Heyday Rittenhouse

It finally happened.

I can no longer say I never win anything.

Not too long ago, I won an Instagram contest for a 3-month membership to the new Heyday Skincare in Rittenhouse. A Heyday membership grants you one 50 minute facial per month. That’s essentially a $300 value prize. I’d say it makes up for every contest I’ve ever lost. So far I’ve cashed in on my December facial, and this is what I thought.

I booked in person at the store, because I wanted to make sure the package went through, but you can of course call or book online. Their website is actually really beautiful. The mobile site is pretty too, but the interface got a little janky in translation. I really liked how they have headshots and little bios of all of their estheticians in various locations nationwide. They have yet to add our location, but I look forward to it when they do! I received an email and text reminder confirming my appointment a day or two before the booking, which I sadly depend on because I just don’t pay enough attention to time and dates. So I successfully made it to my appointment!

The storefront and waiting area are nice. Everything is bright, simple, and clean. The product displays are inviting and informative. A lot of the brands are local. The receptionist was friendly. They had a water station and a nice couch in the back corner to wait for your appointment. My esthetician, Miesha, met me on time and brought me back to our room. She pointed out the location of the restroom and asked if I needed to use it before we began. It’s a thing for me to always note whether or not your practitioner asks if you need to use the restroom before the service begins. I never need to go, but it seems like an essential courtesy to ensure a smooth service, so I always note that.

I’ve worked front desk at a boutique spa for years, so I can be a bit nitpicky. I try not to be, but it’s a customer service curse. If you ever want to enjoy things in life, don’t work in any service industry. Wait…working as a camera operator has prevented me from enjoying live televised events too. Okay, so just mooch off your parents until you can marry rich and never work a day in your life. If you work at anything, ever, it will forever turn you into a critic and you can’t turn it off.

Uh, I digress.

I enjoyed my facial. Miesha knows her stuff and most importantly, can share her knowledge in a digestible way for me…who knows little on what she’s talking about. But I understood! I’m not a stranger to facials, perks of working at a spa. But I learned a lot at Heyday. I discovered that my skin has been dehydrated, and that’s different than being dry. Dry is a skin type, where your skin lacks oils. Dehydration is a condition your skin can have where it lacks water. Dry, oily, combination and normal skin types can all be dehydrated. Apparently, your skin is the last organ to receive water, so I’m oftentimes probably not even drinking enough for there to be any left for my skin to benefit from. So I have a lot of water to drink and a better moisturizer to invest in.

She also told me to use sunscreen, which, as one of the sun’s melanated chosen folk, I am notoriously terrible at taking seriously. But thank the Lord I ended up with a fellow melanated practitioner because she switched my perspective on sunscreen right around. I did not know it, but there are skin diseases that SPECIFICALLY target skin with darker pigmentation. Who knew? So fine, I’ll add it to the routine, begrudgingly. THANKS, MIESHA. She honestly deserves an award, I’ve laughed in the face of doctors over sunscreen before.

Look at my faaaaaaace! All glowy.

The extractions were, of course, the not-enjoyable part of the service. I’m usually not too fazed, but I had a lot of oil or sebum build up in the pores on my nose. Maybe some of them were blackheads, I don’t know. But my esthi went HAM on them and like…I use my nose to breathe. I feel like the focus on my nose pores was a bit excessive and super uncomfortable. In hindsight, I should’ve just asked her to chill. But that was my only real issue with the service. There was a point where there was a hot towel on my face for an extended period of time. Maybe it was just before the extractions and it was there to open my pores up? I can’t remember, and it was a little awkward. It would have been nice to be prompted and informed of the several minutes of nothing going on. Where I used to work, the esthis would do a nice little hand massage in that time, and it kept the service cohesive.

The music choice was interesting in the space. It was kind of acoustic pop, maybe? It wasn’t spa music, which I kind of like even though I’m used to didgeridoos and Tibetan flutes from my old job. I think it made the place more approachable for every day, younger people to invest in their skincare. Gave it a more casual feel. I wasn’t crazy about most of the tracks personally, but the music wasn’t detrimental to my relaxation, so it was fine. 

Those are my only criticisms. I otherwise really liked the service, Also, they send you a follow-up email about your skin analysis, suggested products based on the service, and what to focus and work on in your skincare routine. And you can reply with additional questions, too. I look forward to another facial this month, and I recommend checking the place out! If you do book a service, mention me and we’ll apparently each get $10 through their referral program.

Much Ado: Voicemail

I finally did it. I gave in. Sold out! The growing desperation for employment has led me to do the unthinkable; to go against everything I stand for in this world.

I emptied my voicemail box.

I am dreading the consequences of my actions today. I’ve had it so good for so long, but it’s all over now.

A thing about me: I hate voicemail. Actually, hate isn’t even a strong enough word. I abhor them. Yes, it’s that serious. Every step of the exasperating process boils me into a rage steaming enough to cook my dinner.

I don’t like pointless things. And because caller ID exists, as does texting, as does so many other means of communication, voicemails just don’t warrant any necessity to me. But yet, people still feel obligated to call me, wait through minutes of rings, automated voices, and an age old beep, just to say, “Hey, this is that person who’s name is clearly plastered all over your phone. Yeah it’s me! And I called you, which you might not have gathered from that MISSED CALL notification that is making your phone blink unceasingly. I’m not going to tell you what I wanted, thus thoroughly taking a dump on the only point this function has ever intended to serve. So call me back, because OBVIOUSLY.

I’m not calling you back. I would have been more inclined to respond if you hadn’t sent me a voicemail.

I know who you are.

I know you called me.

I know you want something.

And if you just wanted to say hi, why? 

Do I know you like that?

Because if I do, and you’re not my grandmother, text. me. Snap me. Facebook me. Freaking tweet me. Gram me. Email me. YOU CAN FIND ME ON PINTEREST FOR ALL I CARE. Or if you insist on using such antiquated means of contact then send me a hand-written letter.  Any of which I would respond to quicker than a voicemail.

If I didn’t detest voicemails enough, then phones started making the notification permanently pinned to your task bar until you checked your inbox.

WHAT?! GET THIS ISH OFF MY SCREEN. If I don’t want to check my messages, I shouldn’t have to. What’s it to Verizon if I don’t look at my voicemail?

I’ve tried everything to stop people from leaving me voicemails. Various messages ranging from “If you leave me a message, the terrorists win. Do you hate America?” to, “My voice mailbox is in Spanish for some reason, I’m not going to get your message because I don’t know what it’s telling me.” That second one actually happened. But you awful people kept leaving me voicemails anyway.

Then I remembered some of those lucky turds whom I’ve called before to arrive at an automated response saying the caller I tried to reach had a voicemail that wasn’t set up yet. Dang it, why did I ever set mine up? Can I set it…down? Turn it off? I want that message in my life for the world to hear when they call. I searched for how to do this. I went to my service provider. They told me you can’t undo the set up once your voicemail is active. Blast. There had to be another way.

I got halfway to bliss when I decided to simply stop checking my voicemail. I let my inbox fill up, and I didn’t delete anything. That stupid icon still plagued my notifications, but at least I wasn’t getting any new voicemails. I learned to live with it, and in time I didn’t notice it anymore. When someone would tell me they tried to leave me a message but my mailbox was full, I would just smile, and then quickly readjust to a confused face and reply, “Oh, you DON’T SAY! I should uh.. delete some messages or something. Yeahh. HAH, how weird, right? Pfft.”

But then the day came. The blessed day that I had been waiting for all my smartphone owning life. The day I got a new phone. Turns out that as I transferred everything over to the new device, my voicemail alert didn’t come along for the ride.

No. More. Icon.

No. New. Messages.


Did I just win?

Did I just have my cake and eat it too?

Did I just take a swim and not get wet?

Is the wolf full and the sheep still whole?


I totally just won!



I did it.

I dismantled the establishment…or something!

I’m…I’m so happy. 

By the way, I had a really great time looking up other phrases that mean the same as the cake idiom. Other cultures are so much more fun than us.


You can’t have your mustache and drink your porridge. ~Tamil


Well all that merryment had to come to an end eventually. And today was that sad, sad day.

I was talking to my boss yesterday and it came up about my loathing for voicemails and how I keep my box full so I don’t get new ones. He shook his head at me and asked how I was supposed to get important messages. Important messages like what? I don’t get important messages. No message is important. He pointed out that prospective employers might call. I, still unrelenting, retorted that they could just email me, same way I contacted them. He shook his head again.

I figured, whatever he’s just old. I’d obviously call a job right back if I missed a call. But then it came to me that I don’t always have service. Namely when I’m on the subway. And I can be on the subway at prime periods of the day. And if I get a call when I’m underground, I never receive notification of it. Only texts come through..

Damn. It. All.

I conceded. I had to. It hurts. It hurts so bad. This had better be worth it or there will be hell to pay.

I didn’t even know how to call my voicemail anymore. I didn’t remember my password. I finally broke in and had 27 messages. 27 messages consisting of 3 minute long recordings of rustling pockets, relatives who called just to ask, “Who is this,” and the many jerkwad friends of mine who went on tirades that always started off with, “So I know you hate voicemails, BUT HERE’S ANOTHER ONE ABOUT NOTHING HAHAHA!”

I need some time to recover. That was just too much.

P.S. If any of you cretins and kretins(you know who you are) take advantage of my weak state right now and leave me voicemails, I will consider it an act of war and you’d better be prepared for the fallout. ~ Much love :3