Monthly Archives: September 2011

Welcome back, ucla… now, get out of my way

Yesterday was the first official day of classes at UCLA.  And since I’m no longer a student here, but rather an employee, I have no compunction to hate this time of the year.  I don’t see excitement and new beginnings.  I see a summer lull that’s been shot.

With the mass of students comes an extra half hour on my morning commute, longer lines in the bathroom, throngs of people aimlessly walking the hallways and stopping right in front of my door.  But the worst injustice — the one that makes me cringe each and every time — is the return of the stupidest question, “Where’s Moore 100?”

Right down the hall, dipshit!  Honestly, how did you get in here?

It may be unfair not to give a cute little freshman some slack for not knowing where certain rooms are.  I’ll argue that if that little freshman applied to UCLA and was accepted, then he or she should have been excited enough to make it to any of the countless campus tours, orientations, or other summer events.  Participation in any one of those and they would know exactly where to go.  Moore 100, aka Moore Auditorium, is the largest lecture hall on campus.  It’s the unofficial boundary between North and South Campus.  It’s right next to Powell and Bruin Walk.

The office door was more or less closed yesterday, but the second I stepped into the hallway to go wait in line for the bathroom, I was asked twice for directions.

Rolled my eyes and muttered, Down the hall. Downstairs.

Save yourself from my disdain and just use Moore’s west side entrance. You’ll see your target. And if you don’t know which way is west, then thank your lucky stars you were even accepted here at all!

PHOTO: The grand entrance to Moore 100 from the first-level hallway. You can’t miss it. I swear. Just walk and use your eyes.


Spa Results In: Thumbs up

I survived and thrived from my first Spa Day.

Benefiting from an impromptu stop at the Monterey Visitor’s Center, I found a coupon for the Vista Blue Spa at the Monterey Plaza.  I got a complimentary 25-minute hydrotherapy treatment.  Sweet!

A quick look at their brochure revealed this was a $60 deal.  Even sweeter!

They had three different options: (1) a calming bath with seaweed extract, (2) a lavender rose and grape seed bath and (3) one with arnica, rosemary, and other oils for muscle tension relief.

Let’s fast-forward.  I got none of that.  My “private hydrotherapy ritual” was really just a bathtub with bubbles.  I had a little tray with fresh fruit and some tea.  I also had a good view of the bay.  And jets.  That was nice.  But in NO WAY was that worth $60.

But it was free, which means that I’ll count it as a blessing.

Next on my spa agenda was a custom massage.

Considering it was my first-ever, I thought it best route instead of saying, give me the Deep Tissue.  Oh, and I got a pineapple papaya exfoliation.

The results were POSITIVE!  I wasn’t in intolerable pain.  My back and neck survived.  I didn’t have to hold my breath or breathe through the hurt.  Though, there was one hiccup.  My forearms.  They hurt.  Weird, right?

So, now that I’ve had a spa experience, I’m ready for another one.  I want to be wrapped in something, ooh, or some hot stones. Who’s in?

PHOTOS: View of Monterey Plaza Hotel & Spa on Cannery Row and their hydrotherapy room.

Spa Day at Vista Blue in Monterey

This morning I’m going to cross off the massage from my list of to-dos.  I’ve never gotten one and the main reason is that I’m a wimp.  Sure, my shoulders carry a lot of stress but just rubbing them out hurts so much.  I squirm in massage chairs.  I flinch every time my manicurist gives me a little arm massage.

Actually, she was the one who once said I was crazy.  How would I be able handle full-body massage here?  With a little liquid courage, maybe?? At 8 a.m.?

To be determined…

UPDATE: Determined

The Replacement

After the humiliation I suffered when my awesome keychain was stolen, I couldn’t stand to look at that nub of a key for too long.  I found this keychain at home.  It’s not as cute or big as my shoe.  It gets lost in my jean pockets.  But it’s Squidward — my compadre, my SpongeBob alter-ego.  The quic-key replacement gives me momentary solace.  The message speaks to me and puts me at ease.  Om

Now please, go be stupid somewhere else.