The Rubdown

a little something I read

2007-01-28T21:12:00.000-08:00

It was life that would give her everything of consequence.
Life would shape her,
not We.
All we were good for
was to make the introductions.

~Helen Hays

The Big Guy

2007-01-23T21:12:00.000-08:00

Not really big, but huge. Not really a guy, but a beast. Washed-up, retired biker. Covered in tattoos and old track scars. This guy comes complete with AA key chain and NA earrings. A regular at the one of the office I love. Diabetic, overweight, has had open heart surgery three times-he practically has a zipper down the front of his chest. Realistically, he's gross. Not smelly gross, but heavy breathing, can't take care of himself gross. I have to work on his feet- which are covered with calluses so thick they are practically bullet proof. In the midst of working on his feet he'll sometimes ask me if I see any open wounds on the bottom of them. Why? Because his belly is so huge he can't get to them. His toe nails are long...really long.

We make small talk, usually. Or rather he makes inappropriate comments, I listen and swallow the bile that splashed the back of my throat.

"If my wife would touch me the way you do, I might like her."
"If your boyfriend doesn't like you leaning over him, I'll be your boyfriend."
"I like to watch your mouth when you talk, heh heh."
"I like when you're rough on me, I wish you would just spank me instead."
"I'm just gonna close my eyes and picture you doing that- only wearing something else, like nothing."

haha?

There is a fine line here. I see a number of male comments who flirt harmlessly and sometimes shamelessly, I would have to say he is more shameless. The dilemma with people like this is you will have to ask yourself how much of a good sport you are. If you go along with the flirting (and you know it's harmless), you take the risk of the client taking advantage of you, taking a comment too far or even their actions too far. You may know it's harmless, but sometimes they forget themselves. However if you shut them down completely, act like a prude, act like you have never heard a joke or can't take a joke, you risk losing a client, and their word of mouth.
He is also a close personal friend of the doctor I work for an respect- who is nothing like this guy at all.
I try to humor the doctor and the big guy.

Last week was my birthday. I was running about 10 mins- not usually a big deal. If I am late I will go over into the next hour and not penalize you. So I started him at ten after. I finished him at 5 after. 55 mins. The average massage is about 55 mins. It is virtually impossible to give everyone a whole hour, for the fact being that the room needs to be cleaned before the next client comes in (sheets changed, aired out and therapist must wash-up).
In that 55 mins, the big guy was extra friendly. Asking what my boyfriend was gonna give me(wink-wink) for my special day, he had some suggestions. At this point, I quickly shut him down, was curt to him and all signs of friendliness ceased to exist. He was not happy
In fact he was so unhappy, he actually went home thought about how unhappy he was, and how he was actually jipped out of 5 mins out of his time.
He called and complained.
"She was late. She rushed the whole thing. She was rude and unprofessional. She told me to hurry up and get dressed, because she has to keep schedule."
Lie. Lie. Lie.
How was this situation resolved? He was given another massage with an extra 60 mins for free.
Which meant I had to work on him for two hours on the next visit for which I was only paid for one.
The doctor offered him this, without even talking to me first. And I felt bad. Why?
Because I like this doctor, and at this point I could tell him my side of the story, but the fact of the matter is, he has know that client longer than he has known me. AND I WAS running late that day, I'm sure it is entirely possible that I could have said those things. But is it entirely impossible for him to say the things he said?
My doctor didn't say a whole lot when I told him. I think he just honestly believes he is harmless and I am sure he is.
He's just an asshole. (the big guy, not the doctor)
I hate being in this position. I feel like I should be peeling this guy grapes and bowing to his fucking feet. He thinks he got his way. He thinks he owns me and got me in trouble. And in a sense, I do feel owned and chained to that position. I like it there, but must continue to work on him to work there.
For the three days after the incident, I work up at 5 am, said goodbye to my other half, and went back to sleep. Only to be woken up by nightmares of this guy holding me down with one hand, pissing on my back. Or being held down by my neck why his fat bloated naked body crushed me. On that Friday I was certain I screamed so loud while tussling with sheets , that I woke myself up and scared the cats off the bed.
Afraid of this guy?
This pisses me off even more. There have only been 2 men I have been afraid of my entire life, and I am not about to add him to the list.
So, I have to go into that room every Tuesday and face my fears. Laugh at him under my breath and try to get through this, alone.
All for what? Because he complained about me?

On a lighter note, I have resorted to taking pictures of him with my phone while he is unaware, then forwarding it to all the people I know, who will laugh with me, or sympathize. At this point I can't really decide what I want more. And it makes me feel less alone. It's totally unethical, but I can't help it. I'm just done. And besides, they are only pictures of his feet or his back or the top of his head- never the face.
I swear I haven't done this before.
Anyone want to see? I'd be more than happy to forward you the pics- for free!
Anyway,
only temporary as I see it. Soon enough I'll never have to see him again. Or not soon enough.

That's where I'm at.
I already skipped a week.

I don't want to do this anymore.
The job.
Not the writing.

a.

31: The rebirth of Polly Positive

2007-01-07T21:49:00.000-08:00

This week no one talked within the walls of my therapy room. Everyone was in fact very, very quiet. This is not always good for me.
As much as I like my own peace and solitude from time to time, when I have patient after patient who is tight-lipped (and with good reason- after all it is your time) I sort of lose my mind. My paranoia kicks in and I will pick apart anything I can think of.
So this week, I mostly thought about my birthday.

Tomorrow I turn 31. It's not a big deal. At one point I wanted it to be, and then I promptly changed my mind. I usually do a big dinner, me, my significant other and my close friends. This is the first year in ten that I did not plan a dinner. Instead I am seeing everyone separately. It just worked out that way. It's fine with me. It gives me more to do. I actually like going out to dinner and having witty dinner conversation, cocktails, people watching and all that jazz, but it's very hard to do that with mixed company. I think I am better at one-on-one conversations.
I am digressing.
Anyway, because no one has been talking this past week, I have no good stories, only my own- which isn't good by far.
This may sound stupid and me talking about it makes me feel even stupider.
But,
I have no idea what I want.
Seriously.
I mean I know what I want in the grand scheme of things, a successful career, husband, child, home, a job I like, pets at my feet, a degree I can use, more time to write, more time to read, more time to learn and so forth and so forth.
OK. May be I do know what I want, in life. But ask me what I want for dinner, or for Christmas, or for my birthday and I come up empty. It's hard for me.
Maybe I am just not that materialistic and that makes me feel like less of a person because I can't think of anything I want that can be bought in a store. Is something wrong with me? Anyone else would have a list at any given time. I can walk into a shop see a sweater and buy it, though have no plans to go out and look for something specific- ever.
Why the fuck am I even complaining. I am beginning to think this post is ridiculous.

I think I am just slightly annoyed and irritated to be asked repeatedly what I want for my birthday. I know, I'm a dick. People care for me and take the time to ask me genuinely what its is that my heart desires, and I complain. Asshole.

Yesterday I had a massage at a fancy-ass spa, and when Nathan my masseur asked me what I wanted to work on today, I was nervous, not because I was about to be massaged by a young guy ( who was CLEARLY gay, so save your oohs and ahhs), but I was almost paralyzed with confusion, to have to tell some perfect stranger exactly what it is I wanted. I managed. But not after my nervous banter for the first 15 mins of the session.

sigh.

I love you, friends and family...
but,
stop asking me what I want, please.
I can't even decide what color underwear to put on in the morning.

At the risk of sounding pretentious or unrealistic or maybe optimistic, even a bit sappy this is what you can get me.

In a big box, please fill with the following:
Good conversation, an ear you will lend me in my rants and raves, your loyalty, your love, your kindness, your ability to laugh and make me laugh as well. How about french toast at 10:30pm and wine at 9:00am? I would also like some fucking optimism in times of despair. Sing out loud with me in off-key tones when I am driving way too fast.
I want what you cannot buy. I want ease. I want comfort.

But if you can find me Earth Wind and Fires greatest hits, that would be nice as well.

I'm off to bed now.
So long, 30.

Happy Birthday to me.

Happy New Year

2007-01-01T18:57:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, everyone.
Thanks to all who occasionally pop in to see if I have posted anything new.
I feel like such a lame ass.
I will spare you all the other ideas I had for years resolutions, and just say this: I will write one post every week.
It's good for me, keeps me sane...
I think.

Saw a lot of interesting clients this past year, most of whom I should have written a post about. So to condense the some-odd number of clients and stories I have heard and experienced, here is a list of lessons and stories my clients have taught me in 2006.

1.) Men over the age of 60 have a really hard time being naked without their socks.
Seriously, I massage a lot of elderly gentlemen and they all have this thing about leaving their socks on when being worked on. They are usually wearing black or brown (or sometimes one of each depending on how good their eye sight is these days) and when asked to remove them, they usually decline profusely. It's weird. Or I think it is. They have no problem being stark naked under a crisp white sheet, but the thought of having their feet seen makes them feel squeamish. Whatever. I can live without working on feet.

2.) If you cry in my room, most likely I will cry with you.
I can't help it, I'm a wimp. I have not conquered the act of being a rock in front of those I love or those I hardly know. If you start the water works, my faucet runs at full blast, incredibly moved by people and their stories and their lives. Don't get me wrong, I won't sit their and sob, but I will wipe tears quietly away from my face as you try to discreetly do the same. A lot of you can't even tell because your eyes are usually closed- embarrassed is my guess. But don't be. It's a lot easier to just let it go and ball your eyes out, just like it's a lot easier for me to let my eyes well-up and overflow, than it is to try and be something I am not- emotionally vacant.

3.) Washing with water is not the same as washing with soap AND water.
People will swear up and down that they have showered before running to their massage appointment, yet they are filthy. Their hair is wet, they smell of deodorant, and some times they are even damp behind the knees, or around the neck line. I am not fooled. There is usually the unmistakable telltale slime and grit lying right on top of their skin. It's not really visible to the eye- at first. But add a little oil and lotion and before you know it you are pushing around grey and dingy lotion all over someones body. Ever taken a quick 2 min shower? Do yourself (and your masseuse) a favor, use some fucking soap. It doesn't take that long to squirt a little Lever 2000 into a loofah for a quick wash, rinse and repeat.

4.) When a client asks you if you know Jesus, lie and say you do (when you clearly don't), then quickly change the subject.
Clients don't really want to hear about your lack of faith or in depth science background when inquiring about Christianity. All they want to know is YES you believe in God, or NO you do not. This way they can quickly pass judgement on you. I seriously don't have a problem talking about religion, but I won't bring it up in a therapy room. I have been apologised to on a few occasions for the client making ME feel uncomfortable, but clearly it is I that makes YOU uncomfortable if my answer is "no, I do not know Jesus." I have been know to say Oh God! Oh God! on some occasions, is that the same?

5.) 10 units of classes while working full time is a bit too much.
My last post was in October, and before that...3 months prior? I took on way too much and even though I kicked some serious ass in academics, others things suffered- like this blog. I really missed writing, but I had to prioritize. And when I had to decide between writing or talking to someone I haven't chatted with in a while, well I have to admit I am fond of a human voice or just doing nothing or saying nothing. It was a daunting and very trying 16 weeks. But now it is over. A good friend and client said to me last week, "don't forget about the you stuff, too." I did. But it's starting to come back to me.

6.) If you build a practice elsewhere, your clients will follow.
I am actually in the midst of changing offices. I totally dragged my feet on it because I thought that seriously none of my clientele would follow me and I would have to start all over again from scratch. I was wrong. Of course I did find another office within the vicinity of my old office, but I was shocked at the number of clients who actually took the time to fill out new paperwork, meet with a new doctor, and stay loyal to me as a client. I am so lucky. My old boss and old office can burn in Hell (if there is one. see #4) . I stuck around for too long while too many checks bounced, too many inappropriate comments were maid and too many clients were lost. I'm taking ever last client of his with me who wants to move, and he can't touch me. Muthafucka! Up yours!

7.) Marriage means very little to most.
What I mean is, I know of 3 married couples out of my giant list of married clients who DO NOT cheat. The rest do. And married people usually cheat with other married people or people in relationships. Why? Because they know they hold no serious obligation to the person they are having an affair with. They both know that they probably won't leave their significant others, so this makes it safe. Pretty sad. I can't offer advice here. It seems like it does not matter if you screw his/her brains out every night, or make a lovely dinner, be their all, or their everything...it's usually just not enough. And they all talk about it.

8.) A flaky mole= bad.
I have seen some pretty funky skin conditions in my 6 years of practice, but just recently I have seen and increase of skin cancer. Ewwww is right. If you have mole or birthmark that is uneven around the edges or discolored (like freckled), if is oozing or FLAKY (read flag! siren! ding ding ding!) have it checked out, because you know what? It ain't good, I am not going near it!

9.) Do not take you problems home with you, or try real hard not too.
This does not just go for my profession, obviously. Trust me though, leave your junk at work, or on the freeway. Drive around the block for ten minutes until you feel better, but don't bring it into your home or let it be the first thing you drop into your partners lap. It just creates problems and fights and arguments, that have nothing to do with you or him really, just frustration over your shitty day and them not being able to fix it. I am still working on this.

10.) Tipping and gratuity
Do it. I will tell you this, I will treat you a lot better if I know after working my ass off on you, that you are going to leave a little something for my effort. I will even let it slide the first couple of times if you forget or don't. But after that, prepare for less effort, less time, less attention to all your special needs.
It's the truth, sorry.

You see, you didn't miss too much.
I'm still planning on moving, and will still keep doing massage for as long as I can or as long as my hands hold out.

Hope all your holidays were merry and bright. Thanks for sticking around.
More to come in 2007.

xo.
a.

fast forward

2006-10-01T22:10:00.000-07:00

It is now October and my last post was sometime at the begining of June. A lot has happened. I don't know where to start so, I guess I'll start with today.
A few hours ago, I came home from San Louis Obispo. This is actually my second trip there since my last post. Last time was a long awaited vacation. This time a scouting trip, sniffing out the town for what it's truly like when I am not vacationing. Relocation is the goal.
Somewhere North of this city. Somewhere, where you don't have to sit in traffic for an hour and a half to go 30 miles. Somewhere, where you can go to a movie theater on an actual date and not have to worry about the homie and his primo in front row having a conversation in full-blast, in a cinaplex where the staff is either too young or too stupid to do anything. I am looking for a city where I don't run into people I used to know (wink-wink) and can visit all sorts of new places I love and not have to avoid. I am hoping a new town will bring a peaceful nights' rest without the neighbors having a party or a fight or bad guitar lessons being practiced over and over. I am anticipating new sunsets, new sunrises, the kind that make you glad to be alive. I want a little coffee shop I can walk to in the morning before work , and have the guy at the counter know me well enough to start the actual order before I even get to the head of the line.
I want a small house with a yard for the cats, soft grass to walk on when watering the lawn. I want to be happy when I get up and be happy when I get home. I want to go to a job with new faces, new clients- just for the change alone. All of this and more. I am hoping, wishing, praying (and know that those who really know me know that I do not pray), that SLO will be all of these things.
Something to look forward to, moving.
This isn't the first time I have thought of leaving the LA area. When I was 19 I almost moved to Monterey, Ca. I even put a small deposit on a studio apartment- no one actually knows that. And then I changed my mind. I was really scared all of a sudden, and the fearlessness that had consumed me in the moment suddenly escaped every pore of my body and I realized I knew no one there. I realized I was running away from the present and the things that were important and the things I needed to resolve- in person. Thank God, I stayed. I was too young, too naive and too impulsive. I don't regret it.
4 years ago, I almost moved to Seattle, WA. This time I was in love and willing to follow/pursue/chain myself to the person I was in love with. STUPID. My family was freaked. I was going to move, well... because he was going to move! I went there on two trips, didn't really feel as if it fit, but was willing to go anyway. A new city is always good, right? Well, an intercepted email changed everything. Maybe not so intercepted... I was sent a reply (by mistake?) of his plans not to move to Seattle at all, but to take a job in Paris- and move there alone. Sounds like a bad episode of Sex and the City. He wasn't even going to tell me, or maybe this was his way because he couldn't verbally say it to me. Lots of men can't handle crying, but I digress. Seattle. Bleah. I hate that place for a lot of reasons.
So, sometime between then and now I have been kicking around the idea of fleeing SoCal. But this time I am not running or following, just going. And I have company.
I know I sound crazy. People literally risk their lives to be here. I am 25 mins from the beach, an hour from the mts and desert and 5 mins from my parents. ALL my friends live here. ALL of family members (the important ones) live here. And I want to move?
Yeah. I think I do.
If I don't leave, I'll never know what it was like to live outside my safety net and I am finally at an age where I can do it, and have very little regrets if it doesn't work out. But I think it will.
A small nest egg sits quietly under a mattress. I am leaving. Soonish.
Being in SLO this weekend was like wearing the best pair of jeans you have ever bought for yourself. The kind that you second guessed over and over again because of their price. You new what you would have to give-up if you purchased them,
but they just felt so damn good, you had to do it.
So you go without a few things you love for a while to wear this perfect pair that cost you, well... a lot. But you know from here on out, it was the best purchase you could have made, you will take them everywhere, they will go with everything and you will be happy you got them, everyday.

Soon.

massage-itis

2006-06-06T21:20:00.000-07:00

So,
I've been a little gloomy lately- hence the no new posts.
Some people hit road bumps and keep on driving, others (like myself) hit a road bump, lose a tire, break a windshield, forgets she didn't bring a purse and wait quietly for a tow truck.
I'm talking about my little ol' job here.
I like what I do.
I meet lots and lots of neet people.
I've just grown a little stagnant, I think.
I work for two different doctors.
One of them hits on everything in a skirt, drives a hummer, bounces paychecks from time to time, and talks endlessly about how him having "no money" then shows pictures to his clients of his newly remodeled cabin. He's a jem, that guy.
Why do I stay? Well, the answer is simple: the clientele can't be beat.
I have been in that office for five years. I have done my time and in that time have established a HUGE client base. I usually book 2-3 weeks in advance, this means good luck getting an appointment if you are hurting tomorrow, probably won't happen. It's nice. It's job security. But that office sucks my will to live. My clients rule, my boss is an ass. The drive is somewhat short, but I'm in a box of a room all day long. 9 hours of darkness with twinkling candles.
I am also the queen bee at this office, I get booked first- no matter what.
The pay is pretty decent- with lots of room for more, depending on how many clients I can physically do.

My other boss is a saint. A totally professional family kinda guy, his wife even works in the front office. He's sweet and incredibly smart. My room in that office is airy. It has a window-natural daylight! Woo hoo! But I have no clientele at this office. Why? I am only there 1 day a week. It's hard to build a strong clientele when you are only offering 1 day for people to come and see you. The pay is excellent- when I have clients that is. The drive is slightly longer, but the ride is better.
The clients are fine, but pretty much all bushiness. They hardly know me.

I'm whining, I can feel it.
And really, this does not matter at all. What matters is I need to make the most of this profession. I need to find the joy and delight I once had and care about EVERYONE I work on, not just the people who are my favorites.

Here is a little known secret about being a massage therapist that no one talks about:
It wears you out.
Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, spiritually...
You give all day. Give therapy, give advice, give your heart, give encouragement, give hugs, give humor, give touch, give yourself.
And the at then end of the day, you are spent. Tapped out. Done. Fin. The End.

Any body out there? I need some advice. I am deathly afraid I am going to be one of those people who keeps changing professions every 10 years- and is that so bad?
I am taking a vacation at the end of this month hoping I will have a new out-look on, well...everything.
If one thing in your life is crappy, everything else will seem to follow.

Comments?
Questions?

The Ex Factor

2006-03-29T08:53:00.000-08:00

Last weekend I saw a ghost.
Sunday, while walking into my local watering hole with my significant other, I saw my ex with HIS significant other.
It happened pretty fast, he saw me and looked the other way, I did the same.
My first thought was, "awwww man! why today? I just wanna watch the rest of the George Mason game and grab a bite to eat."
We walked in and to the back of the bar. The stand-off began.
Should I stay or should I go? I won this bar in the divorce, had I not?
It made for an uncomfortable situation.
Even though this guy is ancient history, even though I don't care for one second where he is, who he's with and what he's doing, it was still awkward.
I was instantly confronted with my past and where I have been. It seemed like ages ago. Another life, another time. Who was that girl then, and who am I now?
And then I had an epiphany: What type of ex girl friend am I?

I have decided- along with the advice of my trusty clientele, that ex girlfriends (and boyfriends) fall into certain categories.

What type of Ex Girlfriend are you? How do you see your Ex's?

I will love you forever- or until I find someone else
Long after you have broken-up, you still proclaim that he was the "the one."
You are mildly obsessed with what you were, what you had and what you did.
That is until the next sucker comes along, then it's, "what was his name again?" You are in love with the idea of being in love and will live this way for the rest of your life.

We didn't work out- you need to not exist
You are dead to me. I see no reason to be your friend, be friends with your friends, or even admit that I cared for you for one second. The idea of knowing I let you touch me makes me want to scrub my skin with steel wool. I hate you so much I might even pull some voodoo bad karma shit on you, because it would be so worth it. Stay away from my city, my state, my life. Oh and p.s. FUCK YOU!!!

What's wrong with still being friends? (a.k.a.- The Bad Penny)
You won't go away, you keep turning up. Months, maybe even years after the initial break-up, you can't let go. In fact you have convinced your ex that you and he can still be friends because after all, you do have some history and care for each other. You email just say hello. You'll think of something funny that happened to you or a link he might enjoy, and straight to the laptop you go. You contact him at inappropriate times just to say " wanted to wish you a Happy Valentine's Day. Remember that time you and me were such and such..." all this despite the fact he has moved on, but you haven't. You'll even make it a point to share the same interests as he, just so you still have that something in common. You have mutual friends. Bing! Another reason to stay in touch. There's just one problem: you are completely guilty of ulterior motives. Innocent? I doubt it. Waiting like a spider you are. He just might need me.... eventually.

We are better at sex, not relationships
It's over. Oh well. At least there's still sex. After all, it's the only thing we did right. Why screw that up?
So let's just agree to occasionally have sex during the week, but keep the weekends open for "real" dating.
This can go on for months or years depending on how long the two of you stay single.

We're cool
You were together and now you're not. But everything is peachy. You have someone, he has someone. You can co-exist in the same places, be casual and polite without having to to hide under the table. You can introduce each other as friends and be sincere. There are no ulterior motives. You didn't work out for a reason and you are genuinely happy to have moved on.

Crazy says, what?
He thinks you're crazy? Hell, you'll show him crazy. You make a complete ass of yourself every time you see him. You'll cry, or talk shit as loud as you can, making a scene for the whole world to see you. This usually involves alcohol and the friends he hated anyway- which by the way, even they are annoyed by you. Despite the fact you do this, you make it a point to stalk him at every corner and every turn. These places include his bar, his house, his hang-outs. You track him down just so he can see how totally insane you are. Admit it, you live for this.
I have to go now, he's leaving for work in 10 minutes.

The Invisible Woman
You avoid him like the plague. You have fallen off the face of the earth. There is not a sign of trace of you. You forfeited all your places and even your city just to avoid him. It's almost like you were never there. In the rare case you do see him, into a hedge or a public bathroom you will hide, texting your best friends to come and check it out, just to make sure the coast is clear.

So, this is an ongoing list.
Feel free to contribute, because everyone is an ex something. I'm not quite sure where I fall into all this. Some happy medium between wishing you were dead and being somewhat cool?

In the end, we stayed for the remaining 15 minutes of the game, and then walked right out the front door. He didn't look at me, I didn't look at him.
Who cares? It doesn't even matter anymore. Who was between him and now? A whole other life and a history
and a future.
When you look at someone and feel absolutely nothing for a person despite the fact you shared years together, you realize just how far you've come. Or maybe even acknowledge the fact that maybe he didn't mean as much to you as you thought.
Not a big fan of Ex's, at all.
But I can share a city with him... I guess.

My Card Was American Express

2006-03-20T21:20:00.000-08:00

My Name.... Adriana. I used to hate my name, until around the age of 22. Now I love it, and can even find a coffee cup that spells it correctly.

childhood ambition.... To be a doctor, or a scientist. I collected "specimens" from my grandma's backyard all the time. I had a live snail collection that repulsed my sister but intrigued me to no end. I spent countless hours watching them slide up and down the sides of the tank and eat rose leaves.

fondest memory.... There are so many, but as a kid I loved going on Saturday trips to the bookstore with my uncle and sister. She always picked out books, and I paper dolls. I was into colors, people, shapes and figures way before I loved words.

soundtrack.... A compilation of bands most people hate, but I love.

retreat..... My secret hiding space I found while driving around last week, and when I need to go further there's my other secret hiding space up the coast.

wildest dream.... To be out of debt, out of school and comfortable with my purpose in life which had yet to be determined

proudest moment.... When I can trust you without a second thought.

biggest challenge.... Acceptance, love and life. They are all a constantly testing me.

alarm clock.... The cats meowing, the bed stirring and the cellphone chiming.

perfect day.... Sleeping-in then waking-up to waves crashing, a perfect cup of coffee, a familiar voice asking how I slept, a stroll, a lazy lunch, shopping and buying things I don't need but do want, a nap, two hours of undisturbed reading, a good story told by a good person, lots of laughing, an expensive but greasy and delicious dinner (it can happen) with a great glass of wine, and lots and lots of probing questions that I have to truly contemplate before answering.

first job.... Family snoop and cry baby. My first paying job? Pizza clerk slave, where the owner's son cut blocks of cocaine of the chopping block in the back, and slapped my ass repeatedly. I was 15.

indulgence.... Coffebean and tealeaf

last purchase.... a dress for an art show

favorite movie.... West Side Story. I can recite the entire scene where Tony is killed. I will make you fucking cry with my rendition, or laugh.

inspiration.... My sister.

I used to.... Have a birthmark on my left cheek. I scratched it off when I was 9, while laying in bed with fever. I still have the scar where it was and there has only been one other person who was ever able to find it without me asking them to locate it. I used to think no one had ever really looked at me until they had seen it. I challenge you to find it.

My Life.... Is starting to take some direction- I will keep you posted.

My Card.... Was cut into itty bitty little pieces. And I am slowly rebuilding my credit that I destroyed at a very young age.

Down for Mexican

2006-03-07T21:10:00.000-08:00

"What are we working on today?"

"Oh, everything."

"Great."

"I have so much to tell you! You'll never guess what happened to me..."

"Lay it on me."

"So, the other night blah blah blah came over and he wanted to order Chinese, but I thought oh I don't want Chinese. We should get Mexican, because you know, Chinese food has MSG in it and I can't eat anything with MSG, It gives me a headache. So I tell blah blah blah, that I should really have Mexican and he can have Chinese- this way he doesn't get mad and..."

"uh huh"

"... but you know how he is, a total asshole when it comes to food so..."

Wow. How does he fucking stand her? I would shove Mexican food down her throat just to shut her up. Actually Mexican sounds kinda good. Maybe I'll ask Shelby if she wants Mexican food. I would totally drive. This way if we take my car, she can't smoke! Ah ha!

"So, then the food comes and the guy doesn't have change for a twenty and.."

Lady, you need to shave your legs, I mean wax. You could qualify for a wax for free if you walked into a day spa. Those ladies would take one look at you and wanna wax you just to save themselves from looking at the hairy calve when doing your pedicure. It's really cheap, maybe I should mention it. Nah, that would be totally rude. I mean, what am I supposed to say? Your legs are gross, here's a good spa?

"Blah Blah Blah Blah....Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blaaaaaaah...hahaha"

"Ha ha, that's a good one!"

How much longer do we have? Oh, God...that's a long-ass time. I should cut my hair, I'm getting tired of it. This blonde hair is overrated. I think I wanna go back to red. I almost don't feel like myself. Why is it that women need a haircut or color to feel ba certain way? That says a lot about today's society. Fuck! I fucking sound like you know who. Don't even say it.
O.k., make a hair appointment and get on with it. I should just go back to coloring my own hair. I probably spend close to $800 on cuts and color a year. Holy shit. I'm fucking worth it. I'm not giving it up. I don't care what it costs. I shouldn't have to...

"So I tell him to stop for second so I can check, but you know he can't hear me when he's so into it and.."

"Right."

What the fuck are we talking about? What did she say? Ok, just act normal- she doesn't suspect a thing. Just keep saying "ok, right, sure" and she will never know.

"So he just keeps saying 'that a girl! that a girl!' "

Ok, I'm lost. Who? Blah Blah Blah? Who is calling her a girl? What happen to the food? O.k., don't look confused. Just keep smiling.

"And I'm like, stop! stop!"

"Wow."

What the...

"And then I reach around and pull out the rubber band."

(at this point I have stopped massaging)

"Where? From out of you?"

"What?"

"Uh, what?"

What are talking about? Why is she looking at me like that? Her mouth is open. Say something.

"No. The Dog"

"I'm sorry, I think I missed something."

"Nevermind."

"Uh, O.k.?"

(silence)

"So...is the dog o.k.??"

(silence)

Mexican food for lunch, fer sure.

all hearts aside

2006-02-21T21:16:00.000-08:00

Let's see...
what have we missed here?
Valentine's Day
My best friends wedding
Talked a client into leaving her boyfriend
That about sums it up.
1.) A holiday for relationships 2.)The eternal commitment of one
3.) The destruction of another.

O.k., Valentine's Day came and went. I actually took this day off from work and spent my entire morning talking to the IRS and another bill collector from my troubled past. What a fun way to start the day. Oh, how I heart bills.
I didn't shower until 5pm- after I had cleaned my modest home and ran several errands in my pajama pants. Attractive, I know.
Went to my evening class, had a quiet dinner at home with my significant other. Went to bed early.

The wedding of Shelby and Russ.
Spent close to 2 thousand dollars on my maid of honor dress with accessories, hair and make-up, Las Vegas bachelorette party-mostly on deadbeat friends who forgot they weren't the ones getting married, bridal shower stuff (there were 2), hotel stay for the night of the wedding and various little extras that came up suddenly.
I am officially broke.
However, there is nothing better than seeing your dear friend marry the guy she loves. She was beautiful,
he was in awe of her.
I was happily jealous.
I don't care what anyone says, I love weddings. Especially the ones with the couples you know will make it. Moments like these are full of hope,
something that is rare these days.

That brings me to the hopeless.

I never really tell my clients what I am truly thinking because it has been my experience that no one really wants the truth, at least during a massage.
However, she was asking for it.
Lynn talks about her boyfriend constantly, from the moment she lays down to the moment she gets up.
All I hear is the same thing over and over again:
He doesn't appreciate me. He takes me for granted. No one understands him, but I do. I know he loves me, but... He really upset me. I can't talk to him. His friends hate me. He's always busy. He's always text messaging. He gives me vague answers. He acts like he's doing me a favor. He hates my friends. He hates my family. We argue all the time. I never know where he is. I can't reach him half the time. I don't trust him. I don't trust him. I don't trust him.

Hello?
I had to practically shake her.
I started asking her, "So...why are you with him?"
Oh... Because you love him??
That makes perfect sense.
I posed this question to her,
Do you feel he loves you at all or he loves you the best he can, because there is a difference.
And if he is loving you the best he can, is it enough for you?

I know I should have just kept my mouth shut, but I was on a rampage- a river of experience, truth and reprimand flowed from my mouth.
Bad therapist.
(Slaps the back of her hand)

She actually started crying.
Sobbing.

oops...

Sometimes we need a good shaking. Sometimes our friends and family are so worried about their own relationships with us, they often refrain from telling us what they REALLY think.
Oh, he's wonderful. I'm sure he didn't mean to forget to call you.
Truth is hard to come by.
However, I am not the friend or family member of Lynn and when she asked me what I thought,
I told her.

Here is the thing I have come to learn about relationships.
They are work. They aren't supposed to be easy.
They require honesty and truth on both sides.
Once trust is jeopardized, you very rarely get it back.
I might have mentioned this theory before, but here it is again.
Diminished trust is like gluing the handle back on a tea cup. If you ever break the handle off on a tea cup put it on the shelf and never use it again. You see, once the handle falls off it's almost impossible to stabilize it with glue again, because eventually you will add enough hot water and the handle will pop right off. If you lose trust in your significant other,
better just shelf that relationship.
Hot water burns but not as much as being hurt by disappointment, again.

I am not an expert. I am not nor have I ever been married. I have gone through many break-ups and good byes, some by me and some that left me scarred and rattled, forever wondering if I gave too much.
Can you give to much? I would really like to think, no.
Isn't that the point of being with someone, to give every little piece of yourself, or should you save some
just for you?
The only problem with this is,
if the person you are with does not reciprocate these beliefs,
is that ok?
For Lynn, it wasn't ok.
Also the guy she was with was a total asshole and did and said things that were questionable.
I don't even care what his side of the story is. That old adage, "If it looks like a duck.." is always true.
Always.
In the end, it's never one big thing that ends a relationship,
it's all the little things.
I told her all this, and some other things I can't remember.
I felt bad when she left.

She left a note up-front for me a couple of days later that simply said,
"You were right. I did it. He didn't even see it coming. Thank you."

I know I talk a lot about relationships,
but it's because I am constantly exposed to the ins and outs of everyone's intimate bushiness. This is a part of my bussiness.

You can not compare what you have with someone-with anyone.
However,
you better be clear on what is acceptable for you and what is not
and what is settling and what is compromising.
And of course, when to just cut your losses and walk away.

Love is hard, but when you find it and they love you as much as you love them,
it's so worth it.

I wish everyone true love
more good times then bad
a comforting smile
an assuring hug and kiss
an inside joke
a history
love notes and mementos
understanding
tears of joy v. tears of pain
the ability to try
the ability to know you did the best you could,
and you loved with all you had.

I love with everything I have.

I guess we're all caught up now.
Good bye February.
I'm ready for March.

part 1 -edited

2006-02-06T00:19:00.000-08:00

"Its not the content of our dreams that give our second heart it's dark color; it's the thoughts that go through our heads in those wakeful moments when sleep won't come. And those are the things we never tell anyone at all."

-excerpt from The Dogs of Babel
by Carolyn Parkhust
Pages 228-29 kill me, because they are so true.

Bummed

2006-01-21T08:11:00.000-08:00

After a long day of rubbing strangers and acquaintances, I sit in traffic for an hour only to drive 14 miles.
As I pull onto my exit, I notice at the stop sign there is a homeless guy (let's just assume he is homeless) begging for money on the corner.
I immediatley start thinking that I have absolutely no change in the cup holders and no dollars at all in my wallet. Yep, I'm one of those people who give spare change now and again.
I know what you're thinking, those people are total frauds, right?
This maybe true, but call it goodwill or afraid of her my own Karma, maybe superstition or even stupidity- every now and then if I have it, I will give it. To me I hope that for every 10 bucks I waste, maybe 1 dollar of that will actually go to someone who actually needs it. You never know...as my mom would say.
So as I am taking inventory of the change I don't have, I notice this guy is walking up to car windows and pointing at the palm of his hand.
Kind of rude.
I mean, where's the cardboard sign? And by the way have you ever wondered where the homeless and less fortunate get that nice black sharpie pen to write on the cardboard signs? Just wondering., but I digress.
Anyway, this guy is moving from innocent car to innocent car walking up to windows and pointing at his hand, and one after another, people are giving him change- he's not even saying thank you and I know this because I am watching.
He eventually comes to my passenger side window as my car inches off the exit and waits to make the right.
He looks right at me and sticks his right palm out and points to it with his left hand, he nodds his head foward as if to say "what's up?"
I shrug my shoulders and mouth, "sorry."
This guy,
this guy who is looking for people to pay charity to his less fortune or feed his alcoholism or addiction or laziness...
he looks at me and then runs his index finger across his throat in a swift slicing motion. You know that action you make like your slicing someone's throat with your finger- like they are gonna die or something? He did this to me!
He then made this chopping motion to the back of his neck, and then pointed at me like I was going to die or he hoped I would die!
Appalled. My mouth hit the floor. I gave this guy the finger and pulled off the freeway. I was fuming!!! Furious. A number of things went through my head.
I passed a 7-11 and actually considered getting out of my warm car and buying the biggest bottle of Snapple they had, then getting back on the freeway just so I could pull off the exit again and throw it at this guy with all my might. Then I started thinking of what I had in my car that I could launch out my window. Hmmm, cds? Empty water bottles? A small wooden box that holds aromatherapy drops? Too heavy.
Maybe I could stop and get some change (like 2 bucks in pennies and throw a handfull of change at his face.
Ever been hit buy coins? It hurts, bad.
A million things went through my head- all violent things I could do swiftly and with conviction!
Maybe it's not a big deal. Maybe I was getting way too worked up over the situation, but this is exactly the kind of thing that makes people NOT want to give to those who really need it.
I can't believe I actually felt bad for one split second for not having change. Bamboozled! Damn!!
Here's a tip buddy: Get a freakin' sign or a paper cup! Make an effort! Something! As rude and self centered as Californians are, we will usually give when asked or our sympathy gets the best of us.
Yeah, and maybe it's not a good idea to wish death on those who don't give.
FUCKER!!!
Where is a sock full of quarters whenyou need it? This guy is just lucky that I wasn't with other company. Some of the people I know are quicker on the draw then I am and would have happily launched their fist or even their spit at this guy had they'd been sitting in the passenger seat.
What is this, New York?

I used to be such a nice qirl.
What the Hell happened to me?

It wasn't giving-up. It was giving-in.

2006-01-12T15:38:00.000-08:00

Yesterday marked the one year anniversary of the last time I saw one of my favorite clients.

For Cameron

I met Cameron over 4 years ago when he was handed over to me by a therapist who no longer wanted to treat him.
I could understand why the first time I met Cameron.
He was sour he was angry he was impossible.
To say he was ill would be an understatement; he was dying inside and out.
He literally reeked of despair and rot- which are often one in the same.
Aside from being a dialysis patient, he had the onset of congestive heart failure, and advanced arthritis in just about every joint in his body, he was also diabetic.
Along with being on any number of pain meds, he was on insulin and blood thinners which basically made his skin paper thin. He was riddled with scabs and open sores. Working on him was like sidestepping through a minefield. His toes were amputated from his right foot and his legs were so atrophied from not using them, they could barely hold his weight on the rare occasions when he did stand.
He had this cough, this gagging hacking cough that could literally be heard through the office walls which scared the other patients. People were horrified and grossed-out to no end when they heard him cough. I even saw one lady plug her ears. It was bad.
He loathed me at first. He could sense my fear and hated me more for being afraid of working on him. I was hesitant and cautious. I was resentful that he was even "given to me" without warning as to what to expect.
He hated the music I played. He didn't like music that had any kind of words, which later I found kind of ironic. He didn't want to talk at first, which was fine by me. I just did what he wanted me to, which was often just get him to relax and forget about who he was, if for only an hour.
I dreaded every other Wednesday when I pulled into work and saw him waiting in his wheelchair by the door. I would have to will myself just to get out of my car and open the office for him.
I often tried to start him late and finish him early. I know, I'm a jerk. But give me some credit. I had only been doing this for just under a year upon meeting Cameron. I was still under the impression that everyone who received a massage would be beautiful and pleasant.
But slowly, and I mean slowly, he began to open up a little. I was able to see a glimpse of a human being from time to time. Just to get him to smile was a huge leap for me.
As hard as it was to work on him, I refused to give him up. He wasn't an animal to be discarded on some highway (I hate those people by the way). He was human being and I was trying, sincerely trying to see the beauty in him. It was like pulling fucking teeth.
One day while working on him, my mind was elsewhere looking forward to a Vegas trip I had planned and staying at the New York, New York hotel casino. In my head I was singing to myself "I'll take Manhattan, the Bronx and Stanton Island too.." When out of nowhere he asked me, "Have you ever been to Stanton Island?"
I had to stop and take inventory, did I just say that out loud?
I hesitated for a second and said, "Uh...no. Why do you ask?"
he then replied, "Are you going there?"
There was an uncomfortable moment when I said nothing. I was a little startled. Oh my God, is he fucking clairvoyant or something?
And then he said, "From time to time."
Thus starting a conversation for the first time in 7 months. All this time, all this time while I worked on him he laid there and quietly read my mind, from cover to cover.
I stopped and asked him, "Is there anything else you want to ask me?"
He siad, "Actually, there is."
So knowing that I could not lie to him I requested a question for a question.
I know it sounds odd but it worked. He opened up like can of worms and he was absolutely beautiful.
We spent every other Wednesday asking and answering each other's questions.
He asked me all about my sister and school and relationships I had never mentioned outloud before before, and I answered them. He knew and asked things about me that I had never told a soul. And I in-turn I asked random probing questions.

He had no one. No family that would speak with him, no friends who wanted to be around him and watch him die.
We talked about death all the time.
It's not so dignified.

I know what you're thinking, he must be pretty horrible if no one wants to talk to him.
There is so much more to people then what we see on the outside. There are two sides to every life; the way we live it and the way people see it.
I had never talked so in depth with anyone before until that point. It was amazing.
We would do this thing from time to time where we would pick a word of the day, a word one of us loved. It was stupid and funny, but we always tried to outdo each other.
I know these things mean absolutely nothing to anyone but me, but they're my memories. It's not that often (or it hasn't been lately) where I get to make a connection with a client. Especially one who you know won't be around long.
After a while I started Cameron early and I finished him late. I watched as his skin as it went from olive to grey. His once roundish belly became sunken-in and his face grew hallow. He wore an oxygen mask through his massage.
Towards the end, sometimes he said nothing. He would just cry silently, or he would ask me to sit with him and hold his hand for the first and last 10 minutes. How could I say no?
He told me I would know when it was the last time I'd see him. But I didn't.
He told me someone would contact me when he went. But no one called
The last time I saw him, nothing was different. It was the same just it had always been on one of his "good" days.
And then he just stopped showing up. There was no one answering his phone and the only address I had was a p.o box.
And that was it.

He always believed it was his karma that caught up with him- this horrible slow death. This man, a scholar from UC Berkeley. An amazing story teller who conjure up imagines, space and time using only his words. He could quote any great author and recite poetry in a blink of an eye. Father of two. Former CEO of a fortune 500 company. Flew his fiance to Paris from New York for breakfast. Lover of animals. Wept when his only pet died in his arms. Always hugged me when he said goodbye. Told me to cheer-up before I even said a word. Told me I would outlive anyone I knew because my heart was so big.

What is more important; who you are or who you were?

I miss him. He was fearless. He was honest. He was alone. He was at peace- at least I hope he was. He was my friend. He was beautiful.
I think of him all the time.

Three-Oh

2006-01-05T22:48:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I'm turning 30.
It's funny. You always imagine yourself at little milestones like 16, 18, 21 and then there's nothing for a while. Then you wake-up one morning and you're on the brink of 30.
Boo-fucking-hoo, right? I'm not complaining. Seriously, I'm not. Believe me I would rather be 30 than 20 on any given day.
Some of my clients have the most peculiar way of wishing me a happy birthday. I was just told today that I better hurry up and get married and have some kids. After all, I'm not getting any younger, right? I heard this not only today but it is chanted in my ear ALL THE TIME. Apparently this is how you are defined when your 30 and a female- in this very order:
1.) Children
2.) Spouse
3.) House
4.) Career
Wow. Looks like I've got some catching up to do.
Whenever I am asked if I am married or if I have kids, I always get that "Awwww, It's ok. It will happen for you someday"- look, right after they hear my reply which of course is, no. These people actually feel sorry for me. Ridiculous. After all these years of equal rights etc, I am still defined and judged by the lack of wedding ring and the absence of little ones running around my bare feet. Because God only knows once you hit 30 it's never going to happen for you. Hell, I might as well retire my ovaries and amputate the fingers on my left hand. It seems like I am never going to use them!
But, but,but... I have a significant other.
Doesn't matter.
And I live in a really nice house.
But you don't own one.
I don't have kids. I have pets.
You poor thing.

You know what? Fuck you.
In your attempt to wish me a happy 30th you have rendered me dormant and sterile.
It's ok.
When my mom was my age she already had a husband and not only me but my sister. It was the thing you did back then. You married the guy you lost your virginity to and promptly had two children. You then spent the rest of your days making 3 lunches in the morning, washing 4 loads of clothes and preparing that evenings dinner.
I love my mom for this. She would have been perfectly content if this happened to me 10 years ago- even though secretly she thought I deserved a little more.
I love the idea of being married having children and owning a home. It's something to look forward to and it will eventually happen to me. But I refuse to believe I have no life because I don't have those things right now. If I had had children or even if I had married the guy I lost my virginity to (cringe), I definitely wouldn't have the friends I do now- and I fucking love my friends! And I wouldn't have the experiences I have had that make me me, good and bad. I would gladly take all the guessing, mistakes, heartache, tears and frustrations again if I knew it would get me to exactly where I am now. I'm a big believer in fate. Things happen for a reason. I am where I am because this is where I need to be.
Blah, blah, blah.
There is a lot of truth in this all. It's not something I tell myself to make me feel better. It's something I actually believe.
I may have been stupid at 20 ( like we all were), but I was smart enough to know not have children I couldn't support, not to marry out of sheer boredom, and not to listen to everything everyone had to say. I still feel that way.
So, happy birthday to me.
I'm spending the weekend having some good food with people who love my unmarried, childless ass. So HA!
Yay wine! Boooo babysitters!
There is no party. Sorry to all of you I had to kinda invite, then uninvite. I promise to turn 30 again next year.
Anyway, nothing more to say then the usual rants and affirmations.

Have a great weekend, everyone.

Drop me a line and wish me a happy 30th.

A.

Shiny, like ivy

2005-12-30T23:53:00.000-08:00

A few months ago I sent a mass email. I'm sure most of you just deleted it. I understand. One can only tolerate so many forwarded emails in a week. For those of you who responded to the "One Word" email, thank you.
For those of you who deleted it, well...thanks for nothing, jerks!
Anyway, the premise of the email is to send it to anyone and everyone who knows you. They are in return to describe you in just one word.
Here are some of the responses I got:
Exquisite
Ambitious
Loving
Endearing
Brave
Loyal
Purple (Yeah...still trying top figure that one out. They gave no explanation.)
But my favorite by far was sent to me by my good friend, Laura Dent.
She said the first thing that came to her mind when thinking of me was the word "ivy."
Leave it to Laura to think outside the box. This has to be one of the coolest compliments I have ever received in my entire life.
To quote my dear friend, Laura- this is what she wrote.

"I was thinking I would be able to think of some great one word to describe you instead of the bizarre one that I thought of that doesn't make any sense. It doesn't describe you or anyone but it popped into my mind immediately. I thought of something green and fresh and cool and nice that is always growing. OK are you ready. This is sort of embarrassing but I really think highly of you and trust you a lot so I am going to let you see how my strange mind works and how dumb I can be. Ivy. Maybe in another life it was your name.It has something to do with your shiny hair. Well I am sure you won't be asking me anymore questions like that."

If this is dumb, I want to be it.
I know I really sound full of myself about now, but believe me this is a huge jump from the way I have been feeling about me for the last few days.
You see this could not have come at a better time- 2 months after I had originally sent it.
It really got me thinking.
I want to be more like Ivy.
I remember my mom always telling me that ivy attracted rats and spiders. Well I can definitely say I have attracted some from rat family and also some blood suckers in my day. Maybe I'm already more like ivy than I think I am. But while remembering why ivy was bad I overlooked an important fact about why ivy is good.
Ivy provides shelter. I can't imagine something beautiful, green and alive that provides refuge to be a bad thing. I hope I can offer some protection to some- and not in the Don Corleone type of way.
Another interesting (or boring-depending who is reading) thing about ivy is the fact that it produces fruit; small black berries that are poisonous to man but supplemental to birds and such. Anything that produces fruit is good, no?
poisonous to man? Hmmmm....I was once told "You killed me emotionally." Kinda the same, right? Uhhhhh...other than that ivy is pretty damn cool.
It is lush and thick, green and gorgeous. It grows, climbs and reaches far beyond the containment of anyone or anything. Its tedrils will wrap and twist and stretch, always wanting and needing more room to grow. It simply will consume anything that will not grow with it, by reaching past that which stands still. It's yellowy sharp tips accentuate any dewy morning or run-down home. It makes things better. I want to be better, do better.

I always feel a little reflective at the end of every year. I always try to remember where I was at the start of the year as opposed to where I am now. And as much as I can list where I've been what I have seen and what I have learned I find I am extremely hard on myself. That saying about us being our own worst critics is really true. It's hard to pick yourself up when you are constantly compared to or reminded of who you aren't, what you did or didn't do, what you said or what you didn't say, where you are as opposed to where you should be.
This simple email really put my past year in perspective.
Just like ivy, I have a lot of potential.
And that is how I am going to end 2005.
To all of you who have supported me and indulged my neurosis, I love you the most.
Mom and Pop, Sylvia, CN, Shelby and Russ, Jenny, Brandi, Valerie, Momma Pat, Karla, Laura and Grant, E2x and J. Bob Dylan,
you made this last year wonderful, beautiful, laughable and bearable with your honesty, insight, integrity and lyrics.
I wish you all the best in 2006.
Happy New Year

xoxoxo
A.

My Real Xmas List (uncensored)

2005-12-22T22:45:00.000-08:00

In no particular order...

1.) A separate lane on freeways for the elderly, those who don't speak English, and anyone under the age of 23.
2.) Clients who bathe regularly.
3.) An email turn-around within 48 hours or less.
4.) The will to get up and run my jiggly ass around the block at 5am. (not happening)
5.) More poetry, less banter-in life that is.
6.) A glitch in the Matrix that would wipe-out the TRW headquarters.
7.) Less work, more money- a little more. I'm not greedy
8.) French Toast at 3 am once and while.
9.) A week to read "One Hundred years of Solitude" in it's entirety.
10.) 10 hours of undisturbed sleep- without feeling guilty when I wake up.
11.) An empty beach during a sunset or sunrise.
12.) Perfect apples right out of the fridge.
13.) Success, love, and happiness for all those who mean anything to me.
14.) The ability to make more decisions based on common sense and less on emotion.
15.)Highlighted hair that doesn't need to be touched up every 5 weeks.
16.) More laughing- definitely.
17.) Great wine in great quantities that does not leave my head pounding.
18.) A boss who knows how to run a business, how to keep his dick in his pants, his lewd opinions to himself and knows how to compensate his employees- properly.
19.) More patience.
20.) More time. More time. More time.

Hope everyone what gets what they want, too. Have a wonderful Xmas.
Love,
A.

reason no. 3,825

2005-12-19T22:12:00.000-08:00

Running into clients on the street is a lot like running into ex boyfriends.
It's either
A.) Awkward, and we stumble through conversation.
Or
B.) The client is shocked at what I look like outside of work and seems almost surprised that I actually have a life outside the office- just like when you run into an ex and they can't believe how good you look.
This is a small world we live in and I am constantly running into clients- old and new, on the street all the time. I can never understand why these people become complete assholes when fully clothed. I'm starting to get the impression that this is truly who they are in their everyday lives.
Ironic. These people act more naked when I see them in clothes than they do when they are actually nude.
The other day while enjoying my coffee and Xmas shopping, I ran into Tim.
Just like in the movies, we ran our carts right into each other at Target. I was polite- I say hello to everyone- but then he just got all weird.
"Hey, you."
"Oh...hey, A. So...uh...how's it going?"
"The usual, you know just Xmas shopping."
"Oh. I'm here with my wife."
That's nice. I think?
"Oh, nice. Where is she?"
It is at this moment his wife comes to his side holding dog food and fabric softener.
"Uh... Cheryl, this is A. I know her from the the the...Chiropractor."
We shake hands and I introduce myself. She seems cool but puzzled by her husband's sudden inability to act like an articulate human being.
At this point he is actually flustered. He is blushing. He is rubbing the back of his neck. He is making mindless small inconsistent chit-chat as his wife starts to eyeball me.
Suddenly her suspicions get the best of her and she says,
"So you're the reason why my husband spends so much time at the doctor. Wow, Tim. You didn't tell me your massage therapist was so pretty."
Ok, so now I'm uncomfortable. At this point I feel there is nothing I can say to sway her suspicious mind because good ol' Tim has already convinced his darling wife that there is something going on between us.
I begin to grasp for straws...
"I was just Xmas shopping for my husband..."
Stupid Tim replies, "You're married? You never told me."
Jesus. For the love of God, please shut-up. Why am I feeling guilty for doing nothing!!!! DICKHEAD!!!!
"Yes I am."
Of course I'm not, but instead of letting him sink I'm actually trying to fix what he is royally fucking up.
So incredibly stupid.
I guess people think I'm going to start shouting-out all the things they tell me in confidence.
This situation seems ridiculous but it happens all the time.
Sometimes people can't believe I actually have a face, because when they see me they act like they have never seen it before.
"You look really different. No, REALLY different!"
They truly can't believe I shop or drive or live- at all.
Sometimes they just ignore me. I know they recognize me, but they literally walk in the other direction. We'll make eye contact I'll start to wave and then suddenly I have to act like I'm waving to the invisible man standing behind their back. Assholes.
I don't get it.
Can't anyone just be polite? I promise we don't have to talk about your yeast infection of your husband's flatulence in public. Where is the trust and love you had for me when the lights are low and I worked on that knot behind your shoulder?
Just leave your money on the dresser and be on your way.
It's funny how hard massage therapists will work at proving we are not whores when we just end up getting treated like one anyway.
According to my trusty National Board of Massage Therapy handbook, I am actually supposed to ignore these people as well. It's "unethical" to approach clients outside the office.
For working so intimately close to people, it's so impersonal.

I don't know guys...All I can think of are reasons to leave this profession.

Is it Xmas yet?

A.

thanks for all the giving

2005-11-20T23:08:00.000-08:00

I am thankful for the word fuck, I use it a lot and it seems to sum up things nicely. Whoever invented that word is a genius. I am thankful for all those who ever betrayed my trust. Thanks to you I now know the difference between being suspicious and just being smart. I am thankful for Nachos at 11:23pm- red wine is good too. Bless those grape Gods. I'm thankful for my mom and pop, I wasn't perfect as a child and they bought the 'sweet act' every single time, or at least acted they did. I am thankful for my shitty bosses, you make me want to be someone or something else. I am thankful for oatmeal; it tastes good and lowers my cholesterol. I am thankful for my few good friends. You have all taught me how to laugh and cry, laugh while I'm crying, love a man, love myself, make myself look thinner, let things go, laugh after a bad fall, eat Indian food, put up with shit, swallow my pride, surf, enjoy, crawl, make a fool of myself, forgive, understand, try and strive and many many things I can never repay you for. I am
thankful for the ocean and it's tide. I made a pretty big decision last weekend, and I did it while walking on a beach. I am thankful for the snooze button and the last two minutes of every morning before the bed becomes empty and sheets turn cold. I am thankful for all my ex boyfriends who came into my life but left abruptly; you all did me the biggest favor you could ever imagine- but most of you are still dicks. I'm thankful for Santa Ana winds that blow the comb out of my hair and on to the asphalt when I walk to my car. I am thankful for an open freeway(when I can find one) that lets me drive fast and sing loud. I am thankful for learning the difference between wanting and needing-it's a harder lesson than I ever imagined. I am thankful that I can still be surprised from time to time- I was beginning to think I couldn't. I am thankful for a sister who suddenly became an optimist. You inspire me daily. I am also thankful for the man who loves her as much as I do.
I am thankful for my lisp; it is subtle at times but lazy and deliberate after a long day. I used to hate it, but now I see it as a trademark.
I am thankful for naps I can take in the middle of the day. And as much as I hate to be woken-up in the middle of the night, I am thankful for my two cats that prance on my face and bladder at 4am. I am thankful for my clients, good and bad. I have learned many lessons from most of them, even though some of them I'd rather forget. I am thankful I can get up everyday and go to a job and be able to perform that job and support myself.
But most of all
this year I am thankful for N.
You are more than a person, more than a man, more than body. You are miles of clean canvas, anticipating color, shape, emotion, words and movement. Thank you for now and all that is not written.

I'm looking forward to 4 blissful days-off in a row...
and stuffing my face and sleeping-in and doing nothing and everything.

Have a great holiday, everyone.

xoxoxo
A.

Almost

2005-11-13T18:33:00.000-08:00

Isn't it true, whenever someone tries to tell you how great someone else is, the person they are describing turns out to be a total asshole?
After months of hearing how great my client's trainer is, she did me the favor of referring him to me for a massage.
This fucking mindless meathead, huge in his muscles and small in the mind actually thought he was doing me a favor by showing up to his appointment last week. The moment I met him in our office waiting area, I could tell he was disappointed when he saw me. He literally lifted an eyebrow and gave me the once over twice. And this is how the beginning of our meeting went.
"Hi, Dave?"
"Yeah."
"Hi, I'll be doing your massage today."
"You're A.?"
"Yep."
"Oh."
What the fuck? Sorry to disappoint you buddy. I don't know what the fuck you were expecting.
But soon it became clear as I walked him back to my room.
"So, what are we working on today?"
"Uh, I just want to make sure you are well versed in the body."
"Uh, ok? I've been doing this for 5 years and specialize in deep tissue and sports injury, is there a problem?"
And this is what this guy said.
"Well, I can tell you don't work-out, so I just want to make sure you know what you're doing."
Well, judging by your face, I can tell you don't get laid much but I promise not to hold it against you.
"I see. So what are we working on?"
"I was in an accident and have a terrible case of whiplash."
I know just the thing I can do for you.
"Start face up."
I spent the first 20 minutes listening to this guy ramble on about how he works out extensively-2x a day, 6 days a week to be exact. I tried not to choke Dave as I rubbed his neck and listened to him ramble on about muscles he couldn't pronounce, insertions he mistook for origins and fat girls who flirted with him profusely. I might also mention that Dave can not get a lady to date him more than a couple of times. Seems it's his, uh..."Career" that women do not understand.
Really? My client tells me that you told her in confidence that your last girlfriend called you small below that well toned waist of yours.
Of course I left this part out. I stayed professional in my words as I worked on him- while he continued to insult me in subtle little ways.
"I have a lot of clients who come in that are your size" and "I knew you'd be strong because you are really, uh..tall."
Oh, Dave. He was so enjoyable. I learned a lot about him.
He has never read an entire book before. -Reading is "boring." maybe the words are too big.
Kanye West should be the next president! He's really smart.-I'm not even going to touch this one.
He had no idea who Condoleezza Rice was.
He had never heard the word incoherent before. -I had to explain it to him.
And he had never been anywhere outside California or Orange County for that matter.
But most importantly in all this, he didn't have a clue that I was trying to pound a bruise in the shape of an "A" under his right shoulder blade.
I purposely hurt this guy. I purposely imposed pain on him that may be deemed medically unnecessary but morally necessary in my book.
Why? Because he deserved it.
He was an idiot, but fuck him. I knew in the back of my mind this asshole was going to make me look twice at my body every time I looked in a mirror. I knew that this piece of garbage hated anyone who had more than 6% body fat. And I knew that he would be sore the next day and the next day after that and would have to think about me as he stretched and winced before his next work-out.

Later that week on an early morning, I found myself standing in my underwear in front of the mirror critiquing all my softness and imperfections. I looked at my profile from the left, then the right. I ran my hands over my hips and ass that tend fit nicely in a pair of 14/16 jeans. (Ironically I have just spent the last 6 weeks losing twentysomething pounds and half the ass I use to carry around.) I held my belly and pushed it in as far as I could, then quickly let it drop and settle. And you know what? I almost felt ugly. I almost rushed to my knees and stuck my fingers down my throat to expel my rice crispies and low fat milk. I almost started to cry. I almost started to shake. But I didn't.
I put on my favorite pair of perfect size 16 jeans a soft cable knit sweater and headed out for my day. And in my car I dusted myself off with these thoughts:

I love my curves, my slopes my hips- even my dimply belly. I'm not going to bullshit myself or anyone else and say I never wish my thighs didn't touch or my stomach wasn't squishy, but I can live with it. I may not be perfect to one, but to another I am exquisite or beautiful. I don't spend all day in a gym- or even one day out of the month for that matter, but who cares? I am strong enough in body, mind and heart to hurt you, heal you, love you, or out smart you. I have read many many books and can quote Marquez, Hemingway, Morrison, and tons of others. I know who Condoleezza Rice is and Kanye West should stick to producing music and stay the fuck out of politics. And fuck that guy. If having only 6% body fat and the brain the size of a pea is going to attract assholes like him who offer nothing but their petty insignificant opinion- I don't want any part of it.

I guess I've known better all along.
I just needed to remind myself.

Sorry about the bald spot on your chest

2005-10-31T19:25:00.000-08:00

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

2005-10-24T23:23:00.000-07:00

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"

2005-10-18T20:02:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-13T09:23:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-10T08:41:00.000-07:00

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?

2005-10-02T22:06:00.000-07:00

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.