Mani/Pedi's Give Me Anxiety

ithinkironyisSOfunny and I went to get a mani/pedi on Saturday. A relaxing afternoon activity. For some people.

The salon was packed with people, and the receptionist greeted everyone with a gust of energy - some might say too much energy. She stood over our shoulders as we selected our colors, remarking on our choices. I was debating between hot pink and neon pink, and she assured me that there was no debate, as the hot pink was perfect for summer. This innocent exchange foreshadowed what was to come.

She asked ithinkironyissofunny and I if we would like shoulder massages along with our nail treatments. I said no, ithinkironyisSOfunny said yes. I laughed at ithinkironyisSOfunny's delivery, the receptionist took that as me saying yes. As I sat in a chair, Cindy appeared behind me, unzipping the top half of my dress, and going after my knots for a dollar a minute. I resigned myself to accept that I probably needed a massage anyway.

Enter the manicurist. She asked if I would like to trim my nails: "You don't want to cut, do you? No, I don't think you do." Um, I'm pretty sure that is leading the witness. "Actually, I would - I like them short and round." She made a face and put her head down to attack my cuticles.

The pedicurist had trouble understanding my English, which always stresses me out in nail salons, because I don't want to seem like an a-hole for being unable to decipher her accent, but I also want to make sure that she understands exactly what I want. Manicurist helped to translate. With attitude.

I chose Flurry Up (Sephora by OPI) as a top-coat. Initially, I wanted the glitter only on the tips of my nails. Manicurist's earlier face made an encore appearance as she explained this to the pedicurist. When it came time for the glitter application, I changed my mind and decided I wanted a full top-coat on my toes and just the tips on my nails. Manicurist shook her head, "Full-coat is better. Not just tip." Maybe she was right?

When the time came to pay, she had already run my credit card for the mani/pedi/massage, but there was no space to leave a tip. I sat drying my nails, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do, as the receptionist had somehow disappeared. So awkward. I kept making eye-contact with this woman across the way, who was staring at me, expressionless, hardly easing my anxiety. Eventually, Cindy came over to say thank you and I took that as my cue to hand over some cash. Awkwardly.

Loud sigh.

Next time I should probably just take a Xanax.

The Coconut Water Cure

There is a restaurant in Santa Monica (True Food) that I frequent pretty regularly. There are three things on their menu that I order. One of these things is a beverage they call the "Hangover Rx". It is composed of coconut water, orange juice and pineapple juice. And it is delicious. And if they happen to be out of it one day, causing your day to plummet into tragedy, the man behind the bar gives you two coconut waters on the house. Hypothetically speaking.

It is a rare day when I am hungover (shocking, I know), but it is a frequent day when I am craving Coconut Water-based scrumptiousness. But what happens when I actually am hungover? I'm now immune to the only prescription they offer. Luckily, it's a very simple solution, harking back to the age-old adage involving the hair of a dog: add vodka. 100% effective.

This incident may or may not have occurred recently. (Yesterday.) When the server brought me my cocktail, he announced it as "A Very Ironic Hangover Rx". I meaannn how fitting is that?!

I am aware that the amount of joy that half-second encounter brought me is awkwardly weird, but it was a large amount. It's the simple things in life? And yes, the only reason I am choosing to share this story now is that he referred to it as ironic, and I found that very, very special.

Jesus Wanted Me To Jump

Saturday afternoon, I jumped off of a cliff. Intentionally. People who are well-versed in my love for adventure were unsurprised. People who know full-well how dearly I cling to the existence of my life were dumbfounded. I was somewhere in the middle. This vignette focuses not on any of these nay and yay sayers, but on Jesus. This may come as a bit of a shocker, but Jesus wanted me to jump.

Let me back up.

A friend of mine mentioned cliff-jumping. I said I was totally down. I thought I meant it. Then I started thinking about my life, and how much I love having it. I’m a Taurus; I like having things. I concluded that adventures like skydiving and paragliding are awesome because they have built in safety precautions. They also have someone to blame (and possibly sue) when things go awry. In cliff jumping, there is no one guaranteeing your existence post-activity. Ok, there were 11 people doing this, but they were holding Tecates at the time, which sort of diminished their credibility.

Fast forward two weeks. Friend is moving to NY. Friend decides cliff-jumping will be his stellar going-away activity. Conflicted, I hesitate but eventually agree, although I make no promises to fling myself from any elevated heights. Friend gives limited details as to what is involved in this escapade.

I figure we will drive somewhere, with cliffs over-looking large bodies of water, and proceed to jump off said cliffs, in our bathing suits. I picture flat lands, complete with bathrooms and drinking fountains. With this in mind, I slather on a solid dose of sunscreen, tie on a bikini, throw on a crop top and a frilly skirt and trek out the door in my comfy black loafers. I go back in the door to grab a pair of flip flops and a towel.

When I get to the apartment where we are all meeting up, I realize that almost everyone else seems to be in tennis shoes. Odd choice for a casual stroll off a cliff.

We walk over to grab some breakfast sandwiches while we wait for our crew to assemble. Two of the actors from Lost show up – separately. Water. Cliffs. Death. Good to see the day has a theme.

18,000 wrong turns later, we make it to San Dimas. To a trail. Specifically, a hiking trail. Well-worn loafers are not conducive to maintaining traction. I am beginning to sense that I am ill-prepared for the day’s activity. I manage to scramble up the path with the group to the cliffs. I get a good look at the 45 feet separating us from the grotto and reaffirm my decision to stay on land. Unfortunately, I am 12 and I really do like to have adventures, even if said adventures have possible life-threatening side-effects. I also don’t like to not do something that everyone else is doing, because I am awkwardly competitive. I decide I will jump. Problem. The route to get back up to the top post-jump is arduous and requires footwear. I am not taking this leap of tangible faith in my loafers.

I am defeated. My games are done for the day.

This is where Jesus comes into play. Sitting on the rocks, near our belongings, is a pair of beaten up Vans. They don’t belong to anyone in our group, and there is no one else around. Abandoned shoes! I check the tags. At first glance, I see a size 8 and decide that I’ll attempt to shove my feet in them anyway. I look closer. They are a men’s size 8. This means they are a women’s size 9.5. For those of you failing to grasp the gravity of this situation, I am a size 9.5. These discarded kicks are, miraculously, exactly my size!!!

Ok, Jesus. I’ll jump. Into water, that is. Don’t go getting any crazy ideas.

Lucy, You Know I Don't Speak Mexican

Racist moment of the day:

I opened my inbox and glanced at the subject of my Who What Wear daily email. The actual subject was "What They Wear: Stylish Musicians". What I read was "What They Wear: Stylish Mexicans". Two things went through my head. 1. Wait - Really?? 2. A photo of a Mariachi Band followed quickly by a flash of people working in a field.

I know. So offensive. I'm offended by my own subconscious. I figured if I put it in print, it would make it less racist. I'm not sure it's working. If it makes anyone feel any better, I am the whitest dancer ever. Just ask my Asian Posse.

That's Some F*ed-Up Sh*t, Man

My coworker forwarded this to me, because she knew I would enjoy it. Mostly because it is totally dark and twisted, yet somehow manages to be HI-larious. Although, I'm pretty sure you should laugh at your own risk, because ghosts are involved. I've started wearing my Casper t-shirt around, in hopes of invoking some friendly spirits to safeguard my life.

The backstory to this photo: My coworker's brother works in downtown NY, in a Fifth Avenue office. (This is a pertinent detail.) As his coworker walked into the building, he swiped a copy of the New York Times that was lying around. Someone else's copy. No big deal - I used to steal the Wall Street Journal from my neighbors in New York. No one's judging.


The only difference is, my neighbors weren't dead. Please reference the circled names in the photo above. (Click on the photo to make it larger. DO IT.) Yup. Newspaper thief stole a dead man's rag. A dead man who happened to have recently hanged himself in that very building.

Tread lightly, my friend. Tread lightly.

Gems From This Past Week

"I don't believe in monogamy, but my wife doesn't believe in polygamy."
Pretty sure she also doesn't believe in you buying drinks for random girls at bars.

"Come sit over here."
"I'm fine right here, thanks."
"Your attitude problem only makes you that much more adorable."
Oh, I know.

"Where's your new place?"
"Beverly Hills"
"That's so not you - what are you doing living there?!"
Right. Because you've known me all of 3 and a half minutes. Thank you for your frank analysis. I should probably move now.

"You actually seem like a really cool chick. We'll see if it's for real."
Really?? You think so?? Omggg I feel so much better about my life now. Thank you for validating my existence. I only hope I can continue to live up to your obviously superior expectations.

...

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...

Meow.

I Can Rationalize It

idigalittleirony: (to me) "If you can sleep at night, that's all that matters"

ithinkironyisSOfunny: "Yeah, but Stacie clearly hasn't been sleeping well at night [turns to me], so maybe it's time for you to make some life changes."

Probably.

This was about shoes, by the way.