‘Ass’ Kicking Gift Bag!
A Gift Bag means parties, and parties make me fall in love again with LA, – especially on days when the hectic-frenetic LA life is getting to me. Why do I LOVE going to parties? Because in LA that generally means…
- Some sort of libation will be FREEly poured…(notice I said FREE-ly)
- Nibblies of some sort will be passed….(not enough to skip a meal or you will need to hit In-N-Out on the way home)
- A diverse variety of ‘invited guests’ – (‘Invited’ puts everyone on a more ‘even playing field’ so people who would normally ignore you will say hello – welcome to LA-land folks !)
- And Give-Away’s or a Gift Bag ……or best case scenario….BOTH!
Basically, to me, a party in LA means, as a single girl on a budget, that: I can drink for free, nibble for free, meet prospective dates or business contacts, and I leave with free loot! Not a bad way to spend an evening.
I recently attended a party at a medical/health/healing/beauty center – basically a business hosting a glamorous event in order to attract new clients. When I arrived at the event, the check-in girl informed me that they were going to be drawing names for various prizes, and asked if I had a business card to put it in the large glass fish bowl that was sitting on the check-in table. She pointed towards a placard that listed all of the wonderful prizes they were drawing at the end of the evening. Of course, I tossed in my card, and my observant blue eyes noticed directly behind the check-in table large bags stuffed with gift bags, that I knew would be moving closer to the door once the party was ending. So with the certainty of a parting gift bag, and the lure of perhaps winning a prize, I was decidedly staying until the end of the event.
As I was walking around sipping my champagne, keeping my eyes open for any one carrying a tray of something that I hoped would be edible – as I had run from work and was starving – checked out the services they offered, all the while scoping out the crowd to see who I deemed interesting enough to engage in a conversation with or maybe cute enough to date. About an hour and a half had passed, and the party patrons were starting to get anxious as the trays of nibblies and champagne had slowed to snails’ pace, yet no one was wanting to leave as everyone had placed a business card in the glass fish bowl – and if I had spotted the gift bags – I am sure they had as well.
Finally, the owner got to the podium, mic in hand, and thanked everyone for coming, and yada yada yada…at this point I wasn’t paying attention, my mind was wandering, actually doing a ‘double- wander’….wondering what might be in the gift bags and also wondering if I had a Amy’s frozen Mac and Cheese at home because I was starving! As the owner was about to pull names from the glass fish bowl, his fingers playing with the cards in the bowl as he spoke, the room started to quiet down, even the mind wanderers like me started to pay attention, as a list of the prizes being given away listed on what should have been titled the ‘BRIBE PLACARD’ had definitely kept everyone interested – or at least feigning interest – and a captive audience at best for the entire evening.
You see, in Los Angeles, you can’t survive if you are just a health center or a wellness center….Eastern Medicine meets Western Medicine just isn’t enough….you need to also offer beauty services, like Botox and fillers, and peels and lasers. Los Angelites, especially Beverly Hills peeps, are as interested in being physically healthy as they are in having healthy plump lips. I know, I know….I know….shallow…but it is what it is. Well, just call me shallow Janell, because I was wondering if the Endermologie treatment would really take away cellulite, and I was sure I could find use for free Juvederm.
As the prizes were announced and the winner’s card drawn, the lucky winner sprinted to the podium to get their certificates for: a massage, a facial, Botox, Juvederm, a laser peel, infrared sauna therapy sessions and Endermologie treatments. I was shocked when I heard my name called, and eagerly started to make my way from the back through the sea of people to the front of the podium. I was so excited for my win, that I failed to hear what I had won. When I thanked the owner and looked down at my certificate it was for “One Colonics Session”.
C-O-L-O-N-I-C-S!!!!! Seriously? I won an hour session to have someone stick a hose up my butt and pump gallons of water through it and then watch the poop and crud infested water came back out of my butt? SERIOUSLY? As I stood there silent, a host of emotions raced through my head and likely simultaneously showed up on my face – fear, shock, embarrassment having had won this prize, more fear, and then an overall feeling of being ungrateful to the universe as I was a winner, and that was something to be thankful for . As I started to wonder if somehow I could ‘exchange’ my prize for something less, how can you say, ‘less invasive’, a warm hand touched my shoulder and woke me out of my stupefaction-mind-bending thoughts and said…. “Hi, my name is Rose, and I am going to be your technician for your session. Do you want to take a look at the room?”
I turned and took my first look at what I now deemed was to be my torturer. Rose, was a soft looking, kind faced, plump, middle aged woman; she wore her hair loosely tied back in a ponytail, hair strands tousled around her warm, kind face. She had an energy about her, the kind of energy that you bond with instantaneously – the kind of woman you could fall into her arms and sob as you told her stories about the boy who broke your heart – the kind of woman you would basically trust with your inner most secrets, and I guess…..in this case with… your butt-hole!
I followed her, silently, like I was blindly following a cult leader into what they called the ‘Colonics Session Therapy Room’. The designer-designed room – pastel walls, velvety corner chair, soft music with wafts of vanilla floating in the air – all meant to detract from the obvious – was ‘obviously’ not lost on me. The medical bed in the center of the room (equipped with the little feet holders that you use when you are getting your yearly pap smear), the long white THICK hose that wound its self around a long metal stand (yards and yards of it), the massive wall chart of the human bowel tract, the metal surgery like table with stainless steel bowls on it – made me feel like a medieval torture chamber had met a Beverly Hills designer and this was the result.
As Rose was talking and pointing everything out I was silently looking and listening, then…. I suddenly blurted out… “You know, I really eat a lot of fiber, I go at least once a day sometimes more, I am pretty sure my colon is as clean as a whistle.” (Seriously…I said that…as clean as a whistle) At which point she started to tap on my tight taut (extra taut as I was holding my gut in) stomach and said “Oh no, there’s work to be done in there…I can tell!”
Room tour finally done, I politely thanked her, and said I was excited for my session, and made my way back to the party and through the now sparse crowd, but not so fast as to not grab my gift bag on the way.
Finally…… happy to be home, Amy’s Mac and Cheese heating up in the microwave, gift bag torn apart to see if there was any good loot, and the Colonics certificate filed in my ‘free shit folder’, until that time ………..when…..
When……..
- I think gee, maybe I can ‘re-gift this’ (NOT)!….
- I am ready for that ‘date’ where I want to make sure my stomach is completely flat…… (Think starving myself will be my first, second and third option)!…..
- Or when I am desperate for a blog post and decide to use my certificate so I have a story to tell….
I guess you might end up knowing the answer to this! LOL………
