you want to bathe socially?

this conversation JUST happened. frankly, i'm impressed they stayed on the phone that long; though, by that point we both had something to prove!

overly bubbly unknown female on phone: hi there and thank you for calling The Pamper House- this is Kelly! how can i help you?
Sarah: hi there Kelly. I wanted to have a spa day with my fiance and I had a couple questions.
Kelly: your fiance?
Sarah: Yes. It's his birthday weekend and I had some questions.
Kelly: Like a guy? A male?
Sarah: Yes Kelly, my fiance is a guy.
Kelly: Ok, that's a strange present.
Sarah: I don't take your meaning- but could you answer a couple questions?
Kelly: Yes ma'am. What can I help you with today?
Sarah: First, do you offer couples massages, and second, are the wet areas for men and women separate or together?
Kelly: What?
Sarah: First, do you offer couples massages?
Kelly: You want to massage him?
Sarah: No! I want us both to get massages, but I wondered if you offered them together, in the same room? You know- a couples massage.
Kelly: No. (sounding decidedly confused) No ma'am. We don't do anything like that.
Sarah: Oh darn it. (I said that- the Texas hick thing is wearing off on me- or more likely, bringing out my inner hick). Well a girl can hope. So what about the wet areas?
Kelly: Wet areas?
Sarah: Yeah, are they separate? Or joint? Because I don't want to spend the day there is they are separate.
Kelly: The day here? I don't understand ma'am.
Sarah: Well not all day, but a couple hours. You know, you're working at a "day spa."
Kelly: We don't have any wet areas.

silence from me.....
silence continues.....

Kelly: Ma'am? Are you there?
Sarah: How are there no wet areas?
Kelly: Well there are bathrooms. And wet-ish areas for the rubs and wraps. But those are completely private.
Sarah: But the spas? They're wet aren't they?
Kelly: We are a spa ma'am. But we have no wet areas.
Sarah: How can that be?
Kelly: Ma'am, I'm going to get my manager.

waiting........

Manager: Hi there, Kelly tells me you had some questions for you and your fiance??
Sarah: Hi I was wondering about your wet areas.
Manager: EXCUSE ME?!!
Sarah: Wet areas. The hot and cold tubs, the saunas and steam rooms. Are they separate for men and women?
Manager: We don't have anything like that here.
Sarah: What? I thought this was a spa.
Manager: This is a spa, but we don't offer anything like that.
Sarah: You don't offer any wet areas? None at all?
Manager: That's correct miss.
Sarah: But you call yourself a spa? I'm sorry, I'm finding this confusing.
Manager: Miss, we offer a wide range of facials, manicures, eyelash and eyebrow tinting, even belly button candling.
Sarah: Belly button candling? You offer belly button candling and you don't have a hot tub?
Manager: Why on earth would we have a hot tub?
Sarah: Because you're a spa! The very definition is built on the idea of social bathing. You know- healing waters and all that jazz? You can't call yourself a spa and then ignore the very meaning of the word! That's like opening a pizza shop, only selling sushi, and justifying it by saying that the sushi is also food. It doesn't work that way- you can't just change the meaning of a word to make yourself sound posh or trendy.
Manager: You want to bathe socially with your fiance? I'm sorry, we are not that type of establishment.

AND SHE HUNG UP

I called seven other "spas" in town. None of them had "wet areas" either. In short, they were Salons that offered massages.

In the meantime, I'm left pining for our last spa day together at Themae Bath Spa in Bath, England. You know, where they speak English correctly, where spas have water in them, and they only offer 2, 4 or all day packages!

inconceivable!

let's start at the beginning shall we? because, it's all retarded, and long and apparently extremely funny- considering my sister was literally in stitches when i poured out the saga of my last week to her

Alright, facts first: I knew about the mosquitos here. Let's get that part straight. I know that I am the human equivalent of a delicious chocolate cake to the entire insect world. I always have been. I accepted long ago that only a near fatal dousing of insect repellant each and every time I exit the house will prevent me from being covered. It will not prevent them from biting, but it will lessen it. 

So when I began my epic battle with the yard, I took precautions. 

The goal: De-strangle my trees (about ten) and the rock walls from the english ivy. (English ivy is like kudzu for those who haven't dealt with it before)

I suited up. Bright pink galoshes. Weedeater. Safety glasses. Big thick blue rubber gloves. Application of entire bottle of lethal bug spray. I hacked. I pulled. I ripped that shit down. I freed an entire tree and the majority of the rock walls. 

I was triumphant! I showed that yard who's boss! Or so I thought. But it appears, that my yard doesn't play fair. The next morning, an unmistakeable huge patch of poison oak, or poison sumac, or poison ivy has appeared on my leg. 

I spend the day plotting to fire bomb the yard in retaliation, and scratching. And getting yelled at by Mark for scratching. 

Next morning. Nearly ONE HUNDRED bright red dots. All around the poison oak and around the back of my knee and all over the back of the other leg and up my arms and just everywhere. It itches like, well, I can't actually imagine anything else bad enough to compare it to. So take my word for it, it was bad. B-A-D. Like christening on Christmas bad. And while I must admit it was well played by the yard for tapping into my serious susceptibility to the stuff, I'm a complete mess. I look like a plague victim.

Fast forward eight hours. Around 5pm, I find a FLEA! And suddenly, it all clicks into place. I've laid it out below so you can follow along:

• I treated the dogs when we got here- one month treatment
• We didn't know the house had fleas from the evil cats the previous owners left inside
• The medicine wore off last week, and the dogs got infested
• I noticed the dogs scratching, and treated them the same day I attacked the yard
• That night Kora slept curled by my legs, against the back of my legs

Here's what I didn't know. If you treat your animals, and there's an infestation- the fleas will jump species to survive. When the dogs became toxic so they jumped to the humans.

Let's insert Carolyne's question now: "Wait, so is Mark covered too?"

Oh, my friends! I'm SO glad you asked. 

Mark has not a single spot. No poison oak. No flea bites. Not even a mosquito bite. And he hasn't been using bug spray. 

So, frantically itching that night, I happen to read online that having high quantities of yeast makes you undesirable to bugs. Which is when it suddenly makes sense; see, Mark loves this stuff called MARMITE. It's yeast extract. I can't compare it to anything else because it just tastes weird. It's unlike any other taste out there. So when those hungry fleas realized the dogs were toxic, they looked around, and they saw a yucky marmite man, and a human chocolate cake. And who doesn't like cake?

Anyway, he's been eating marmite on toast and had mentioned he thought it might help with the bug bites earlier. But I'd disregarded it, because not being desirable to bugs wasn't my goal. My goal was to not get poison oak. And poison oak doesn't care what I taste like. 

Next morning, Mark's on a conference call. I'm itching like crazy, everywhere, there's even one in my ear. So I take the plunge, I'm having marmite. I make toast. I get the jar out.

It should be mentioned here that this stuff is VERY potent. It's like horseradish or wasabi. You take it in extremely small quantities. It should also be noted that I have never had marmite on toast before, nor seen it made.

I open the jar. I slather my toast in it. I figured it was like jam, and applied it as such. But then, just in case, I WALKED INTO THE OFFICE AND ASKED MARK, "IS THIS ENOUGH?"

He looks up. He's on the phone. He looks at the marmite saturated piece of toast in my hand. And he says, "IT'S FINE"

Let's be clear. I've placed a two month allotment of a wasabi-like substance on a single piece of toast and he just okayed it for me to ingest.

So I begin. My eyes water. I start to gag. It's the single most vile piece of toast ever. But I soldier on, because I have to. Because I cannot be the only thing in the entire house that is edible to flea. At this point, Mark's call ends. And he looks over at me, watches me gag, and says, "Oh my god, that's way too much!"

I contain the puking feeling. I swallow. I look at him. At which point the following conversation happens:

Sarah: I ASKED you if it was ok! You told me it was fine!

Mark: I was on the phone. 

Sarah: But you answered! 

Mark: Yeah, but I don't listen when I'm on the phone. Because I'm ON THE PHONE

Sarah: Then say, not now, I'm on the phone. But don't answer me! That's unbelievable. What if I'd asked you if I should drive a nail in my head?

Mark: That's retarded. You didn't ask that.

Sarah: How do you know? You just said you don't listen. I can't believe you.

Mark: You probably needed that much though. 

Sarah: That doesn't make it better. I nearly died just now.

Mark: I was helping you.

Sarah: You're impossible. 

Oh- and for those who are wondering. The house has been bombed. The house has been vacuumed. The dogs were contact sprayed. Then they were shampooed. Throughly. Which no one was pleased over. Then they were re-treated. Then I spot treated my car. The couch. The beds. The closets. And all dog beds. Just for good measure. Today, I think I don't have any new bites AND the dogs aren't itching like crazy. Win. Win. Except for the yard and the marmite bit. That part still sucks.

they can run 40 mph?

I have a new terror. It blows the cajun eater out of the water. Literally. Well, technically, I think it would drag them into the water. But let's not get bogged down in semantics. The fact remains that I've found something new, and much more rational to be afraid of. (Which makes it worse by the way).

ALLIGATORS!!!!

They're here. They're real. And the associated facts are making me oh so glad that there isn't a body of water near me that I can't see the bottom of. Though I'm now paranoid about the stupidly deep storm drains here. I mean, I get it- I've experienced the crazy rain that occurs here and makes them necessary, but that doesn't stop me from thinking of IT and that crazy clown every time I pass. Or an alligator. In fact, I'm now afraid to walk past them for fear a alligator with clown arms will reach out and grab my leg. 

So I guess I'm afraid of two things now. Alligators and storm drains. 

It's been established in other blogs that the internet is a terrible source of too much information that can make a paranoid person like myself riddled with silly fears all the time. However, for once, it has proved helpful. Fun fact? Alligator eyes glow in the dark. Well, if you shine a light on them, they will glow. Red for adults, green for the kiddos. So, flashlight up people. It's important! Because these prehistoric leftovers from a previous ice age can run! Well, sprint. But sprint crazy fast- which is much faster than even a motivated and fit individual like myself can muster. They can get up to 40 mph in a straight line. 

Let's think about that fact shall we? That means, that if you were being chased by an alligator and got in your car, you'd need to break the speed limit just to outrun them. Because the speed limit in a park/swamp recreational area is going to be less than 40. But more importantly, could you even outrun them to your car? I couldn't. Which makes that straight line bit important. Our strategy here is to zip and then zag. Because it'll be the only thing that lets you outdistance it! 

More importantly, the fastest animal is a cheetah, well, fastest mammal. They can run at 70mph. So alligators are half as agile as cheetahs. Insane! Granted, they lose in a long distance competition, but it's of no matter if they've overtaken their prey in the first 20 feet!

*This sign found in at the Great Trinity Forest in Dallas

Since I know you're itching for some more fun facts- here you go-

• Each year airplanes in America collide with an average of one alligator a year.....on runways.
• Alligators are only present in two countries- China and the US. 
• The Chinese alligator is endangered and rarely exceeds 7 feet
• the US alligator has reached lengths of 19 feet. Meaning some can leap nearly ten feet. If they weren't so grumpy we should enter them in the Olympics!

the stepford wives

we've unpacked. we've de-swamped the pool. we've replaced approximately one million light bulbs. we confirmed the pups could swim (even Hercules). we installed cameras and a security system. we've cut down the low limbs on the trees. we are officially settling in.
it's exhausting by the way. just in case you were considering moving; i recommend it about as highly as a root canal. or a bar fight.
in the hopes of embracing the "weather" i have been talking the dogs on daily walks around the neighborhood. hercules hasn't yet found it in his heart to forgive me for these excursions. (weather is my kindly reference to the humidity, the rain, the lighting storms, and the texas sized mosquitos). along the way, i've inadvertently learned a lot about my neighbors.
they are extremely nice. i need to stress that first.
that said-
i think i've met them all. they've run out of their houses, stopped their cars in the middle of the road, stopped by our house or actually walked along with us.
this seems a bit mental to me. after five years in a very friendly neighborhood in las vegas i was proud of the fact that i knew the names of six of my neighbors. i considered it a supreme breakthrough when some of them purchased christmas presents for the pups, and the fact that i was welcomed into their homes for easter?? well, it was almost unheard of.
already here i know nearly everyone. I've heard the latest gossip- including how the guy down the lane traded down to his maserati (it's yellow, i've seen it). i have cell phone numbers. and home numbers. we've been invited to box seats for the Rangers games. we've been asked to speak as a guest at the local school. we've received bottles of wine and plates of cookies welcoming us to the neighborhood.

it's as if i'm posed to become a stepford wife.
seriously. it's more than a bit surreal.
i've been invited to join the ladies book club. the monthly breakfast's. the pilates classes. all for the "wives"
i've been asked repeatedly, "are you a stay at home mom?"
Mark has repeatedly been asked to go golfing with the "men" though his disdain for chasing a tiny ball around a field with a stick seems to have effectively stifled further requests.

the crazy thing? i'm excited- domestic skills be damned!
who cares that just this morning i burned the ever loving piss out of my finger with a glue gun? or that my lemon pound cake cemented half of itself to the pan yesterday? the fact that i can't ice a cupcake to save my life- it's of no matter!
because i'm a social person at heart, and i'm bursting at the opportunity to become a stepford wife!