This is what I'm talking about with the sheets. (DEMONS.)
I had every intention of posting this weekend but my body shut down by 11 pm on Saturday and Sunday night. Thermal bathing is very exhausting. (I saaaaaaaid, don't laugh.)
Bathing and lunching and then sleeping. That's about it.
I wake up on Saturday morning from a dream about going on 2 dates at the same time, but the guys didn't know they were sharing a date with me. I kept running back and forth between rooms, making up excuses as to why I was gone for so long. It was like a zany rom-com!!!
Today is the day.
I am trying a new bath.
It's the "popular" bath where all the British frat-boy tourists go to mack on chicks. They have Saturday night bath parties, and everyone gets cray. I have no desire for the cray, so I go during the day. There are still a million frat boys because there is a beer bath there. Anything for the ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-alcohol.
I take the tram, which gets me there in 30 minutes. The line is relatively short, considering the last time I tried to come, the line was 200 people long.
The smell of sulfur is RANK. I did not smell this smell in the other bath. I mean, I did. But not THIS smell.
After changing, I wander through the different areas, scoping out where I want to soak. Compared to Gellert, Szechenyi has a ton more options--21 pools! I'm overwhelmed.
First I spend some time in the outdoor pool, cause it's seriously beautiful. But this delicate flower cannot spend more than 15 minutes in the sun, even with a good bit of cloud cover, so I extricate myself from the situation pretty fast.
Back inside, I spot an area where there aren't too many bodies--as most of the pools have people lined around the edges, shoulder to shoulder--and I sink myself in. There are a lot of people in here. A lot of dirty, dirty people. When I think about how many body's grime I'm soaking in, I want to throw up and die. But I push the thoughts from my mind. "We are all one. We are all one. Your grime is my grime. Your grime is ... FLOATING IN THE FUCKING WATER. EW."
I'll stick with what I know.
Time for lunch!
And it's FANCY.
I reserved a table at Gundel, and show up a few minutes late, which the hostess pretends she's fine with. (She doesn't understand the whole Mandyland time thing. And she also might hate her job--annoying, late tourists all day long.)
I order the 3-course luncheon menu, which would easily go for $100 or more in NYC.
TWENTY SEVEN DOLLARS.
Including a delicious glass of white wine.
A freshly-cut rose at each table.
And classy fancy-pants-place music: they are playing jazzy instrumental Kenny-G-style "Sexual Healing," and I feel more at ease here than anywhere in my life so far.
AND, a "Chef's surprise" aka amuse-bouche of red pepper gelee and chicken pate.
Plus, there's a maitre d', and he communicates with his staff by giving hand signs like he's orchestrating the MOST monumental pitch in baseball. He is NOT playin around. The service is impeccable. The waitstaff predicts all my needs and delivers the food in symphonic rhythm.
To be perfectly honest, though, the food was like mediocre wedding food, and I ate everything else just to get to the salty caramel mousse. (That's in fact the only reason I booked this restaurant after looking at their menu online.)
It was PURE BLISS.
I am falling asleep at the restaurant table. This is frowned upon in fancy establishments, so I drag my tired butt out of the cushiest chair in existence, and I trudge back to the tram.
By 6 PM, my eyelids are lead curtains, smashing down on my cheekbones, so I pass out, assuming I'll wake up in the morning.
I'm up at 10:30 PM, and I stupidly check my text messages and emails, and then I'm UP.
I read a little of You are a Badass, which is incredibly funny (I want to be Jen Sincero's new bestie), and I try to fall back asleep around 1:30 AM.
But shit gets creepy.
I start hearing voices and seeing evil images in my mind's eye, like beasts and monsters. Normally, nothing fazes me. I lived in Washington Heights (in NYC) alone for 7 years and never batted an eyelash. I can watch a series of the most terrifying horror movies until 2 AM, and not think about it again for a second.
I am freaking the FUCK out on Saturday night.
Stealthily, I creep out of the bedroom and check and recheck all the locks. I consider stowing a knife under my pillow, but I decide against it given how clumsy I am and how I'd probably just accidentally slice my face. It takes me a good 2 hours before I calm down. I remember that I have a million essential oils to chill me out, so I dowse myself, and eventually my exhaustion takes over.
Ironically enough, I wake up to remembering the least scary dreams I've had the pleasure of remembering.
I'm in a musical production. At the break, I'm hungry, and I want to grab food. I'm pressed for time but I think, fuck it. I can make it there and back. (Mandyland time.) It's an Italian restaurant, and I see pizza in the window. I order it, even though I shouldn't (gluten). I stuff my face as I walk backstage, and I hear silence and then yelling. I missed my cue. The stage manager finds me and says the tour is canceled. "Because of me?" I ask. "That, and other stuff." She retorts. I feel awful. So irresponsible and selfish of me that I was hungry and left everyone in the lurch. Then I think, well, there was no one back here calling time. I didn't know that I didn't have enough time. (And I did not know if that was true or not because I wasn't there to hear whether someone was calling time.) Then I go to see a dance opera that my friends are in and I can't find a damn seat with a good view. Barbara and Jen are in Britney Spears-inspired glittery latex and magenta peacock outfits busting out some outrageously sexy dance moves. This is so Barbara. She must have choreographed it. Aaaaaaand, SCENE.
I'm up relatively early on Sunday, and my plan is to hit up a couple outdoor markets (Gozsdu Udvar and Szimpla Kert), bathe at my regular grime-free sanctuary (Gellert), and then engage in some extracurricular activities (360 Bar and then dancing at one or many spots ...).
I'm goin' OOOOOOOUUUUUUUUT, toniiiiiiiiihgt! (Labor day in Hungaria tomorrow.)
I am home by 11:30 pm. Oh, well. It's the thought that counts.
I did get these amazing pics while at 360 Bar, AND I get hit on by some French and Bratislavian dudes. Ego is stroked at least.
LOOK AT THESE PHOTOS!!!! Goddess was all, ok, I'll give you a show tonight, sweetheart.
Front row fuggin seat to the majesty that is nature.
Even though I'm sleepy by 9 PM, I think, MANDY, get it TOGETHER. You need a night out. You've spoken to no in-person humans in a week, other than the cashiers at the baths. You NEED human interaction. Skype does not count. Imagining your burgeoning best friendship with Jen Sincero DOES NOT COUNT.
Ok, I think. I can DO this. I will drink Grand Tokaj and mingle with foreigners. It will be GRAND.
But first. Food.
I get some CRAMAZINGLY delicious falafel that will ruin me for all the falafel to come.
It also ruins me for any hope of going out on the town.
The first day of May. WHAT.
I am in love with the Yoga with Adriene chick. New girl crush, for reals. (Sorry, Sincero. I've moved on.) I commit to her 30 days of Yoga Challenge, and love day one. And I finally have a reason to use these handy traction gloves and feetsies!
Afterwards, I apply my 5 oils for ancestral-clearing and boundary-setting support, and I'm becoming more and more obsessed with this one. You gotta try it. SO FLIPPIN GOOD.
Most of my day is spent working on my webinar and newsletter, and I don't have time for bathing.
SOOOO, tomorrow, I have no work on the schedule, only play. I shall commit to this mantra through and through.