Time flies when you're under-dressed.

I have friends who get massages on a regular basis but until this weekend, I'd never had one. Not officially, anyway, though I've had boyfriends who thought they may have been qualified to give one ("oohhhOWWWW, you're breaking my damn neck!"). All that changed this weekend when I treated myself to a luxurious spa Saturday, complete with full massage via a 200-lb Russian woman.

Anna showed me into the massage room and pointed to a chair, where I was supposed to leave all my clothes and my jewelry. Then I was instructed to lie down on the table under the towel and she would be back in two minutes. "Two minutes, okay?" she said, for emphasis.

So I do everything she says, strip down and start taking out my earrings when one of the earring backs flies off into the abyss. "SHIT," I muttered, now crouched on all fours looking for it. But then I remember. "Two minutes!" The very last thing I want is for Anna to walk in on me crawling around naked on the floor when I am supposed to be gently relaxing on the damn table. I cut my losses, hopped up on the table, and got to work looking peaceful, not with two seconds to spare.

Despite the mini-trauma, the massage ended up as my favorite thing in 2008 so far (and 2007 and 2006...). If you haven't tried one yet (and who are we kidding- if you don't live in New York and you're not Paris Hilton, odds are you haven't...), you absolutely must. I am pretty sure I got close to understanding the universe during those 55 minutes, at least closer than I ever have with Yoga.

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This morning I took the elevator up 30 flights to my first day of work. My ears popped. I felt like I should be served peanuts and a complimentary drink on the way up. The corner office I share with two nice guys gives pretty spectacular views of Manhattan.

Nice background for a travel-loving girl, I'll tell ya...