Water Mane, Part 2

Raise your hand if you've been a slacker blog poster!! The hand is raised. Sorry y'all have been without a new post for a couple days.

Well one Braden expressed a little bit of angst that the water mane story was never told in full, so I would like to erase that angst by telling the story today. Grab some popcorn and get comfortable.

Ahem. Where did we leave off? Oh yes. 5:30 am (approx.). Steffie puts something in the trash can. She moves to tuck the can back underneath the counter and it falls over, forward. It hits the ground and it sounds like espresso beans fell out from the can onto the floor. Brad says, "Uh oh," and I think "uh oh." All of the sudden I am getting sprayed with water. I feel it before I see it. Brad and I are both confused. I am laughing. Steffie and I are screaming. I am picturing a broken pipe, a flood in the store, hot firemen coming to rescue us, going out for coffee after securing the hottie firemen's digits. (Even in a time of crisis, I am always trying to figure out how to secure a man's digits. I could be delirious in the ER, going under for surgery, and I would probably be batting my eyes, cracking a joke. Ridiculous, Bailey, ridiculous.)

Anyway. Eventually Steffie throws herself down underneath the counter, to find the source of the problem and stops it. I am still laughing. Brad is still confused. There is water on the floor and on the ceiling. Steffie runs to Brad for a hug and says, "I'm all wet!" Five minutes later, after we finally stop laughing, Brad and I complain about how hot the store is and Stef says, "Are you serious, guys? I am freezing!" Brad and I comment on how Stef should work for the Secret Service, seeing as how a) she understood what was going on while Brad and I stood dumbfounded, b) she acted within seconds, and c) she threw herself on that water the way someone would take a bullet for the Prez. I guess while we're assigning people to the Oval Office here, we'll make Brad the president and I'll be first lady. I hear she has a pretty sweet gig (and a private chef).

Anyway (again). What happened is this: There used to be an espresso machine on that counter, but it had been moved. The espresso machine is mostly an electrical device, but there is one line of water that runs through it to make the espresso shots and to rinse the machine at the end of each day. The water spigot for that machine is on the wall, close to the floor. It was turned off, but not capped off, so when the trash can hit the knob the water came out full force. Not only that, but there is a hole in the counter where the piping for the machine used to come through to hook up to the machine. So water was not only spewing out underneath the counter, it was shooting through the hole in the counter and hitting the ceiling. It was a powerful little sucker, that water line.

So there it is. The water mane break story. I hope it was amusing enough after all the build up. And here is the picture once again, taken seconds after the incident:

2 Gross Things You May Want to Try

First. The fish pedicure. Heard of it? These little fishy fish nibble on your feet before you get the traditional lotion/polish procedure. They chew off the dead stuff. I think that sounds AWEsome. But it seems to be hit or miss with people I discuss it with, mostly miss.

Also, I was reading Spirit Magazine (the official magazine of Southwest Airlines, one of my favorite publications) about a year ago, and there was a whole article on Korean spas. Everyone walks around completely naked (at the spa, not Southwest flight cabins), there are hot tubs, and there's this whole body exfoliating scrub that I guess hurts like craz-ee but then your skin is amazingly soft. The article was kind of written from a neutral, I-the-author-didn't-hate-it-but-you-the-reader-try-at-your-own-risk standpoint, but I was up in the air sippin' my Dr. Pepper thinking, "Let's do this!! Right now! Awkward naked vulnerability? Potentially heinous procedure with baby-butt soft results? Sounds like an adventure to me!"

I like things that are untraditional.

[Also preferably a little gross and/or messy. My freshman year of college I was squishing into my dorm room after what I believe was my third impromptu mud football game of the school year. As I pinched my towel with two fingers on my way to the shower it occured to me, "maybe my roommate doesn't always appreciate me coming into the room covered in grass and mud after my little escapades..." Our mocha syrup at Starbucks expires after 24 hours and when Brad and I do the dishes and dump the product that is no longer good, we dump it all over our arms and squish our hands in it. We have goals, and I do mean goals, to be on Ellen, to share "the mocha bath" (trademark Brad) with the world. And, ideally, with Celine as well, if we can manage to make her the musical guest that day. But we're still in the planning process.]

Where were we? Oh yes. I like things that are untraditional. As well as a little crazy, way fun, a little scary and therefore exciting, and certainly worthy of a story. One thing I know for sure about myself is that while I would never sacrifice the experience, I usually enjoy telling the story better than actually doing the activity. Except for petting my kitty, who's at my feet right now. I love to live in the moment of his purrs. Nothing beats that.