On the price of pain..

It would appear I've been a bit MIA from blogging as of late. Though I managed to blog during my work travel, it was amazing how the demands of April office life left me exhausted at day's end. And, really, there hasn't been a ton going on in my life outside of long days and job searching for my upcoming move to NC. Any energy I do have at the end of the day is spent browsing roughly 25 bookmarked sites so I may join my beloved as he takes on a hard earned, much deserved journey into the world of graduate school.

No job to speak of yet; not even an interview scheduled, though I've had a couple of conversations with potential employers that allow me to keep my chin up. That's worth something I suppose.

I have a big week coming up, but in a good way. Having fully succumbed to the world of Springsteen obsession, I'm seeing my third E Street show in 6 months on Wednesday night in Charlottesville. The timing of the show was quite delicate workwise, as May 1 is essentially the Black Friday of my field, but as long as I'm accessible via phone, I was granted time out of the office to indulge. I can't wait.

So I made a deal with myself about a week and a half ago in preparation for the time off. I told myself if I could hold off from biting my nails, I could treat myself to a manicure/pedicure. After all, the weather is getting warmer, and even I could see that the only way the world should have to endure my feet is with professional treatment.

Some people will tell you that once you get a mani/pedi, you never go back to "do it yourself" nail care. As my ability to do my nails is akin to a 2 year old with finger paints, the do it yourself option has never worked for me. And, usually, a manicure/pedicure really is an awesome indulgence. But, the thing is, I've never been so good at spending money on personal maintenance. I let my hair grow to states of damage until I get a trim, so you can bet that $40 on fingernails and toenails doesn't make it into my regular budget either. Plus, I bite my nails. I can't stop.

So I attempted a jog this morning on one of my favorite trails, came home to shower and headed out to try a local nails establishment. Of course, I managed to get a couple of blisters on my somewhat successful jog, so I knew a pedicure wasn't the best idea, but I forged ahead just the same.

I arrived and was tended to right away. The woman talked me into a "spa pedicure" for the added benefit of her rubbing two very fragrant sea saltish/mask-ish treatments on my lower legs and "massaging them". Felt like there was a lot more leg slapping going on than massaging, but what do I know.

Long story short, the woman made me bleed. She went to town on the backs of my heels - buff, buff, buff, bleed. No apology, no bandaid, she just asked "Does it hurt?" a couple of times between her endless "Does that feel good?"

Why was this situation seeming so creepy to me? Ooooooh yeeeeeeeeaah. Shudder. Ok. Anyway.

She also managed to completely offend me. I'm in the chair preparing for my leg beating maybe 45 seconds when she asks if I want an eyebrow wax. "Oh, no thanks," I smiled. I pluck as needed and don't fret on my eyebrows much. I don't have a unibrow so I figure I'm at least partially ahead of the game. "Oh no, you want one," she responded. I looked at her questioningly, my apparently disgusting eyebrows slanting down, hurt and full of protest. "No, really, I'm ok." "Really?" She went on and on to describe why I needed one. I listened politely, but did not agree to it.

I slid my way over to the manicure station to begin that portion of the experience. At that point, I must have been in there 45 minutes. I was bleeding and I was left to feel as if my eyebrows were the before shot in a makeover show. All that did was leave me wishing someone would nominate me for What Not to Wear so Nick, Carmindy, Stacy and Clinton can set me straight once and for all. And I would only trust Carmindy with wax to my eye. Let's be clear on that.

I picked a light pink polish for my toes and fingers. Boring, I know, but I still have to be Ms. Professional for my cornucopia of meetings that must be endured. "Do you like the color?" "Yes, it matches my watch!" I giggled. "Yes," she smiled, "and your skin too!"

Pardon me, but wtf people? You've made me bleed and you've led me to believe I have bush animals in my eyebrows. Now, apparently, I have pink skin? Oh, pardon me. I must be flush from the PAIN YOU'VE LEFT ME IN BECAUSE I'M BLEEDING BUT YOU DON'T CARE AND WON'T GIVE ME A BANDAID.

She finished up the experience by clipping a couple of my fingers.. yes, more blood. Honestly, did I really just pay for this experience?

Granted, everything looks great (minus the bandaid on the heel) and she clearly couldn't have done more with my feet once they started to bleed (and I can only hold in that dog leg kick for so long when they're messing with my feet). Still, I left physically and emotionally scarred from the experience. All to look just a little more put together. Just a little more "polished". Pardon the pun.

And yet, it wasn't enough. How about an eyebrow wax? At least she didn't point me toward their eyelash extension special, which some of the other women were informed of, and one even talked into. Yes, eyelash extensions. Well, actually, the sign read "Eyeslash extensions (darker and longer eyeslashes) very beautiful!" so perhaps it's not what I think it is.

Still, how did we get here? At the risk of sounding militant, how much more do we need to be pushed to work against what nature gave us? As she sea salted and beat the crap out of my legs, I realized I'd applied my self-tanner just an hour before - was this going to work against my efforts to look less pale? It left me realizing that maybe it's not just the money that keeps me out of these places on a regular basis. Media has me convinced I'm already flawed. I don't need to pay for the experience on a regular basis, and be told by a 90 pound woman that what I really need is an eyebrow wax.

Then again,no one asked me if I wanted an upper lip wax. The same can't be said for the woman sitting next to me. I'll take that small victory for now.