Facial Discrimination

Today was D-Day. Today was facial day! I have been seeking high and low for the ideal setting of this beautiful torture. I wanted to be away from the city . I wanted to feel what it's like to get a facial in suburbia ala Eva Longoria on Wysteria Lane. I booked a week ahead and set up my errands to compliment the facial schedule. I was so excited that I cut 10 mins of cardio from my usual 20 to get to the place on time. There I was, entering the soothing glass doors of " The estheticians" in San Mateo, CA.

"Hi, I have an appointment at 1.."

"Oh..(confused look), let me check on the computer..and you are...", said the hefty woman

"Vonn"

Brief pause. "Ah here you are. Can you hold on for one minute"

"sure"

Chubby middle aged woman comes back and says: "Im So sorry, there must have been a mistake. This spa is for WOMEN only..I see the confusion as Vonn can be both a man or a woman's name"

"But I booked the appointment myself, for myself..Surely I DID NOT sound like a woman on the phone"

"Im so sorry but again, this is for women only"

"That's fine". Exit Vonn.
Actually. It wasn't FINE.
I was pissed. I was more than pissed. I was in shock. I felt discriminated. I really did not see the logic behind being male and being denied facial services. It's a face, not a penis!
To top it off, I felt like her apology came out of her cellulite ridden derriere. She never even bothered to offer any alternative or suggest other businesses that would accomodate my face.
No, she half-assed apologized and whisked me away like the plague.

This is facial discrimination. This is a hate crime against one's inborn right to look beautiful. This is discrimination against something I do not have control over.

A drive back to the city and a non-fat latte' after, I got over it. This was the D-day. Like grime and dirt, I went into my bathroom and exfoliated this nightmare.

Hope for the Flowers and the Evil Cake

Today, Labor Day, I struggled to find the inner strength to move my filipino butt into working out. It had been such a crazy week and an even crazier long holiday weekend. I ended up hanging out with my friends last Saturday and Sunday. I indulged in a calorie-laden slice of cake and attempted to burn it off by dancing in the club later on. I never got to do it in the club as it was packed with the usual partying crowd. I think I may be too old for the clubs. Needless to say, the sea of people inside the club reminded me of a Freshman book called "hope for the flowers" by Trina Paulus. Its an illustrated novel, if you will, about 2 caterpillars who were just climbing up a column made up of thousands of other caterpillars. When asked about "what's up there?" No one knew. It was exactly like that in the club-- A column of tight t-shirt wearing, cologne splashing, cocktail tossing people with nowhere to go. There was this constant dizzying movement that seemed more like a blur than anything else. Naturally, all the dance movements you can do were the default head bops, shoulder shrugs and minimal pelvic rotation. Dancing for 2 hours with that limited amount of movement would burn as much calories as quilting. Well maybe not. But my point is, the cake was still in me, finding a comfortable pouch in my body to call home! Im just glad I parked pretty far. I think the walk back to my car vanquished the evil cake. Now, If I can only find the inner strength to get my filipino butt into working out today, I would be able to defeat the dreaded "lumpia".