Journey to the Center of the Earth.....well Louisiana at least.

I’m going to tell you a story. Possibly quite a silly story but a fun one nonetheless. Its going to start with three women packing up their weirdly working PT Cruiser and drive down to exciting and exotic destinations like….Shreveport. Its amazing how breathtaking and exotic driving down the interstate…isn’t.

In this story you will have three main characters, Me (the lovely Mila Ramos), a vivacious, blonde Trix* and a sultry, brunette Honey* (*Names have been changed to cereal brands to protect the not-so innocent) and we three queens of Texas-Are ventured through different adventures and situations to come out at the other end; which was a hotel in Louisiana.

So after we pick up our PT Cruiser and realize these are the strangest looking cars in the planet, we threw all our stuff in the back and headed down the yellow brick road towards Cajun country.

But as any woman knows there are a few things that must be done before one could ever consider going on a trip. And that would be getting a manicure, pedicure, facial, body wrap and massage. Eating is optional food after this is optional. Now a day at the spa is an essential component in a woman’s repertoire. It’s located right next to the intuition part of the female brain, left to the locations of ‘great sales on shoes’ part of the brain.

And for any woman that hasn’t had these, my advice is to do so right now, run as fast as you can and make an appointment!

After my first appointment of a mani/pedi in wonderful hot water with streaming jets of creamy goodness, I sat there with my painted toes in neon colored flip flops and a strange fascination with design stickers, my matron of leisure, popped in.
”You’re next!”

I don’t know about you but I can’t get excited about being naked in front of a woman. A man might….especially if it’s two women naked…in the same room…wrapped in Saran Wrap. And somewhere on this planet, is a Saran Wrap fetish god who just had an orgasm. To him I say, “Cling?”

So there I am waiting for my next appointment staring at the immense door that presented new and bold adventures in nudity…and wondering how I can lose inches just laying down for 45 minutes under a blanket. And not only losing inches but making my skin super duper soft in the process. Is it high tech; is it the new fan-dangle fountain of youth?

No. It’s Saran Wrap. I think I may need to change my exercise process. A

I walk into the Wrap Room…The Room of Saran? Wrap Central?
I was explained the process and then told to strip down to what I feel comfortable for the body wrap. Now….if this procedure removes a certain amount of inches from your body, it’s naturally to have to be naked to get the full effect. Down to my booty I go. It wasn’t until the Stress-free Maiden entered, that I realized, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to be naked. Not only is it cold, but I’m NAKED!!

She explained the procedure and what would be done and I must say, getting “wrapped” is funny. They scrub your skin to stimulate the pores, then paint your body with an oil-like substance, wrap you up in cling wrap, and put you under a heated blanket for 45 minutes.

This is the recipe for making rotisserie chicken.

I have officially elevated my life as a romance author-slash-chemist to chicken status. So she, of leisure field, began the process and applied The Colonel’s mixture of herbs and spices to my skin. It’s a strange feeling and as a virgin to the mummified experience, the details of what a wrap is enfolded my mind. I’m going to be covered in a fascinating Dolce and Gabana Saran Wrap Dress. Now in the fashion this sells for a cool $500,000, but in reality, its $2 at the local Dollar General. And sporting my fashionable garb I became The Mummy, Wonder Woman and a fetish fascination all in one setting.

I know…you’re jealous.

Under the covers I went and blissfully slept for about 30 of those minutes. When I awoke it was time for the facial. I wish someone would have told me that you can pass out during a facial. Better yet, you can down right snore as your getting a facial! And I did, with a small line of drool coming out of my mouth. I didn’t know this at the time, but it was proven. It’s embarrassing to know that as you’re being flambéed and cooked, a massage to the face, complete with tea bags on the face, will absolutely render a functionally capable woman unconscious. It’s the next step in psychological warfare.

Then finally came the last step of Spa Day; the massage. To all you massage therapists out there; you are the most wonderful people on the planet. Not only do you work out kinks and knots and anything else that is possible in the human body, but you have the amazing ability to make time speed up. I don’t know how you do it, but I will find out!

I was finally reunited with Trix and Honey (who aren’t porn stars by the way but would be kinda cool if they were…would have some kick ass stories) we took off, ate a great meal and headed off to the magical state of Louisiana.

The road trip was somewhat uneventful. Radio stations are scarce and an endangered species, but the highlight of the trip (besides rotisserie cooking) came when we arrived at our hotel. Did you know that as a chemist, I still have my sense of smell? I didn’t think I did, due to all the chemicals I’m exposed to, but I still do. Quite amazing really and as a true nerd, (I know you fake nerds out there) sulfur was the first thing I smelled in the air. For some reason, something was happening at that precise moment that let out some type of steam which smelled like sulfur. Sulfur? It’s the element before chlorine; that is what I smelled. If you’re not used to smelling chemicals….its weird, bizarre...and down right creepy! It went away a few hours later, but it really freaked me out. Do you know what else smells like sulfur; fire and brimstone? I’m not saying that the end of the world was there, but you had gambling nearby, and then you smell sulfur? I’m just saying, it was a paranormal experience.

Just so you know, it is called Harrah’s (pronounce Hair-ah’s). I decided to change the name to Ha-rah! And though that might not seem as a funny little item, it came to be the name of our now lovely flamboyant PT Cruiser. We named our male car, Harah. Why? Who knows but we did.

It was a good trip going down…a little creepy though…you know the whole damnation, paranormal, hotel-name-pronunciation, rotisserie lot of it.

Day 2 though, was 20 times better.
See you tomorrow.