I never intended to fall in love with a 65-year-old Russian aesthetician who threatens my life every other week, but it happened none-the-less.
I was just laying on the waxing table, half-folded paper robe draped over my who-ha, contemplating how the hell I was going to finish and book proposal and a feature film in 72 hours when the door opened behind me and a pair of conspicuously strong hands started massaging my head.
“I massage you for few minutes,” the voice that belonged to the hands said. “Ina still finishing other client.”
The mystery voice was round and deep, like a 65-year-old Russian aesthetician’s. The person connected to it smelled like a combination of baby powder and my grandmother’s old doll room. She was standing behind me in a dimly lit room, so I couldn’t even see her face until it was suddenly two centimeters from my own, yelling.
“My GOD you need facial!” the voice that belonged to the hands that didn’t belong in my waxing room said. That’s when I opened my eyes to find what can only be described as the love child of Estelle Harris and Bettlejuice, upside down.
“Oh honey! You pick your skin? Your skin is mess! You have time for facial today? You make time for facial today. You. Need. Facial.”
It was less like a sales pitch for add-on spa service and more like a desperate plea from a concerned family member, and so I responded accordingly; I started to cry.
“Oh honey!” my super mean Russian intruder said, “You no cry! I so sorry! I no mean to hurt you feelings! Come. Come. I treat you to facial. I treat you to facial right now.”
And then I told a complete stranger who made me cry within 15 seconds of meeting me something I’ve told maybe 10 people in my life. I do pick my skin. It’s a nervous habit that I can’t seem to kick, and it gets worse when I’m on a writing deadline (or two in 72 hours). So I could probably have really nice skin – the kind I’ve always dreamed of having – but my mind refuses to learn to just bite my nails instead and so my skin is sometimes uneven and blotchy and a little bit scarred. It makes me super self-conscious, which is why I never, ever get facials.
I told this all to my brand new, totally uncertified therapist in a heave of mini sobs as she continued to very awkwardly but no less effectively massage my head. Then she said, “Is no problem honey. I see lots of people with same little problem. I’m Jana. I fix you.”
And that is exactly what she did. Well, she and her micro dermabrasian machine aka micro doctor.
“Micro doctor take off old skin and get down to baby skin where no scars, no scabs.”
The Google search I did in my car directly after leaving the first treatment that I was too overwhelmed to refuse without a pre-treatment Googling confirmed that Jana’s “micro doctor” is in fact a legitimate and very effective scar removal and skin-tone evening treatment. Dermatologists recommend it; celebrities swear by it. Treatment Prices have come down over the years owing to portable micro machines (which are not to be confused with the tiny collectable cars from the ‘90s) that spas of all kinds can own. The spa where Jana works – a 20+ year old establishment on Melrose just west of La Brea – has an incredible $35 per session deal, and when you factor in the free behavior modification training provided by Jana’s weekly death threats, that’s an even more killer price (pun intended).
“Okay. Let’s see how you do this week,”she says every single time I lie down on the heated bed. “HHmm. Problem here…problem there. You keep this up, I have to kill you.”
She either doesn’t understand proper sarcasm delivery or is legitimately that serious about the insignificance of a life without good skin. Either way, it’s working.
Three months and eight treatments later, I remain terrified of Jana and her “inspector gadgets” (a magnifying mirror and florescent light, but yes I do wonder every single time if she’s punning on the cartoon of our youth). I think about her big-bosomed sigh as she finds a new mark on my skin. I think about her stern, “good job honey,” when she finds nothing to sigh about. I see her gap-toothed almost smile turn to a plump-lipped definite frown when I get frustrated with a sentence I’m writing and feel my fingers migrate to my face. And then – and I cannot believe this is true – I don’t touch my skin. An old Russian bitch who believes Palm Springs, California is the most beautiful place in the world (she told me she’s going to retire there in five more years so I better have my act together before she goes) has finally cured me of my decades-long bad habit.
“You have beautiful skin like model now.” Jana said last week. “You going to be strong girl and keep it that way?”
“I’m going to try,” I said.
“Don’t try,” she said, “Just do it.”
The woman has one-upped Nike.
Today I have a 1:30 appointment with Jana, and I’m bringing her a bouquet of flowers because it’s Valentine’s Day and I love her. She helped me love my skin for the first time in as long as I can remember, even if it took the world’s worst customer service treatment and some Soviet-era scare tactics to do so. I’m hoping for a gap-toothed full smile in return, but I’ll settle for her not threatening my life.
Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! Hope you’re spending it with someone special,
or at the very least treating yourself to a facial.
Jessie Rosen
Jessie Rosen resides physically in LA and mentally in NY. She writes scripts, books, articles, sex stories, branded content and killer e-mails.
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That is a really good story! Funny part is, I just went to check on youtube to see what a facial/micro dermabrasion is and the lady doing the facial had her face partly hidden (as the camera was focusing on the client) and she had a russian accent!
Great post.. so glad I found your blog. I think i need to find whatever that machine is… my confession, as I write I too will pick at my skin. I have psoriasis so scratching and picking is never good. Times of stress it gets worse… on my last visit to a new dermatologist, Dr. “You have any stress in your life” Me.. “My daughter is getting married. My grandson is three and doesn’t believe in sleeping when I babysit. I coach high school cheerleading. I have friends who are fifty trying to relive their twenties. And I haven’t had a date in ..I’ve forgotten how long.Nah, I have no stress. why do you ask?” Didn’t even look up from his clipboard and answered, “There’s a great liquor store the next block over. I have coupons.” I think I might have to keep this doctor!!
great article
Please help– I do the same thing & am at the old age of 30 getting wrinkles & acne (which the nervous picking does not help). Were is this!?! I tried doing some google recon & failed.