My Third Eye Is Thoroughly Relaxed Now

Yes, a rough life, I know. First a Morrissey concert, then a day at the spa – a girl could get used to this.

I was finally able to renew a gift certificate I had left over from Christmas (yeah, I know that sounds really obnoxious….), at this little spa place right near the theater where I was all gooey and sentimental over Morrissey the previous night. I decided I would get something different from the usual massage or facial and indulge in a “Shirodhara Scalp Massage" along side a peppermint scrub pedicure.

Folks, I cannot say enough good things about this scalp massage thingy. Admittedly it’s a little new age-y, but it’s all good. First, they rub cool stones over your face – which feels a whole lot better than it sounds. Then they pour warm oil over the “third eye” on your forehead which feels every bit as new age-y as it sounds. But then the rubbing.

My God, the rubbing.

Then they rub your scalp for 45 minutes – the exact same way your mom did when you were a kid, which makes you all sleepy and relaxed and zen-like and able to ignore the fact that cool stones are occasionally re-applied to your face and that they're pouring warm oil over your head and that you’re in a spa paying for this rather than being 8 years old and having your actual mom rubbing your actual head.

At the end you emerge, as my head-rubber called me, as a “greaseball,” (because, after all, your hair has been virtually soaked in oil for 45 minutes) albeit a very relaxed, chilled out greaseball.

Worth every penny the gift card was spent on...it's enough to send a girl home singing "Girlfriend in a Coma" the whole way without even thinking of the fact that she's dripping oil onto her Old Navy t-shirt.

Panic on the Streets of....Denver?

If you’ve ever wondered what it might take to make 33-year-old Beth all giggly and school girlish, then all you have to do it take her to a Morrissey concert with her junior high co-hort Rena and there you’ll have it. He may be 48 and a bit gray at the temples, but he’s still got what it takes to make me giddy and weak in the knees.

Against an angsty backdrop of James Dean, urging the crowd to ‘be tender with him” due to the altitude, the Moz put on one hell of a show, including Smiths’ favorites like "Panic," "How Soon Is Now," and "Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want." It was all I could do to just stand there and grin like a maniac while clinging to my $7 beer. The encore sucked, but HEY, if you don’t leave a Morrissey concert feeling sad and angsty, what good is it, right?

I’m sorry folks, but there’s something very poignant and moving about a crowd of angst-ridden 30-year-olds screaming out “I AM HUMAN AND I NEED TO BE LOVED” at the top of their beer-soaked lungs. Growing up, Morrissey’s music spoke to me – and dare I say, actually saved my life - at times when I felt utterly alone; it was touching to hear him again in an entirely different time and place in my life. I recall journals of mine in college plastered with lyrics from Morrissey and the Smiths that still touch me. Being in a concert with hundreds of like-minded folks seemed downright therapeutic.

Anyhoo.....Good to reconnect with old friends over old music. I’m in Denver, by the way….

“Burn down the disco….hang the blessed DJ….because the music that they constantly play….sings nothing to me about my life….”

An Open Letter to the Hotel Diva in San Francisco

Dear Hotel Diva,

Um, hi. I’m not a diva by any standard – my people, the Danish, were brought up to believe that it’s just plain bad manners to raise a fuss about ANYTHING (including being in fire, trapped in a well, etc.), so I feel a little out of sorts by writing you in the first place. However, you’re the freakin’ HOTEL DIVA so I feel like we need to talk. I mean, look at those pictures of you - you're adorable. And while technically not incorrect, they're a little misleading.

For one, the fact that you have concert footage of Cher and Liza playing in the lobby (kitschy in its own right) isn’t enough to make you “diva-licious.” My room was smaller than my kitchen table and featured a “goody bag” that included deodorant and coupons for male body spray. Again, I hate to raise a fuss here, but you call those GOODIES? What self-respecting diva in her right mind is going to be wooed by some deodorant and a few sample pieces of Trident?

Girlfriend, do we need to also talk about the fact that my comforter (while soft) was grey on one side and then hunter-caliber ORANGE on the other? Is this diva-worthy? You’re telling me that Beyonce sleeps on sheets that are grey and orange? Methinks not.

Your concierge referred me and my guest to Max’s, which – while very conveniently located – felt to us like an upscale version of Perkins. Perkins. Which – don’t get me wrong – is fabulous when the situation calls for a bread bowl salad and a Chocolate Chipper, but when you’re staying at the HOTEL DIVA, it’s a bit of a bring down.

Finally, may I point out that my guest had a room with no air conditioning (What, a diva is supposed to sweat here?) and I was in a street-level room with a view of an alley. The glamour, shall we say, was a bit lax.

Look, I feel weird even bringing any of this up. But the fact that you pride yourself on being the HOTEL DIVA makes this letter all the more necessary.

Bring in some fluffy white down comforters, some air conditioners, a goodie bag that features at least something beyond COUPONS, free Wi-Fi for your guests and some rooms that are more than closet sized and we’ll talk again.

Until then –

Beth

No Napas Actually Taken in Napa 2007

Oh Jeez.

Okay, so I went to Napa and haven’t blogged about it in for-EVAH, okay? Sorry, World at Large. We ate yummy food, we stayed in an adorable yellow house, we basked in the 85 degree heat, we tried wineries that no one else has ever heard of – in short, it was a fabulous trip. I even got to shop for olive oil and schmancy cheese.

This was actually my third time to Napa Valley. The first was in my 24-year-old Chardonnay guzzling years, in which I couldn't drink anything anymore robust than a super-oak-y, fruity Chardonnay (hey, no compaints or judgement). The second being the Naked Mud Bath Experience Trip, in which I remember nothing except being naked in a mud bath and then this trip, in which I feel I've become enough of a respectable wine snob to know the difference between the varietals but remain cheap enough too not stray from what's offered at my neighborhood Trader Joe's. It's all good anyway you look at it.

Still, if you’ve never rocked out to Young MC’s “Bust a Move” while gazing upon endless fields of grapes then you’ve not done Napa properly, Amigos. There was the obligatory viewing of "Sideways", an educational tour at Mondavi that took roughly seven hours, several ongoing conversations about Why Beth Will Never Go Camping*, and more cheese and bread than you can shake a $24 Merlot-dipped stick at.

I returned home feeling rested, sun-baked and saturated in bold, full-bodied Cabs. Ain't a bad feeling.

** Look, smores and bonfires are cool and all, but I don't like peeing outdoors. I don't like sleeping outdoors. I don't like not showering. I don't like being that far from room service. I'm sorry, but I am NOT a happy camper.

An Open Letter to “Shut Up And Sing,” the Dixie Chicks Documentary

Dear Dixie Chicks Documentary,

Having recently spent what felt like an endless number of hours watching you, could you please explain to me how it is possible that a documentary such as yourself could be so dreadfully, painfully, mind-numbingly boring? You have rednecks versus liberals! You have freedom of speech issues! You have war protesters and death threats and Rick Rubin! You even have that inspiring “Not Ready To Make Nice” song that even I like as your soundtrack!

And yet, you waste half of yourself with extended footage of the Chicks in the studio, recording tracks, plinging their banjos, talking with producers – blah, blah, blah. There's a lot of footage of Nathalie Manes laying on various couches in recording studios with no makeup on, but she's never saying anything particularly articulate or motivating. In fact usually she's getting counselled by her PR advisors and tour managers about how to react - this is supposed to inspire me? Plus, you’re poorly organized – flipping back in time to 2003, then ahead to 2006, then back to 2005, then back again to 2003 – what is UP, Dixie Chicks Documentary?

I was so looking forward to spending some time with you and this is what I get for it?

Whatever,
Beth

Dispatches From The (Perhaps More Than) Friends of the Public Library Booksale

I’ve always fancied myself a book geek. I love reading, I love authors, I love libraries, I love words. Hell, I even love punctuation. And yet, after going to the Seattle Friends of the Library Book Sale this weekend, I’ve discovered a new culture of “book people” who have taken book love to a Whole ‘Nother Level.

For one, these folks come prepared. They plan ahead and bring giant suitcases and military-sized duffel bags and plastic milk crates and roll-y luggage carts to drag their book purchases around the shopping area. They shuffle slowly around the book tables because they’re nudging packed cardboard boxes of books in front of them with their feet while carrying additional packed boxes in their arms. These people buy in BULK. The $14 stack of books I came away with has got nothin’ on these folks. The people watching alone made this experience worthwhile.

God I love how nerdy Seattle is.

A couple days ago I got hit with a weird eye infection/allergic reaction thing where my eyes basically puffed up and weeped all day, making me look like I was having a nervous breakdown all day long. But I digress. The point is, I stayed home from work and found myself watching TV off and on throughout the day.

During which I saw a commercial for the new Volvo S80. The commercial features a woman walking to her car, late at night, alone, her 3-inch heels click-clicking their way to her reliable safe Volvo after a hard day of working at the local Swedish blond furniture factory. But then (cue creepy music), as she takes out her remote to unlock her Volvo during the dead of night, she notices the remote’s HEARTBEAT DETECTOR feature is blinking – i.e., Ax Murderer In The Car Alert! Ax Murderer In The Car Alert! - and she immediately turns around and scurries to safety.

So, this is good….I guess? Sort of? Engh? I think I just find the whole scenario rather terrifying – that so many people are being attacked by freakshows hiding out in their Volvos that they needed to design and market and install a remote control HEARTBEAT DETECTOR as part of your remote keyless entry systems. The world's a scary place - I'm glad Volvo's creating ways to keep us safe, but this just creeps me out because it's a threat and a danger I didn't really even pay attention to that regularly.

As Engadget noted last year, I’m glad I just have to deal with the regular homeless/crazy non-Volvo-lurking weirdos on my public transportation system rather than fighting them off in my own car.

Body Modification Alert

So maybe I’ve just be watching too much Miami Ink and developing way too much of a crush on Chris Nunez and Garver, but I’ve got the tattoo bug. BIG. TIME. No rash decisions yet, I’m just thinking about it and trying to psych myself up for actually taking the plunge.

I’m throwing around some ideas for what I want and trying to think of where to put it on my body. Right now I’m leaning towards the image of Jack Kerouac’s Underwood typewriter (worthy of a posting in itself), surrounded by Saucer Magnolia Blossoms (another post in itself). But where to put it on me where it will still be appropriate in a professional setting is the challenge.

Ideas? Suggestions? If you’ve gotten a tattoo in Seattle and liked the experience, let me know where you went and who you liked. Hell, if you’ve gotten ink anywhere and liked it let me know too in case I’m traveling somewhere and inspiration/madness hits me.

An Open Letter to MySpace

Myspace, are you intentionally trying to be difficult? Do you want me to stop and turn this Internet around and go back home? Do you, MySpace? Because I WILL.

All I want is a cute little background picture, maybe some cute little extra features, to customize my, well, my space, and it’s taking me hours to figure that out. Are there no good editing/customizing programs out there? Can no one make this an easier, more intuitive process? Seriously, MySpace, 12-year-olds have figured you out and I can’t? Is there a special invisible font that you employ that people over 30 can’t see somehow?

I was hoping to work with you as a nice compliment to the World of Beth, in the off chance I get organized and take more digital pictures to share with, well, the World of Beth. I was hoping to put up a nice playlist of songs I enjoy. I had lots of hopes and dreams for us, MySpace.

But right now I think you just need a time out. Just wait until your father gets home, MySpace, he’s going to have to have a word with you. For now, you’re officially grounded.

Ugh,
Beth

Food review: Strawberry Fusion Gum

One of the best perks of my job is that we have an incredibly well-stocked kitchen area, complete with drinks, snacks and a breath-taking (breath-saving?) assortment of mints and gum. You would think we were professional make-out artists what with all of the Altoids we have stocked in there.

But recently I’ve discovered, waaaaay in the back of the gum drawer (yes, we have a Gum Drawer and it is glorious), was a case of candy-coated Chicklet-ish yumminess which has become my latest guilty pleasure. Ladies and gentleman, I present to you Trident’s “Strawberry Fusion” sugar free gum!

This is the most complicated gum ever, and I like to think I’m a fairly smart person that knows her way around gum. First of all, there are two flavor sides to choose from – sweet versus sour. I’m not sure if you’re supposed to mix and match the flavors or what. Experiment with various degrees of each for your own flavor experience? Maybe. All I know is that I can’t cram the pieces of gum into my mouth fast enough. They taste like candy. They smell like candy. And they’re calorie free! They prevent cavities!

God only know how foul it is for my co-workers that have to sit near me, emitting strawberry fumes a la my Strawberry Shortcake dolls with every breath I take, but I cannot get enough of this stuff. The sour strawberry side is particularly delicious, although it is clearly laced with crack because I’m literally chomping away on it as I type this like a cow feasting on sweet Kentucky grass.

Mmmmmm....Mystery ingredient Xylitol……

Peepapalooza, Peeple!

Heads up, Peeps - there's been waaaay too much going on in the world of Peeps. 'Tis the season, I guess...

May I share a ball gown made of Peeps, as well as highlights from this year's Peepapalooza from the Seattle Times. I think "Ameri-Peep Gothic" is my favorite.

Then, not to be outdone, check out the official Peeps Website, (which truly never, ever disappoints) as well as pretty durned comprehensive site about the science behind Peeps. And, if you're especially brave, might I recommend the Lord of the Peeps site, which should really put us all in a Peep Coma.

Peeps out.

Eat my nail dust, Carmela Soprano

Sigh. Well, I went and got some fake nails yesterday. A "full set" as they call them. Given to me by a teensy tiny Vietnamese woman who had teensy tiny little hands. I felt like I had actual gigantic paws while she was holding my hand.

Anyhoo. I have mixed feelings about the nails. Look, they're tasteful. Really. They are. But still I feel a little Carmela Soprano meets Harvey Fierstein-esque. I have now become one of those women who needs to "get their nails done." On the flip side, that's why I wanted them to begin with. I liked the idea of getting more manicures and spending more time taking care of myself. Having these things make that a necessity. I wanted to be a little more girlie and princessy and somehow, as I passed the nail shop, it seemed this might be the best way to do that. Engh, we'll see.

On a related note, may I share how much joy it gave me when I asked two distinctly different people where I could find "a makeup organizer" and both of them instantly said, "Wait, you mean like a Caboodle?"

Yes, if you're interested, they still make and sell Caboodles and they are still fabulous. Just very odd to hear the word "Caboodle" said twice in one day.

I gotta go organize my Caboodle and tease my hair while I work on my Jersey accent.

Open Letter to Every. Single. Person. At the Northgate Target this weekend

Dear Every Single Person At the Northgate Target This Weekend,

First of all, let me be clear. This means you. Yes, you. All of you. Every single person that was there on Saturday. All of you.

PUT DOWN YOUR DAMNED CELL PHONES AND JUST START SHOPPING ALREADY. SOME OF US ARE AT TARGET TO, UM, ACTUALLY SHOP AT TARGET.

Thank you, that is all.

Cheerio,
Beth

P.S. Hi there, did anyone else notice they're selling Boot's goodies at Northgate now? Bring on the Eurotrashy skin care products and makeup! That was the only thing that saved my sanity among the cell phone toting masses.

P.P.S. Hi there, I see you still talking on your cell phone. HANG UP RIGHT NOW. ENOUGH ALREADY.

"You TAKE a nappa, you don't MOVE to Napa!"

Or, Carrie Bradshaw, in my case, you go to Napa for a three-day weekend with your girlfriends in just under a month. Looking forward to snarfing down cheese and wine at every meal, driving along lush country roads and reading trashy magazines while mocking celebrities.

God I love frequent flier miles. Thanks, Alaska Airlines, for making this trip possible!

My new roommate, Matt

There's a new BFF in the World of Beth, or, more specifically, the Apartment of Beth - which involves a floofy white smooshable new queen-sized pillowtop mattress from Sears.com. I LUUUURRVE it.

It is ginormous and high and fluffy and delicious and it makes me feel like a princess when I am sleeping on it. I have decided to name it Matt, which allows me to carry on my fantasty of someday actually sleeping with someone other than Mrs. Puff. Matt doesn't give me a backache like my old 10-year-old ghetto mattress did.

Matt and I are going to be alright. Our future will be bright, I feel it.

And speaking of hot new shows to check out... **

So.....The Riches on FX. Anyone? Bueller? Anyone at all?

First of all, thanks to the Alert Member of World of Beth that tipped me off to this show, and to the fact that Eddie Izzard is playing a suburban dad and that he looks actually kind of, well, manly and dad-like these days. File that in a gigantic file called "Who'd A Thunk It? (and/or Possible Signs of The Coming Apocalypse)."

I've had a bit of a perverse thing for Eddie Izzard for a while because he's very funny and he's very smart and he brings the two together brilliantly, but his whole cross dressing and lip gloss thing really limited how far my fantasies could progress with him. Let's face it, at its most wicked, my Eddie Izzard dream date consisted of my running into him at a cocktail party after I had sucked down a few too many dirty martinis and the two of us would get into an animated contest where we would make up increasingly snarky comments about the party's attendees. We would be deliciously bitchy together. Annnnnnd....that's about it. But I digress.....


Seriously, a suburban dad? I'm afraid there's just no room for me in that little fantasy world. As for the show, I'm more impressed so far with Minnie Driver. She really broke my heart in the scene where she came out of prison and was all alone and damaged-looking. Let's see how long it stays on the air and where it goes from here.

** Dude, my posts NEVER synch up like this, what's going on?

Speaking of Be-Spectacled Nerd Boys....

Engh! Engh! Hey! Engh! (Imagine Beth squirming and jumping up and down with her arm held high like Arnold Horschack) Hey! You! HEYYYYYY!! This! American! Life! It's coming to Showtime! As a SHOW! On the TELEVISION! Ira Glass in all of his nasally-toned silver throated glory - in person, in my living room.

Like my cable bill needs to be any larger...they go and throw a show like this up on a premium channel like Showtime. I'm hoping Netflix gets around to sharing the Ira-Glassiness of televised Ira Glass before I have to sell Mrs. Puff to Comcast as payment.

If anyone has checked this show out, let me know how it is or if I need to go to Chicago and stalk Ira to ask him myself.

Lobby, this one's for you

Yes folks, it’s a blog about Lobsters, sent to me by an Alert Member of the World of Beth. It's not the hilarious, gut-busting tome one might expect from Lobsters, but the book that started the whole thing to begin with seems interesting. Did I mention that my former office had a pet lobster that went to trade shows with us? Yeah, I guess that's something best shared with a very limited number of people. Anyhoo.....

If you’ve ever wanted to check out what the “PC” from those “I’m a Mac….and I’m a PC,” commercials for Apple might have to say to the world, might I suggest you check out John Hodgeman’s blog. He’s actually pretty hilarious on the Daily Show. Why I am just now learning about him? Do I sense a new be-spectacled nerd boy for me to develop an irrational crush on?

A (not so) Taxing Endeavor

I am feeling waaaay smug this evening because, for the first time in 33 years, I actually completed and filed my taxes All. By. Myself.

The fact that I normally go to H&R Block and pay someone upwards of $100 to file my EZ form for me has finally shamed me into behaving like a big girl and taking care of my very simple taxes. I tell you, for those of us single, dependent-free folks without multiple homes, vehicles or watercraft, extensive stock portfolios or complicated trust funds, taxes are downright simple!

Apparently, I am also due a nice little refund, which I’m hoping will not be immediately handed over to the IRS again when they audit me for filing my taxes completely incorrectly, but we’ll see. I’m going with the “Beth is hopefully smarter than the average bear” way of thinking and hoping I plugged in all of the data correctly. Fingers crossed….

Holy Handicapped Panda Action, Batman!

Oh yes, Loyal Readers, you can be assured I am ALL OVER this story.

May I just call out this sentence summarizing Niu Niu's woes? "Niu Niu's spirits have lifted, the wound has healed and her appetite has basically recovered. But without her left paw, her loss of balance has directly affected her love life," the paper said.

I just don't know what to say about that. I feel like Chandler in the episode of Friends where he's not allowed to mock anything and then bursts out in a mock-filled rage at the end about all of the ridiculous things that went on.

Handicapped pandas + articifical panda limbs + impact on panda sex = WAY TOO MUCH to handle before Beth has had her morning coffee.