Spa-bound

Tomorrow, I'm off to another spa. Really, you can't go to too many. This time, it's for a big bridal blowout extravaganza, and not even for me. A friend is getting married three weeks before we are so I get to take notes and steal liberally every good idea she cooks up. As part of her bridal shower, a bunch of us are spending the afternoon at the spa. I am finally tipping my hat to my ever-growing credit card debt and taking the lesser route of a full-body scrub, as opposed to a massage. Almost as good and half the price. Works for me!

I had thought about getting a facial, but I have gotten into a spat with every single facialist I've ever been to about whether or not I should have extractions. For those who are lucky enough not to know, extractions require a hook that pushes down into your pores and brings out whatever shit's been living down in there. Now, my personal opinion is if I'm paying you lots of money, I do not want to come out of the experience clawing at my reddened, sore face. Facialists, on the other hand, always sniff at my "no extractions, please" request and act like, well, it's your funeral if you want to keep that type of sorry, aging skin tone. And I have never had a facialist agree with my skin care regimen (WHICH MY DERMATOLOGIST PUT ME ON. suck it, bitches).

Anyways.

A body scrub should be fun. I haven't gotten one since having visited a Korean bathhouse. Those are, um, different - everyone walks around naked, there is water everywhere, and you get scrubbed down by women wearing bikinis and faces full of makeup. No happy endings to my knowledge.