After a dearth, a DEARTH of activity over here, we did enough stuff in two days to fill either one extraordinarily long blog post or three smaller ones.
So you get three smaller ones. Because I'm busy over here stringing trash together to hang around my neck -. or what Etsy calls "re-purposed jewelry with found items." There's been a Monopoly necklace, a stamp necklace, a button necklace, and a Scrabble necklace. In fact, I spent so much time Saturday turning an old map into paper beads that I didn't notice the time slipping away to two in the afternoon.
But at two, we set out to find what we've been calling "The ASMR salon."
I first heard of this place when I was talking to the counselor. I mentioned Gary had developed a fondness for ASMR, but I couldn't remember the name. "BDSR? BDSM? There's and S in it, because it stands for sensory. Automatic sensory someth -"
She shot out of the room. I did a panicked replay of everything I'd said ("BDSM!") until she came back in, bearing a flyer for a new place in town where they test your urine, blood, stress levels, and then plug you into a set of headphones and ASMR the hell out of you.
I showed the flyer to Gary that night and he reacted very strongly that he had NO interest in publicly experiencing ASMR. So strongly that I threw the flyer away with many defensive apologies.
That's why I was surprised that he wanted to hunt the place down Saturday, and that's why we were unsuccessful - I'd thrown away the flyer. All I knew of the name was that there's an X in the middle. So, we drove to the place I thought I'd remembered from the flyer, hunted on Google maps, tiptoed up to several locked glass doors, and peek through windows to see if we could see any sci-fi headphone relaxation devices. All I know is there is an ASMR Salon someplace around west county named ___X___. Keep an eye out for it.
Our journey took us out to the fancy bead store on Olive, where there was a trunk sale and I got twelve strings of semi-precious beads for forty bucks. I have plans to string the citrine around my neck with jolly accents of dollhouse miniature junk food.