A few weeks ago I visited my first "community soaking tub" at a spa in Inman Square, Cambridge. [I've only recently recovered enough from this experience to be able to blog about it; though I may still be repressing a few key memories, I will relay the events that took place as best I can.]
For my birthday, my good friend Hedre got me a 12-pack of passes to the aforementioned community soaking tub. (This was a very cool, very hip gift, the only kind Hedre gives. In fact, Hedre is the coolest, hippest person I know. She's also the smartest person I know, and if I didn't love her so much, I'd hate her.)
Apparently, these soaking tubs are "the big thing" in San Francisco and "everybody does it." Like recycling, or buying organic produce. Some of the San Franciscan soaking tubs are even clothing optional, a fun fact that, when relayed to me by Hedre, I blanched and opened my mouth in a silent scream until she reassured me that the Cambridge soaking tubs were not as progressive as California soaking tubs and do, in fact, require clothing. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Another good friend of mine, Justin, lives in Inman Square, so I asked if he wanted to do brunch before I was to try out this new-fangled soaking tub. I stumbled over myself trying to explain the benefits of sitting in 104-degree water that I didn't quite understand myself, but it turned out I needn't have bothered: Justin is a soaker himself. He agrees to go with me.
We have a tasty, hugely-portioned brunch at East Coast Grill (always a great idea right before putting on a bikini) and then walk over to the spa. I am nervous. The spa is nice enough, the people are friendly. I am less nervous. They take us to the community soaking tub room, point out the changing rooms and shower, and leave us. I take a deep breath and head into the changing room.
Let me take this moment to point out one very important thing about community soaking tubs: you can't choose your community.
I walk out of the changing room, rinse off in the shower, and ascend the stairs to the tub. This is where things take a turn for the worse...
Already in the tub is a (ahem) large, older woman with really long, flowing gray hair. Flowing gray hair that is waving around her IN THE WATER as she floats on her back in the tub. I cringe, inwardly and outwardly (her eyes are closed, she doesn't notice), but try to stay positive and stick a toe in the tub. The water is crazy hot, which I use as an excuse to get in slowly. Very, very slowly, in the hopes it will take me the entire 30 minutes of our time to get in past my ankles. Justin, the old pro, gets right in.
I (finally) ease myself into the water, sitting straight-backed against the side of the tub, all my muscles tensed in flight-ready status. I give a half-hearted smile to Justin, who, lounging with his arms outstretched, looking totally relaxed, obviously finds my discomfort hilarious. We try to make small talk. I stare at the clock, counting down the minutes. I do not relax.
The next thing I know, the woman in the tub with us floats her arms out from her sides, angelic-like, to reveal about a decade's-growth of underarm hair. I start hyperventilating and the rest is a blur.
Addendum from Justin, aka JJ Bates:
Oh poor Erin. Poor poor, full from brunch, hot tub loungin' Erin.
Actually, her account is pretty much dead on, but I will fill in the blank spots. In a fruitless effort to help Erin relax I skirt around a number of topics and end up telling her about how the house hunt is going, and how far eRock and I are with our wedding plans. Frankly, I would have told her just about anything to make make her relax. I am pretty sure I could see every single muscle tensing up. So saying that she resembled this http://www.popstarsplus.com/images/HulkHoganPicture.jpg would be an understatement. Anyway we had an amiable conversation as this other woman frolicked in her area of the hot tub. After a while, she looks slightly less uncomfortable and I thought the remaining 20 min would be fine. Well that was until our hot tubby friend needed a few minutes to cool off so she climed out and sprawled on the short deck. I think I may have passed out briefly here too. I came too and decided some cold water would be good for us and offered some up to Erin who took it but couldn't seem to avert her eyes. No matter how hard she stared at the clock, time just would NOT move faster and her eyes were drawn back to the giant purple bathing suit.
With about 10 min left, our new friend became vocal, telling us how she was a psychotherapist and how this was great for relaxing. I don't know how good of a therapist she was to not see that Erin was basically in rigor mortis and would stay that way until well after she went home and cleansed herself repeatedly, but she was congenial. We chatted a bit and finally with about 4 min to spare we called it a day. Sadly, I had to bolt on outta there and catch a bus (which ended up being a cab) otherwise I would have taken Erin directly to the Irish pub for a pint of the cure. Poor Erin.
Ok, so in the past my excuse for not reading the news has been that I found it too depressing. Murder, corruption, scandal... whatever happens to highlight the lowest common denominator of human existence at the time. Who wants to start their day with that crap?
Lately, however, I have been making an effort to keep up with current events and usually find myself perusing drudgereport.com a few times a day to see what the latest goings-on are.
Here's what I find most depressing about today's news: Not the reports of murder, corruption and scandal (two out of three of which are revolving almost exclusively around NY Governor Eliot Spitzer, the idiot), but the fact that a large majority of "news" being reported is, well, bullshit. Here are a few other top headlines today:
-- A middle school kid has been suspended for buying Skittles candy from another middle school kid.
--There is a new "no saggy pants" law (LAW!!) in Riviera Beach, FL.
-- A small town in Iowa is offering a stray cat bounty of $5 per animal.
This is the news worth reporting? Seriously? How depressing.
I heard a story on the news this morning about a 10-year-old boy that was mauled by a mountain lion during his birthday party at a national park. This is a sad story. This is not a good way to spend your birthday.
Supposedly, the mountain lion leapt onto the boy and sunk his teeth into the boy's head. A very scary moment, I'm sure. Luckily, the boy's quick-thinking uncle was able to shoot and kill the mountain lion before it was able to eat the boy, or whatever the evil mountain lion had planned to do.
But the saddest part, it seems to me, is that the boy's uncle brought a gun to his 10th birthday party in the first place. Was it a gift for the 10-year-old? Was he planning on doing a little hunting in the national park after they'd finished eating cake and ice cream? Did he have it strapped on to him during the party, or did he have to go out to his truck and get it when the mountain lion attacked? Was it already loaded?
I think these are the important questions that news reporters need to be asking.
I don't know if I've been living under a rock or what, but I've just seen the light: www.theonion.com. This Web site is quite possibly the funniest thing I have ever come across. I am going to immediately start harassing them for a job.
Oh, Onion, where have you been all my life?
