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How I Spent My
Spring Vacation

February - March 2007
HOW I SPENT MY SPRING VACATION part III


GRANT LEE PHILLIPS - Truly, Truly
It's just been too long
We set aside some time alone
Sure could use your point of view
And it's been awhile
Since we dropped our guard
and cracked a smile
Don't you think it's overdue
Well how about you

Sunday was a planned full day. Baseball. Day spa. Time with the family. Not very often do you see those three things in the same schedule.

Sleeping Saturday into Sunday was a bit of an adventure. Someone down the corridor smokes. Constantly. It got so bad I had to get a towel wet and drop it at the door. Still, it seeped in. Cigarette smoke is only a botheration when it is unexpected or otherwise intrusive in context. A few times when leaving the room I glanced over at the scourge. The door to his room is open and the top of the refrigerator is full off empty beer bottles.

Now...I was unable to progress to the level of professional alcoholic. But if I had, it would have been on vodka, scotch and bourbon. Beer is such a pedestrian way to get drunk. Especially Miller Lite.

I didn't drift off until after several phone calls and a few dozen emails. It was around 2:00 m when drunken idiot suddenly couldn't work the car alarm on his early 1980's Ford truck. Huh? Who puts a car alarm on a piece of crap like that?

The next morning my shower and breakfast were uneventful. Luke warm and oatmeal with almonds. My hair was not spectacular, nor did it need to be. I was off to the A's Spring Training facility at Papago Park and a hat was in order. I am getting to the point that I need to either get a PDA/phone or start carrying a purse. And that doesn't read well with the day spa experience only a few paragraphs away. I was packing my (work) cell phone, iPod shuffle, digital camera, mini-notebook, pen, car keys, and ID holder. I don't carry a wallet. My ID holder can slip into my front pocket - but it looks like I am packing a remote control.

Looking like an ad for cargo pants and survival gear I wandered into the facility. I didn't so much watch over the next 90 minutes as I listened. It was relatively futile to watch and look for individual players as a majority of the players are minor leaguers and good luck guessing the number scheme. It was easier to just listen to the footwork. To plod of the ball from the grass onto the infield dirt. The occasional chuckle when a player swung through a batting practice pitch. The coaches working their rhythm for nicknames into form. Players are either dubbed with a conjunction to their last name; Chavez becomes, "Chavy", Ellis becomes "Elly". Otherwise your initials are used; Dan Johnson is 'DB', Daric Barton is 'DB'.

It was chilly, not just for Arizona, but in the low 50's and the sun wasn't beaming just yet.

At about 10:30 I decided it was time to head back to the hotel. Shower, again, and head to my appointment.

I thought short and soft about what to wear. I imagined that I would be undressing a lot, so easy access was the key to the day. However, this was not some factory outlet shopping outing. This was an establishment that required customers to present themselves with a moderate amount of decency. As displayed accurately by the gentleman ahead of me with his tennis shoes, jeans and In 'n' Out Burger T-shirt.

Fellas, athletic shoes are for sports. Stop buying them unless you plan to sweat and participate in exercise or otherwise physically demanding endeavor. Do not wear them with jeans. If you can't bring yourself to buy a pair of wingtips, cap-toed Oxfords or even Doc Marten's at least go buy a pair of Steve Madden shoes or similar. As long as we do not revert back to top-siders with no socks or Timberland hiking boots with the laces undone. Women notice shoes on men for two reasons; either you have your act together and that is an attractive quality or you are an idiot but you might be fixer-upper material. Trust me, you're not. Your best bet is to rent or buy a clue and ask a woman to take you shoe shopping.

Women, please stop dating men that wear running shoes with jeans or even chinos. Have some respect for the rest of the human race. Chastise them publicly and verbally as you would 'secretly' chastise their balding head, small penis and inability to think outside of what beer commercials have taught them about life (to all of your friends within cell phone roaming distance). If you are already with someone of this breed, shame on you. You have let down your sisters.

I was wearing a johnny collar shirt; easy to slide on and off with a pair of jeans that fit me 4-5 months ago. I was wearing a pair of Tsubo shoes that corresponded with the shirt, the jeans, my glasses and the socks were well within the same range. There's nothing wrong with being snooty as long as you are insightful about it.

The bane of my Arizona existence, Corban, greeted me as I strode into Dolce. 20 Minutes early. Common courtesy. "Two lovely ladies," Marissa and Jade were going to be risking their sanity working on me today according to Corban. Instinctively I have semantic issues...with just about everything. It's the inability of the American dialect and seemingly overt need to capture a repetitive descriptive term that applies to all. I am writing of the use of the term 'lovely'. In my venture to suppose, Corban was trying to tell me that they were attractive. Lovely, to me describes a lady and the way she carries herself regardless of her 'looks'. As long as she is free of legions, sores and any inclination toward country and/or western music.

Still, I let it go at the time. It was one of those small increments of life that I pocket for later. Some often accuse me of being a jerk when I talk about things such as this brief interlude with Corban. Oddly, if I write about it; suddenly I'm brilliant. Or, as with some of those who read my work - "real good".

I was escorted to the 'lounge' or waiting area behind the main hair and barber area and behind a swinging door. This lounge was indebted to the flat screen television as a larger set would have blocked the room entirely. There were two leather chairs on either side of a leather couch. The chairs were rather awkward and the couch was what I would call 'English'. High back and deep it was. Or is. Until I break in and steal it. I prefer a couch you sit on. Not a couch you lounge on. Or at least I type that now, but in two weeks when I am asleep on my Ikea Klippan sofa you'll hardly hear a peep out of me.

I may write Astin Martin, but I am all Volkswagen Passat (assembled in Mexico).

I was offered a mug of water. Well, it was swung at me. Had I been an ass I would have inquired as to the water's source. Actually, I like mineral water. An odd occurrence from my freshman year in high school. On the Acutane train for four months prompted my mother to by sparkling water by the grocery cart full. As long as I was pouring water down my throat my internal organs wouldn't dry up like a teenager coming home not after curfew and not after being at a kegger.

Instead I went ahead and started fiddling with the remote control to the flat screen on the wall. These anchored flat screens do frighten me. I can see stupid people all over this retarded nation of ours diving head first to break the fall of the TV as it breaks from its mount. Only to severe spine and provide cranial fractures. Well, it can't be all that bad. At least the long overdue lobotomy is a serious consideration once the neurosurgeon is in there tidying up.

I flipped through the guide and it seemed there was NCAA basketball, golf, bowling and fishing to beat the band. Instead I settled in on the last hour of My Fair Lady. If your Gay-Dar is going off flip the switch back to 'off'. My sister had it pegged correctly years ago; I am the American Professor Henry Higgins. Admittedly, I worried about jeans and sneaker boy shuffling in so I had a previous channel ready. AMC had Cool Hand Luke on. I surmised that was fairly manly. Cheap Reeboks and faded 501 boy did walk in texting someone with his thumbs. Who knew he had any?

I did check to see if there was anything on HBO or similar channels. The cheap bastards didn't subscribe to them. I muttered as much and of course he did not get it. "They have a $2,000 flat screen TV but don't pay for HBO or Showtime. "Oh," then a forced chuckle. I think his ears did perk up and his head tilted like a dog staring at a ceiling fan.

Paul Newman was on egg 50 or so when the yutz asked, "what movie is this?"

"Cool Hand Luke, in order to win a bet, Paul Newman has to eat 50 hardboiled eggs in 60 minutes," I explained it just as I would anyone in my class on something that was the tip of something far deeper just beyond.

"..."

He had no idea what I was talking about.

"How old is this movie?"

"Early 1960's. Once of Paul Newman's first roles. Before Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. This scene is usually voted one of the most memorable in that era."

"Must be a classic and I've never heard of it."

At least he was modest enough to know he didn't know. As such, slack was cut for him, "It's hard to keep up on the classics - just like with books or music or even history there is so much that is called a 'classic' it's difficult to know where to start and how much do you really need."

I braced myself for, "Hey, did you see that Adam Sandler movie where..."

Luckily the rattlesnake just had its head blown off and his attendee was ready for him. I instinctively stood as she walked into the lounge and she was startled. I am guessing that she was familiar with the guy and my standing seemed awkward. It actually gave me a chance to rearrange myself. The high and deep couch was great. But sans end tables or something I was forced to either juggle my drink or place it on the floor where I could kick it, break the glass, slip on the water, reach for something to hold onto and grapple with a 40 inch flat screen television until it lodged itself into my ribcage and groin.

I just placed it a little further off to the side rather than tempt my own deep fathomed stupidly and clumsiness.

It was too late; to flip back to My Fair Lady as Marissa entered the lounge too soon. I stood as she greeted me. She did that thing that women will often do when they are not so tall in the area of height. She watched me unravel as I stood up and her head and eyes craned up following as I straightened. Makes you feel that much taller and a little imposing. Maybe it's not for my benefit. Rather for theirs. But I still like it. Probably something you might tuck away for later when you meet someone and want to endear yourself to them. Unless the guy (or girl) is short in the area of being closer to the ground. Might insult them when their craning only moves the head a click or two.

Marissa asked me to follow her and I gathered up my purseless belongings; keys, ID holder, mini-notebook, pen and eyeglass case with my sunglasses inside. My other glasses were on my face so it was much easier to transport those.

The problem was I was waving the mug around as she walked away. Maybe if I waved long enough a walking end table or a helper monkey dressed like a drink server. Apparently Dolce is behind on the helper monkey business strategy and I quickly loped after Marissa who was by now curious if I was lost. Or stupid. Or just stupid.

I asked where I should place the mug and noticing it was half...there wasn't enough damn water in the damn mug. Don't try to peg me on the half-empty/half-full crap. A quaint observation on western civilization if personalities can be determined on the watermark of a beverage conveyance. If you are attempting to do so, then you are quite full of it, yourself, thank you and good night. Enjoy the chicken and remember to tip your waitstaff.

Entering the massage room. Is that what they are called? Is there a clinical term? 'Place where you get a massage type room' (but in Latin) Cute moniker? 'Hands-on hut'. Maybe it's just room '3' as the door frame suggests.

I was instructed to disrobe, "take off your clothes". There has to be a more professional way to put that. And along with my earlier question of "where can I stash my stuff" I began to seriously consider where and how my remove my clothes. No hooks. Just a 'cubby' bookshelf type-dealy.

Marissa adjusted the lights to 'lower than Marvin Gaye'. They weren't that bright before, maybe 'Air Supply' or even 'Survivor'. Marissa tried to upsel me on the hot rock thing. I knew from the price list that they were extra, so I passed.

I started to half-fold my clothes and place them away.

I started looking at the massage table. I never know how to approach non-bed table things. Do I climb right on top then crawl under? Do I enter from the left, or the right? Do I fold the blankets or covers over or do I just squeeze on in? Did they really pull a new sheet of that deli paper stuff in the doctor's office before I got in there or did they just smooth it out? And do I get in and then roll over or get in facing down?

Look, I'm not this stupid. But I look at as many possiblities and angles about very mundane actions. I am entranced why things are mundane. Are they really that 'simple' or do we make them simple by stripping them of their meaning? Yes. I probably should have my own philosophy and followers but that might require me to shave my head and philosphies don't get the tax breaks organized religions do.

After being on the table and trying to find the exact middle and center of the table Marissa entered the room. She adjusted the lights even further to 'who are we kidding, let's skip the whole seduction and get to it'. I was already fairly relaxed. A good experience from my first massage was to not eat 12 hours beforehand. Nothing to worry about or concern yourself with at that point.

Over the next hour Marissa and I banged heads repeatedly. "Is that too hard?" Too hard compared to what? Is it effective, yes. I'd probably tense up or mention it if things were on the far side of pain. When it came time to stretch my legs we really hit the wall. She was stretching my right leg and I am pretty sure my foot passed my face. Again, the question, "Is that too hard?". If my leg is at the point it is resisting, then that's too far. If it's not, keep going. When it came to my left leg things were different.

"Is this too hard?"

"I don't think so, if you can go further, then you should."

"Well, your leg is pushing back."

"Then it might be far enough, but it doesn't hurt."

I've had reconstructive surgery on my left knee and a few 'clean-ups'. Often I don't know if my knee hurts or not. Usually it hurts a few hours after when it swells up. Marissa decided to throw in that I am flexible but I should be stretching more.

Noted.

My feet and hands got a very brief acknowledgement and suddenly time was up. I am pretty sure that therapists, both pscychiatirc and massage, use the same time device where 45 minutes equals an hour.

Marissa instructed me to dress when I was ready and she would meet me outside with water.

This is the point where you need to look away. I was alone in the room. Stuff that I had been trying to ignore or otherwise beat into submission began to overwhelm me. I tried walking them around the night before but I've been walking them around for the past two months. Draw your own conclusions. It wasn't that bad. But it was bad. It's only when you are by yourself that you really understand how alone you are or are not. If you needed a hint; I feel very much alone and separated from reality and apparently that causes emotions. I am not a fan.

As I was slowly dressing and making notes I spotted Marissa's card. 'Marissa Lavendar'. OH COME ON! I wasn't about to make comments on the stripper names for Marissa and Jade but they went too far with blatant porn names. 'Marissa Lavendar', indeed. Marissa was leaning up against the wall when I came out. She walked me back to another room and introduced me to Jade. 'Jade Orchid' makes a nice porn name. Or 'Jade Rose'.

Jade instructed me to take off my shirt and get under the blankets on the table. This threw me. "Sorry? My shirt and then under the blankets?"

"Yah, take off your shirt for the facial and then them hand massage."

The quizzical look on my face and the several attempts to start a sentence gave Jade the idea that this was perplexing to me.

"Oh, you can take off your pants if that makes you more comfortable."

Normally that would be cause for at least three or four funny things to say. But in this case it actually confused me further. So I covered.

"If I take off my pants should I leave my shoes on?"

"Okay. If that makes you more comfortable."

I got undressed again. This time I used my brain in a positive manner and decided that face up was the best way to approach this situation.

When Jade returned we discussed some of the issues with my face. The pores. The sun damage. The horror. The horror.

Jade began on the facial and I kind of was interested in each step she was initiating. She kind of clued me in to the point she began the scrub, but then stopped. She then launched into; "So, are you from Sacramento or do you just live there?"

What the...

"I'm originally from Redding, but I escaped 14 years ago. I've live in Sacramento for about 12 years with a few years in Pennsylvania in the middle...why?"

"My sister lives in Sacramento and when I heard you giving your phone number yesterday I head the area code. 9-1-6, hey, my sister has a 916 area code!"

...wh...th...ugh...

This was perplexing. Do you see how many different routes I could go with this? Jade had terribly bad bleached hair and wasn't the brightest bulb in the box. Her sense of humr was dulled and physically I didn't notice anything before and I'd just be graspng at straws trying to justify anything at this point. Why would she be eavesdropping on my conversation with Corban, yesterday? I appreaciated her elbowing him about my hair, but then, really - who wouldn't have?

I took the easiest road out of that whole scenario by asking, "what does your sister do in Sacramento?"

"She owns a dance studio in Roseville by the big mall they have."

Okay. "Dance studio? Belly, ballet, traditional...?"

"Oh everything really. She said it's a trendy business wo you have to stay flexible." I got the pun, but Jade didn't. And maybe I could venture that her sister did actually use 'flexible' to describe the dance market. This just wasn't going to happen. When I was younger I might have went after this with a little more vigor. But it wasn't there. I wasn't there.

I remarked on the Rosevill Galleria and the strip malling of America. That seemed to interest her.

"I've never really paid attention, but I think you're right. Most malls have all the same stores and a lot of them start to look alike."

Needless to say; she did a bunch of stuff to my face. I can honestly say it didn't feel any better than if I had done something at home. But, the idea was to get someone in there to tell me how bad it was. I wasn't as bad a I thought and I just need to stick to a regimen.

There was some sort of mask, the second mask, that allowed Jade to swing around and dive into an arm and hand massage. Now, I'm all for getting stuff free, or comped. I was pretty sure I just paid for an hour massage and had my arms and hands massaged so this seemed peculiar.

Next came the waxing. This required more conversation than I had considered. I was beyond looking to thwart monobrow activity. I was looking for a 3 month pass from even having to take the tweazers in my hand. And I am getting those wierd hairs on my nose. Not in my nose - on my nose. That's fun. The waxing was to take place around the eyebrows but not under the eyes. Which is what I was hoping as to lessen that much more area when I do decide to shave.

The waxing is not a big deal. Except for the smell. Really, what it feels like is someone tapping hot toothpaste on your head then ripping hair out of your skin with vice grips. Not a big deal. When I realized she was 'dabbing' my face it occurred that I was bleeding. I then started thinking about bloodborne diseases and how this trader isn't exactly as safe as it sounds. There are still lots of nasty things that could happen to someone in an occupation seemingly as innocent as this.

There was a final hose down stage with my face and Jade excused herself and would greet me with more water while I got un-disrobed. I began to gather my things and made some notes in my notebook before I got dressed. There was a light knock and the door crept open.

"Oh, you're not ready. I'll be outside when you are ready."

Some might have cobbled together the Jade experience and lauded that she was coming onto me or that she 'liked' me. Please. In the service industry where people live on tips anything is fair game. Further, she had plaenty of opportunites to say somethig before or even excuse herself if she 'liked' me. I am not some cad. I am not going to 'hit on' or even dance around the idea of asking out the person who just looked deep, deep down inside my pores and told me I need to start wearing a sunblock for my face.

Besides the fact she didn't interest me in the slightest. Apart from the fact that Rebook's and 501s would be the type of guy to do that. Well romoved form the notion that I simply don't do that. I don't ask girls out. I don't 'hit on' them. I hold banter in high esteem and am not going to drag it down into the muckery with petty flirtations.

I do not fear rejection. I anticipate it and side-step that whole issue entirely. If I was really interested then I would have broke through all of my underpinings and actually said something. But I didn't. And there was not a feeling of regret or an inclination that I should have done something. When you cast a wide net and you get a wide breadth in your catch it's a shallow experience. Anybody can do that. It's not about the gross tonnage or mass numbers. It's beyond that. Why am I using a commercial fishing analogy here? Am I going to say that sport fishing is more astute and honest? I really am trying to push out some machismo aren't I?

I gathered my stuff and looked around to make sure I wasn't forgetting anything. Apart from te dead skin and a small hamster of removed hair. I wandered out front where Corban greeted me and Marissa and Jade were plunking in the items I was expected to buy. As they peeled off I thanked them and Marissa did that walking backward thing as she spoke and nearly smacked her head into the fish tank. Tee hee.

Corban and I went up and down the bill and he tried to push their products on my. What do I need with body butter? I did buy the sunblock for my face. It didn't have the greasy quality of some I have used and I will often break out around the neck when I use the cheapy stuff.

I tipped Marissa and Jade each $10. A little light on my tipping scale. But it was standard. Corban tried to itemize my bill and had to repeat things. I paid for the adventure with my credit card and Corban tried to find a pen. I grabbed a $20 and did the shaking hand tip thing. I'm Italian. That's what we do. We over tip and we let the other person know we are overtipping. I would have readily tipped Marissa and Jade in the same fashion, but leaving cash behind after a massage seems unseemly. I don't know what that is for a facial.

I ventured out into the sun and I crawled into my car. I drove to the hotel and gave my face a quick glance. Apart from a few strawberry marks on my eyelids and some of the mask left on my nose, it wasn't so terrible awful. I felt better. Even if I didn't look any better. I felt better.

I was about to take off for Queen's Creek to see Jay, Christy and Little Girl Kate. I called an got directions and then headed to Target to pick something up and get gas on the way out of town to the San Tan Sallon.

Next time, urban sprawl gives way to suburban sprawl and sub-suburbia.



. . . Continue to Part IV . . .