. . . except that I don't smoke. But that's how good the facial/massage I got today was.
Strange evening. But strange good.
It's raining and dreary, and I had to run to the bank and get my haircut and tacked a facial/massage on the end (web discount, score!).
And yet, it all worked out wonderfully. I think I really like Venice Beach. Got a rather uninspired haircut, but we'll see. The salon itself was a trip--Paper Scissors Rock. It's been there for over 20 years. I got done so quickly at the bank (surprise!) that I hit my appt early. They gave a beer while I waited. Can't beat that with a stick.
Down the street in the dreary rain and my first parallel park later, I trudged up to the Creative Chakras spa. I wasn't feeling the spa love, till the facialist got to me feet. Oh boy.
Then they pulled the ol' switcheroo and brought in the massage dude. That's right--Dude. I'm pretty open minded, but most of my bodywork has been with gals. Maybe it's ridiculous, but when it's a guy I always feel more self conscious.
Having said that, my best massages have been with guys. And this one might have been the best ever. It was strong without being painful, and he had a really good consistent pressure. (Oh, get your damn minds out of the gutter). The whole thing was so pleasant, I stopped for a bottle of wine on the way home.
I entered a random sketchy looking liquor store and found a little wine oasis. The owner hand wrote his own notes for each bottle, because he likes to "proselytize" about his wine. I ended up picking a Pinot Gris from Alsace, described as "extravagant." Another bottle was "unctuous." How could I not buy from this guy?
Home again, driving in the abysmal rain with poorly marked roads, but feeling semi-confident in my navigation. Some CraigyFerg putting the "hooker the closet" and talking about being a serial killer. A quick dinner of of sauteed mushrooms, basil, tomato, sliced chicken, mozzarella and god knows what.
Today's not so bad.
Parallel parking was the one thing I failed in Driver's Ed. In Florida parallel parking is this thing that doesn't exist.
ReplyDeleteI never parallel parked until the first time I drove to San Francisco after I moved out here. It took me several long minutes and many re-tries.
There's something strange about getting the driver's license from a new place and getting rid of the one from your home state. It makes you feel like you won't go back, but it also makes you feel relieved about it at the same time.
The hand-tools that come with Ikea furniture are SUXX0RS. I spent most of a day swearing at a TV stand/media center contraption earlier in the year, I should have known it was going to give me trouble when one of the bags of bolts/screws had a swastika drawn on it...
Hmm...that might have been a sign.
ReplyDeleteYes, parallel parking is daunting because I feel I lack "car awareness,"--that is, I don't know where my car is, in a three dimensional sense. I've always felt like that, and have backed into enough items to prove it true. I think it all ties into my not being able to accurately judge spatial relationships.
Some folks around here have mad skillz. I watched a car larger than mine whip through an opening between lanes that I would have sworn my smaller car wouldn't have fit in. I'm just a doofus.
My actual DL is a ways off--up to 60 days. But the plates are here now. I concur--there was a moment in the midst of all the bureaucratic b.s. Let us call it a moment of recognition, sort of "Oh, I actually *live* here now." As dumb as it seems, I'm still not really clued into the fact that I've moved.
We should probably talk soon about what you are doing 31 Dec through 02 Jan. *eyebrow wiggle*
i can haz moar peekturz of new harcut plz? kthnxbye.
ReplyDelete