Some people like to listen to music when they relax. I really love to listen to podcasts, especially old time audio dramas. In past posts I’ve talked about some modern radio dramas that have been popping up here and there over the last few years. Some not so good, others brilliant. But the real treasures are the older original productions like 1940’s Inner Sanctum Mysteries.
This show really stands out as it had some pretty big stars on it keeping the acting tight and reasonably corny free. I still find a few episodes a little scary. Boris Karloff, Orson Welles and Frank Sinatra all had roles in single episodes.
So, if you feel like being a little distracted while you soak, I highly recommend Inner Sanctum Mysteries. I’ve been wading through some real garbage as far as audio dramas go, so you don’t have to. Believe me, this is the cream of the crop!
Can we really have a bath blog and not do a post with this scene in it? Or is it too obvious? Well here it is anyway.
This would probably be a pretty shitty bath. I would give it a 2.
I’m sure you all read Manon’s last post about her sewer bath. It made me think of sharing other awful bath experiences that I’ve had. I’m torn about revealing them as my partner seems to be having second thoughts about bathing again after the literal shit storm she came home to recently.
I’m very interested in not only reviewing fancy tubs in nice hotels but also experiencing the other half. Roadside motels and hotels can have a certain charm. Maybe the tub itself isn’t anything to write home about but there is something to be said about being surrounded by decor that hasn’t changed since the 60’s.
Unfortunately, sometimes what can be said about the decor can also be said about the frequency of cleaning. Mid way through a long road trip from Winnipeg to Montreal I had stopped at a roadside motel for the evening. The place was OK and looked about as clean as you would expect without totally traumatizing me. I decided to take a bath and was thrilled to see that it had jets! So, here I am, sitting in the tub waiting for it to fill up so I can get blasted by 8 turbo jets and relax.
The time has come, I flip the switch and they sputter to life. I remember thinking that it sounded to me what I always though Archie Andrews jalopy would sound like if he and his Riverdale High gang were real.
Now, beard or moustache aside, I’m not a hairy man. Whenever I take a bath, there is no gross ring of man hair circling the tub. I’m relatively non hairy and I make sure to keep everything trimmed and in control down there. So, you can imagine my horror when I noticed that there was suddenly an unreasonable amount of hair now swirling around in the bath around me.
I was flooded with the realization that the jets had been packed with pubes and bolted up to my feet…. but not before a Band-Aid slithered across my thigh.
I could not get that shower hot enough to clean myself afterwards. A gross experience? Yup. But, this fearless bather will try again!
If you know of any cool motels send the info my way. I mean really, I don’t think it could get any worse than this, right?
Oh my God, it’s a bat getting a bath! That guy is so cute, I just want to smash him!
holy mother of all horrors! behold the bath blogger’s ultimate worst nightmare: the sewer shit-filled bathtub. that’s right people. a bathtub filled with shit from the sewer. GOD.
here i was, totally disgusted by tyson’s previous poop-in-a-public-jacuzzi story. little did i know, that was a mere galaxy in the cosmos of disgusting bath stories. my story, on the other hand, is its own little universe of terrifying grossness. again: GOD.
there i was, pleased as punch to be on my way back home from québec city to montréal after a hectic 7-day work week, sitting in the back of some swanky vehicle. i also have to mention that i’d been staying at the fancy-pants château frontenac for the past four days, which, needless to say, has fancy-pants bathtubs. so i was feeling pretty fancy in my pants. anyway, as we were approaching montréal, i noticed a message from an unknown number on my cell. “hmm, wonder who that could be?”. little did i know, it was a call from the bath death reaper, come to slay my joy and passion for all things related to baths. asshole! on the message, my landlord even dared imply that the problem would “probably” only be solved the following day. didn’t she understand that this was a national fucking emergency?
but i’m glad i was warned. the sight of it all was enough to make any grown bath blogger weep for days. the entire tub, filled with murky human crap. the toilet, filled with the same said crap, but worse— someone else’s poop, someone else’s dirty tampons. that’s right, people. and all of that overflowing over my bathroom and part of my kitchen floor. my quiet sanctuary, my place of bathing and cleansing, my peace and joy, all totally assaulted by other people’s disgusting shit. i went through all the phases: denial, anger, bargaining, utter depression…all save for acceptance. i mean, how could this be happening to ME? of all people, really, me? a bath blogger? someone who once hated baths, only to overcome her fear and learn to love them? well, if there was ever any doubt, now i know for sure: “someone” has my number and they know how to use it. AND they control montreal’s sewer system. all together now: GOD.
and now, after the plumbers have done their thing, after my landlord has cleaned my place inside out, after i have scrubbed the shit out of it a second and third time with the most bleachiest products in all the land, i fear that i will never look at a bathtub the same way again. the image of floating feces and god only knows what else has tainted my dearest and most cherished bath dreams.
so, people, be warned! if i am convinced to take a bath again someday, which will be no easy feat, and live to write a review of it: your bathtub better be fucking spotless. otherwise no self-respecting part of my body and soul will enter your bathroom. and you will get a big fat -10 score.
now please excuse me while i go google “bath trauma” and rock myself to sleep.
yours truly (horrified),
on a parting note, here is the lovely bath in my room at the château frontenac, aka the calm before the storm.
All kids love waterparks. But I think a certain experience as a young boy has really tainted my fondness towards them. Hot tubs in particular. Just imagine the ratio of actual water to piss in a water park that’s hosting several hundred kids.
I can remember vividly after hitting the slides at Winnipeg’s “Fun Mountain” (well more of a hill than a mountain, but we’ll take what we can get in the Prairies,am I right folks?!) walking over to the large hot tub and jumping in. It wasn’t until we were already submerged in the tepid water for a few minutes that my Father noticed something alarming…..
"Hey Tys, (he’s one of the few people that calls me Tys) look at the color of the pool wall above the water and now look at the wall below the water line."
The concrete tub was huge and could easily fit 20-30 people in it. The walls were painted white but when you looked below the waterline it was a dark yellow. We immediately hopped out, completely grossed out.
As we were about to leave we looked at the tub one more time from our new vantage point and noticed a lady sitting in the water at the edge of the tub. A piece of shit was lightly bobbing in the water, next to her, gently tapping her shoulder. After a few seconds she turns her head to see who’s trying to get her attention. When she realizes that it’s literally a piece of shit, she screams and everyone gets out of the hot tub en masse! A lifeguard notices all the commotion and comes by with a big net and scoops the lil’ culprit out of the water. And to our horror and sick amazement, everyone jumps right back in! Phew, coast clear…. I guess.
Ever since then, I’ve avoided water parks and most public hot tubs. Am I being paranoid? Maybe. But I will always check the contrast of the color of the walls of a tub above and below the water. Just to be safe. That’s a little tip from me to you, for free-sies!
Tonight, I bathed. Not exactly in a bath but at the spa, which consisted of many different types of bathing and relaxation: eucalyptus steam room, dry sauna, massive hot tub with waterfall, cool shower station and ice-cold basin. Comparing this experience with taking a regular bath is sort of like comparing a good car to a private jet plane…But anyway.
Now, I’ve been to a similar outdoor scandinavian spa before (Le Nordik in Chelsea, in the Outaouais region), which seemed like a pretty sweet deal. And I guess it is…if sticking with the previous comparison, I might say it’s something of a cadillac or limousine. Which was all fine and good until I flew into Le Scandinave in Old Montreal. I wasn’t expecting much, honestly…after hanging out at Le Nordik under the moon and stars, I expected this to feel about relaxing as a hotel sauna. Shit, was I wrong.
Numero uno: the strict no-talking policy, which struck me as kind of stuck-up at first, was a huge factor in making my experience super primo. Seriously, if I had a buck for all the times I’d had to put up with annoying fools talking about their dumb-ass bullshit while trying to zen out at Le Nordik…Also, this might sound weird, but they offered free hooded bathrobes (hooded! And Le Nordik makes you pay for them…cheap!) which made me feel like I was surrounded by monks. Quiet, sleepy monks. Amazing.
Numeros dos: the hot tub. To its credit, it didn’t look at all like a hot tub and seemed more like a dream bath: a large rectangle with underwater perch at just the right height as to allow resting one’s head on the ledge. Lots of jets, underwater coloured lights (I’m a sucker for these, personally), a massive waterfall and not a lot of people in it. Also the tiny one-person cold water basin was attached to the tub, which made it easy as pie to dunk in as soon as I’d had my fill.
Numero tres: The resting rooms: why don’t we have more resting areas in our washrooms, I wonder? They ain’t called restrooms for no reason. Imagine this: Super dim lights, spacey but not cheesy music, massive beanbag chairs and pillows…There’s just something perfect about getting out of the tub and crashing right next to it in the dark for awhile. I’m telling you folks, it makes a world of difference. People would be happier. Wars would be avoided. Things would make more sense.
Fourthly (I’m tired of counting in Spanish, it’s annoying me): The sauna and steam rooms. The temperature in both rooms was perfection. How many stinking times have I been in either of these types of areas feeling like I might pass out after two minutes or like I’m not actually warming up? This only goes to remind me how important water temperature and heating are when bathing. If it was up to me, they could have added a tad more eucalyptus oil in the steam room but I’m assuming the guy who was next to me and sneezing continuously would disagree.
Lastly: the service. People, when inviting someone (read: Tyson or I) into the sanctuary that is your bathroom, remember that god is in the details: abundance of clean towels, class-act cleansing products, food and drink, etc. Le Scandinave didn’t skip a beat in terms of making sure my friend and I were completely set up: there was even a small container with hair elastics for us gals who forget to bring some with us everywhere we go.
Anyway, I know it isn’t fair to review a bath that isn’t really a bath. But it’s water, it’s in the bathing category, and it made me feel like a gazillion bucks. Oh, and it was just $36 for the evening. Pretty cheap for such a sweet ride.
Check it out, big time ($36 promo on until December 20th): http://www.scandinave.com/en/montreal/
Smell like a man!
Veronique Ouellette from Booberry Cosmetics had told me about her “Campfire” scented body cream and I was really intrigued by the idea of smelling like burnt wood. So, I recently paid her a visit at her studio and came home with an armload of treats.
We sat down and after a short little interview (coming up next week) she got down to work making the Campfire body butter from scratch in her cute studio/apartment.
I’ve used homemade creams before and they usually leave you feeling pretty greasy but the Campfire keeps you dry and smooth. Oh, and did I mention it smells like a fucking campfire!? Well, it does and it’s awesome.
As most of you know, I love the smell of cedar and wood. So, Veronique made me a new body spray that has cedar, rosemary, cypress, dirt and pine oils in it. It literally smells like a shovel full of forest earth. I love camping and the combination of the campfire cream and the forest floor body spray make me feel like I’ve spent a week in the deep woods.
And if the body spray is too much for you, maybe the Forest Floor soap is more up your alley. It smells very similar to the spray but a little milder.
I’ve been using a combination of all three products over the last two weeks and feedback has been great….. although one person told me I smelled like salad greens…..
It’s nice to see someone making bath and body products that are a little less fruity and floral and more natural and subtle. I’ll definitely be buying a little trio pack of these items for Christmas gifts this year.
Check out her Etsy shop for more products and be sure to visit her at this years Puces Pop, here in Montreal over the Holiday season.