I got a full body massage yesterday. Yep, you read that right, naked and everything. I can remember being freaked out about the idea of that maybe not so long ago, but for some reason when I decided to do it yesterday it didn't even occur to me to be freaked out. Well, mostly.
So what happened was, I went back to work out with Maria on Tuesday, the first time I'd been to the gym since I left on my trip. It felt good to go back, good to be using my muscles again. I may have pushed myself a little too hard, or maybe I was exactly as sore as I would have been before the trip, but either way, on Thursday morning my arms and shoulders hurt. For reals. I had been tossing around the idea of getting some kind of girly spa treatment soon, like a facial or a pedicure or something, so I just figured, why not a massage? I googled around and found a spa in NW Portland called The Dragontree and lucked into a same-day appointment.
I was a little nervous walking up to the front door, mostly because I had no idea what to expect. Once through the door, I got the impression that The Dragontree was maybe trying a little too hard to be more fancy than it actually was. But whatever. I was just ready to get going. I filled out some brief paperwork and then was led back to the ladies' dressing room. The price of the massage included free sauna time and luckily I had arrived plenty early and could take full advantage of it. They gave me a key to a locker (mine had a little bronze tag on it that said 'spirit'. aww) and ushered me inside the dressing room. I was supposed to get naked, put on their provided robe and "spa sandals" and hang out in the little waiting area next to the dressing room until my massage therapist came to get me for my appointment.
I opened my 'spirit' locker and got down to business. Sadly but not surprisingly, the robe didn't fit, so I had to figure something else out. I decided to hit the sauna in a towel since it was right in the dressing area anyway, and wear my street clothes out to the waiting area for my massage. I must confess, I had a moment of shame that my body wasn't small enough to fit into their robe, but a moment later I snapped out of it and remembered that it's up to the spa to make me comfortable, not the other way around.
I was the only one in there, which was nice, so I got naked and stepped into the sauna with my towel. There's not much to say about a sauna really. It was as hot and soothing as you might imagine. I sat in there for a good 15 minutes or so, just relaxing. I didn't want to go into my massage all sweaty so I hit the showers. The spa showers had nice big showerheads, good water pressure, and all of the products a lady could want were provided free of charge.
Scrubbed up and squeaky clean, I threw my clothes back on and walked out to the waiting room. My massage therapist (Serena, I think) came for me almost immediately, we walked back to her room and talked about what areas to focus on, and she gave me a little time to get naked and get up on the massage table under the sheet.
A quick word about massage tables: they look spindly and like they might collapse under even an average person's weight, but they are sturdy as hell. I learned this years ago when I went to an acupuncturist. I remember walking into her office and having a little freak out moment before I made myself climb up on the table and could feel how strong it was beneath me.
So anyway, yes. Massage tables, very sturdy. I arranged myself under the sheet and Serena came back in the room and got down to business. I won't take you through the whole 60 minutes of massage because that would be kind of boring, but I will say I had a bit of a hard time speaking up when something was too much pressure. I'm hoping that will get easier over time. Also, when they say 'full body massage', they really mean your full body. I mean, not personal private business, but pretty close. I actually felt pretty matter-of-fact about my body being viewed and handled and when I noticed that feeling it made me happier than anything. It would still have been an awesome experience to be freaked out about my body and have gone and gotten the massage and enjoyed it anyway, but not being freaked out was a very pleasant surprise. I was just there to have a service performed on me, like a haircut or a manicure. I didn't have to be anything in particular. Everything was perfectly okay.
After Serena was done I laid there for a few minutes then groggily got to my feet and got dressed. They make you pay afterwards, which was a good thing for them because I was all euphoric and gave Serena a big tip. Then I hopped on a bus and headed home, completely satisfied.
I had a little soreness this morning, either from my workout still or from the massage, but some ibuprofen took care of it. All in all it was a great experience and I definitely want to go back, though this time I think I'll bring my own robe :)
xo,
C
Friday, August 21, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
We're at now now
I know, you're all clamoring to hear about Yellowstone, and I promise I will eventually get around to writing about it, but for now I'd like to get back to writing about the present.
It's Sunday and the Hawthorne Street Fair is going on outside my window, which sounds like a lot of fun but I am just not up for it today. I feel like I've been going nonstop since I got back from my trip, a lot of random social things, plenty of work stress, and of course things in my apartment are all in disarray. I have been trying, little by little, to sort out the massive pile of stuff my place has become in the past six months or so. When William moved in I feel like I voluntarily gave up ownership of my space and just started putting things anywhere and not caring anymore. Then I went on this trip and basically lived out of a car for five weeks and when I came back I realized I didn't really have a home here, at least not in the sense of having a refuge to go to when I need a break. Piles of things are not restful, and they were everywhere. Well, they still are in most places, but I feel like I've made at least a little headway.
I'm letting go of a lot of furniture I took with me after the breakup with T. Most of it was inherited from my parents when they moved into a smaller place and the thought was that it would stay in the family and my kids would get to use it, etc. But the life I was headed towards with T is not my life now, and I would like to stop holding on to that idea. The thing is, I don't really know what direction my life is headed in now. I have a lot of things I want to do, and while I still like the idea of settling down and having a family, I'm really beginning to appreciate the freedom I have now, like the freedom to take a five week road trip if I want to, or the freedom to quit my job and live on ramen and financial aid while I finish my degree, or the freedom to take two years and join the Peace Corps.
I can't believe how limited I thought my options were until now. I put myself inside this tiny little safe box because I believed there was only one way to achieve a happy, satisfied life, but I was totally wrong. I can see so many more possibilities now, so many more directions I can go in. I want to travel and experience more of what the world has to offer. I want to actually do something in the world that makes someone's life a little better. I want to (someday) raise the happiest, most well-loved children ever. I still want to write something. I still want to run a marathon. And even though I feel like I should be beyond this at this point, I still want to be loved like in a Meg Ryan movie. Heh...some things never change.
xo,
C
It's Sunday and the Hawthorne Street Fair is going on outside my window, which sounds like a lot of fun but I am just not up for it today. I feel like I've been going nonstop since I got back from my trip, a lot of random social things, plenty of work stress, and of course things in my apartment are all in disarray. I have been trying, little by little, to sort out the massive pile of stuff my place has become in the past six months or so. When William moved in I feel like I voluntarily gave up ownership of my space and just started putting things anywhere and not caring anymore. Then I went on this trip and basically lived out of a car for five weeks and when I came back I realized I didn't really have a home here, at least not in the sense of having a refuge to go to when I need a break. Piles of things are not restful, and they were everywhere. Well, they still are in most places, but I feel like I've made at least a little headway.
I'm letting go of a lot of furniture I took with me after the breakup with T. Most of it was inherited from my parents when they moved into a smaller place and the thought was that it would stay in the family and my kids would get to use it, etc. But the life I was headed towards with T is not my life now, and I would like to stop holding on to that idea. The thing is, I don't really know what direction my life is headed in now. I have a lot of things I want to do, and while I still like the idea of settling down and having a family, I'm really beginning to appreciate the freedom I have now, like the freedom to take a five week road trip if I want to, or the freedom to quit my job and live on ramen and financial aid while I finish my degree, or the freedom to take two years and join the Peace Corps.
I can't believe how limited I thought my options were until now. I put myself inside this tiny little safe box because I believed there was only one way to achieve a happy, satisfied life, but I was totally wrong. I can see so many more possibilities now, so many more directions I can go in. I want to travel and experience more of what the world has to offer. I want to actually do something in the world that makes someone's life a little better. I want to (someday) raise the happiest, most well-loved children ever. I still want to write something. I still want to run a marathon. And even though I feel like I should be beyond this at this point, I still want to be loved like in a Meg Ryan movie. Heh...some things never change.
xo,
C
Thursday, August 13, 2009
An observation
I have been reading some entries I wrote in the very beginning of this blog, when T and I were still together, and something just struck me. Everything that isn't about my job is in terms of 'we'. Everything, as if there was no 'me' then. In a way, I guess there wasn't.
I give myself a lot of crap sometimes about caring too much about what other people think and not being my own person enough but if I look back on things that I wrote not even three years ago, it is amazing to see how far I have come. Cool.
xo,
C
I give myself a lot of crap sometimes about caring too much about what other people think and not being my own person enough but if I look back on things that I wrote not even three years ago, it is amazing to see how far I have come. Cool.
xo,
C
Monday, August 10, 2009
Prune Creek, Wyoming
I....didn't sleep well in Prune Creek. It wasn't Wyoming's fault...Wyoming was lovely. I didn't sleep well in Prune Creek because I am a very very bad person. Very bad.
So, the drive into Wyoming was pleasant enough. About halfway through the day the road started climbing into the Rocky Mountains which made the drive more challenging but also a bit more interesting. I mean, what's more compelling than the idea that any moment you could drive right off a cliff? Fun stuff! :)
After at least a couple of hours of mountain driving, I arrived at my destination, the Prune Creek campground. I thought I had reserved a site at Prune Creek way back in the planning stages of the trip, but when I got there, instead of a reservation, all I found was a cash box for payment of camping fees. Okay, I figured I must have gotten PC confused with one of the other bajillion sites I had camped at during the trip, so I started digging in my bag for cash for the fee. Ruh roh. I only had eight bucks and the fee was 14. They took checks but I had managed to get away with not paying the fee at Holy Ghost in NM, so I was very, very tempted to just say screw the fee and try to camp for free. But I couldn't just drive away, see. I had to make it look like I was putting my fee envelope in the box so I could take the little slip to clip to the post in my campsite to demonstrate that I had paid. I know, I'm a terrible person. So anyway, I did that. I totally made it look like I paid my fee, grabbed my slip, and then I drove around the campground to find a good site.
I stopped at a site near the eponymous creek, clipped my slip on the post and began to unpack my tent and stuff. A few minutes later, here comes trouble. A big green pickup truck with an insignia on the side that said "campground host" pulled up to my campsite. Shit. The jig was up. this dude was going to take one look at me, know I hadn't paid, and call the Rocky Mountain cops. I braced myself for the inevitable judgment as an old gentleman in a fishing cap and a very well-worn old plaid shirt ambled up to my car.
I was trying to remain upbeat and seem like not a criminal, so I gave the gentleman a friendly "hello there" as he eyed my license plate. After a few moments of intense license plate scrutiny he looked up and asked me where I was from. I figured that was obvious from my plate, but I answered "Oregon" anyway. This was clearly not the answer the gentleman was looking for and he cocked an annoyed eyebrow at me. He asked me where in Oregon and I told him I lived in Portland. An awkward silence passed while he thought that over. Anxious to fill the silence I added "It's a nice town." A beat later the old gentleman wrinkled his nose and replied "not really."
Oh dear...if my beloved Portland couldn't win this guy over, what possible chance did I have?
So I asked him why he didn't like Portland and it turned out that he used to be a long haul trucker and it's hard to deliver things in Portland because the streets are narrow or complicated or something, which I could totally understand. Driving in Portland can certainly be a challenge. I attempted to convey this understanding, but the gentleman was clearly done with pleasantries and ready to move right on to business. He mentioned that he had stopped his truck because he saw me "messing with" the cards clipped to the post at the end of my campsite (they had these plastic cards where they could say if a spot was reserved or not and that was the same place you're supposed to clip your little strip). Apparently they have a lot of trouble with people messing with the cards. Gah! Don't touch the cards!
So he stopped his truck and (in his words) was about to start hissing and spitting about the cards but then he saw that I was just a "nice lady" instead of some sort of delinquent so he didn't have to worry about me. Oof. I felt like such a schmuck. Yep, I'm a nice lady who is totally stiffing you on camping fees, sir. Sorry bout that. Business handled, the gentleman bid me good night and ambled off to his truck.
I resumed setting up my campsite and quickly headed into my tent to escape the aggressive mosquitoes (and the SHAME). I stayed in there for quite a while, reading my book, still a little shaken from my close encounter with the campground law. And then I heard the crunch of gravel under tires. Oh. Shit. He had probably been to the cash box by now and found that I hadn't paid any fees! I unzipped my tent window about a quarter of an inch and peeked my eye out. Green truck. He was totally coming for me! I watched from my tent, my insides churning, terrified to be caught in the lie of not paying and saying I did, trying to come up with a way to play it off ("Oh, I was going to pay on my way out" or "Oh, did I not pay? Silly me, I never was very good at math. Just a girl, you know") . The old man climbed out of his truck and peered at my slip of paper clipped to the campsite post. He peered for a good long time. Finally, he got back in his truck and slowly drove away. Whew, right? Wrong. Now that he had had a good look at my slip, I was entirely convinced he was going to go compare it with what was(n't) in the cash box and come back to take me away or at least yell at me in a really mean way. It could happen.
I was a little wound up and stressed about my inevitable humiliation and/or arrest but I tried to make myself go to sleep anyway. Unfortunately, one of the campground host's duties is to drive around every now and then and make sure everything is okay. So just as I would get to sleep I would hear the crunch of tires on gravel and have to peek out the window, freaked out that he was coming to get me. After a while it didn't even have to be his truck...any car on the road woke me up and made me look out the window to make sure he wasn't coming for me. It got to the point where I knew I wasn't going to get much of a night's sleep and I decided that as soon as it was a decent enough hour I was going to pack up and get the hell out.
5 am finally FINALLY rolled around and I popped out of my tent and packed everything up as quickly and quietly as I possibly could. The only road out of the campground went right past the host's RV and truck so I had a hard time deciding whether to drive nice and slowly so as not to wake anyone, or as fast as possible so I could get out of there ASAP. I don't remember what I chose...it was all a blur. What I do remember is about half a mile down the road, I saw a green pickup truck in my rearview mirror.
....I know, right?
So, heart pounding, I nonchalantly pulled over into the nearby welcome center parking lot (because I'm sure lots of people want to check out the welcome center at 5 AM...what's weird about that?) and held my breath waiting for the truck to pass.
It turns out it was a blue pickup truck, nobody was after me, and the old man at the campsite probably never even realized I had stiffed him his camping fee. I freaked out and twisted myself up into knots over absolutely NOTHING (which btw is easy to see in retrospect, but I was perhaps not in my right mind at the time. Maybe it was the altitude).
About 100 miles later I was pulled over by the police in Cody, Wyoming. Just for speeding, though, not campground larceny. The nice cop knocked ten bucks off of my fine because I was wearing my seatbelt. How about that? Also Cody is apparently the rodeo capital of the world, but not at 7 am on a Monday morning. Bummer.
So yes, I am a bad person for not paying my campground fees but boy, I paid for it in stress. Next time I'll just write a fricking check.
Next stop, Yellowstone!
xo,
C
PS: Want to know the kicker? I looked it up online and I was right the first time...I HAD made a reservation and paid already for my Prune Creek campsite. So it was ALL FOR NOTHING. Ha!
So, the drive into Wyoming was pleasant enough. About halfway through the day the road started climbing into the Rocky Mountains which made the drive more challenging but also a bit more interesting. I mean, what's more compelling than the idea that any moment you could drive right off a cliff? Fun stuff! :)
After at least a couple of hours of mountain driving, I arrived at my destination, the Prune Creek campground. I thought I had reserved a site at Prune Creek way back in the planning stages of the trip, but when I got there, instead of a reservation, all I found was a cash box for payment of camping fees. Okay, I figured I must have gotten PC confused with one of the other bajillion sites I had camped at during the trip, so I started digging in my bag for cash for the fee. Ruh roh. I only had eight bucks and the fee was 14. They took checks but I had managed to get away with not paying the fee at Holy Ghost in NM, so I was very, very tempted to just say screw the fee and try to camp for free. But I couldn't just drive away, see. I had to make it look like I was putting my fee envelope in the box so I could take the little slip to clip to the post in my campsite to demonstrate that I had paid. I know, I'm a terrible person. So anyway, I did that. I totally made it look like I paid my fee, grabbed my slip, and then I drove around the campground to find a good site.
I stopped at a site near the eponymous creek, clipped my slip on the post and began to unpack my tent and stuff. A few minutes later, here comes trouble. A big green pickup truck with an insignia on the side that said "campground host" pulled up to my campsite. Shit. The jig was up. this dude was going to take one look at me, know I hadn't paid, and call the Rocky Mountain cops. I braced myself for the inevitable judgment as an old gentleman in a fishing cap and a very well-worn old plaid shirt ambled up to my car.
I was trying to remain upbeat and seem like not a criminal, so I gave the gentleman a friendly "hello there" as he eyed my license plate. After a few moments of intense license plate scrutiny he looked up and asked me where I was from. I figured that was obvious from my plate, but I answered "Oregon" anyway. This was clearly not the answer the gentleman was looking for and he cocked an annoyed eyebrow at me. He asked me where in Oregon and I told him I lived in Portland. An awkward silence passed while he thought that over. Anxious to fill the silence I added "It's a nice town." A beat later the old gentleman wrinkled his nose and replied "not really."
Oh dear...if my beloved Portland couldn't win this guy over, what possible chance did I have?
So I asked him why he didn't like Portland and it turned out that he used to be a long haul trucker and it's hard to deliver things in Portland because the streets are narrow or complicated or something, which I could totally understand. Driving in Portland can certainly be a challenge. I attempted to convey this understanding, but the gentleman was clearly done with pleasantries and ready to move right on to business. He mentioned that he had stopped his truck because he saw me "messing with" the cards clipped to the post at the end of my campsite (they had these plastic cards where they could say if a spot was reserved or not and that was the same place you're supposed to clip your little strip). Apparently they have a lot of trouble with people messing with the cards. Gah! Don't touch the cards!
So he stopped his truck and (in his words) was about to start hissing and spitting about the cards but then he saw that I was just a "nice lady" instead of some sort of delinquent so he didn't have to worry about me. Oof. I felt like such a schmuck. Yep, I'm a nice lady who is totally stiffing you on camping fees, sir. Sorry bout that. Business handled, the gentleman bid me good night and ambled off to his truck.
I resumed setting up my campsite and quickly headed into my tent to escape the aggressive mosquitoes (and the SHAME). I stayed in there for quite a while, reading my book, still a little shaken from my close encounter with the campground law. And then I heard the crunch of gravel under tires. Oh. Shit. He had probably been to the cash box by now and found that I hadn't paid any fees! I unzipped my tent window about a quarter of an inch and peeked my eye out. Green truck. He was totally coming for me! I watched from my tent, my insides churning, terrified to be caught in the lie of not paying and saying I did, trying to come up with a way to play it off ("Oh, I was going to pay on my way out" or "Oh, did I not pay? Silly me, I never was very good at math. Just a girl, you know") . The old man climbed out of his truck and peered at my slip of paper clipped to the campsite post. He peered for a good long time. Finally, he got back in his truck and slowly drove away. Whew, right? Wrong. Now that he had had a good look at my slip, I was entirely convinced he was going to go compare it with what was(n't) in the cash box and come back to take me away or at least yell at me in a really mean way. It could happen.
I was a little wound up and stressed about my inevitable humiliation and/or arrest but I tried to make myself go to sleep anyway. Unfortunately, one of the campground host's duties is to drive around every now and then and make sure everything is okay. So just as I would get to sleep I would hear the crunch of tires on gravel and have to peek out the window, freaked out that he was coming to get me. After a while it didn't even have to be his truck...any car on the road woke me up and made me look out the window to make sure he wasn't coming for me. It got to the point where I knew I wasn't going to get much of a night's sleep and I decided that as soon as it was a decent enough hour I was going to pack up and get the hell out.
5 am finally FINALLY rolled around and I popped out of my tent and packed everything up as quickly and quietly as I possibly could. The only road out of the campground went right past the host's RV and truck so I had a hard time deciding whether to drive nice and slowly so as not to wake anyone, or as fast as possible so I could get out of there ASAP. I don't remember what I chose...it was all a blur. What I do remember is about half a mile down the road, I saw a green pickup truck in my rearview mirror.
....I know, right?
So, heart pounding, I nonchalantly pulled over into the nearby welcome center parking lot (because I'm sure lots of people want to check out the welcome center at 5 AM...what's weird about that?) and held my breath waiting for the truck to pass.
It turns out it was a blue pickup truck, nobody was after me, and the old man at the campsite probably never even realized I had stiffed him his camping fee. I freaked out and twisted myself up into knots over absolutely NOTHING (which btw is easy to see in retrospect, but I was perhaps not in my right mind at the time. Maybe it was the altitude).
About 100 miles later I was pulled over by the police in Cody, Wyoming. Just for speeding, though, not campground larceny. The nice cop knocked ten bucks off of my fine because I was wearing my seatbelt. How about that? Also Cody is apparently the rodeo capital of the world, but not at 7 am on a Monday morning. Bummer.
So yes, I am a bad person for not paying my campground fees but boy, I paid for it in stress. Next time I'll just write a fricking check.
Next stop, Yellowstone!
xo,
C
PS: Want to know the kicker? I looked it up online and I was right the first time...I HAD made a reservation and paid already for my Prune Creek campsite. So it was ALL FOR NOTHING. Ha!
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