My Weekend with Ted Danson. Sort of.

If I won the lottery, I would have a massage three times a week. No, wait. I mean three times a day! Yeah, three times a day. Because I’m part cat (could you scratch my head just a little longer?), part dog (yes, right there, rub right there),

and part stressed out human being (I don’t care how much it hurts – I need deep pressure on those shoulders!).

Alas. I haven’t won the lottery. But this past weekend my sister and I decided to have our first annual Sisters’ Spa Extravaganza at the Ojai Valley Inn & Spa.

As it turns out, so did Ted Danson.

Now you need to understand that despite living in Los Angeles, I am oblivious to the presence of the rich and famous. Partly this is because when that gorgeous actress goes out in public sans make-up, perfect hair and killer clothes, she looks a lot like, well, you and me. OK, better than me. But not up to Silver Screen images. So when people are screaming, “Oh my God, look! Isn’t that …. (fill in the blank?),” chances are I’m whipping my head around saying, “Where? Where?” while looking straight at the famous face. Who I don’t recognize because she isn’t made up like a movie star.

So here we are, relaxing in the co-ed pre-massage lounge in our fancy Ojai robes and sandals, sipping herbal tea and waiting for our treatments to start. When in walks…a man.

Frankly, the ratio of women to men getting massages is something like 5 million to one, so those hairy legs were a surprise in and of themselves. As our gaze went up from the legs to that famous face, my sister and I casually averted our look so as not to be caught in a classic Midwestern gaping pose. Which of course we both had on our faces but were trying not to overly humiliate ourselves.

Disclaimer: These are NOT Ted Danson's legs!

Really, why were we surprised? We were:

  • In Southern California,
  • At a place that is just ridiculously expensive (Two coffees and one granola yogurt parfait for breakfast cost $26. Without tip.), and
  • Hanging out with people who clearly live in a different universe than these two Cleveland girls (Clue: Conversation overheard on our early morning fitness walk: “I live in downtown Carmel, you know, where we don’t have addresses on our homes.” Why? Because these houses have names like “Tara,” that’s why.).

I wish I could tell you that our “rube-ness” stopped with the stupid expressions on our faces but it didn’t. Hayseeds that we are, we were busy texting and Facebook-ing our friends about our amazing near-fame moment. (We do have enough manners that we didn’t take his picture with our cell phones, so I guess we get one point for that.)

But seriously? Kind of a crappy life, if you ask me. Yeah, he has more money than God, and could afford to order a granola parfait all for himself at breakfast, instead of splitting it. But he doesn’t have what we have, which is anonymity. And that’s no small thing. We get left alone; he doesn’t.

I’ll take my life over his. But Ted, could I just touch your hair to see if it’s real or not? Come on, you’re a movie star, after all!

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