so done with this massage envy petition thing.
of course i originally signed it because that’s what sheep do.
then i briefly got a job managing a similar place. and i learned stuff.
and i need you all to shut the fuck up about this already.
because unless i have lost my sight completely, there are zero petitions about the horrific, unfair, borderline abusive ways we’ve been treated at all the other spas we’ve worked at.
because although we were paid well with benefits including high commissions, full health insurance, matching 401k and sick days, it didn’t make these places any better than massage envy.
not by anydamnone’s measure.
we’ve been summoned to work with no clean linens, no air-conditioning in 1000 degree weather in basements with cockroaches and verbal abuse. but we got paid well so i guess no petition warranted.
stop sending me those emails and work on something productive, like shutting your everlasting pieholes.
How is this the first time I realized both the irony and hilarity of what’s going on in my refrigerator?
That is absolutely Trader Joe’s apple-smoked bacon sitting besides tofu hot dogs.
I don’t know why. Don’t ask me.
did you ever just annoy the fuck out of yourself by doing the same dumb things, saying the same dumb things, writing the same dumb things…
yeah, me neither.
This is a shout out to all those moms who bring their kids into the store and ignore them while they knock shit off the shelves, drop their stupid cheerios and animal crackers all over the floor and spill their juice and scream.
So while you’re talking to me about shampoo or something of equal importance, Johnny has just been kidnapped and sold into a child pornography ring.
It’s not adorable. Your kids aren’t the salt of the earth.
We’re not getting paid enough to watch your offspring and clean up after them.
We’re not even getting paid enough to buy good drugs.
So, I just made a pot of coffee.
without the coffee.
and the water.
Good morning today…
Driving with ET down one of those single lane country roads when she points out ‘Oh look – ducks.’
Cutting off my ‘Awwww’ with a quick correction of ‘Ooops, they’re vultures eating a dead deer.’
Uncutest ducks ever…
One afternoon while walking down 13th Street, down the block from the Lesbian Gay Bisexual & Transgender Community Center (wow that’s a mouthful in so many many ways), I noticed a car driving slowly next to me in the street.
A woman rolled down her window and looked panicked, almost hysterical while asking if I could help her.
Even though I could tell that the inside of her car was in fact, her home, by the amount of ‘everything’ in her life riding shotgun, I leaned into the passenger side window and was not prepared in the fuck tale least for what she was about to tell me.
“I really need to be kissed by someone”.
Me: “I don’t know what you mean”.
Her: Crying now (because it wasn’t weird enough without the crying); “I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I just feel like I need someone to kiss me”.
Although I knew with every fiber of my being what she was about to ask me next, I stood there waiting because I couldn’t find the courage to tear myself away from this awkward yet fascinating situation.
“Would you kiss me”?
And there it was.
Instead of simply walking away, which trust me, wasn’t far down on the list of possible options, I asked if she was ok. I genuinely felt bad for her and began to have a drive-thru/car window therapy session with her.
And absolutely was there that tiny part of me that actually thought if I had an Altoids and a morning after pill I would have kissed her. She wasn’t repulsive – she was almost pretty in a plain Laura Linney sans make-up and a million dollars kind of way.
I told her there was a Lesbian Community Center right down the block and she should stop in there and maybe someone could help her. What made me think the community center could help her? Because there were lesbians there? Asshole.
Before she drove away, I said “Listen, I need you to know this, everything is going to be ok, I promise”. Somehow I really believed that.
By the time I was walking back home, down the same block, I saw her driving up the block again looking for someone else to kiss her.
Not gonna lie – I was genuinely hurt.
ok guys – stop it.
stop walking your dogs while texting and talking on the phone without paying any attention whatsoever to what’s on the end of your leash.
they’re not accessories.
not only did your jack russell just walk into a lamp post but you almost tripped up 5 old people and your dog just ate a chicken bone.
i can’t pretend i care that much about old people falling but it absolutely freaks me out when you’re pulling your dog behind you without noticing that he’s
trying to take a shit. i want you to imagine right now what it would be like to try to take a shit while someone was pulling you along the street.
i will not pretend i was the most perfect dog-owner. i absolutely showed impatience and yelled at Starbuck to “Hurry up – it’s fucking raining out” and was often frustrated by her never ending need for food and water but I loved that god damn pain in the ass more than anything in my world (Sorry Espy but I didn’t have to go through 8 hours of labor and breast feed Starby for a year).
But I would have.
It was so unbelievably good, I was ready to throw my masseuse out the window.
I don’t understand what this means.
Being from San Diego, it’s hard to bring yourself to admit that anything on the east coast is better (even though it is), but this has to be the best thai massage I’ve ever had outside of Thailand (we get it, you’re a world traveler – very impressed). Maybe it’s all of the walking you do in Manhattan that makes the massage feel so much better. Maybe it’s the fact that they don’t use any lotion, which is how it’s done in Thailand (most other Thai massage places use lotion because this is the American expectation). It’s actually not the American expectation. Stop speaking for all of America jackass.
Whatever it is, I didn’t really have time to reflect on the massage while I was being worked on because I was basically comatose (Basically? Stop teasing us). In my experience (which seems to be tremendous and who gives a shit), this is how you know a massage is really good–when it forces your mind to completely relax and relinquish any control and awareness of your surroundings. The building could have burned down and I would have woken up in an ambulance with third degree burns and not know it because I was out cold. Maybe next time. I’ll bring the matches.
I hate going to the same places (restaurants, bars, points of interest, etc.) (and we hate you being there) every time I come to Manhattan, but I’m going to have to add this to a growing list of must-go places that I will have to visit every time we come to the city.
See you on your next trip.
Leave the lotion at home.
It still confuses (annoys) me when I hear other therapists ask the client how their pressure is during the massage. Guess what their response is 98% of the time? “You can go deeper”. Since the last thing I want to do in the scope of my small world is go deeper on anyone ever, I don’t ask. This is the deal; I give a firm Swedish massage and a very decent deep-tissue. I tell every single client before the massage to please let me know if they would like me to adjust anything during the treatment including my pressure or room temperature so I don’t have to interrupt them and they can relax.
Because I know I have good judgment and can read your body better than the guy/girl/sheep (especially sheep) that is fucking you. I can tell by your flinching to ease off; I can tell by how tightly you hold onto your legs when I try to move them how shy you are and I won’t undrape your entire ass; I can tell if you’re ticklish when I put my hands on your feet; I can tell if you’re cold by the feel of your skin; I can tell if you’re unable to relax by the fluttering of your eyelids; I can tell if you are happy by the slight smile on your face when I flip you over and I can tell if you’re a virgin when I – whoops, disregard.
If you are unhappy with my pressure, don’t rebook with me. I want clients who appreciate my work and let me do what I do. Believe it or not, it takes 2 people to secure a great massage session. Even with my best work on my best days, if you don’t let me in, I may as well attempt to blow a Ken doll. It just ain’t gonna happen.
There are times I go beyond my limit with pressure because I’m a people pleaser but the outcome is always the same…I hurt myself and those clients rebook with me so I can do it all over again.
True meaning of the term ‘schmuck’.