Monday, December 6, 2010

Spa Spoof

Due to popular demand (a.k.a mild interest by RD), I’ve decided to elaborate on my spa incident.

It amazes even me how I can manage to squeeze out utter self-humiliation at the inopportune moments. Doubtless you are dying to know what the latest fiasco was. Your wish is my command.

As you know, I turned older a few days ago. Not something I am proud of and a process that I promise I will have a chat with the Gods about on all middle aged women’s' behalf. Or should that be 'behalves'? Never did quite figure that one out.

My boyfriend, knowing quite well by now how much wrath would be unleashed on him if he didn't make me feel as pampered as possible on the momentous occasion of my birthday, did justice to his role of sensitive, considerate male and booked me a session at a leading spa in town for a full body massage. He's a perceptive fellow, my boy. Always knows what a woman wants, to the point that I should be worried about closet homosexuality. But I'm not. I've seen the way he pales and shrinks away when gay guys make passes at him. It's smirk-worthy, really. Even men like my boy. Hurrah.

Digression is a sign of the ageing mind. Bear with me.

So, armed to the teeth with enthusiasm, the boy and I took to the spa. I insisted he come and sit outside like a good chaperone, lest I was uncomfortable with any of the procedures. One never knows, especially when one has never HAD a full body massage before. Like the good chap he is, he didn't protest (it was my birthday, so he wasn't allowed to anyway) and came with a book that would help him look learned rather than bored out of his mind.

A charming young lady with a flower in her hair (all part of the spa look) escorted me to a room with a massage bed and closed the door, almost sinisterly. I began feeling nervous. What if she took a hot rock to my head?

She didn't.

She merely passed me a packeted face towel. One of those rolled up tissuey thingies wrapped in plastic that you get on planes. I whipped it out of the polythene wrapping and began dabbing my face with it, still rolled up. It was neither moist nor warm. Just tissue. Perhaps then, I mused, it was just a paper napkin to wipe off any excess oil on my face. I rubbed harden along the ridges of my nose. I noticed the girl staring at me so I stopped to inquire why.

"You need to wear that, ma’am" she said, ever so politely.

Wear? I inspected the roll in my hands. Ahhh... there it was... a little rubber hemline. It was a SHOWER CAP, I realized They must want me to cover my hair so as to protect it from any balms or oils they'd be using. Without giving much further thought to the matter, I quickly strapped the gathered opening of the cap around my head.

Now the woman was laughing at me. Was she insane? I frowned at her. Surely, spa people should behave better. In between sniggering hiccups she informed me, "ma'am... that's a panty. You wear it on your body."

I stared at her, feeling blood, pus and horror seeping into my face. I slowly took of the shower cap, and lo and behold, there was paper underwear in my hand.

I mustered up dignity and gave the girl a baleful look. In case she didn't realize, I coldly informed her, I was a decent person. I was already WEARING underwear. Really... did she think I walked around commando?

She didn't look apologetic enough. Rather, she explained to me that the paper-wear was a way to protect my actual underwear from the massage oils.


I see.

To add insult to injured ego, she amusedly asked me if I had ever BEEN to a spa before. Godayata magic moment. I hoped my withering glare was enough to silence her. She left the room still giggling as I undressed, put on the wretched tissue over my under garments and hastily covered myself up in the large towel provided so that she couldn't catch a peek at my wobbly bits. After a certain age, you don't want to be showing your tum and bum off to anyone. Not even spa girls who snigger at you.

I poked my head into the convenient hole in the massage bed and pretended to be asleep when the woman returned.

To her credit, I must say the massage itself was heavenly. I couldn't help but forget my embarrassment with the panty episode and sink into the sheer bliss of the experience. That is, until I managed my next faux pa.

I'd eaten some birthday achcharu just before coming to the spa, you see (That's spicy pickle for you foreigners out there). By default achcharu gives me gas. Perhaps I should have thought twice before I ate a whole bowl. In my defense, how was I to KNOW this woman would start kneading my stomach and kidneys like dough??

Do I need to spell out what happened? I'm sure you would have figured it out by now.

Let’s just say that post tummy kneading moment, I was redder in the face than the burgundy towel she’d wrapped me in, and she was choking for fresh air. This situation needed PR. I did what any person of decent breeding would do. I continued to pretend I was sleeping, whilst calling my boyfriend all sorts of names in my mind for ever thinking of a spa voucher as a birthday gift. He should have known better. I silently swore to make him pay.

The girl didn’t touch my stomach after that. Every time I felt her fingers get close, they would hesitate and quickly scuttle back to my legs or arms. Half an hour later she was done and I was almost ready to forget the whole flatulence episode and give a good tip for such heavenly service when she carried in a tray of tea and pointed to the moist face towel rolled on it and said ‘THAT’s for your face’ with a bad attempt at hiding a snigger.



I left with my head held high and a snooty look on my face to let them know that I, their discerning customer, was not the least bit affected by all this.

Although I don’t know if they noticed, given that I was running too fast.


OK... so not EVERY post of mine needs to entertain you. I'm having a low season, so please bear with me for wanting to take out my angst on this here little blog site. There's a reason I called it 'Hissyfits', after all.

According to those counsellor and therapist fellows who have nothing better to do than listen to other peoples' problems, writing down your issues apparently helps you release steam and gives your heart a chance at not going into cardiac arrest. Lets see if their theory works....

I have issues...

...with people not willing to accept that humans are NOT the masters of the universe. What goes around comes around. Each and every one of us will pay for our actions in some form or the other. The sooner the better.

...with the fact that I seem to be the only one who's seeing the direct co-relation between certain dire situations happening to people I know and some questionable decisions they've made in recent times. I'm not a conspiracy or paranormal theorist, but there are forces at work that humankind will never fathom and it pisses me off that no one can see or understand that.

...with people who see animals suffering or neglected and turn the other way, just because it's 'not their problem'. You wait until the day YOU suffer. I hope you all get eaten alive as the world passes by without giving a hoot.

...with three people with whom I work. I call them the 3 B's; the Bully, the Blonde and the complete Bitch. Usually I'm all up for a challenge, but these three just ruin the day for everyone in office.

... with complacency and laziness. Call it my Monica complex, but it peeves me to see people slacking off and not making any efforts to improve themselves.

... with people not willing to display affection towards those they supposedly love.

... with the government. But then again, who doesn't?

...with the fact that my life seems to be going nowhere. I once had plans and shitloads of dreams for where I'd be at this stage of my life. I should have been travelling the world by now. I should have been running my own company. I should have been managing an aninmal shelter. I should have been famous. What the fuck happened???

... with parents who just don't know when to let go.

... with trishaw drivers who think they're buse drivers, bus drivers who think they're trishaw drivers and motorcyclists who think they're God's gift to road systems.

... with people wanting more babies. For fuck's sake grow up and look at the bigger picture. This planet doesn't NEED any more humans! you're not doing anyone or anything a service by adding another one into the population problem.

... with China. They need to get their heads screwed on right.

Lemme check my heart rate...

Yep. Still ticking.

Thought for the of your life.

To you who simpers about human suffering-

Look around you. Take stock of everything we, the humans, have done. We've spent the better part of every millennium of our existence destroying everything around us and causing the earth to suffer. We've made sure to place our dirty, corrupted, rotten thumbprint on every square inch of this beautiful planet and inflict pain and suffering on everything that breathes. We've done everything we can to push nature into utter devastation.

And you're COMPLAINING that the God and the universe are fighting back?

Fuck you.

An Ordinary Ramble

I'm wet.

I could have meant that in many ways, but alas, much to your dismay, I meant soaked by rain. Stop getting so excited.

This weather is a right royal moody bastard and there's no telling what it wants to do next. Do you suppose the Gods get a sadistic pleasure out of watching me get drenched to the bone on the one day I wear my brand new jeans and classy high heels to work? I don't even know why I did that...just felt sex and the city-ish this morning and decided on turning some heads. Well, ok... it didn't turn any heads... but my dog looked mildly interested, but only because he wanted to chew on the shoes.

Either way, there's nothing left to look at, thanks to the heavenly watering can.

So much has happened since I wrote last and yet life remains the same. The more time goes by, the more I'm starting to hate my job. Not the actual work or the industry... just the place I work for and the systems therein. Certain cretins in management, blondes in control of the workflow, political finger-pointing and mediocre attitudes have all accumulated to making it one bad deal for me, so much so that I've given up heaps of my normal life (including updating this blog regularly) just to manage the ridiculous state of affairs. Next year, I'm going to get out of here if nothing's changed for the better.

That's your cue to offer me a paying job - you who runs an animal welfare organization or an advertising firm. You who runs a bank are also welcome to offer me lots of money.

In the meantime, let me give you the quickfire low-down on life as I know it. Just in case you're interested.

I had another birthday. Yay. Not. Amongst all the lovely things he did for me, my long-suffering boyfriend gifted me a posh spa voucher for a full body ritual. Big mistake. I can now proudly say that I have farted in the face of a perplexed masseuse as she pressed my stomach. Beware, all ye other spas I may enter in future.

Hopped over to Singapore for a workshop/festival thingamy. I love Singapore. I could live at the zoo. My mother would agree with me.

I went to India on work. Except for the work bit, it wasn't too bad, considering it was the better part of Mumbai and there was much shopping and good eating to be done. Needless to say I managed to make my presence felt and nearly got thrown out of my hotel for wanting to shelter street dogs from Diwali fireworks.

I visited Malaysia on an all-too-short holiday. Quite the adventure. Especially the bit where the hotel fire alarm went off at 2 am and I ran down the fire exit amongst a sea of shrieking Chinese schoolgirls who were sharing my floor (they can be EXTREMELY loud), only to be informed that the hotel was fogging for mozzies. Apart from that, it was two tiring-but-exhilarating days of theme park rides, ice skating, shopping, eating and learning to master the monorail system.

I kidnapped 8 puppies from a plot of serpent-infested land I found them in. Five of them went to excellent homes. Three of them continue to give my cats headaches. Want one?

I lost a few. Pounds as well as brain cells. La la la. Come Christmas, it'll all be back.

I know, I know.... this post ain't funny or interesting. I can do better.