challenge.
I have to get back to work, deadline is a week away. Once more unto the breach.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Not so lovely Rita
"Tell the truth, if Osama bin Laden and a meter maid both came strolling toward your car, you'd probably think, "Oh no, here comes a GD meter maid."
The parking Nazi bastards have done it again. But this time... bwahaha! This time Officer Hoohaw has got another think coming. He came around at 14:37, he tickets me at 16:23. Getting past the bloody annoying military time, that means I had 14 minutes to move the car! Oh over-eager donut eater, the sign says 2 hours. 2 complete hours. Not 1 hour and 46 minutes. My vengeance will be swift and terrible.
What must it be like to be the most loathed of the service sector? What does a meter maid or daddy have to redeem hisself? Nuthin'. They save no kittens, escort no old ladies across the street, earn no teary smiles of gratitude for forcing one to move ones car.
My street is not a particularly busy one, especially during the day. There is no great NEED to move the car every two hours, when the majority of the parking is taken up by the apartment dwellers. But as someone pointed out, two tickets is nearly $100 for the city of LB. You watch a street sweeper and the army of PNazi's cruising in front of 'em. "Writing" a ticket (they come spitting out of a dear little machine) takes 2 minutes and I once counted 10 cars on a 3 block stretch of Belmont shore. $500 in 20 minutes.
Maybe instead of hating them, we should come up with a bribe scheme. I'm willing to slip The PN $20 a month to leave Alfie alone. C'mon, you know they are making a sad little just over the minimum living! Who's in? A new campaign, learn to LOVE the meter maid.
Ah, who'm I kidding. They must hire sadists for that job. They get a frisson ticketing the over worked mom with 2 baby seats in the car outside of the hospital. Or the guy who is at his first job interview in a year, who had to dig under the couch for enough quarters to get a gallon of gas.
Well Officer Hoohaw, I challenge you to a duel. Or at least a lesson in telling time.
The parking Nazi bastards have done it again. But this time... bwahaha! This time Officer Hoohaw has got another think coming. He came around at 14:37, he tickets me at 16:23. Getting past the bloody annoying military time, that means I had 14 minutes to move the car! Oh over-eager donut eater, the sign says 2 hours. 2 complete hours. Not 1 hour and 46 minutes. My vengeance will be swift and terrible.
What must it be like to be the most loathed of the service sector? What does a meter maid or daddy have to redeem hisself? Nuthin'. They save no kittens, escort no old ladies across the street, earn no teary smiles of gratitude for forcing one to move ones car.
My street is not a particularly busy one, especially during the day. There is no great NEED to move the car every two hours, when the majority of the parking is taken up by the apartment dwellers. But as someone pointed out, two tickets is nearly $100 for the city of LB. You watch a street sweeper and the army of PNazi's cruising in front of 'em. "Writing" a ticket (they come spitting out of a dear little machine) takes 2 minutes and I once counted 10 cars on a 3 block stretch of Belmont shore. $500 in 20 minutes.
Maybe instead of hating them, we should come up with a bribe scheme. I'm willing to slip The PN $20 a month to leave Alfie alone. C'mon, you know they are making a sad little just over the minimum living! Who's in? A new campaign, learn to LOVE the meter maid.
Ah, who'm I kidding. They must hire sadists for that job. They get a frisson ticketing the over worked mom with 2 baby seats in the car outside of the hospital. Or the guy who is at his first job interview in a year, who had to dig under the couch for enough quarters to get a gallon of gas.
Well Officer Hoohaw, I challenge you to a duel. Or at least a lesson in telling time.
Saturday, October 09, 2010
Food Hood
The best thing about living in the 'hood, is the availability and variety of INCREDIBLE food. We have had Cambodian, Salvadorean, Vietnamese, Korean, Armenian, Lebanese plus a Mexican roasted chicken that puts Pollo Loco to shame. All of it great, and all of it cheeeep.
There is a little Pho place on Anaheim where we get change back from a twenty for 2 HUGE bowls of soup and 2 iced coffee (Another smackdown for a chain, these coffees would kill Starbucks)
I had Pupusas for breakfast from our farmers market. And the place I got the roast chicken also makes fresh tortillas and salsa. I found the place by following the huge cloud of smoke, and found a man cooking in a sketchy looking parking lot, but the smell was pure heaven.
T and I always say that we are going to let ourselves get fat and happy and eat our way around the world.
I don't really trust people who don't love food. Food = love, sex, joy, happiness. Mind, I mean good food. I would rather eat dry chicken and overcooked quinoa than put myself through fast food restaurants.
And before anyone gets all hoity toighty about food intake and calories and blah blah blah, I do control my portions, and I go to the gym every day. I'd rather run on the treadmill an extra 45 minutes than forgo something delicious. Those days where I have dieted, I have been grouchy, irascible and impossible to put up with. Besides, the joy of the kind of food I am describing, is that generally the portions are MUCH smaller than, say, your average TGIFridays, the ingredients are fresh, and there is so much fun in trying something new.
There is a little Pho place on Anaheim where we get change back from a twenty for 2 HUGE bowls of soup and 2 iced coffee (Another smackdown for a chain, these coffees would kill Starbucks)
I had Pupusas for breakfast from our farmers market. And the place I got the roast chicken also makes fresh tortillas and salsa. I found the place by following the huge cloud of smoke, and found a man cooking in a sketchy looking parking lot, but the smell was pure heaven.
T and I always say that we are going to let ourselves get fat and happy and eat our way around the world.
I don't really trust people who don't love food. Food = love, sex, joy, happiness. Mind, I mean good food. I would rather eat dry chicken and overcooked quinoa than put myself through fast food restaurants.
And before anyone gets all hoity toighty about food intake and calories and blah blah blah, I do control my portions, and I go to the gym every day. I'd rather run on the treadmill an extra 45 minutes than forgo something delicious. Those days where I have dieted, I have been grouchy, irascible and impossible to put up with. Besides, the joy of the kind of food I am describing, is that generally the portions are MUCH smaller than, say, your average TGIFridays, the ingredients are fresh, and there is so much fun in trying something new.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)