My pal Herman

I am always up for anything that is even slightly pampering or relaxing and I have been DYING to go to float.

Now Liz, (you might be thinking)....I have seen you and your built in life vest (ha ha ha ) and you should be floating effortlessly for a lot less $$ than going to a fancy spa and doing it there.

Well allow me to rob you of that illusion.

Firstly, I have a hard time relaxing in public
As I have said before, I suffer from crippling anxiety, and I really don’t like most people near me, let alone watching me in a swimsuit.

Also, most public pools frown on nude swimming.
It usually results in a free car ride to the local RCMP station.

(I heard it from a friend)

Secondly, I HATE public pools.
They are vats of steaming human soup, and I just don’t think that there is enough chlorine to ever wash off the feeling of touching someone else’s stray floaty hair.

(hopefully from their head...I would be out of there so fast if hair from anywhere else touched me)or...black Jebus forbid.... a wayward band-aid. *hurl*

 Not to mention the foot sweat, urine, ball juice, beaver gravy, swass and all manner of other personal bodily fluids that would be left behind in the pool water.

Don’t fool yourself with those “showers” they make you take either. You know it’s nothing but a cursory rinse, and some people who get in the public pool should likely be dipped in lye first.

Thirdly, despite having several whale like qualities, I sink like a chubby, flailing stone.  Years of swimming lessons in my youth could not have prepared me for the submarine attitude my ass takes on whenever I get into water.

DIVE!! DIVE!!

Like a pale Titanic, no iceberg required.

Getting out is no picnic either.

Every time I get out of a public pool, it absolutely looks like I am beached, and I pray my tits aren’t going to pop out and flash some poor unsuspecting soul.

You really have to prepare to see my boobs, it’s not to be taken lightly.
(It’s like staring directly at the sun or something, it will change you as a person.)

When I do manage to get my fat ass out, Kim Basinger and Bob Barker always show up to the pool in their PETA shirts and keep trying to push me back in and it’s this whole awkward ordeal to explain that I am not in distress, and no, that’s just cellulite, not whaling scars.

So as you can see, there is nothing remotely relaxing for me in a public pool setting.
(or any setting really)

I have read all sorts of literature about floating, and I really wanted to give it a try, but there was one major issue for me living where I do.

Until recently the only float spa was on the south side, which I cannot go to.
Now before you start thinking it’s some blood feud or west side story or Lord of the rings type deal, it’s not.

I just hate driving there.
It makes me super anxious, and the streets were all designed by a crack smoking monkey with a set of Crayolas.

I’m sure southsiders all feel the same about the northend, but in any case they are the lucky ones with the great shopping and the only float place in the city so they should shut it already.

Anyways, I really, really wanted to go, but figured the cost to relaxation ratio would be destroyed ASAP as soon as I got in the car. I would need a float both pre and post drive to chill out, which would be way too pricey and would make me look like one of those dried out mummies in the museum.

For those of you that have no idea what I am talking about (ha ha get used to it!), floating is where you lay in a puddle of super salty water (800 pounds of it), in this giant sensory deprivation chamber and do nothing.

No other people. No PETA. No stray band-aids. No swimsuit.

(Although you feel free to wear one if you like, there is no judgement in your private pod, wear a chicken suit for all I care; I won’t tell you how to live your life.)

It sounded like heaven situated in my own personal hell of driving to the south side.

UNTIL RECENTLY!!!

My friend Her Majesty posted about this new place in St. Albert that had 3 float rooms and she was going. 

I could drive there and back and only have mild homicidal driving thoughts, and wouldn’t you know it, right beside a yummy burger place. My day off was officially set up.

I booked immediately.

I scheduled the first one on a Tuesday morning, again to avoid other humans, and camped outside the door of the place like I was waiting for concert tickets.

I had looked online to see what kind of prep that needed to happen, and I was sure glad I did, because they recommend not shaving or waxing before a float. Big no no.

(Not that I was going to tidy myself up of anything, I mean unless Michael Chiklis wanted to climb in and share my pod, I wasn’t going to go out of my way to groom myself for a salty puddle in a dark pod. Sounds like a few bad dates I have been on in the past now that I think of it...)

Anyways, it was calm, and serene and you get a room all to yourself with your own shower and pod.

The lady explained what to do and how to turn it on, and showed me where the earplugs and Vaseline was, and then she left me alone.

(She did explain before she left what the Vaseline was for, but it escaped my short term memory as I was fascinated by the big pod and privacy.)

I quickly locked the door, stripped down to nothing and got out my phone.

(easy folks, I was taking pictures for you...of the pod and room only. I could have left my clothes on for that I suppose, but I was really excited and didn’t think about how weird that would sound typing it, and didn’t think to erase it now that I have wrote it. Not a lot of editing is done on my blog.)

After getting what's kind of a weird selfie with my pod, I had a shower and went to climb in.

Here is where the knowledge of the oddly placed Vaseline would have been good to come back to mind.

I went to sit in the pod, lit up and beautiful and tempting me with its alone time, and as soon as my ass hit the 10 inches of 800 pounds of dissolved salt water, I damn near died.

Let’s just pause there a minute.

You know I had a baby. 

You likely know it was a shitty, terrible pregnancy because of Mike’s cancer and chemo and all that business.

But it was by most standards, a pretty healthy pregnancy.

Several things happen to a woman’s body during this little miracle, some good, some not so good.

My feet growing and making me buy a whole new shoe collection, both good and bad.

(yeah new shoes, boo pretty small shoes I never even got to wear)

My wicked scar and the stretch marks that criss cross my belly like a tiger, not so good.

But the real kicker was Herman.

Herman, as I have named him, (I gave birth to him as well), is my hemorrhoid.

Herman showed up around the 3^rd trimester, when I started to have my own gravitational pull, and has been with me ever since.

Don’t get all high and mighty here, 4 out of 5 people are reported to have one of these things

(Source-Dr. Google), and its perfectly natural, especially for pregnant women. 

(I bet your ass would try to escape too if an 8 lb baby was squishing it for 40 weeks.)

Heman’s generally not a trouble maker, despite the long hours I sit on my ass for work, and only really gets temperamental if I have a donair. Or a steak. Or anything spicy. Or too much whiskey.

Ok, I admit Herman can sometimes be a real pain in the ass. (ha ha ha)

But 80% of the time he’s quiet, and I sometimes forget he’s still with me.

Until I dipped my ass in the salty water.

When the float lady told me about the Vaseline, she said it was for any wounds that are open.
Just rub it on and the salt should stay out and not burn. It all came back to me real fast once I was ass deep let me tell you.

Other than a couple scratches on my chest from when my cats used me as a starting block for the furball 500 two nights before, I felt I was relatively wound free.

Until I submerged Herman.

The float tank is like eating ketchup chips. You think your mouth is whole right before you eat them, until the first chip hits your mouth and you instantly remember every time you accidentally bit your lips or cheek the past week because it burns like fire.

Herman had been relatively quiet the past few weeks, so his angry little self didn’t even register, I was way too excited to float and forgot all about him.
 (But now that I think about it I did have a donair Monday night...dammit)

So here I am, hovering over 10 inches of uber salty water, hanging on to the edges of the pod wondering what path I should take, like one of those adventure books from Junior high school.

Do I get out of the pod, wash the salt off Herman, then do the prison lube on my asshole?

Or do I suck it up and try not to scream like a little bitch and get my float started?

Decisions, decisions...

Now if any of you have read “The night I lit my ass on fire” ( go now...I'll wait), you will know I can be a cheapskate at the best of times, and this was definitely one of those times.

Paying close to a dollar a minute for the opportunity to float made me very conscious of the time constraints, so I did what I had to do.

I quickly doused my whole ass in the salt water and bit my lip, trying not to ruin the ambiance of the spa with my squeal of pain having pickled my anus.

They tell you not to jump into the water, as the point is to forget the water is even there.
So once the nerve endings on Herman were silenced, (approx 5 mins of burning, far less then it likely would have taken for me to prison prep my bum, but hindsight is 20/20.) the waves from my ass were still tossing me around the pod.

There is nothing relaxing about a burning asshole and bumper cars inside a sensory deprivation pod, let me tell you. Worse yet was that I had turned off the lights in the pod, so it was kinda like the time I went on Space mountain and you couldn’t see anything but you felt like you were moving.

Except I never went on Space Mountain naked. Felt I should qualify that statement.

Eventually the tank settled, but my brain really didn’t. It’s hard to turn it off, especially for someone like me, who over thinks every little thing in existence.

Is there a camera in here?
I could secretly be on that naked and afraid show, what did that waiver I signed blindly really say?
I should read things I sign.
Oh I wonder if Crafty Pants would make me a sign for Christmas.
I need to put up my Christmas lights before it snows.
I wonder if I could smuggle in another Christmas tree?
I need to go get those LED ones to plug in to the computers at work.
It was a bad week at work, I hope this float relaxes me so I don’t snap on anyone.
I wonder if you could fit two people in here?
I would be super relaxed if Chiklis was in here with me.
Maybe getting turned on in a pod isn’t smart.
Wow my boobs are freezing!

See what I mean?

Eventually I did start to relax, and a few little splashes of salt water warmed up my boobs enough that I didn’t freeze to death.
I really was floating, and you forget the water is there after a while. It’s kinda like what I imagine being in space is like, except naked.

(I don’t think they let the astronauts get naked very often, I think there are all sorts of surveillance cameras up there. One day we’ll see the space station sex tape, people will be going crazy I’m sure.  I’d kind of like to see it too; I think it would be interesting to see the dynamics of weightless sex.)

Anyways, by the time I got comfortable the pod kicked me out, threatening to turn on the filtration system while I was still lying naked in its puddle.

I stood up to see a thin layer of salt had dried all over my nipples, from me splashing the water on there to keep warm. It was very “girls gone wild”, I just needed a couple of limes and some tequila.

I had a shower in my private room, which was very lovely and warm, and left feeling like a million bucks.

I will be going back for sure, just for way longer, maybe 90 minutes next time.

I highly recommend it to everyone, I slept better, I was able to suppress my homicidal tenancies for another week, and my skin was super soft afterwards. Plus its beside the Delux burger bar. 

I will just try my best not to have a delicious donair the day before, and remember my Vaseline. And tequila.

I wonder if Chiklis would do body shots with me?

                                                                        The pod

                                                         My awkward selfie with the pod