Posted by jessica on Feb 4, 2010 with
35 Comments
in
Funny Stuff,
Loved Ones,
Thoughts and Feelings
as
A. So,
Appleton Road,
carton of milk,
cereal milk,
Chick-Fil-,
Claus,
day,
fairy,
getting a divorce,
kind,
milk,
morning cereal,
rap
Oh my gosh, I wrote a song that’s kind of like a rap.
And yes, my goodness YES, you can laugh.
But okay, now that was enough laughing.
I haven’t played it for anyone yet, but wow, I have a good time playing it for myself. I was driving in the car and thinking about how much I hate to feel used and it just sort of happened.
You know, rap happens.
And if you ever doubted that there were certain things you could do in your life, maybe you should think about me and how not only did I just write a rap, I’m also getting a divorce, and those are two things I never thought I’d attach to my name.
So yeah, you can do it. Whatever it is, you can do it.
I know, I should totally be a motivational speaker.
And now onto something a little more magical. A little more lovely. A little more winged.
In theory, at least.
I’m talking about my pop, the guy I affectionately refer to around here as the Milk Fairy. Because, I don’t know how he does it, but we never run out of milk. Ever. Seriously, it will be 2am and I will notice that the carton has maybe two inches of milk left, which is certainly low for the morning cereal rush.
But without fail, there is always a brand new carton of milk in the morning and all of us get to start the day with a belly full of milk. Even the cats, since they usually get to drink the last of our cereal milk.
In addition to the butter that they lick, of course.
But the Milk Fairy. He’s real, and he lives on Appleton Road and I don’t mind reaping the benefits of living with him one bit.
I wonder if we should attach some kind of holiday to this Milk Fairy. Kind of like how Christmas is big business for Santa Claus and he gets all that nice PR between Thanksgiving and December 25th. I wonder if, like Santa, the Milk Fairy would be able to make good and sure that once a year, every kitchen was stocked with milk before the first one rises in the home? You know, for just one day. Santa does it. Or something like it, anyway. Can’t be too hard, right?
But Milk Day just doesn’t sound so interesting. Not unless you’re a cow and you’d sort of like to lose all that water (milk) weight anyway; you’d like to fit into your size 6 dress for that next photo shoot for Chick-Fil-A. So I guess that’s supposing you’re a cow model. Ooh, fancy. What a life.
But instead of Milk Day, cause yawn, how about Las Leche?
That’s kind of sexy.
Oops, my friend just told me that he didn’t think people should use that word cavalierly. But what about if I use it to describe the holiday ascribed to the Milk Fairy? Is that less inappropriate? Which is my awkward way of asking if it’s appropriate.
I’m gonna say sure. Cause it’s late and I visited my cats tonight who are no longer my cats and that’s a bitter little pill to swallow so heck, I’m gonna say that my title for a holiday that I just made up is sexy.
Okay?
Okay.
Posted by jessica on Aug 25, 2009 with
No Comments
in
photography,
Thoughts and Feelings
as
beauty treatments,
buckwheat noodles,
Dixon,
dressing area,
fish,
foot,
half,
Japan,
kimono,
milk,
N Shake,
naked,
on sen,
outstretched,
theater/tour,
time,
whole milk
I think that I just drank whole milk in my cereal for the first time in a long time. I cannot be absolutely positive, but it seemed thicker in substance. The only thing I can be sure of in the case of this milk is that it is indeed
“the milk that is milked”
because that is the only English on the whole carton.
Good to know.
I certainly wouldn’t want to be caught drinking milk that was not milked!
After having a pretty good matinee today, a group of us decided to visit the Japanese on sen, also known as the baths.
But this place wasn’t just baths, believe me. It was food and shops and massages and beauty treatments (they had half and whole–I was very curious to find out what treatment left you looking only half beautiful. And uh, which half, for that matter!?).
Upon entering, you immediately remove your shoes and get to pick out your kimono of choice. Of course I wanted the one that turned out to be the child’s pick. Oops. The lady then pointed out the kimono’s in Large that would be appropriate for the American beast that I am. I tried to motion to her that they might be too wide for me, but she just kept motioning with her arm outstretched above her head to tell me that I was tall.
That I was large.
Fine, I thought, hand it over.
And I took my large kimono and went to the women’s dressing area.
And was transformed.

Uh, I hope it wasn’t too racist to put my fingers up like that, but see I couldn’t help but flash back to the time I was Lead Chinese in The Nutcracker and well, that was how we bowed. I know, I know,
Japanese is not
Chinese, but still, it
is Asian right?
Since we were all ravenously hungry, we ate first. Unfortunately, I had to order two dinners. And no, not to live up to my large kimono. Rather, the first dinner was completely busted, and so after offering all of it up as free game to my friends, I tried again and landed something much more palatable.
You usually can’t go wrong with a bowl of steaming buckwheat noodles in a plain broth.
Rules to live by in Japan.
Then we stayed in the co-ed area (which means you get to leave your kimono
on) and walked the foot baths for a while.

There were these rocks that were supposed to massage your feet, but really they just reminded me of walking on my parents’ gravel lane without shoes on. Since I lived there and basically did that all the time, I was pretty used to the feeling. Not so much with my friends.

And while we were waiting for the next main attraction, we sat down for a bit and just enjoyed the beauty of the night air and our feet in the warm water.

But finally here was what we were all waiting for.
The pedicure with a twist.
We went into a special foot bath armed with many tiny piranha-like fish whose one job was to eat off the dead skin from your feet.
No lie.
I will admit that the first one to start eating my foot gave me a fright and I inadvertently kicked him off, poor little guy. I mean, he was just doing his job. But really, it’s just not natural to allow your feet to be eaten.
But then it felt kind of good.
And after I stopped kicking, a few more fishies tested this latest feast.

But then?
Well, suddenly my feet became the latest Steak N Shake to open below the Mason-Dixon line and these fish were hungry. Trucker hungry. Super-size me, hungry.

And literally, my feet were covered in swarms of them. Not even just my feet, either; these suckers (literally!) were climbing right up to my calves to get some decent dead skin to eat.

Oh, and the jokes were hilarious.
Jess, you should try moisturizing every once in a while!
Hardy har har, guys. As if I don’t live my life hating the time it takes to slather my entire body in moisturizer every single day.
Jess, you ever heard of a loofah?
Well, no. Is that some Japanese ninja tool?

But really, it was so cool. And it felt really good. And my feet and calves are now silky smooth, thanks to those crazy fishies.
And then, well, we went to the baths which were separated by sex and it was time to get naked.
Yeah, there are no pictures…
Let’s just say it really was relaxing, but of course kind of strange. It’s just not part of the American culture to all get naked together and act like it’s nothing.
Still we did our best to pretend.
Plus, it helped that we all share a dressing room for the most part, anyway!
And then, once we were fed, bathed, and our dead skin had been eaten off, we were ready for our massages, respectively.

It was an hour.
Of pure bliss.
And some pain when he found the parts of me that really hurt.
But a good pain.
And the best part? He didn’t speak a word of English, so couldn’t even attempt to make conversation with me.
Which brings me right back to being home again, in my hotel room, drinking milk that is milked, which you already know all about anyway.