We checked in and went to our room which had a HUGE hot tub in the room. That was a nice start. Being six-foot four and 250 pounds, my usual routine of sitting in the tub with a 6pack of Coors Light tall boys isn't usually very satisfying. A big ole hot tub seemed pretty sweet so I already felt the trip was a success. After checking for the bible (none) and seeing what kind of coffee was available (crappy), we headed down for our mud bath.
Calistoga has a geyser and a natural hot springs. All the water in the place is powered by said hot springs. Pretty neat. However, such natural amenities are usually powered by sulfur which smells like a cow-shit/rotten egg milkshake. So as we stripped down and went into our private mud room, I saw what looked like a giant "L" shaped tub of shit with the accompanying smell. What the hell, you only live once so into the drink I went.
It was actually kind of neat and very hot. I closed my eyes and it felt like I was one with the mud. Very relaxing in a weird, everything-your-mom-said-not-to-ever-do kind of way. My wife however, couldn't quit squirming around and that was annoying. It's bad enough sitting in a tub of hot mud but when the person at your feet is like a 4 year old at a movie, it's a drag.
After we rinsed off, we got wrapped up in cozy blankets and they locked us in a dark room. It felt like preschool nap time and I conked out immediately. Although the back of my mind was plagued with who my massager would be. I decided it's not right to kill the massager (ohhh SNAP!) so I let it go. Soon our guide came in and said it was massage time.
As we waited in the hallway, a tall nurse looking gal and a short, portly, could be Ron Jeremy's brother guy in a pony tail approached. I looked at my wife and smiled. "Heh heh...your masseur looks freaky. Have fun!" But sure enough, per my usual luck, I get a chubby hand in mine and a nasally plugged voice says, "I'm Son-Bear, I'll be your masseur today." Perfect. We had asked for a female masseuse for me but...whatever.
The massage was O.K. I was pretty knotty (not naughty, dick) but as an eternally smart-assed guy, the sound of lotion being squeezed into a hand is cause for an automatic Beavis & Butthead type moment. I stifled my laugh and eventually realized *I'M* not rubbing on *HIM*, it's the other way around and I'm fairly certain that sucks more for him than for me. When it was all over I felt so-so and went to take a nap.
When I woke up my neck and shoulders were pinched to no end and they still are today...a day and a half later. Isn't that exactly what's NOT supposed to happen? I even sat in the hot tub watching Bruce Springsteen: Live in New York which was on PBS. That's a LONG show and my neck still hurts. Ugh, annoying. I can't say I'd never get another massage, but it wasn't everything I had hoped for. At least there was no happy ending from Ron-Bear.
No comments:
Post a Comment