Spa With Friends Quotes

Sometimes our biggest mistakes give us our greatest reward.

A spa?" "Yeah, Avalon Spa, you know the place near the mall?" "Oh, right. What do you do there?" Again, the nervous glance at the floor, and the small flush of color rising up his neck. "I'm a masseur. Which I know sounds phony as hell, but I'm licensed and everything. Also, my clients are women- the only men at Avalon are the ones on staff. And while I've got nothing against women at all- I'd have no friends in high school if it weren't for women- I find them as sexually attractive as roadkill possum." Roan had to swallow back a laugh. "Don't tell them that." "Oh, God no! I'd never get any tips then.

Life is full of bad surprises.

Self-esteem comes from the Lord, not other people. Why should we care what other's think?

She was the first close friend who I felt like I’d re­ally cho­sen. We weren’t in each other’s lives be­cause of any obli­ga­tion to the past or con­ve­nience of the present. We had no shared his­tory and we had no rea­son to spend all our time to­ gether. But we did. Our friend­ship in­ten­si­fied as all our friends had chil­dren – she, like me, was un­con­vinced about hav­ing kids. And she, like me, found her­self in a re­la­tion­ship in her early thir­ties where they weren’t specif­i­cally work­ing to­wards start­ing a fam­ily. By the time I was thirty-four, Sarah was my only good friend who hadn’t had a baby. Ev­ery time there was an­other preg­nancy an­nounce­ment from a friend, I’d just text the words ‘And an­other one!’ and she’d know what I meant. She be­came the per­son I spent most of my free time with other than Andy, be­cause she was the only friend who had any free time. She could meet me for a drink with­out plan­ning it a month in ad­vance. Our friend­ship made me feel lib­er­ated as well as safe. I looked at her life choices with no sym­pa­thy or con­cern for her. If I could ad­mire her de­ci­sion to re­main child-free, I felt en­cour­aged to ad­mire my own. She made me feel nor­mal. As long as I had our friend­ship, I wasn’t alone and I had rea­son to be­lieve I was on the right track. We ar­ranged to meet for din­ner in Soho af­ter work on a Fri­day. The waiter took our drinks or­der and I asked for our usual – two Dirty Vodka Mar­ti­nis. ‘Er, not for me,’ she said. ‘A sparkling wa­ter, thank you.’ I was ready to make a joke about her un­char­ac­ter­is­tic ab­sti­nence, which she sensed, so as soon as the waiter left she said: ‘I’m preg­nant.’ I didn’t know what to say. I can’t imag­ine the ex­pres­sion on my face was par­tic­u­larly en­thu­si­as­tic, but I couldn’t help it – I was shocked and felt an un­war­ranted but in­tense sense of be­trayal. In a de­layed re­ac­tion, I stood up and went to her side of the ta­ble to hug her, un­able to find words of con­grat­u­la­tions. I asked what had made her change her mind and she spoke in va­garies about it ‘just be­ing the right time’ and wouldn’t elab­o­rate any fur­ther and give me an an­swer. And I needed an an­swer. I needed an an­swer more than any­thing that night. I needed to know whether she’d had a re­al­iza­tion that I hadn’t and, if so, I wanted to know how to get it. When I woke up the next day, I re­al­ized the feel­ing I was ex­pe­ri­enc­ing was not anger or jeal­ousy or bit­ter­ness – it was grief. I had no one left. They’d all gone. Of course, they hadn’t re­ally gone, they were still my friends and I still loved them. But huge parts of them had dis­ap­peared and there was noth­ing they could do to change that. Un­less I joined them in their spa­ces, on their sched­ules, with their fam­i­lies, I would barely see them. And I started dream­ing of an­other life, one com­pletely re­moved from all of it. No more chil­dren’s birth­day par­ties, no more chris­ten­ings, no more bar­be­cues in the sub­urbs. A life I hadn’t ever se­ri­ously con­tem­plated be­fore. I started dream­ing of what it would be like to start all over again. Be­cause as long as I was here in the only Lon­don I knew – mid­dle-class Lon­don, cor­po­rate Lon­don, mid-thir­ties Lon­don, mar­ried Lon­don – I was in their world. And I knew there was a whole other world out there.

There are plenty of fish in the sea. But really, there's not. It's not just our imaginations. It would be great if decent men were as plentiful as jumping salmon in a rushing river, but they aren't. For every Mr. Darcy (and he's married, incidentally) there are a hundred Mr. Wickhams. Or in more contemporary terms, for ever one of Colin Firth, there are several thousand Hugh Grants. The odds are against us. But what can I say--I'm a romantic, and I can't abandon the fantasy of Prince Charming altogether. What girl with a heart can? I mean, I'm not asking to feed the five thousand; I just want one good fish!

Are those the girls you met at Dayna Regis’s spa?” Jess asked as she and Liv left the store. “The dark one’s Cheyenne and the blonde one is Hailey. They’re both fifteen.” Liv nodded. “I don’t think I exactly warmed up our friendship but at least I didn’t let them walk all over me.” “Liv!” Her mother stopped walking and stared at her. “What did you say?” “Not much.” Liv grinned again. “I just told them Shane was probably going to stay with us this week and then I invited them to come visit.” “I see.” Jess frowned. “But it seems to me Shane has enough troubles right now without a bunch of girls fighting over him.” “I know, Mom, but I couldn’t help it,” Liv shrugged. “Those girls act like they own him--especially Cheyenne. She claims to be some kind of cousin, but she’s not really related to Shane.” “Seriously, Liv. Shane’s our friend. I wouldn’t want to see him embarrassed.” “Don’t worry.” Liv shrugged. “I don’t think Shane will even notice. He’s got more important things to worry about.

As they tramped in, Temo turned from the big stone barbecue with a long grilling fork in his hand. He froze at the sight of Dayna. Once more, it was as though the two of them were alone in the sunny ramada with its roof of woven grass and the light filtering through on their faces. No one else mattered. A short woman with her hair piled on her head hurried from behind the barbecue with a platter of tacos in her hand. “Temo, aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friends?” she asked with a smile. “Temo, what is wrong? Are you sick?” “No, Madre,” Temo muttered, but he still couldn’t take his eyes off Dayna. Dayna’s mother, Brenda Regis, picked that exact moment to stride in from the spa. “Howdy, everybody,” she crooned. “Hope you’re all hungry as coyotes.” She glanced at her daughter, who was still gazing at Temo with lovesick eyes. “Dayna, what’s the matter with you, honey?” She looked Dayna up and down, then her eyes went to Temo, and then to Temo’s mother. The two women stiffened. Say something, Sophie prayed silently to Dayna. Order Temo around in that bossy voice of yours. Quick, before your mother and his mother figure this out. But Dayna stood stunned, incapable of speech. Sophie gave Liv a nudge. “Follow my lead,” she whispered and then in a louder voice shouted, “Hey, is this a good time to break the piñata?” She dived forward to snatch the long fork from Temo’s hand. “Whee!” she shouted. “Fun! Come on, everybody. Let’s see what’s inside!” She poked at the paper horse. Liv grabbed a barbecue brush and bashed at it too. Cheyenne and Hailey joined in with shouts of glee. The paper horse flew to pieces, scattering small objects and cactus candy all over the picnic table. Some fell into the punch bowl with a splash. More landed in the salad plate. Laughter and confusion broke the spell of tension in the air as they all dived for the piñata’s. Dayna snapped out of her trance. “Look what I’ve got!” She held up a plastic whistle, then blew a shrill note. “Time to eat, everybody.” Temo turned back to the barbecue. The spell was broken, the danger past. His mother, Marita, gave him another frightened glance, but went on laying food on the table. Dayna’s mother picked a piece of candy out of her hair and said, “Well! We usually break the piñata after the meal, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter.

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riendship is a treasure. If you possess even one nugget of the real thing-you're rich! So celebrate! Give your friend a book or an item with a note explaining its importance. Or set up a spa day. Why not add to her collection-or even start one for her! A bell, a miniature animal, an antique ...something in line with her interests. Personalized notepads are always great and practical! You could get her a monogrammed Bible or a hymnbook for her devotional times. Or one of those wonderful little rosebush trees if she's into gardening. Express your care and love for her friendship. by not widen your circle of friends? Don't miss the joy of sharing your Christian life through hospitality. Bible studies and small-group meetings are great ways to open your home and your heart. Fill a basket with food and take it to neighbors. What a surprise it will be for them! Host a neighborhood barbecue, potluck, theme dinner (ask everyone to bring something related to the theme), or even start a dinner club and meet somewhere different each month. Throw an "all girls" party for you and your friends. Volunteer at a homeless shelter or hospital. What do you enjoy most? Let that be the focus of your hospitality to others.

A Christmas Truce What would I like for Christmas? A close friend wants to know. Perfume? A clock? A spa day? Some tickets for a show? ‘I need ideas by Monday,’ She huffs, as if I’m not Sufficiently respectful Of her present-buying slot, Which will expire by Tuesday, Her harried tone implies. Art books? Posh wine? New teapot? Brainstorm! Prioritise! What do I want for Christmas? I want you not to ask. I’d rather get no gifts at all Than be assigned the task Of emailing a wish list (One I must first create) To all my friends and family Before a certain date. Can I propose a Christmas truce To make my dreams come true? Create no work for me and I’ll Create no work for you. I’ve got enough possessions – Shoes, coats, a diamond ring – I want not to be asked to do A time-consuming thing. Yes, that’s a proper present – Abstract, but no less real. What do you mean it seems as if I don’t care how you feel? ALL RIGHT! I’ll have a teapot. What? Then wrap it in a fleece. Yes, I will ring to say it got here Safely, in one piece.

Famous sales coach and dear friend Jack Daly suggests, “Why don’t you throw people a party when they start, instead of when they leave?” Sydney-based software firm Atlassian sends each new employee, whatever his or her position, to a resort spa the weekend before the start date as a way to celebrate the new job. The spouse or a guest gets to go along — making both new employees and their spouses raving Atlassian fans.

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he’s the most normal, boring dude in the world until it comes to dressing up as his favorite old-timey TV characters. It’s like the fun part of his brain is unleashed, which is cool, but sometimes it can be a little TOO fun, you know what I mean? I know I should just expect it whenever we go to conventions together, but is there really any harm in lowering my expectations? Oh, and in case you’re wondering where my mom and sister were, they decided to sit this one out to have a spa weekend together at some fancy schmancy hotel…

Most of her mom’s friends are things like therapists, or lawyers, or doctors, or they own businesses like wool shops or coffee shops, or they’re stay-home moms who hover over their kids and go to yoga and to the spa for deep tissue massages and mani-pedis. None of them would ever wait on a table.

Kedging Let’s admit it. It’s not easy to keep doing exercise six days a week, year in and year out. Sometimes we falter, sometimes we slip off the bike, we get bored, and sometimes we need help. We all do. So Harry and I have come up with just the thing: “kedging.” Originally, it was a nautical term: When sailors were becalmed and drifting toward the rocks, they would literally pull themselves forward (using a small boat to set a small anchor) to get out of danger. They called kedging. It’s what you have to do when you’re tempted to say “the hell with it” and never exercise again. For our purposes, kedging means climbing out of the ordinary by setting a terrific goal for yourself (with a reward at the end) and working like crazy to get there. Make a long-range plan, maybe with a group of friends in some wonderful place, and then do it. It’s demanding but fun, like signing up for a serious “adventure trip.” Maybe one of those great bike trips in Europe, or a white-water rafting adventure, or a yoga retreat, or maybe a week at an interesting spa. Think about walking or running for a cause and get a friend to train with you. Most of these “kedges” mean training beforehand. But the training and anticipation perk us up and give shape and purpose to our daily training. And there’s that great reward at the end. The Rich Hours

Baseball Dennis & the French tells the true story of Paul Croshaw, longtime liberal activist, and connoisseur of French films, who amazed his family, friends, and himself by becoming a churchgoing, conservative Christian after years of listening to nationally syndicated radio host Dennis Prager.

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Your baby will likely cry less at sleep onset using this method if Dad is the one putting her down after soothing and Mom has left the house. This is for two reasons. First, your baby knows that Dad cannot nurse, so what is the point of crying? Second, moms are usually more sleep deprived and therefore likely to be inconsistent with the schedule. Mom might go for a walk, get a cup of coffee, or hang out with friends until Dad calls to tell her that the baby is asleep. Some mothers leave not just at bedtime but spend the entire first night away at a friend’s or at a hotel to get some much-needed rest and sleep. If affordable, one night of pampering self-maintenance at a spa hotel is a smart idea for the family and not selfish. Other

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