Whack-A-Weasel

Enjoy!

Cheapwads Chafe My...........

I have had it up to my chapped hands with green bathrooms. Ever since Al Gore nazified our toilets back in the 90's, before he discovered the internet and invented global warming, the corporate fashion of having green bathrooms has become so en vogue that it has completely run amok.

Now, I am all for waste not, want not, but what we have here is corporations waving the flag of environmental friendliness as a guise to actually just be cheapwads.

Case in point, the bathroom facilities at your local members only warehouse shopping mart.

Here you will find things so green, that they need not paint the walls to give you a sense of environmental tranquility, that is, until you try to use them.

First of all, the heat is kept at an energy saving 66 degrees. This saves them money right away in a two-fold fashion, A. They have lower heating costs and 2. Half the time I turn around and decide to just hold it rather than risk frost bite and icicle formations where I would rather not have them, thus saving on all water and paper usage while visiting.

Now if you are brave enough or desperate enough to use the facilities, you will enter the stall to find a funky looking commode complete with flushing instructions. Lift the handle upward to dispose of liquid waste or push downward to dispose of solid waste. What if you had hot wings for lunch or Mexican was last night's dinner? Do you have to hit a call button to get a judge's decision?

Either way, you soon reach for bathroom tissue and find yourself stuck with recycled John Wayne style toilet paper. You know, it's rough, it's tough and it takes no...yada, yada, yada. That stuff is so thin that you need to use half a roll and still wish you you wearing disposable gloves while using it.

* Side Note: Toilet paper should never be recycled.*

Now if you have figured out in which direction you should flush, you get to move onto hand washing supply rationing. The automatic faucets that I swear are operated by someone behind the mirror laughing their butt off as they watch you try to wash, lather and rinse you hands in a trickle of tepid water that they keep shutting off as you attempt to use it. I know they are there and I hate them.

If you are lucky enough to rinse off the soap enough to be ready for drying and have resisted the urge thus far to go completely postal in a public restroom, you have one of 3 options available. 1. The automatic paper towel dispenser that rations small sheets of recycled toilet paper that rip the flesh from your hands without actually removing any of the moisture and make you wait stupid amounts of time waving in front of them in hopes of 'Please Sir, may I have some more', before giving up and wiping your hands on your jeans, leaving them cold, damp and prone to becoming chapped, b. The automatic blower hand dryer that has been around for ages, takes forever and still shuts off before your hands are dry, leaving you to finish by wiping them on your jeans or spending 20 more minutes in the restroom under the dryer with an angry, cold, chapping mob lining up behind you, or 3. The Super Mega hand drier 5000 that threatens to blow the flesh right off of your bones with a jet engine that pierces your ears with 300 decibels and sends small children running and screaming in fear out of the bathroom and you have to chase behind them with cold, wet chapping hands because they are your children.

None of this is friendly to the user. Washing your hands in cold water is not green, it's cheap. Warm to hot water and soap actually kills germs comfortably for the washee. As opposed to dragging your germ filled hands around the rest of the store but it does bring you back into the store a few days later to fill your antibiotic prescription. The lack of decent hand drying options gets you to buy industrial amounts of hand lotion while you are in the store when your hands begin to crack and bleed and the most effective money saving cheap-o-matic device is making the entire restroom experience so awful that you opt out of using them all together in favor of a bladder infection.

Stylish Moron

I love friends. I love Birthdays. So it naturally follows that I love celebrating friends birthdays. This is one of the many reasons that I was tickled and excited when I received a special invite to help celebrate a wonderful milestone birthday for a close friend by attending a girls day spa party at a swanky resort for an afternoon full of pampering and an evening full of friends, food and libations.I love massages. They feel so wonderful and relax me to the point of jello-ness. The only problem, I have back and neck problems. Due to the nature of my issues, massages are too much of a good thing. The last time I had a full one hour massage (9 years ago) I spent the next six months hanging out with my chiropractor 3 times a week. Good thing I like the guy.

So when the special spa day invite came it put me into a conundrum. I could opt for the facial, but they just don't really do much for me except make my face break out worse than when I was 15. I could have a mud bath, but I could do that in my yard with the kids and the dog for free. I could opt for a mani/pedi/toe wax, but the swank prices were a little to much to pay for those services. Hmmm, what to do? What to do?

Then it came to me. I'll get a massage! Yes, sometimes I am just plain old stupid.

I convinced myself that if I only got the 1/2 hour hot stone massage with no deep tissue work, I would be fine. I would then top it off with 1/2 hour of reflexology (a swanky and fantastic foot massage). When all was said and done, I didn't want it to be over. It was so good and I felt so relaxed. Wrapping myself back up in my uber plush, thick and soft robe that I seriously considered putting in my bag to take home and heading into the dimly lit and serene lounge room to join some of our crew for snacks and water while lying on day beds waiting for Mark Anthony to come feed me grapes living the good life.

After a soak in the hot tub and few minutes making use of the sauna, it was time to dress and primp again before heading to the hotel lounge/bar to begin girls night out.

The company was delightful, the mood light, the drinks cold and the stools backless. After about an hour of sitting on these stools I knew I was in trouble. My neck started to tighten and ache. My back was still so relaxed that it refused to pick up the slack and support my neck like it usually does. The birthday girl spotted me and immediately recognized what was happening. Anyone who spends time with me regularly can spot the signs of 'she over did it'.

When it was time for our sweet ride to pick us up and take us to our next girls night out locale, our most wonderful hostess assumed correctly that I just needed to get home to my orthopedic pillow on my orthopedic bed and had the driver drop the gang off at the next party stop and continue on to take myself and another guest (who was recovering from a recent surgery) back to our cars.

I drove home and went straight to my bed upon entering the house. I had given Mr. Weasel a heads up phone call and he has all set to tuck me in with a handful of ibuprofen. Sunday arrived with me wishing I had a traction contraption set up in the house. I didn't get out of bed until noon and was back in bed by 5:00. This morning I am still relegated to the couch and pain pills that make me stoned groggy and my face numb, but help with the pain.

To so recap, I was the youngest gal at the party, yet felt like the oldest, and Weasels need to re-learn lessons about every 9 years. I am a moron, but I do it with style.