happy new year, adventurers!

Do y'all wish to be called "Adventures"? Of course you do. It's 2011. We all need new identities. Let this be your virtual witness protection program.

After a whole lifetime of having mediocre to crappy to absolutely horrendous New Year's Eves, I decided to kiss the suckitude that was 2010 off in a proactive manner and have myself a good one. Even though I am not supposed to be spending money on non-necessities, I decided someone had to be nice to me, and that if no one else was stepping up to the plate, well, goddamnit, I'd just have to do it myself. Originally I thought I would try to get a pedi yesterday--something I don't ever do in the winter--but my nice Russian aesthetician lady was not working on feet yesterday and I didn't feel like taking a chance with one of her colleagues. I considered getting a facial or body wrap or massage at this same spa, but really, their prices are insane, and they didn't have massage openings anyway. That idea implanted, however, I decided to get a massage somewhere else.

Now, boys and girls, getting a massage from someone new and different is fraught with difficulties for me. It's almost impossible to turn off my inner therapist and relax. Either I'm inner-critiquing the whole time ("I wouldn't do that *that* way...") or I'm picking up tips ("Oh! That felt good! Was that her elbow?") And paying for one when I get fabulous work from M2 in trade molests my inner cheapskate. But I wanted to do something nice for myself and there is not much nicer than one can do for oneself than get bodywork. So late Wednesday night I used the miracle of online scheduling to book a massage at one of the two "big" places in downtown Salem for Friday afternoon.

I went to the gym beforehand, in another attempt to do something fun and pleasant--slightly foiled by the fact they were closing early for the holiday and thus were ridiculously packed. I had to skip some of my leg routine because people wouldn't get off the machines I wanted in a timely fashion, and I needed to leave by a certain time to be able to eat before my massage. I didn't let this aggravate me, however. I did what I could, then I took myself out for some extremely good chicken salad and a gingerbread latte (<--holiday-like). So, New Year's Eve Day, so far so good.

I go to this place (which I've never been to before) for my massage, and I am immediately impressed by their setup and decor. It may be silly to you, but aesthetics are important to me. (I didn't spend all that time getting my massage room at home to look just the way I want it to for nothin'.) I fill out my paperwork by about ten minutes prior to my appointment time and the receptionist tells me my therapist is finishing up with her previous client. I ask to use the restroom, and when I come out, my therapist is waiting to usher me into the room...so early. I am again impressed. I am also delighted and amused to see, when I get into the room, that they have the same hot towel cabi I do. (My therapist uses the hot towels throughout, occasionally in ways I wouldn't have thought of, so, yeah! picked up some ideas, and OMFG, they felt fabulous.) I start the treatment out totally in my head as expected ("Eh, this is okay, but she's no M2") but completely surprisingly, at some point, I let go, and by the time she flips me, I am just jello. My stomach is gurgling 'cause my parasympathetic nervous system has kicked in full force, and I'm doing that not-quite-asleep-but-floaty thing. When I stagger out to reception afterwards, I see by the time that she probably gave me an extra 10-15 minutes on my hour, which, score! I give her a nice big cash tip and leave very relaxed and happy.

Then I stop at Tarzhay and buy myself a couple cheap camis (Converse One Star, highly recommend) and another pair of their six dollar leggings, which I also highly recommend since they are identical to, if not better than, the $20 Hue ones from Macys. And I go to Shaws to get a couple things. I ponder buying a couple lobsters, but decide I've blown my discretionary spending for the week. So I return home, drink a glass of wine, and decide to make meatloaf. I know lobster-->meatloaf sounds like a huge comedown, but my meatloaf is delish, y'all, and we hadn't had it for a long time.

After a late and relaxed dinner, I ask D if he wants to play scrabble and he is all into it. This pleases me, not only because hey, I wanted to play scrabble, but because--it's hard for me to quantify this for you here, but--there are times when he is just plain more interested in things, in life, than others, and that's when I know he's doing well, and with the combination of the cat dying plus the time of year, the fact that he's NOT depressed is fabulous. My son is really fun to play scrabble with. He's not competitive, he could care less about what his score is, he just chortles when he gets what he feels like is a good word (not by point value, but by if he thinks he's being clever) and can't slap it down on the board fast enough. We end up playing three games and having a really good time all night. Eventually after midnight I go to bed and finish watching The Usual Suspects, which I've been falling asleep on all week. (I've seen it before, I knew who Keyser Soze is, I just couldn't remember how the plot shakes out and I was getting frustrated not making it to the end.)

So that was my very lovely Happy New Year, and today I am going out for a mac n cheese and beer carb-up and to watch some football game I hear is taking place. Which I don't really care about as long as there's beer. And cheese.

Here's to a better 2011.

xoxo