Don’t touch me.


So this ridiculousness happens more often than you would imagine.

Clients will tell us that they don’t like being touched by strangers.  Yes, immediately before we are about to massage them.

Why are you here?  Do you realize what an awkward position that puts us in?  Why don’t you just go home and toss another hot pocket in the microwave or take a quick ride to the mall and buy another ‘Build a Bear’ instead?

It would be similar to me going to Red Lobster, ordering a lobster and then telling them I’ll eat it but I don’t like fish (although I highly doubt the waiter would care that much) (or that I will ever go to Red Lobster in the remaining time I have left on this earth).  And for that same sad record from the previous post, I am quite aware that lobster is not really a fish so don’t even bother going there.

Even if I cannot, for the life of me, understand anyone not liking massage; I am learning to accept that some people are just tight-assed tards and probably don’t like chocolate or dogs either. And with those poor choices you have lost any chance of having any sort of meaningful relationship with me.  Your loss (I keep telling myself).


FB & the returning boil/Client stories

I tried to find a picture of a boil that wasn’t repulsive because, for some reason, most people don’t like looking at that stuff. But no luck, so I found an image of something equally disturbing, much more amusing, and way random.  Almost too random…almost.
For those of you that don’t keep up with useless society stories that will never enhance your life in any possible way, the above picture is of Jocelyn Wildenstein.  She was addicted to getting plastic surgery to look like a cat because her husband liked cats.
She fascinates me as much as women over 25 who wear leggings as pants.
Client story.
So, let me understand this Neena – You’re a doctor.  You probably work in a medical facility or somewhere that has sharp instruments, right?  And, you can obviously afford it since you’ve been coming to me weekly for years for a 90 minute massage at a trendy spa,  yet find no good reason to get that huge boil on your back removed?
It was like an island (but not the good kind) and was filled with fluid.  I wasn’t grossed out by it, but it scared me.
I thought if I touched it, it would burst and we’d all drown.
I had to navigate around it like giving a hand job during a herpes flare-up.  I seem to be obsessed with herpes, but not the actual virus. I just like saying it (for the record) (geez – whose sad record would this be?) I have never given a hand job to someone with herpes…that I know of).
Luckily, to balance out my awkward experience, her weekly $5 tip paid for my tall breve lattes.