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5 posts tagged health

Coffee: Saving My Life Every Day

As someone with a shameless addiction to coffee, nothing pleases me more than when a new study comes out singing the praises of my drug du jour.

NPR reported on the study and its findings, stating:

Freedman and his colleagues undertook the biggest study yet to look at the relationship between coffee and health. They analyzed data collected from more than 400,000 Americans ages 50 to 71 participating in the NIH-AARP Diet and Health Study.

“We found that the coffee drinkers, they had a modestly lower risk of death than the non-drinkers,” he tells The Salt.

Here’s what he means by “modestly:” Those who drank at least two or three cups a day were about 10 percent or 15 percent less likely to die for any reason during the 13 years of the study. But you don’t necessarily need to be a heavy coffee drinker.

I bolded the parts that spoke to me or, rather, that validated my 3-4 cup a day habit.

Do you see, my mouses? Do you see how now I will live forever?!

On My Visit to an Asian Bathhouse.

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Have any of your friends said to you, “Hey, you should really try a Korean body scrub”?

No?

Well, that’s the kind of shit my friends say to me and, when they do, I immediately think, “OK, I need another way to procrastinate.”

I was told that a Korean body scrub was “amazing” and would give me baby smooth skin. Those things sounded nice! I had fantasies of a spa with scented beads, a large bathrobe to trot around in and endless green tea for the taking—as was typical of most spas I’ve been to.

So, I wasn’t really prepared for the Natura Spa Korean body scrub experience. I went there on the recommendation of a friend, but she didn’t warn me of a few things:

-This is a traditional Korean spa. Very, very traditional.

-It’s in the basement of a dilapidated mall.

-Everyone is naked. Like, you’ll see a lot of boobs.

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(This is the actual front of the spa)

Had I been forewarned, I may not have gone. I didn’t grow up in a naked house, I still take off my bra under my shirt and there’s a volcano of Irish/Catholic guilt bubbling at the surface constantly. As it stood though I was blissfully unaware of what awaited me, and so made an appointment for a scrub in Koreatown.

My first red flag was at the reception desk where they asked, “Is this your first time?” And when I said “Yes,” was immediately greeted with a chorus of laughter from the staff. Hmm…

I was then led back to the locker room, which is really just the place where everyone gets naked and stays that way.

“You’ll need to shower first,” I was told.

Think about your own shower at home: it probably has a door or curtain and all the privacy required to get naked and go to town. Now, here’s what a Natura Spa shower means: Imagine an enormous room, in the middle is a pool, lining the walls are shower heads, no dividers or curtains, and a line of naked Asian ladies wash their hair, bodies, etc. under those shower heads. Against a far wall are tables where even more naked bodies lie flat while spa staff scrub them down. There are no dividers, no separate rooms, it’s like one big cattle call and I was about to be led to the proverbial slaughter.

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I stood by my locker for five minutes, trying to decide if I should stay or leave. You could leave, you could run away right now and no one would be hurt, I kept thinking. Only, I had driven all that way and already fed the meter two bucks. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad?

I took in a deep breath, took off all my clothes, and walked into the spa with my T&A on display for all of Natura to see. I found an unoccupied shower head, which was sandwiched in between two naked middle aged women, and got to washing myself. As I looked around, I realized I was the only one who was clearly uncomfortable in this situation. People were there with friends, their mothers, people they likely had seen naked before at the spa. They were chatting and enjoying each others bare company. No one cared that they were naked, or that anyone else was naked. Except for me, of course.

I stared, shamelessly, at every woman in that place. I couldn’t believe this was a normal thing. Go have brunch with your girlfriends, come to the spa, get naked and walk around. I realized in that moment what a complete and utter prude I was. It wasn’t these women’s problem that I hadn’t been raised in a naked house. It was my problem and a very real one, as my number was called and I was led back to a table for scrubbing.

My masseuse and scrubber was a woman we’ll call Linda, who was in a lace black bra and matching panties—I’m still not sure why the spa staff wears underwear, but they all do and I guess I have to be thankful she wasn’t naked too. She too asked if it was my first time and proceeded to laugh when I answered yes.

She asked me to lay on my stomach, put on a pair of gloves that I can only describe as looking like horse hair brushes, and slapped on a layer of lotion that felt sharp and beaded.

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You know how a cats tongue is rough and like sandpaper? This scrub felt like that; it was intense and she went over every inch of me (ass, boobs, you name it). Sometimes she told me to flip over, other times she’d turn me herself and then, like the piece of meat I was, rub another part of me down.

If I opened my eyes I was looking directly at the person across from me; also naked, also being scrubbed by a woman in lace underwear. Everyone around me seemed to keep their eyes closed, so I decided to do the same.

“Relax, baby, relax,” Linda kept trying to tell me as my body stiffened against her touch. I can’t Linda, I want you to be happy, I do, but please stop, I wanted to say.

After 45 minutes I could no longer feel my limbs and I was certain Linda had likely scrubbed all the way down to my nerves. I lay flat on my back and she began to wash my hair and pour buckets of warm water over me. It felt like that scene in The Hunger Games where Cinna’s team waxes and scrapes all of the fur and scars off of Katniss’ body. Only, I wasn’t about to go on TV, I would have to walk naked back into the locker room and drive myself home.

When the massage was over, I got dressed and looked in the mirror to see how pink and blushed my skin was from all it had endured. I stared for a long time. I kept remembering that someone who’s not my gynecologist, boyfriend, or photographer who promised to make me a “big star” had just seen every inch of me.

I paid my bill, left Linda a generous tip and walked out to my car. Once in my car I idled for a while, thinking I should turn on the engine and go home, but something was stopping me. I kept repeating, “It’s OK, it’s over now, you made it,” out loud, though I couldn’t help but still feel violated and somehow betrayed.

To be fair to Natura, my skin has never felt silkier than after I left their bathhouse spa. I’m sure it wasn’t a picnic to deal with the prude little redhead that day, trying to flip my stiff as a board body from side to side.

I guess this is just my warning to other unsuspecting ladies who hear the praises of a body scrub and plan on going: Soft skin comes at a price, like your dignity and any shred of anonymity your body once had.

You’re welcome.

My House of Fun.

I was Tumbling and saw this poster for Melancholia on a blog. It’s a really simple quote, but the image and the words touched some deep little sea urchin inside and got me thinking…

I’ve been going through this time in my life where I’ve decided not to care so much or, rather, not constantly worry about what I’m doing every minute of every day. For the last couple of years, I built up a lot of rules to live by. Rules regarding men, my job, my friends, where I was living, what I would wear, how I would act, what was appropriate, etc.

I think a lot of people do this. It seems like, if you want something, you have to create the skipping stones to get there. And the natural thing to do is clearly mark those stones so you don’t trip and break your ass. I think this might be more commonly known as the ’Quarterlife Crisis’?

For me, that whole follow the rules things ended recently because I went through a lot of life changes. I had to deal with situations and realities that I couldn’t control, and the only thing I could think to do was spend time processing those, and then move the fuck on.

I decided that my new way forward would be this: Have more fun.

It might sound silly, but for the past couple of years there has been a lot less fun, and a lot more rules. Not that all rules are bad - they aren’t. Case in point: I like to follow laws of traffic, and still actively try to remain a mannered young lady. But when you have too many rules, rules that stop you from taking risks, that’s when it becomes a problem.

So, if I stop worrying about all of the rules, I can just focus on having fun. I tried to put this plan into motion pretty immediately and bought a ticket to New York. While there, I made a point to just not give a shit. I drank and stayed out till 5 a.m. every night, ate whatever I wanted, shopped, saw old friends, and danced as much as physically possible because, for me, dancing makes me insanely happy.

Since being back in Los Angeles, that mantra of ‘Have more fun’ has stuck. It feels good. Better than good, actually, and for the first time in a really long time it seems like I’m experiencing things differently. Really appreciating everything I’m doing, or something. I’m not trying to sound like some zenned out preacher, but I feel happier with myself. I guess because I’m starting this new chapter in my life and I just know that it’s going to be BRILLIANT.

And that’s the whole thing, that’s why I’m ranting - because I want to enjoy this while it lasts. I’m hoping this feeling will keep on going, but who knows - shit happens. Enjoy it while it lasts. Those are smart words.

Has anyone else gone through something like this and, if so, can we talk it out and go have some fun together?