I'm a certified spa whore

I know, people go to Vegas to gamble, kick game, dance, drink, get some action, see some skin and/or to eat at the buffets. (Did I ever tell you that I can eat my money back in bacon? It's true, don't try to challenge me. But that's another entry.) I'm amazed by the millions of dollars poured into Las Vegas to make it what it is and respect the entrepreneurs who are just trying to get theirs. But it's not my kind of town. I like the beaches, laid back attitudes and slow pace of the tropics.

I'm not complaining, this trip was paid for by work. And I figured going with a whole bunch of gung-ho vegas lovers would help me see what they see. Besides, half the time I would be at a conference shmoozing (I hate that word but it best describes the deed,) educating myself about my job and doing everything short of actually handing out my resume.

I wasn't a stick in the mud. The first night, I went out with the work bunch and downed glasses of rum and diet pepsi - no cherry diet pepsi to be found :( Danced to a band called Groove Kitten and apparently, I smacked of "sister girl" attitude because the ladies wanted to dance with me (in a straight, sister girl kinda way) so I shook my groove thing as long as I could. I think I even won over some coworkers that thought I was Miss Goody-Goody. We closed the place at 3:00am. In our drunk haze, my roomie and I forgot to close the curtains all the way so the morning light woke us up at 7:30am. Choice words were said for 15 minutes or so until we knew that we weren't going to get anymore sleep. Dysfunctional doesn't even begin to describe my state of the mind.

My roommie, Kat, is a Vegas lover and was determined to show me its beauty. We roamed around the Venetian, the Excalibur, and MGM Grand. I'm an occasional smoker but I was getting tired of smelling like ashtray. Knowing that I was dying to find out what was so special about Las Vegas spas, Kat lead me to the Grand Spa. Oh me, oh my, my senses were met with the scent of lavender and eucalyptus. Coming from the casinos smelling of cig butt, the spa entrance was like heaven. I must have looked like I was experiencing euphoria because Kat seemed thrilled that I was loving some part of Vegas. Mind you, we were just in the front entrance.

Kat suggested I try a hot stone massage, promising it would be good one. We asked the spa receptionists if there were any openings for early afternoon. Fate on my side, they said yes and would we be interested in checking in now? Shoot, if I was smitten with the entrance, I could only imagine what heavenly goodness was past those doors. Heck ya, check my a$$ in. We walked in an hour and a half before our appointments and were anxious to be pampered.

People, this spa was GORGEOUS. It is what every spa should look like or attempt to be. No longer will I go to a spa that lacks a lounge area. MGM Grand Spa had hot and warm pools, a TV area and a quiet area with comfy cushy chaise longues. Fruit, snacks, water, coffee and tea were also provided. We wrapped ourselves in luxuriously thick robes and dangled our legs in the hot tub. We weren't prepared with our bathing suits so we had to improvise. Ten minutes before our treatments, Kat and I go to the quiet area and relax. I was ready to nap when my massage therapist called my name.

Her name was Marla. I can't nor will I try to explain the wonders of her stone massage. Of all the massages I've ever had, hers was the best. Ever. I was ready to propose to her when she was done and I'm completely in love with The Man. She led me back to the lounge area and gave me a hug goodbye. As I exited this heavenly oasis, I signed my credit card bill with no regrets. Remember, the airfare and hotel were paid for by work. Plus, I didn't gamble, see a show or buy any souvenirs. (You bet your sweet a$$ I will justify this until the cows come home.)

Please, do yourself a favor. If you are ever in Las Vegas and need a little lovin', don't bother grinding at a club, going to a skin show or entertaining a one night stand. Or do. Who am I to tell you how to get your swerve on? :) But you also got to see Marla. She will make you feel like a million bucks. And you won't go home dirty*.

When I got back from my trip, I told The Man about my spa experience but didn't go into much detail. Our conversation went like this-
Me: "I went to a spa."
The Man: "Didn't you just do that?!"
Me: I threw my arms around him, kissed him, and confessed, "It's like crack! I'm addicted!"
The Man: "I think crack is cheaper."

I didn't tell him how wondrous it was because I feared he would ask me the cost. Then, because I try very hard not to lie to him, I would have to tell him the truth. Then The Man would have hit the roof and told me that that's ridiculous, don't go anymore and he would give me the treatment himself. I then would have to figure out how to explain the burns the size of softballs all over my body from The Man trying to give me a homemade hot stone massage.

That would be all bad.


*(One of D-Doll's favorite lines.) All I'm saying is that you won't need penicillin or a special ointment when Marla's done with you.