Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Why I Suck At The Spa

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Wait now... not the best title for a post. I see what I did there.

No, I don't work at a spa. Nor do I suck like... well.. never mind.

What I meant to say is that I can never truly enjoy myself when at the spa, or getting some type of service done. PROFESSIONAL service. Jeez, mind on track people.

First things first - I am a whiny little bitch when it comes to massaging other people. And by that, I mean if the Hubs asks me to rub his shoulders or get the knot in his back. Like, it takes WORK, people. Then I feel all sore. I get all tense and tired and want a massage in return. In addition to just ALWAYS wanting a massage. SO, when I go somewhere for a massage and I know that is what the person does ALL DAY LONG, I just feel bad. I assume they are probably tired or sore or grossed out by so much skin. And I go in feeling like a selfish prick for wanting them to touch mah blubbers.

So, that's how we begin.

Then, there's the whole awkward silence thing. Remember this? Yeah, that made me anxious. I did, in fact, long for the next distraction.

So while I would wholly and completely enjoy some toddler-free, relaxing silence, I feel like it is socially awkward and rude to just be there, quiet. I don't know how the Hubs does it. He hates talking during things like massages and haircuts. I think he would die if he was subjected to the 3-hour ordeals I call hair appointments, where you're sectioned, foiled, bleached, washed, toned, washed again, conditioned, brushed, cut, dried and styled. A lot of talking has to happen during that. I think he would possibly combust.

So I end up asking questions and talking about stupid shit as a nicety. Feigning interest in things the provider says (sometimes it's interesting, but usually by about 15 minutes in, I just want the whole thing over with).

FUN.

At the half way point, I am inevitably concerned about the tip. No, not a penis, get your mind out of the gutter. About the whole "hey, whether or not this was a good service, you're gonna think I'm a cheap bastard if I don't tip you an appropriate amount" business. I weigh the cost of the service in my mind. If I like the person. If they seem genuine (you know, despite my lack of sincerity). I weigh the pros and cons of generosity vs. setting a precedent if I am going to return to them regularly. I try to remember if I have cash on me (I rarely do), and if this place gives the option to tip on the credit card machine.

I'm usually rigid with anxiety and a deep desire to just go home.

NOT.THE.POINT.OF.PAMPERING, dumbass.

Two weeks ago I had my first foot massage/reflexology appointment in over 10 years. I really wanted to just chill and read a book, but I felt rude. Instead, I was subjected to my provider's opinions on industry in Canada versus China, how Canada has it all wrong, how all jobs are going to the US, and how our childrens' futures are screwed. I was so f_cking stressed out afterwards... and he was getting angry, and he actually hurt my left foot.

Sweet.

And I tipped him too much. For reals. Then I had post-service-too-high-tip-regret.

I so long to be relaxed and not be responsible for anything for 45 minutes, an hour, whatever. And I just end up like a frozen body at the morgue, with more on my mind than when I first came through the door.

I had microdermabrasion done on my face in December. I thought I'd see what it was like. Cliff's notes: f_cking HORRIBLE. I could not wait for it to be over. And I stressed about what to leave for a tip when there was nothing enjoyable about the damn thing.

I need to get drunk first, then do these things so I can actually just calm the f_ck down.

Or be normal. There's that. I hear it's nice?

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Thursday, January 22, 2015

Irrational Terrible Mom: Nutrients?

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I'm going to write a few posts with the "Irrational, Terrible Mom" leader. More than a few times a day, I feel like I'm thoroughly ruining my daughter, so I figured I would run with that for my writing. I LITERALLY dusted off my laptop to do this. *stretches blog writing muscles* *pinches nerve* *curses*

I know I'm not terrible at parenting (shut up y'all, she is still alive and she seems pretty damn smart...), but there are so many areas where I could absolutely improve. So the combination of terrible and irrational seem to work well for this particular thought process of mine.


I took a sleeping pill (yay!) because I get to sleep downstairs tonight (yay!) and not worry about Baby D's cries. That means that I have a limited window of time in which to create this blog post in a coherent fashion, without having to do a walk of shame tomorrow morning for accidentally posting all of my deepest secrets on here while under the influence.

I was thinking today, as my one year old daughter was refusing to eat anything of substance, for yet another day, that I have totally failed when it comes to nutrition for her. She was sick a few months back, and we were desperate to get her to eat. She went from eating an impressive amount of food, to nothing at all for days. It was horrible. I live with perpetual, deep anxiety over her consumption of food ever since we used to have to do everything within our power to wake her every 3 hours and force feed her when she was premature.

So... when she was sick, I removed all my restrictions. We were begging her to eat coffee cake at one point. I threw juice, the nastiest of pre-packaged crackers... hell we even charmed her into eating chocolate at dinner. Short term gain for long term pain. SO MUCH SUGAR.

The child will only eat yogurt-covered raisins now. And I question just how much (read: probably none) ACTUAL yogurt is on those things.

I feel like I've failed her. All day long, as I offer her apples, yogurt, hummus, avocados, oatmeal, oranges, grapes (aka "pre-raisins"), I feel I can sense the Hubs twitching at his desk at work, disappointed in  my effectiveness to get her to eat something actually fresh and wholesome (though, don't get me wrong, that oatmeal is pre-sweetened and packaged, and the yogurt has a shit ton of sugar in it, too).

But this child is the fruit of my loins. Or the raisins of my loins. Ew, no, let's go back to "fruit of".

She likes her some sugah. Just like Momma. Hence why I am still tipping the scales at my 8-months-pregnant weight. Oh yeah. (I really hope you just pictured the Kool-aid Man with my face, crashing through a wall, or else that was all for naught).

Visual approximation of me.


The child knows what Coke is. I have never given it, but she has seen me drink a bottle of it twice. TWICE. Her Grandpa drinks Diet Coke, and has shared a can with her (WTH?!?), but was advised to never do that again. But the kid knows. She even asked for it the other day. A one year old asked for Coke, from the fridge.

She can talk. A lot. And she knows what she wants. She's very clear. So if she says no to me, I know she won't eat it. I try, in vain, and it gets thrown to the dogs from her high chair. (Please don't ever, ever look closely at the tile floor in my kitchen. Martha Stewart would probably convulse.) At a certain point, that's crazy making, so I if she says no, I don't bother trying.

She seems to eat SO MUCH better for the Hubs, especially if I am not around, or if I am lingering quietly on the outskirts of the activity. But the reality is that she is with me for most of our days, and most of her meals.

So, tonight, after her teddy bear excitedly ate some avocado, she finally put some in her mouth. As I distracted her by moving around the kitchen, singing her name and dancing like a tool (complete with a pinched nerve in my lower back) it felt like victory.

When we are out, friends' children eat cucumber. And bananas. And lovely, organic wonderful things, while my child will only eat craisins, raisins, or raisin-variants (she loves wine tasting).

So, my dear child, when you have Rickets, Scurvy, bone density issues, fatigue, anemia and long-term vision problems - please remember that your Daddy negotiated with you to eat chocolate at dinner, and begged you to eat coffee cake.

Mommy loves you
;)

__________________
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Tuesday, December 9, 2014

Warm Light Reminiscing

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Warm Light Reminiscing

I've seen a smattering of Christmas lights around these here parts, and I tell ya, things just aren't the same as they used to be.

My elderly (mid-30s) eyes can't take the searing eyeball-piercing blue LED lights. Squinting in pain does not typically result in Christmas cheer for this ole gal.

Festive?  Yes.  Bright?  Yes.  But not cozy or warm. Kind of eye assaulting, though brownie points for execution.


I miss the old days of not-grounded electrical plugs that could/did shock the shit out of you. The kind that felt mildly like Russian Roulette as you plugged them in near the watery, murky water in your Christmas tree stand.

The kind of strings of lights that were a warm, comforting glow. Especially glowy when they heated up so much they either burned your fingertips off while decorating/stringing, or else melded many-a-fake branch together on the tree.

The kind firefighters lose sleep over in the Christmas months.

I loved the smell of smoldering synthetic pine needles becoming one with the lovely lights draped upon them. It WAS CHRISTMAS, Goddammit.

Okay, I'm not a total asshole. This kind of thing is actually pretty horrific, and has led to real tragedy. I don't miss the danger, just the comforting glow.


Now, I maybe, MAYBE (obviously) can see why there was a shift to those, I dunno, let's call them "safe" and energy efficient lights. I see they may have their place in the world these days. I maybe wouldn't use those old, cozy lights if you paid me a shit ton of money because I don't want harm to come to my loved ones, or to my house. But I still miss 'em.

I miss that warm, rosy glow. I miss REAL white light (that actually glows a soft yellow), and a true red, and a soft blue that doesn't feel like it's sticking it's pretend tongue down my eyeball-throat without asking first.

I've always felt like decorations just don't fill the cold, jaded cockles of my heart any more since the old went out, and the safe came in and replaced it.

And before you start telling me that they make new and improved LED lights that don't suck AS MUCH, I'd just like to say that I don't usually see them after Christmas, when I buy my lights and decorations at 75% off, thankyouverymuch.

Ah well.

At least there's snow. Oh, wait, I live in BC.
At least there's rain? No, that doesn't work.

At least there's Santa? Um... Shit.

Fuck it. Christmas is cancelled here.


_______________________
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