My head is now located in North Carolina.
So is my body.
I moved here a few days ago.
I got a new job.
Really fucking happy…
Last night’s, last minute, 8pm booking (we close at 9 and usually prepare to get ready to leave at 4 so these clients are way at the top of the list of most wanted dead).
It was a female request/deep tissue massage (second on that very same list).
My contempt and I went to pick up Lucas for his session;
a stocky, tattooed, demanding fellow.
“Lucas, what would you like me to concentrate on?”
Just all over…
“Lucas, I need you to let me know what needs the most work; we only have an hour.”
He replies –
in other words Lucas was a complete jackass.
Oh and go as deep as possible. I can take it. I’ll let you know if you are hurting me.
Me: “Ok, wait, let me go home and get my All-Clad frying pan and smash you in the face with it and you let me know when I’m hurting you.”
His back feels like set concrete.
I decided to just beat the shit out of him, throwing any safe new deep-tissue techniques I just learned, in the garbage for the hour.
I was going so deep, the table was crying…
Then there was silence. Thank god, the beast fell asleep.
I turned him over. Winter had ended and hibernation was close to a finish.
He asked me if I’ve ever tried using a tincture of cannibis.
I couldn’t understand him, so I went up to his head and asked him what he was talking about.
It was then, I smelled, what, I could only imagine, was 2 bottles of long gone whiskey.
He began talking about putting liquid cannibis into candy. Making cannibis Jolly Ranchers.
He then, put his clasped hands behind his head and started talking, in depth, about hard drugs and different ways of using them, etc.
I didn’t know whether to finish the massage or ask him for a Jolly Rancher.
I went through the motions of working on his legs, while he chatted about every type of drug on the planet (all the while I was trying to conjure up a magic spell
to cause him to spontaneously burst into flames along with the spa).
Thank god, the other therapist, who was lucky enough to have his ‘friend’ (a thin, weird, sparkly eye make-up wearing girl, who could have been a stand in for ‘Columbia’ in the “Rocky Horror Picture Show”) shook my curtain, letting me know the dread was over and I said, “Oh, it seems like your girlfriend is done, our session is over.”
When I went up to the front desk to alert them of my client’s state, the receptionist said, “Oh yeah, he was totally jacked-up.”
I guess they didn’t feel as if I would have benefited from that information.
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.
Very often when I am either too lazy or too lazy to get off the couch, I’ll get an idea for a blog post and know realistically that my brain won’t hold it so I jot down a few key words to jog my memory until I am ready to write something. Most of the time I just forget about it and will find it months later and have no clue what it means, especially the notes that are so random that they make no sense on their own. Dogs, puppies, homeless, tv. And those numbers are from another day and could be anything from how many people I hated that day to how many times Tony Goldwyn on Scandal says “I’m the leader of the free world” which would actually place him on the first list.
I never understood why doctors with kids needed pediatricians. Now I sound like I’m doing stand-up and that is not my intention. But seriously (obviously not that seriously), why would Dr. Cox be in a panic because his kid is sick? I mean he’s a doctor himself. We don’t have puppy vets, do we? But how cute would that job be?
Way to get too invested in a sit-com.
And instead of thinking about homeless people starving or finding a safe, warm, decent place to sleep, I found myself panicked when I realized they couldn’t watch tv.
I truly apologize for being this person.
I finally came to Maxwell Medical today after a few years of seeing them give out fliers when I came out of the subway in the morning. The free half hour massage took forever for me to take up on. I finally got it tonight, as well as my consultation with doctor Ron. When I asked to see the prices, the receptionist told me it would be covered under my insurance and i could get up to 24 visits. I was thrilled! I got my massage from Kelly, and her deep tissue massage was very deep! She said she got all my knots out, and I think i felt them come out too. My back is as sore as shit right now, but she said it would ultimately feel better after the soreness goes away and I get used to relieving all the tension in my back. I have to go back for another consultation, so we will see if there is a catch. The free massage was great though. Everyone there is super nice.And after reading the reviews on citysearch, who cares about privacy? The place is private enough!
Thank you to my co-worker for bringing this crap fest to my attention.
Hmmmm – giving out fliers outside the subway definitely equals nowhere I would ever want to go and a free half hour massage equals no such thing.
How seriously can you take a place where Dr. Ron works? Do they do that to seem more accessible? I pretty much want to go to a doctor who I can respect as a thoroughly skilled professional, not someone who may, at some point, invite me to a backyard barbeque with Dr. Joey and Dr. Candice (also known by her regulars as Dr. Candy both for the lollipops she dispenses and it being her stage name at that after hours place where she moonlights on alternate Saturdays).
I am super impressed that Kelly got out all your knots in 30 minutes. That seems like a miracle to me. And by miracle I mean the biggest load of shit I have ever laid ears on. I would be hating on Kelly pretty hard right now but I have limited hate energy and I’m not done hating you for thinking you felt them come out. REALLY?! You felt them come out? Please share with us exactly what that feels like? Did they fall out onto the floor to be collected by the knot sweeper? Did you see them leave your body as phantasms and slowly dissipate into thin air? Maybe it was just gas and you’re just a simple-minded tool ball who wears those sweatpants with words across the ass – like ‘juicy’ because you’re definitely not looking for attention and are not the girl who gets mad at guys who leer at them even though you have an actual advertisement for your ass on your ass.
Back to Maxwell Medical because no one gets off that easy here.
Just look at all those glowing shiny reviews on Yelp! They’re definitely not fake at all. Must just be a coincidence that most of those people have never reviewed anything before but were so moved by their incredible experience that they needed to five star your ass.
I wonder what would happen if I (I mean someone) would write a negative review about how I actually felt Kelly add more knots to my back than I came in with?
Well at least I know what I’m doing today.
This is what a perfect friend is:
Someone who doesn’t judge you when you do stupid shit. every. single. day.
They applaud your accomplishments no matter how small like washing a dish in a sink of a thousand dishes.
They listen to all your most boring, inane, senseless, dim, dumb, senseless thoughts and stories and remembers them even when they’re not obligated to because they’re not sleeping with you or trying to.
They know when to leave you alone even when they’re pretty sure you’re close to murdering yourself in the most horrible way.
They bring you Mud coffee and leave it on your doorstep believing you really really need it even though you’re not home and they were too lazy to listen to the entire conversation because if they listened to every word you ever said they would surely rip their ears off and feed them to small children and knowing it better be damn good coffee or you’ll punch them in the throat.
They make home-made popcorn to bring to the movies and give you your own bag.
They call you out when no one else will because your other friends don’t want to hurt your feelings or don’t care enough; the whole while being terrified that you’ll become the psychotic sensitive alter bitch who will possibly castrate you but they don’t really care ’cause they’re not getting any anyway.
They are highly intelligent but never ever need to remind you or anyone else of that because they’re not ‘that’ asshole.
Someone who makes you home-made pasta sauce for your birthday and gives it to you in one of those beautiful glass jars you love so much.
You can say anything no matter how awful, ignorant or mean because they know who you really are and they don’t think you’re racist because you don’t like rap music or black comedians.
They can eat Dirty Bird fried chicken, Taco Bell chalupas and drink way too much but will also attempt to find inner peace with meditation, yoga and do 10 day juice fasts because they know that there has to be a balance and you can’t possibly live a happy life without Taco Bell.
My perfect friend is 44 today and I miss him…(he’s not dead, he just moved – same thing)
Can he get some happy fucking birthday wishes here in the comments because it would make him smile and that would make me smile which is what really matters because in the end, it’s all about me.
Happy Birthday MJ.
I found the most wonderful old email that I sent to MJ and can’t believe I’ve waited this long to share it.
My first client’s name was Ivan.
What New York City said to me upon my return from North Carolina –
Welcome the fuck home…
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.
Here’s the rant, Trent.
Ok, so it’s not as much a ‘rant’ as it is just some mediocre random thoughts but rant makes a much more alluring submission.
Get yourself a glass of the mind-altering substance of your choice and enjoy. or not.
Than almost everyone in my weird little circle. It’s actually more like some sort of a retarded hexagon than a circle.
Oooh it’s hard to write well with ‘Summer Lovin” playing on Pandora but I’m gonna push through it so I can get this out.
I used to be hot. White trash, long red fake fingernails, bleached long blonde hair to my ass, cheap shortest skirts ever made and even cheaper stilletos with the NYC skyline on them, hot.
It’s all I thought I was and for most of my young life was more than fine with that. What I failed to realize was the quality of the men I was attracting. Quantity seemed so much more important. Truth is, the swarms of ‘men’ buzzing around my sweet little box were shallow, ignorant, boring, uneducated donkeys. I was wrongly flattered.
I met a sexy, smart, fearless Jew who wasn’t (only) interested in my tight ass and lovely perky breasts. He liked me. He babied me up and he married me. Down on one fucking romantic knee married me. Our kid is so god damn lovely and perfect, she keeps us off building ledges most days.
I cut my Jolene bleached hair and haven’t polished my finger nails in 12 dog years and although you may have to squint to see it, I like myself more than I ever have. OF COURSE I miss my size seven jeans and slender-regular sized tampons but I don’t miss my lack of self-esteem leading to way too many undeserved blow jobs. You’re welcome Class of ’81.
Being older can be so awesome if you can overcome the not so perky tits and get comfortable with guys not falling over themselves to get a piece of your beautiful little vagina.
I have found that one of the most important and attractive qualities in a person is their intellect and sense of humor (conceit noted).
When you are in your 20’s, you don’t have much of a clue who you are. For the longest time I thought I was an eggplant and not even a ripe one.
It’s much more challenging to be self-deprecating and funny when you’re younger. What are you going to say “Don’t you hate when your ass is so perfect and you’re skin is like porcelain? Doesn’t it suck that I have zero responsibilities and no gray hair?”
Back fat. Back fat is hilarious. Cellulite even more so. Bad eyesight, hard of hearing – funny.
Best feeling in the world…people coming to you for your infinite wisdom ’cause chances are you’ve been there and they know it. I’ve lost so much judgement for most people (I still hold judgment for people who say Valentime’s Day). Yes I just spelled judgment 2 different ways because I’m tired of looking it up and I’m pretty sure they’re both correct. Unless you hit your kids or drink boxed wine, you are always invited to share my booth. And the hitting your kids thing is situation dependent. The boxed wine, however, is not.
Honestly, who would you rather spend an hour with? Meryl Streep or Mila Kunis? John Goodman or Robert Pattinson?
This. should be interesting.