Apr

29

Lustful seaweed wrap fantasies

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April 29, 2007

Since reading the comments on my last post, I’ve been daydreaming about a spa vacation. I’ve never even considered such a thing before, because I always assumed they cost hojillions of dollars and were only accessible to the Botox’d rich and famous—but after doing a little searching I see there are packages that are actually sort of affordable. I mean, they seem comparable to a resort-y type vacation, anyway.

I can’t quite picture going to a spa alone, even though that seems like the whole point. I’m stupidly shy and I have a crippling fear of enforced social activities like group lunches where you don’t know anyone and you have to pick one of the crowded tables where everyone is already becoming bosom buddies and laughing heartily and offering to donate kidneys to each other and you plop down with your meal and your robotic smile and your wild, darting eyes and you have to make small talk. “So . . .” you begin, with desperation, wishing with every molecule in your body that the ground would gape open beneath your table revealing the earth’s molten core below and you could slip casually out of sight, happy to be engulfed by flames because at least you wouldn’t have to finish that fucking sentence.

Uh. Yeah. Issues.

But oh, I love the idea of a whole vacation all to myself, a few days of total pampering and a bunch of services I’d never normally indulge in. Facials. Skin wraps. Hot stone massage. I want it all, and I want relaxing zenlike music and some beautiful countryside and a delicious dinner (consumed in furtive, intimidated solitude, of course) featuring local cuisine and flatware I don’t have to clean. And chocolate afterwards. Savored while lying in the bed with an outlandish, positively illegal thread count.

That all sounds particularly fantastic this morning, since thus far I have 1) followed Riley around cleaning little dribble-puddles from the cup he refuses to let go of and I haven’t had nearly enough coffee yet to deal with the screaming meltdown (“Joo! JOO! JOOOOOO!”) that will ensue if I take it away, 2) picked about a thousand of these sticky little motherfuckers out of various textiles in the living room including Riley’s pajama-clad bottom, and 3) spied Cat hunched in Eminent Hurl Position and galloped like Barbaro to the front door which I flung wide open, revealing my half-dressed self in all its 8 AM glory to the bevy of roof workers hanging out in front of my neighbor’s house who turned as one to stare at me literally throwing my cat—mid-barf—several feet through the air to land precisely on the welcome mat, where she immediately and loudly produced the entirety of her breakfast, while I swept back inside cursing my inability to aim her at the easily-hosed concrete and the roof workers cackled something in Spanish (Quién es esa muchacha estúpida y su gato el vomitar?) to each other.

Well, perhaps someday I’ll visit Canyon Ranch, in the meantime, I’ve got these repulsive mounds of cat puke to deal with. Maybe some relaxing zenlike music will help.

Apr

26

Diapering torches and holidays

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April 26, 2007

I had a very pleasant morning with Riley today, up until the moment when we left the house and he saw JB’s truck and immediately began crying “DAA DA! DA DAAAAAAA!” over and over again, all the way to daycare. Next time JB leaves town, I’m going to make him park that goddamned truck out of view somewhere. Like maybe in the two car garage we had added to our house at great expense? Oh, excuse me, the shop. The shop that’s so full of equipment and gear the only car that could fit inside would have to be Matchbox-sized. Right.

Riley definitely misses his dad (he did a pathetic double take the other night when he heard something outside the front door, and plaintively said “Dada bye bye?”), but we’ve had a pretty good week. Other than the teething, I don’t know how in hell he could possibly have more teeth coming in because I swear he’s already got, I don’t know, NINE THOUSAND fucking teeth, but judging from all the drooling and snotting and the occasional WMD-grade tantrum, he’s working on something up in that gum line of his. Oh, and there was kind of a tragic diaper rash situation which involved the most awful post-poop torture-fests where I would wipe him and he would writhe and scream and I would have to wipe him some more and there would be more writhing and screaming, and of course when I mentioned the diaper rash to JB over IM he was all “That’s why I always use the powder” in what can only be described as a Smug Text-Based Tone. I’d like the record to show that when I was out of town and Riley got croup, I did not say to JB, “That’s why I always avoid the Laryngotracheobronchitis virus!”.

I’m glad that JB’s coming home tomorrow; although I’ve enjoyed having some solo time with Riley I’m looking forward to our little family unit being together again. Plus, I think Mr. I-Always-Use-the-Powder should have ample opportunity to do just that. As soon as he walks in the door? Diapering torch passed.

New comments section subject! Esteemed reader Shawna would like to get your input on a travel-related question: she has the opportunity to take a solo vacation (she’s got plenty of airline points and vacation time, and a husband who can’t leave his business right now but is willing to take care of their 15-month-old so Shawna can travel on her own), and would like some suggestions on where to go. She lives in Ottawa and has 3 to 5 days to invest in this vacation, and a flexible budget. I asked for more details on what she was interested in doing or places she’d like to see, and she said she’s basically open to whatever ideas people had.

So! Your mission is to tell Shawna where she should go on her vacation. I’m really interested in your responses because Seattle feels particularly dreary and non-springlike today and I could use a little mental vacation myself.

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