Sorry about the bald spot on your chest

ok.
the other night, I had a nightmare.
It's been a while since I've had one. However, considering I'm a little overworked I could see how it happened.

I was at work in the comfort of familiar surroundings. Just an ordinary day.
This guy who I have never met before came in. Only he was familiar to me in an unfamiliar sort of way. I remember the way he looked. The part in his hair was to his left. He had dark brown eyes but nothing about them were inviting. His skin was rubbery and cool. I swear I cold smell his breath. Sour.
We made the usual chit chat, and I just worked -just like I always do.
Start massage face up. Flip. Massage back. Over. See you up front. The end.
Only this time when I went to leave the room, he stopped me.
He was up on his feet in one swift motion and holding me by neck, pinning me against the dresser in my suite. I didn't even see it coming like I think I should have.
He gave me no reason at all.
He just looked directly in my eyes and said,
"You're going to have to scream if you want to live. Scream. Try. You're not trying."
Only I was trying, I was screaming with everything I had,
but no one came.
I kept wondering how no one was hearing me yell.
I was thrashing and gasping as he held my throat with his rough calloused hand. With his one hand he held me, without even breaking a sweat.
I just kept wondering why
and thinking I was going to die.

Thank God. A familiar voice from the other side of the bed woke me up. In fact I was hanging on to him for dear life. His back against my stomach and my hand ripping the hair off his chest in one clean handful.
I woke up gasping and totally freaked out. Tired and wanting to sleep, but just laying there with my eyes closed tightly trying to think about something else. Anything.I tried to remember something funny CN had said. Maybe a song? Words to a song are always good in times like this. But nothing came. Only his face over and over. My only comfort was knowing at that very moment I was awake and alright.
What worries me most about the stupid dream is how safe I had felt at the time. Just like always, I was friendly and cordial. There was no prelude to danger at all. It just happened out of nowhere.
And to top it off, I felt like I knew him.

So today, after having yesterday off, I'm totally fucked-up beyond any paranoia imaginable. I don't even want to work on another guy. Everyone is a fucking suspect in my book. Maybe I've just let my guard down and this is a wake-up call. Whatever it is, I don't like it. I can really do without feeling this way
and yet I can't talk myself out of it. I'm fairly certain that the odds of someone actually trying to strangle me at work are pretty slim, but who knows?
And to top it off, I had this client today who was this huge behemoth of a man,
questioning me about my relationship status. Then he told me he had a present for me and said I needed to go with him to his car when the massage was over.
In that moment, when I was working on his 6'6 frame and 500lb girth, my hands were shaking.
Freaked. Totally freaked. I hate being scared. I hate feeling like I have lost control of me.
I just wanted to go home and back into the bed with the familiar voice.
Just knowing I had that to look forward to
got me over Mt. Everest
and into my car where I sped home and spent the evening passing-out candy to kids dressed like axe murderers.

I need a vacation.

how to break a girl

You know what I'd like? A happy story with a happy ending. Just once. Just for a moment I want to feel like I can make a difference again.
I used to feel like I could save the world, even if it was by touching (quite literally) one person at a time.
The idea of saving the world... Hmm. Seems a little romantic, doesn't it? How about saving someone. Anyone.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not looking for credit. I'm not looking for someone to pat me on the back. I just want to feel good about the things I say. I want to know that at the end of the day I did the right thing, and all my good intentions were not wasted in vain.
We are all destined to navigate our own uncharted seas blah blah blah. Yea, I know. So why do I have this need or want to fix things? You. Them. Us. Me.
I'm a believer in fate. Every single minute of every single moment of my life, has gotten me to this very point. I have said this time and time again and anyone who really knows me has heard it, and maybe even believes it.
Words can make or break you. People mouth words to me all day long. Most of them I actually hear.
A client of mine named Eve, told me she wanted to die the other day.
She said, then I said, then she said...
"I'm ready to die, A."
"What?"
"I'm serious, I'm ready to die. I've been thinking about it for a long time now."
"Eve, come on. You can't be serious."
"But I am serious."
Is she serious? She's kidding, right? She'll say she's kidding any minute. She just wants to see what I'll say.
"Okay, what gives? Why the sudden interest in dying."
"I'm hurting. I'm tired of hurting this much. I'm tired of being tired because I hurt."
"Okay, well what makes you NOT hurt? I think.."
"Stop. Nothing works. Everything hurts. I'm always in pain."
"So just like that, you want to die?"
"Yes. I want to die."
"So you are going to try to kill yourself."
She's not going to try and kill herself. She won't. She has kids and a husband and a career and friends and a life.
"What about your husband and your kids?"
"My husband isn't going to care. Besides, he's screwing around."
Hmmm. There was that time when he had a whole conversation with my chest. I wouldn't put it past him. Lie to her anyway.
"Eve. That's not true."
"It is. And my kids, they'll be fine. Trust me. They are all grown-up and have their own lives now. They won't even miss me"
Maybe? Your kids do not speak kindly of you. It's been a while but I remember meeting your daughter and your older son. They seemed rude and abrasive.
"Eve, you are what? 48?"
"51, and I feel like I'm 100. I'm not getting better y'know. I'm getting worse."
You're right. 3 long years after your accident and you still break-out in a cold sweat when you have to walk more than 5 feet. The last time I helped you undress your scars zig-zagged across your back like a road map. Your femininity is hidden by over-sized clothes that shield your body from the stares and whispers of strangers.
And at this point. I actually start to believe her. I can practically smell my own fear and yet see her honesty shining through as bright as neon lights . My voice is a shaky and I completely stop the massage and sit next to her on my table.
"I know you don't believe me. Look, I'm not going to try to kill myself. I'm just not going to stop myself from dying."
This might seem strange to some of you. But I get what she is saying.
She is basically not going to live her life as carefully as you and I would. And with that in mind she will definitely put the thought of dying out there for the world to see, welcoming death like a returning soldier.
We talked for a while longer and then our time was up.
And she was on her way, just like that.
So what the fuck do I do?
If I see one more client die this year, if I have to go to one more funeral, sign one more card, hear Ave Maria one more time,
all the stitching that holds me together will simply
unravel.

It's so easy not to care.
But I enjoy the effort of actually giving a shit about someone.
But how far really can I go?
How much can I say? Is it up to make difference in someone's life, when they have so little regard for their own? Is it my job to talk someone into or out of a choice. Am I part of their destiny?
How can I possibly talk someone into living with their pain when it is so great and so consuming-like nothing I can ever imagine. How can I convince someone that they are needed, when everyone who is important to them makes it abundantly clear that they are disposable?

I guess I'm still looking for my role, but I'm open to suggestions.

"I'm not an addict. Baby, I'm a lie"

A couple years ago when my client Claire was leaving my massage room, she stopped me in the hallway and said,
"Hey, I don't have any cash on me so I left you something else."
Hmmmmm. Okay. I entered the room with caution. You never know what will be waiting on the other side of that door.
I looked on the sheets where my clients usually leave their gratuity- nothing.
But there on the desk sat 5 neatly lined-up white pills. Vicodin. Oh sweet Vicodin, how I have loved you...wait a minute. She left me drugs? Weird, right? Not really. You see Claire is a nurse and also a bit of a addict. She openly admitted to me, "when the kids get outta hand I just take enough Vicodin until my eyes roll back."
She works for a a private physician and has access to just about anything you can possibly imagine. How do I know this? Well, because the next time she came in I asked her for twenty 10mg Ambiens. And you know what? I got them. Just like that. In fact she even came back after my shift was over and gave them to me -for free. From this point on, I was given a whole new education on opiates. In fact, I have learned more about drugs from my clients than I learned growing up with drug dealers in Montebello.
If ever I wanted anything special, I could just pick up the phone and have it literally delivered to me- free of charge. It's that easy. You know why? People in health care take care of each other- wink wink, that's why. This woman and many other nurses and doctors I see have all offered me some kind of prescription or actual product, at one time or another.
I'll admit it. There was a time when I had a slight addiction to Ambien to uh... help me sleep. My own doctor would not renew my script for fear I would grow dependent on it. She was right because when the well ran dry I was white knuckling it. Then it just so happened I came across Claire. She got me Ambien 3 times with no questions asked. When I didn't see her for a while I asked a doctor who I occasionally worked on if he would help me out. I even told him my doctor would not renew my script. He said, "not a problem" and wrote me a prescription for 4 refills. Just like that.
Yea, that was a little scary for me. I literally did not want to even try to sleep without my tiny dancer. But eventually I snapped out of it. Partly because I was too embarrassed to keep asking all the people that were "helping me out" and also because I was a mess. Break-ups are hard. I'll leave it at that.
Fast forward 6 months later. I start to notice all the patients who come in medicated. Actually I think that's putting it mildly. But that's what I'll call it.
Being that I work for a doctor, I see a ton of patients who are on their last legs and go to what doctors will call "Pain Management." This is just a watered down way of saying hard-core prescriptive drug administration- for those who are beyond surgery, physical therapy or rehabilitation.
My fellow therapist Shelby and I tend to play "guess what they're on" when a wobbly patient comes in.
Vince visits us twice a week. He usually shows up on time and waits wide-eyed in the waiting room for one of us to call him back.
This is usually how the conversation goes:
"Hey Vince, ready for your massage?"
He stands up and kind of staggers towards me.
"S' hot in here."
"Are you warm?"
"Daaaaaaamn. It is HOT in here."
"Okay. I'll turn up the air."
"Can you turn on the air?"
"Uh, sure. Um, what do you want to work on today?"
"I hurt. I mean I hurt-hurt. Fuck, It's hot in here. Are you losing weight?"
"What hurts? Your back?"
"My back hurts." Only he points to the back of his legs.
"Okay, go ahead and start face up, I'll be right back."
"Can you turn the air on? It's hot in here."
"I'll get the air. You ok?"
"Man, I didn't eat today. I'm so hungry I.."
"Okay, Vince. I'll be right back."
Soma. He's on Soma. Probably the most powerful muscle relaxer on the market. It even makes you drool uncontrollably. How does he even drive to his appointments? Scary. Vince tells me he takes 4 Somas a day and is up to 8 Vicodins "just to take the edge off." His doctor says it's fine. All a part of his pain management.

Ron usually comes in once month. He is the typical ex-rock guy who did way too many drugs while playing in cover bands all his life. After an accident he had when he was chasing his ex-wife, "that stupid bitch, that stupid cunt" he hit another car head on and royally fucked-up his lower back. I'll spare you the medical diagnosis. Ron is also in pain management.
His drug of choice: OxyCotin
That's right- the housewives' crack.
Ron has done so many drugs in his life that he has to be put on the mother of all pain killers just so he can get some relief. At least that is what he says.
There is only one problem with being on Oxycotin-it makes you feel invincible but can be mood altering. Hmmmm. Being that Ron has a bit on an anger problem, I'm not sure this is such a good idea. This is the conversation we had just recently.
"So how are you feeling today, Ron?"
"Man, I feel good. I just took 2 OxyCotins before I got here and now I don't feel anything. You know what I want to do. I feel like getting in a fight. Do you ever feel like getting in a fight?"
"Uh, I guess. But.."
"You know, I just can't imagine my life without my meds. My script ran out last week so I had to call one of my back-up doctors."
"What's that?"
"Oh, since I am a cash patient I have 4 primary doctors and clinics I use. I rotate on 4 because they all write me refills for the Oxy. So, if one script runs out and that doctor won't renew it I just call another one and he will."
"How long have you been on it?"
"3 years."
"Aren't you scared, Ron?"
"No way. It's better than heroin and it's legal. My girlfriend tried to get me to stop and we fought a little. But after a while she was only concerned with getting me to take my hands off her throat. Stupid whore."
"uh...ha ha?"
"I'm kidding."
Right. Sure you are. You fucking terrify me.
"Look, I need the stuff. I can live without her."

I know. This is like a bad ABC After School Special. But I see this shit all the time. Just a part of the job I guess.
Sometimes it's fun.
Beverly is fun. She looks like Joni Mitchell, only older.
She is on Prozac- a lot of Prozac.

"Hi, Beverly. What are we working on today."
"I don't know. Are you going to massage me? I like massages. I like you. You're nice."
"Full body today?"
"Yea.... Do you like soup?"
"Sure I do."
"I like soup. There is this recipe I saw for pumpkin soup. It looks good. I like soup. You should eat soup."
"That sounds good. Are you going to make it?"
"What."
"The soup. The pumpkin soup."
Blank stare.
"Oh. No. I make mash potatoes."
"That sounds good."
"What does?"
"Potatoes."
"Whos?"
"You said you make them."
"No, I said I make mash potatoes."
"Uh...ok. Try to relax and concentrate on your breathing, Beverly."
"I like you."
"I like you, too. But shhhhh. Let's keep our voices down."
Silence. 3o seconds go by. She starts again.
"Are you gonna make it?"
"Make what, the soup?"
"No. The sauce."
"What?"
"Nevermind." And she says it in a tone that suggests I am crazy. Cuckoo!

My job is so entertaining. What would I do without the sick, the addicted, the medicated, the filthy, the depressing and the perverts. I think I would be bored.

So, what have I taught you?
If you ever need drugs, just make friends with a nurse or doctor. Most are pretty irresponsible and will get you anything. Just ask.
If you need a refill on a prescription and your own doctor won't help you out, just go to another as a cash patient. This way there is no way of tracking your insurance to what you have been given and how much.
Don't argue with the medicated. They don't get it, and they like their lives just the way they are- nice and numb.
And finally, if you know anyone who can get me some Marinol, drop me a line.
Just kidding.

Have a great week everyone.

Ask

You'd be surprised at all the conversation that goes on in a massage room. I find although people are rather curious and inquisitive, they can be total idiots.

Here are the lovely and original things I get asked all the time.
How do you massage fat people? Don't you find this job gross? How much do you make?
Do you date your clients? Do your hands ever hurt? What do you do when a client gets a hard-on? Do you massage stomachs? Should I get undressed? Do you work on hott guys/girls? Do you ever like, uh ..ya know...like get turned-on by your clients? What are you thinking when you are working on someone? What does this massage include? Can you massage my ass? Can you massage my upper leg...no higher, higher...higher? Is your boyfriend jealous? Do you massage all your girlfriends?-notice I said girlfriends. Is it okay if I didn't shower today? Can you fix my cellulite? Can you NOT talk? Can I show you something? Is it okay if I don't use the sheet to cover me? Can you pop my pimples? Do you mind if I talk on my cell phone? Are you Vietnamese? Is this going to hurt? Do I get a full hour? I don't have to tip you, right? Will you marry me?

Okay. I am going to answer all these questions for you for the final fucking time.
I massage fat people the same way I massage idiots, idiot! My job is only gross when people show lack of good hygiene, so brush your teeth and take a shower-regularly! I make more than some people with a college degree. But, it's none of your damn business. No, I don't make it habit of dating my clients-I know too much about you all. My hands tend to hurt, especially after you demand that I break you in half with my bare hands. Of course they hurt, but sometimes they don't. When a client gets a hard-on...big fucking deal. It happens. Massage feels good. If you are asking me if I saddle up, I can assure you I don't. I usually just ignore it. I don't massage stomachs on men; this is a nice way of asking if I give hand-jobs. Nice try though. You should probably get undressed since you are here for a massage- unless you want me to rub oil on your clothes. I work on men and women, some are attractive some are not, but a body is a body is a body is a body. It's like working at a bank- after a while the money you touch just becomes paper. It's never okay to not shower, especially if you're coming to see me. Didn't I already cover this? I cannot fix your cellulite. But someone like you who weighs 123 lbs has nothing to worry about, dear. I won't talk at all- unless you talk first. So shut the Hell up and relax, jerk. You can show me pretty much anything, but don't surprised if I'm not shocked or stunned. I've seen it ALL. By the time you are asking me if you can show me something, you are already showing me. Fun. You have to use the sheet to cover you. Why? Because I said so. I don't need to see you naked. I respect your modesty (if you have any) please respect mine. No, I will not pop your pimples, you gross inconsiderate pig. Will you wipe my ass? This massage includes your neck, shoulders, arms, legs (both sides) and your back. And that is all. I will massage your ass because it is an extension of your leg but I will call it your glutes and probably do it over the sheets. But I ain't doing your groin! So stop asking. My boyfriend, jealous? Of what? Your slimy comments? No, I can assure you he is not. I do massage my girlfriends, right after we wash my car in wet teeshirts and before the pillow fight. You can talk on your cell phone, but why would you? Go ahead, eat-up your own massage that YOU paid for. My time is my time and the meter is running. I am not Vietnamese but I can see how you can mistake me for one. It must be my 5'9 height and red streaky hair. It might hurt, but you should say when it does. I don't make it a business of hurting people. But I could probably make more money if I did. You get as close to an hour as you'll allow yourself. Don't be late. You don't have to tip me, but you should. It's good karma. And then I won't be forced to trash-talk you all day. I will not marry you, sorry.
Hope this clears it up.


Have a good day everyone.

Chips and Cracks

I don't know where or when it happened, but I lost faith in most people.
Somewhere along the way, between changing sheets and closing doors I noticed it.
I used to drive to work thinking, "I know I'm forgetting something."
I still feel that way, only now I know I have left that something behind sitting on my dresser.
The funny thing about massage that no one tells you is,
you are going to hear things you can't un-hear. People will tell you anything and everything in that room. I can understand why. It's intimate.
The lights are dim the music is soft and we speak quietly to each other. Most of my clients look forward to seeing me- more than they look forward to going home to their own spouses.
I provide a sound ear. I listen intently to all the things you would not dare admit to anyone else. I know about your jerk boss, your affair with your best friend, the pregnancy that you don't want or need. I'm told about your heartaches, what excites you, what you wanted to be but what you settled as. You tell me about your kids- their friends you like and hate. I know what hurts you on the inside and out. I know your disappointments and your triumphs- and sometimes you know mine.
People have really changed in the last 4 years I've done massage. Or maybe I was just naive to think there was good in everyone. I've always tried to be optimistic, but it's been hard lately. Especially on a day like yesterday.
I have been seeing a particular client of mine for the last 3 or so years.
Jay is a pastor and upstanding citizen in his community. Everyone knows him- and loves him. He married his wife 9 years ago, after falling in love with her in his church choir. She had a form of epilepsy, he has a form of cerebralpalsy. I have heard him say time and time again that they are spiritual soul mates and being that I believe in soulmates, this made me like him all the more. He is kind and loving and when I have been troubled, Jay has actually said he would pray for me; I have never had anyone say that to me (other than my Mom) until then. This man is one of the few who encourage me to go back to school. I used to hold him in such high regard- until he told me he was getting hand jobs and the local "massage" parlor. He claims it was all innocent. He just made an appointment there after he couldn't get an appointment with me. The difference is, I do not jack-off pastor Jay!
Can you believe this? He actually lays there and tells me "the flesh is weak, and I am only but a man." Give me a fucking break. You are the reason women hate men. You are the proof that no matter what women do/say/wear some men will always "surrender to the devil" and philander anyway. Please.
I think he actually feels better after he tells me. You see he gets to talk about how he is spending more on these places than he does on his mortgage. And while doing that, he gets a real massage from a real therapist who speaks English. He has only asked me what I thought once. I guess he didn't like my answer because now he talks but asks for no opinion. Probably best.
I am constantly told "people suck," right CN? I hate it when he's right.
After Pastor Jay, I then had to listen to my other client Jorge tell me he was going to leave his pregnant girlfriend because he was bored -only it was his idea to get her pregnant. Then there was Elisa. She wrote-off her son at age 17 for being Gay. After Elisa there was Z. who told me whenever his wife pisses him off, he just goes to Vegas and buys hookers out of the yellow pages. I should have asked him if he was a Christian.
I can tell you this, at one time or another I thought all these people were just wonderful. You would never know any of their chips and cracks by looking at any one of them, at least not right away. They blend just like egg whites. I guess we all do.
I tell you, the good ones are far and few between.

It's dreary and cold this morning, and so is my attitude. I promise to have something more uplifting to say next time. Off to work for me. Talk to you all soon.

Soap and water, ever heard of it?

After doing this job for over four years, you would think I would no longer be shocked at how disgusting people could actually be. Wrong. Apparently there is a whole new level to just how repulsive people can get.
Let me ask you this: Would you go to the dentist without brushing your teeth? Would you go to the doctor without a clean pair of underwear? NOOOOOOOO! Of course not!
Then why they Hell would you show-up for a massage without taking a fucking shower? I mean, really. Do you think I am not going to notice? It's one thing to arrive when you just get out of work. Okay, I can understand the fact that you have been sitting at your desk all day and I am your next appointment immediately after leaving work. You all are fine.
I'm talking about the very lazy.
I'm talking about the apes who come in after working-out at the gym all day, the guys who just woke up after sleeping off that hangover for the last 11 hours. Oh and the women, they are no exception. You know you women can come in with your share of funk. sheesh.
Just the other day I had Mary.
Mary is older and a little slow moving, but perfectly within her own wits. She usually shows up, we make chit-chat and I give her massage to ease her aches and pains, blah blah blah.
However this day was different. On this particular day Mary came in late. She was obviously rushing and she walked through my door sweaty and panting. I didn't get a chance to make my usual greeting as she blew right past me into the massage room.
I didn't think too much of it, she knows the drill. I gave her a couple of minutes to change and knocked on the door before I entered the room. Upon entry I was almost knocked over by the stench of waste. Shit. Human Shit.
I surveyed the area before I took my position at the head of the table. Where is it coming from?
I asked her, "Mary, does the room smell to you?"
She actually answered, "No."
I, being the optimist started drawing my own conclusions in my head. Maybe it's the plumbing? Maybe she stepped on something? Maybe its coming from the vent? I proceeded to turn on the extra fan in my room, hoping it would elevate the problem.
I then started working on Mary's shoulders while she laid face-up. We made small talk but she made no mention of the stench. None.
I worked on her neck, shoulders and arms and while I did this, the smell actually dissipated. Hmmmm. I wonder what it was?
"Okay Mary, time to turn over."
I lifted the sheet and let her flip unto her stomach.
I almost gagged. The smell was back with a vengeance.
I picked up the sheet and saw the origin.
Mary actually had her own crap smeared on her. Yep folks, this is no lie. This woman looked like she just stepped out of diaper.
She had crap on her from just above the crack of her ass to south of that.
I immediately covered her and this is how our conversation went:
"Uh, Mary? Did you know you have crap all over your backside?" you stupid gross, filthy woman.
"Oh yes. Sorry about that. I was having some bowel problems last night and had a little accident on the way here today."
"You mean, you had an accident in your car?"
"Yes, dear. I thought I took care of most of it in the parking lot."
"Mary, you have shit on you. You do realize that right?"
"Honey, I tried my best to clean it up before I walked in but.."
"Did it ever occur to you that maybe you should go home and take a shower?"
"Well, I didn't wanted to miss my massage."
Asshole. You dumb bitch. Thanks for coming in with shit all over your backside. Yea, I won't notice. Hey, don't wanna miss your massage. Who cares how gross and repulsive you are.
"Okay. You are gonna have to leave now. Get dressed and go home."
"Oh...are we done?"
Sigh. "Yep. Done."
This is my life. People are actually this inconsiderate. There is no end to the amount of filth I see and hear.
I wish I had the temperament of a priest. On second thought, I never want to be that forgiving.