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This Is No Way to Get a Crick in Your Neck

For those of you not from Northeastern Ohio or Western Pennsylvania, a crick is either a small stream where you can wade with your pant legs rolled up hunting  for crawdads, making Tom Sawyer and Becky look like preppy Archie and Veronica, or it’s an equally Midwestern condition that lies somewhere between a pulled muscle and a nerve that is being obnoxious.

I refer to the latter.

If you look up What is a crick in the neck you’ll learn that there’s something called cervical radiculopathy, which must be what I have because how I got this is radiculous.  I won’t swear to it, but I think I got it from letting a Vietnamese stranger give me a neck massage in a Dallas nail salon. (more…)

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Getting Real With the Vacation Spa

Once again I allowed my unrealistic expectations to get the best of me. On a cruise with three other women, I thought going to the on-ship spa and salon would be like a scene from a 1940s movie. You know, the one where the rich socialite is being pampered in a spa while talking with her girlfriends on the nearby tables. They say dahling a lot. This was going to be great.

“Let’s get manicures!” someone said.

“Can I get a massage? I want a massage. And a margarita,” someone else said. “A massage at the same time as a margarita.”

“I always thought that if I could get a facial from a woman in a white lab coat with sitar music playing in the background, I would gladly die happy shortly afterward,” someone else said.

“We’re getting it all,” I said. “We’re getting facials, we’re getting manicures, we’re getting pedicures, we’re getting hot stones on our backs and cucumbers on our eyelids,” I said. I was picturing every black-and-white film I saw on the Nine O’Clock Movie when I was a kid.

And then I went to the appointment desk to arrange that little slice of nirvana. That’s where I learned the first rule of going to a spa when you’re on vacation. (more…)

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