It's amazing how clearly you find yourself thinking when you're naked, being sprayed with a cold mist by another woman. You find yourself wondering, "How did it come to this?" Is the sun really so evil? Could my pasty skin not just soak up a few rays without the inevitable oddly patterned burns before returning back to its marbled purply white hue. You also wonder why all the women at these spa places have to be ten years younger than you, tall, thin & perfect. I do not need them seeing me naked. And I don't count those paper panties as clothing & I'll be honest, I don't know which way is back and which is front so I hope she won't be telling stories about that moron all day. I don't think it matters since neither direction actually covered anything that should be covered in polite society. Ah well, I do love a nice spray tan to lessen the evils of my various lumps, bumps & dimples. I suppose it might mask them better if I didn't turn around & announce them on the internet but that's an issue for another day.
This spray tan was more successful than the last two because it only had to be on for 2 hours instead of 8 before I could shower so no need to feed Ben & accidentally give him attractive blotches of tan. It did rain earlier today & walking through the wet parking lot in flip flops did splash my legs a bit but it looks like those splotches have evened out a bit so I'm calling this one the most successful yet!
The other joy of my little spa morning was having a nice, long, intensive pedicure. My feet are smooth, my toenails are neat, clean & painted a sparkly bronze. But the best part was the immense self esteem boost I got from listening to the lady next to me talk to her pedicurist (is that what their called? cosmetologist? Geniuses, heroes & goddesses are what I call them!). One was 25 & had been dating her boyfriend for ages but "didn't want to fall into that trap of getting married & having babies" like so many of her friends who stayed on the coast instead of moving to the city. And she was upset because 25 is so close to 30! But imagine how the other girl felt because she was 27. The horror, THE HORROR. I wanted to smack them both & tell them to shove it before this almost 31 year old Coastie mama smacked them both upside their perky little heads. Instead I did what any mature woman would do & announced ever so subtly to my pedicure lady (that can't be what they're called) "I'll take that sparkly color BECAUSE I'M GOING TO VEGAS." I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I got LOUD when I said that. I could hear myself & was mentally telling myself to cork it, that the ladies were not that far away & a normal voice would work. I do think they were impressed for what it's worth. These sparkly toes are taking this old suburban mom places.
So yes, I leave tomorrow. I have reorganized my carry-on luggage about 7 gazillion times so I don't think I could handle one more day of planning, thinking, scheming, stressing, etc. So tomorrow I'm sleeping in & letting Marcel handle Ben's morning duties then we'll give Ben his late morning nap then probably take off to Sydney -- SEE, I get off of the coast -- for a little meandering around but maybe not. Then I need to be at the airport around 6pm where I'll stand in line, stressing my little Type A heart out until I find out whether I get a bulkhead seat or not with my boy. Luckily, we'll still have Marcel to help us with the luggage checking & stressing in line but then it's go time. I've been planning & strategizing for months so I really can't wait to see how it actually goes. Luckily, the international terminal has a playground & a kid's cinema area so I'll let Ben run around as much as possible & keep him active until I turn into the Cruella Deville of flying with toddlers & drug his sorry butt before we board. Hoping that way we'll have 30-40 minutes of boarding, blah blah blah then he'll fall asleep on takeoff. I'll have my book on my iPod & some tunes & can have a blissful several hours. Don't laugh - visualizing good stuff is supposed to help, right?? Oh, it's going to suck. I know it, you know it, I see no hope for a smooth trip. I am terrified the drugs will go haywire & he'll get hyper instead even though we've tested it 3 times. I'm terrified all my carry-on organizing will have made it even harder to find what I need. And dear lord, what if we don't get a bulkhead seat & both of us are squeezed like sardines in a tiny economy seat behind someone will no doubt be reclined the entire 14 hours. And Ben will probably kick his/her seat & I'll drop by iPod & won't be able to get it because I'll have a comatose toddler wedged on top of me. And how am I supposed to eat?? I'm taking lots of snacky foods & I see a real chance of not being able to eat the actual meals since I can't have a tray & the child in my lap. Will have to gorge when I get to LA. Of course, I have to get our giant suitcase there & balance that with the little stroller & two carry-ons through bloody customs. I've never had a bad experience with the folks who work at LAX - they've always been incredibly friendly but I'm not holding my breath. If it's going to go bad, it's going to be this trip. Oh well, at least I've got my tan.
And once I've cleared customs I'll meet up with my mom & niece, Alexis!! From there it's smooth sailing. A quick 1 hour flight to Vegas & it's maxing, relaxing, the pool, shopping, some slot machines with my parents, Alexis, Aunt Jackie and cousin Sara.
I CAN'T WAIT.