Sunday, November 9, 2008

Every time I come home from a beachy-type holiday, I look like this. Within five minutes of walking in the door I realise that my toe ring is giving me a callus, my anklet is catching on my fat pants, and my hair which was formerly windswept by the salty air is now manky from the Brisbane smog, and life goes back to normal.

Well, not fully back to normal. I still have to make the return to work tomorrow and it will be highly sucky, I am sure.

Thirty second wrap up!

Good flights, ocean rafting, snorkelling, fish and coral, beautiful beaches, catamarans and a ferry, Hamilton, Daydream and Long Islands, eating, eating and more eating, massage from hell, cocktails, cocktails and more cocktails, lots of sunshine, my dirty tan, backpackers galore, seedy nightclubs, spending an insane amount of money, shitty sleepless nights, manhandled underpants, home, oh my!

And just to elaborate on a few things there:

Eating: My stomach seems to have stretched and I am now eating bigger meals than Beardie. How this works, I do not know.

Dirty Tan: So all of this glorious sunshine, and I was ever so careful with sunscreen so that I didn't come home a lobster. I am slightly tanned now (for perhaps the first time since high school) but it turns out that I don't turn lovely and golden - I turn dirty and patchy. So I look like I spent my holiday in a gutter instead of in the sunshine.

Manhandled Underpants: I apparently left a pair of my undies up in the room somewhere when checking out, and when we returned to collect our bags for our flight home, I discovered that the cleaner had collected them and put them in my handbag for me. Used underpants surprise!

Massage: What was supposed to be the most relaxing part of the trip was actually pretty awful. I knew that my back was in a pretty bad state, from past massage experience, but half an hour of having somebody jab her fingers into the knots in my back had me on the verge of tears. I survived, and on the way out the masseuse grabbed me and said "excuse me, but WHAT have you been doing?!"

I replied with something like "um, office work?" and she proceeded to tell me that my back was congested, that I need to drink more water or else I'll get osteoporosis (apparently my back was sucking up the oils like a sponge, but surely the booze from the night before is partially to blame?), that I need to exercise and stretch, BIG TIME, and that I am pretty much a gigantic, knotty freak.

As you can imagine, I was slightly freaked out, so I've been throwing back water like I'm an addict and I'm joining a health club tomorrow. I knew the fitness bug was coming anyway but it's definitely a kick start when you're told that your body is basically shit.

There's more than this but I am spent, and this post is too long already. Back to reality tomorrow. Sigh.


Lucy said...

Man, except for the underpants and massage your holiday sounds lovely.

I can't do massages or facials anymore. I mean they're meant to be pampering but these people obviously hate me because they hurt me. I'm paying for relaxation dammit it not pain.

Mark said...

Yeah, ouch. But remember that you need gentle stuff like yoga and stretching more than you need hardcore gym workouts. Perhaps you could train Beardie up with massage skillz? Also: kneely chairs.

RAT said...

Lucy, another one on my torture list is pedicures. Why would I sit there while somebody scrapes the skin off the underside of my feet?? And pushing the cuticles of your toenails back? Hell no.

Mark, I am starting with the softest of the soft. But I'm thinking it'll probably kill me anyway. And I don't know if enduring more massages is going to benefit me, or if it's just unnecessary torture. Maybe I'll wait until I'm a few weeks into this yoga thing first.