Bathhouse Buddha Hanging Over in the City
Saturday was delirious and bliss
because Friday night Mark either poisoned or put serious drugs in the bloody mary’s he made for Kate and me at Melissa’s house. My intent had been to make a new bloody mary recipe I’d found on the internet, because I know Kate likes the bloody mary, and hey it’s the hairy end of her last undergrad semester. As anyone who drinks at all probably knows, you can’t taste vodka, so two big cups of the spicy bloody went right down, which brought Kate and I out into the street laughing and loudly chattering. I smoked three cigarettes. I think I’d had three cigarettes in the last year, and for the past several months they’ve thoroughly repulsed me.
The drive home was unframed and executed by Mark. In the middle of it we hit a sobriety check point, which Mark questionably sailed through. (Please forgive us our unsafe wrongs.)
Saturday Mark and I had plans to visit the Russian/Turkish baths in the city, my first time, Mark’s second, with his brother and his dad. We wake up, Kate and I topple into the car. We get bagels and return Kate to her car at Melissa’s. I felt disconnected from everything. I ate a bagel and drank some coffee and was fine until we got stopped in traffic. Within minutes I’d slumped over pale-faced.
We get into the city, Mark jerking the car through traffic. We’re almost to the bathhouse. "It’s coming." Mark shifts to the right side of the road. I vomit orange and tan with bagel bits. There was a guy sitting on his porch talking on his cell phone. He went inside. I vomit again, we take off. A few feet down the road, "There’s more." I vomit, I vomit again. We take off. Just before the stop sign, "There’s more." I vomit again. I’m shaking but feeling a little freer.
We see Mark’s dad and brother coming down the sidewalk toward the bathhouse. I go in, give the man my wallet to lock up and take the key to my locker. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never been to a bathhouse. I put on my bikini top and shorts, take my bottle of water out of my locker, put it back, take it out, grab a towel, put it back. What. I'm shot.
I go downstairs where there is steam and a maze of people in togas and swim suits. It is dim and I think I am in ancient Rome. Amo, ardeo. With Mark I go into the sauna made of wood. It is hot hot hot. My nose hairs burn. There is a guy sitting to our left. He and Mark both have acorn tattoos. This guy also has a squirrel on his chest and two acupuncture cup marks on his back. He’d quit smoking recently and wanted to open up his lungs. The guy to our right had made acorn bread for Thanksgiving. I didn’t know this was possible. Mark goes somewhere. I go into the room across the tile path.
This room’s made of tile, much bigger than the last, a smidge less hot, and with a cold-water showerhead at the doorway. I like this room. I don’t know where anybody is. I begin to level. I’m sweating, I feel the toxins moving around in my body. I feel like I’ve been meditating for days.
Soon I find myself in the steam room with Mark, his brother, and the guy with the acorn and squirrel tattoos, whom I’m sitting next to. Mark asks me how I’m feeling, he tells the tale of mary's poison. Acorn-squirrel guy, who’d recently been to a bathhouse in Chicago, tells me I need some more of the stuff to make me feel better. Mark’s brother says, "Hair of the dog."
I go out and sit down along the ledge of the icy-water pool and stare. I feel as close to zen as possibly I’ve ever felt. An older guy who looked uncannily like a movie star I can’t pinpoint grabs both of my shoulders and says, "What are you thinking about?" I don’t remember what I said and soon I was in conversation with a tattooed guy to my left who lived down the street.
Then I am in the hottest and largest room, where Mark and I find his brother. There is a large mostly naked man lying down and being beaten with leaves. It’s so hot our asses can’t handle the wood of the benches. A guy pours a bucket of icy water on the bench for all better. There are faucets placed along the benches, with icy water running into white buckets underneath them. I could deal with the heat only by squeezing the icy water out of a towel onto my face and body, which was ultimately relieving, nearly deific. Soon enough hot though.
As I walked on the tile with hot in me more toxins moved around in my body. I sat some more and moved from room to room.
Then I followed a quiet man up the stairs and into a small room with a table on which I lay face down, where he would massage my whole body. He told me to take off my bikini top and asked me if I’d ever been to the bathhouse. He asked me how I was feeling. "Hungover." He did my back, my arms, my hands, my neck, almost my ass, my legs. He asked me if I was flexible and began bending my legs every which way. He turned me over and did some more. It felt aaahh; I also felt the toxins moving around in my body.
I returned to the downstairs and sat in the room with the cold showerhead at the door. The wood sauna, where I wanted to go, was full of people. The room I entered, however, was empty except for me. I sat and sweat alone for a few minutes before people came in.
Eventually I went upstairs to get shampoo and a robe—I prefer toga—so I could shower after one of the most enjoyable experiences I’ve had. I’d like it again without the hangover. I’d like to do it once a week.
Afterward, Mark and I got in the car to head toward Highland Park for a vegetarian Thanksgiving dinner party. My head was doomful with aching, so before leaving the city we stopped at a grocery store and I bought Aleve. We also stopped for a pretzel. A few bites and I was spinning. Luckily I hadn’t told the guy in the grocery store I didn’t need the bag. I needed that bag. We were thick in traffic. There was no pulling over, and I was vomiting and vomiting again into the bag. We pulled over just before the Holland tunnel and dropped the bag off.
Off to the vegetarian dinner party, where there were many people I didn’t know and a lot of good food. I ate and I talked to the people, who comprised one of the friendliest bunch of strangers I’ve encountered. I fondled a Rubik’s cube; I consumed the Brita. Eventually in my bed I slept.
because Friday night Mark either poisoned or put serious drugs in the bloody mary’s he made for Kate and me at Melissa’s house. My intent had been to make a new bloody mary recipe I’d found on the internet, because I know Kate likes the bloody mary, and hey it’s the hairy end of her last undergrad semester. As anyone who drinks at all probably knows, you can’t taste vodka, so two big cups of the spicy bloody went right down, which brought Kate and I out into the street laughing and loudly chattering. I smoked three cigarettes. I think I’d had three cigarettes in the last year, and for the past several months they’ve thoroughly repulsed me.
The drive home was unframed and executed by Mark. In the middle of it we hit a sobriety check point, which Mark questionably sailed through. (Please forgive us our unsafe wrongs.)
Saturday Mark and I had plans to visit the Russian/Turkish baths in the city, my first time, Mark’s second, with his brother and his dad. We wake up, Kate and I topple into the car. We get bagels and return Kate to her car at Melissa’s. I felt disconnected from everything. I ate a bagel and drank some coffee and was fine until we got stopped in traffic. Within minutes I’d slumped over pale-faced.
We get into the city, Mark jerking the car through traffic. We’re almost to the bathhouse. "It’s coming." Mark shifts to the right side of the road. I vomit orange and tan with bagel bits. There was a guy sitting on his porch talking on his cell phone. He went inside. I vomit again, we take off. A few feet down the road, "There’s more." I vomit, I vomit again. We take off. Just before the stop sign, "There’s more." I vomit again. I’m shaking but feeling a little freer.
We see Mark’s dad and brother coming down the sidewalk toward the bathhouse. I go in, give the man my wallet to lock up and take the key to my locker. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never been to a bathhouse. I put on my bikini top and shorts, take my bottle of water out of my locker, put it back, take it out, grab a towel, put it back. What. I'm shot.
I go downstairs where there is steam and a maze of people in togas and swim suits. It is dim and I think I am in ancient Rome. Amo, ardeo. With Mark I go into the sauna made of wood. It is hot hot hot. My nose hairs burn. There is a guy sitting to our left. He and Mark both have acorn tattoos. This guy also has a squirrel on his chest and two acupuncture cup marks on his back. He’d quit smoking recently and wanted to open up his lungs. The guy to our right had made acorn bread for Thanksgiving. I didn’t know this was possible. Mark goes somewhere. I go into the room across the tile path.
This room’s made of tile, much bigger than the last, a smidge less hot, and with a cold-water showerhead at the doorway. I like this room. I don’t know where anybody is. I begin to level. I’m sweating, I feel the toxins moving around in my body. I feel like I’ve been meditating for days.
Soon I find myself in the steam room with Mark, his brother, and the guy with the acorn and squirrel tattoos, whom I’m sitting next to. Mark asks me how I’m feeling, he tells the tale of mary's poison. Acorn-squirrel guy, who’d recently been to a bathhouse in Chicago, tells me I need some more of the stuff to make me feel better. Mark’s brother says, "Hair of the dog."
I go out and sit down along the ledge of the icy-water pool and stare. I feel as close to zen as possibly I’ve ever felt. An older guy who looked uncannily like a movie star I can’t pinpoint grabs both of my shoulders and says, "What are you thinking about?" I don’t remember what I said and soon I was in conversation with a tattooed guy to my left who lived down the street.
Then I am in the hottest and largest room, where Mark and I find his brother. There is a large mostly naked man lying down and being beaten with leaves. It’s so hot our asses can’t handle the wood of the benches. A guy pours a bucket of icy water on the bench for all better. There are faucets placed along the benches, with icy water running into white buckets underneath them. I could deal with the heat only by squeezing the icy water out of a towel onto my face and body, which was ultimately relieving, nearly deific. Soon enough hot though.
As I walked on the tile with hot in me more toxins moved around in my body. I sat some more and moved from room to room.
Then I followed a quiet man up the stairs and into a small room with a table on which I lay face down, where he would massage my whole body. He told me to take off my bikini top and asked me if I’d ever been to the bathhouse. He asked me how I was feeling. "Hungover." He did my back, my arms, my hands, my neck, almost my ass, my legs. He asked me if I was flexible and began bending my legs every which way. He turned me over and did some more. It felt aaahh; I also felt the toxins moving around in my body.
I returned to the downstairs and sat in the room with the cold showerhead at the door. The wood sauna, where I wanted to go, was full of people. The room I entered, however, was empty except for me. I sat and sweat alone for a few minutes before people came in.
Eventually I went upstairs to get shampoo and a robe—I prefer toga—so I could shower after one of the most enjoyable experiences I’ve had. I’d like it again without the hangover. I’d like to do it once a week.
Afterward, Mark and I got in the car to head toward Highland Park for a vegetarian Thanksgiving dinner party. My head was doomful with aching, so before leaving the city we stopped at a grocery store and I bought Aleve. We also stopped for a pretzel. A few bites and I was spinning. Luckily I hadn’t told the guy in the grocery store I didn’t need the bag. I needed that bag. We were thick in traffic. There was no pulling over, and I was vomiting and vomiting again into the bag. We pulled over just before the Holland tunnel and dropped the bag off.
Off to the vegetarian dinner party, where there were many people I didn’t know and a lot of good food. I ate and I talked to the people, who comprised one of the friendliest bunch of strangers I’ve encountered. I fondled a Rubik’s cube; I consumed the Brita. Eventually in my bed I slept.
