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In honor of Max's friend Chris coming in to town this weekend we went downtown and did two crazy things I never do. First we went to Avia Spa, Santa Barbara's monument to new age fabulousness, where I got a facial. The place is set up with dim lighting, lots of little fountains and long winding walkways through fake thatched huts where you go in and lie down on heated beds. You then proceed to get beautiful/relaxed by whatever green-tea fortified sticky substance they happen to pouring on people that day. It was lovely. I tend to avoid these sorts of things because beauty professionals do their best to try to convince you that the kind of hair and skin you have is the end result of the quality of product you use and not the genes you have. This is silly. Yet I fall for it every time. Plus, I just don't have it in me to care about detailed and expensive hair-and-skin-care regimes for any length of time, which is why the conversation I had with the facial chick yesterday was typical:

Her: What do you wash your face with?
Me: Uhh….soap.
Her: ( Disappointed sigh.) What kind of toner do you use?
Me: What's toner?

And so on. There are variations on this theme depending on the person involved. For hair people, substitute deep conditioner for soap. (Dentists are in a different class of people, but no less good at making me feel guilty for the state of my gums, which are in terrible shape despite my religious flossing.)

Generally, the "product" I use tends to be whatever has been bought and placed in the bathroom by my like-minded cheap husband, who naturally has gorgeous skin, perfect teeth and thick hair, and of course fails to appreciate it. The major ongoing exception has been a hair gloop that my sister in law convinced us to start buying a while back. Damn it, the stuff actually seems to help. So even though I quietly reasserted to myself that the clarity of my skin is not a reflection of my moral or intellectual worth, I went ahead and bought nice cleanser and moisturizer for my face, thinking that it would at least make Jeff's mom happy.

After the spa, when we were all facialed, waxed and massaged, we went to Spiritland, a restaurant of all organic food. The kind of place where the salad comes looking like this:

And the entree like this (chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans, but you'd never know it):

The food was very decent but the place is basically the size of our apartment and there were forty people in it, so we did not linger.

To the surprise of no one my pregnancy test was negative and we were back at the baby making doctor yesterday for another probe, which showed my ovaries are currently resting and ready to be tweaked by Clomid, which I start taking tonight. I thought I would embrace my non-impregnated status this weekend by doing some serious drinking, but boy am I out of practice (what with being away from the nursing students these days). Two fruity malt beverages and I was not only done, I was ready to sleep.

Have you ever taken a flash picture of a white cat laying on a bunch of white papers? It comes out like this:

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