What's more, they are pretty darn fun. I woke up this morning with a sore throat from all the laughing.
After an average performance at a rural 5K (my fifth race in less than two weeks; I'm breaking for the rest of July), I met Yang to collect on my birthday present: brunch at Pizza Luce followed by a pamper-my-calloused-runner-girl-feet pedicure at the new salon downtown.
Y'all already know I'm not much of a girly girl. I've never quite figured out hair or makeup or any of that stuff. My new sexy pixie takes 30 seconds to "do" - brush a dollop of pomade through, done. After that, I smudge on a little eyeliner, follow it up with Berry Blistex and I'm out the door.
Yang doesn't even bother with the Blistex. That's part of the reason this was such a surprising gift.
The other element that made the pedi-present an outright shocker is that Yang WANTED TO GET ONE TOO.
Yeah. This is the woman who used to be able to peel BANANAS with her freakishly long toes.
The salon was nice. We were welcomed in by a small, cute Asian man.
"Would you like anything to drink while we work?" he asked.
Yang paused. You see, this salon had been recommended to us by Yang's roller derby pal, Red, for one reason ...
"You get to drink wine there!" she had gushed at a recent happy hour. "They offer you WINE, not just tea of coffee!"
"What, um, do you have?" Yang asked, not wanting to be the one to suggest wine at in the afternoon.
"Water, coffee, tea, wine ..."
"Wine," said Yang and I in unison. C'mon, people. This was my birthday treat!
He went to fetch our drinks, and we set to work choosing our colors.
Our selections reflected two very separate and distinct personality types.
Generous pours of inexpensive chardonnay in hand, we sat.
The chairs had a massage function, but it was WAY more than the simple vibrations you've probably experienced. Two metal fists pressed, pushed and outright PUNCHED their way down my shoulders and back, even working their way down and giving my thighs a squeeze.
"It looks like it's beating you up," commented my aesthetician.
"It feels great," I said. And it did. I pushed the button for a second pummeling.
Yang's aesthetician, an older momish lady, picked up the barely-pink shell color she had selected and scoffed a little.
"BO-RING," she said. "You should do some color. How about hot pink?"
"No," Yang quickly replied. "I'm not really a hot pink person. Uh, maybe red."
"True red," I suggested. "It matches every car you've ever owned, and fair people can pull it off."
"Okay," agreed Yang, who shot me a look of such uncertainty anyone else in observation would have guessed she was being led down the gauntlet.
The aesthetician sensed her hesitation.
"It's not a tattoo," she said. "It will come off."
The combination of the footwork, wine and punching chair were sending me down a path of complete relaxation. A smile crept across my face, not dissimilar to the one I get at the dentist once the nitrous starts to kick in.
Ahhhh ...
Yang woke me from my reverie, pointing down at her feet.
"Grizzly is going to be shocked," she said, referring to her woodsy, socks-with-mandals boyfriend.
"They look great!" I said. And they did.
The finished products:
Back at home, I lifted weights and did a little more studying (My Group Fitness Instructor certification test is a week from yesterday). I made a quick stop at the office before heading over to the home of Yin's sister, Guitar Girl.
The plan for the evening was to eat some healthy snacks and play some Wii games. We do this sort of thing with some regularity, playing board games, video games and/or organized sports like softball or flag football. Occasionally, as Yin and I are both wannabe gourmets, we'll throw a competitive cooking element into the mix. I love this sort of thing. I still enjoy going out-out on the weekend, but one evening a month of that scene is about enough for me. As I've gotten older (and wiser), a low-key night in with friends is much more appealing.
We broke out the Guitar Hero and formed the band. Maurey of the Amazing Lung Capacity and Attention Complex led the singing to start. Now, I know it sounds HORRENDOUS, but I can match pitch pretty well, and I don't lose my wind, even on stuff like "Roxanne" and "Livin' on a Prayer" (that last number was for you, Freckles). I think this was taken during "One Way or Another."
After a bit, we mixed it up. I LOVED the drums.
Next up was Singstar - super fun because you see the old videos while you sing along. "Material Girl." "Son of a Preacher Man." "Unskinny Bop." And, most frighteningly, "What's New Pussycat?"
I beat everyone head-to-head except Guitar Man - and it should be noted he BARELY edged me out. Hmph!
Then, Cue tried to sing.
We all KNOW Cue can't sing. His rendition of "Birthday" for Yin's 21st, all those years ago, is the stuff of legend. He redefines what it means to be tone deaf. It's JUST AWFUL. And for the rest of us, JUST UPROARIOUS.
What's more, he messes up the WORDS.
"Once I had a love, and it was gas ..."
