Creepy Massage Story #2

So, as many of you know, Hubby is a massage therapist too.

One day, a phone call--"Hi, um, I'm new to town and got your name out of the phone book--is this 'The Ballard Rub'?"
"Well," says Hubby, "That was my wife's business--she has moved to North Seattle where we both practice now."
"Oh."
"If this is a problem I can refer you to some massage therapy places in Ballard?"
"No....that's fine. I'll come to you there."

Dialogue at this point, not so strange. Pretty typical actually. Just...we are trained to screen people with intuition intact--very necessary for this line of work.

A niggling glimmer of creepiness; Hubby was a little intuitively tweaked, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"So," Hubby asked, "You would like to schedule a massage with my wife?"
"You both do it?"
"Yes."
"Oh, do I get you both?"
"No."

Intuition tweaking stepping up a notch, Hubby decided to, er, probe.

"What are you needing massage for?"
"Um...I have some stiffness..."
"Oh, really? Where?"
"Um...in the front..."

Lordy.

Hubby, helpful and ever ready to educate,"Well, we don't do that kind of massage. This a medical massage facility."
"Oh. Where can I find that kind of massage?"
"I really have no idea. But, I guess you could try down by the airport."

Did I mention Hubby was helpful?

"Thanks. And, can I ask you a question?" Creepy guy sounds too familiar at this point.
"Mm hmm."
"How big is your cock?"

Click.

Help, I'm melting....

Maybe if we call it "Global Torching" people might take it more seriously...?

Just went to see "Friends with Money" at the $3 movie theater nearby.

I liked it. Great characters and quirky details. I remember reading a review of it that described Jennifer Anniston's character as overly mopey and pathetic. I didn't think she was anymore pathetic than the other unhappy characters in the film--she just may have seemed so because she didn't have any money to make her socially less so.

Frances McDormand--the best part of the movie.

Nice to see that maybe (?) the movie powers that be are realizing that an actress's career doesn't end at 40?

Anniversary #6.

Mr. and Mrs. Stoogie near Stehikin at Lake Chelan...

I just did the most ridiculous thing.

I wrote Oprah about a show idea.

Does anyone EVER really write Oprah with only the lily-white intention of simply getting the message out to the uninformed public?

Hell no--I wanna meet that woman. And, if I have to bare my soul in front of god and country to do it, I'll damn well strip.

The idea is probably not sexy enough to make it, but with August's issue of the Oprah Magazine focusing on female friendships, I wanted her to address the issue of what happens when a friend dumps you. Just ain't no self-help books for that.

God help me if they actually call.

So, I'm a fan of Kathy Griffin, the comedian. She has gone a couple times to the middle east to perform for the troups over there.

One of the things she talks about is how the muslim women there wear their burkas everywhere. Even swimming.

Well, gang--don't laugh, because here are your "Wholesome Wear"
swimsuit options for the "modest" set. Designed to "direct the attention to the face" and not the body, this swimwear is a delightful alternative to that scandalous one-piece-with-a-skirt option that so many body-conscious types are forced to wear.

This swimwear is so ugly that nobody will think twice about your bod.

Burkas, anyone?

Went to see Al Gore's movie tonight. I had been resisting seeing it because I just didn't want to get depressed about the well, inconvenient truth about global warming.

It's amazing and devastating and so damn frustrating. I kept thinking--if this man had actually been allowed to hold the office that he had been popularily elected to six years ago--how much could be so much different?!

See the movie. Try to get everyone you know to see the movie. Sit through the devastating and terrifying parts to force yourslf to learn what is really happening to our planet--stay for the hope that he imparts at the end.

My my, churches are getting a wee bit cranky these days...


(thanks to Willow)

For those of you looking for a morale boost, check out this
ego inflator.

Don't forget to put your name in the address bar where it says "yournamehere".

I think my brain has decreased by several cells.

I have been mired in a bog of faucet choices, soap and water dispenser inanities. It's amazing to see how micro-focused I can get on the sheer irrelevance of whether the fact that this water dispenser having a flange is going to clash with that faucet I want which doesn't.

And, is there really any difference between brushed stainless steel and brushed nickel???? Not much, except for the price.

Bombs are exploding in India, Israel is attacking Lebanon-- and I am consumed with plumbing fixtures.

I am so lucky.

Really.

I would love to kiss you.
The price of Kissing is your Life.
Now my Loving is running towards my Life, shouting
"What a Bargain! Let's buy it!"
---Rumi

I have no idea what this means...

but,

I

Love

it.....

No longer Publicity Chair for the community club---hoo boy am I bad at that! Who would've thought that contacting publications and writing press releases could be soooo unappealing and easy to forget to do in time...

But, as I am the youngest on the board--and easily the one with the most enthusiasm--they are keeping me around. I don't know, I must be useful for something. Like being the grunt who helps set up for the "ChiliPaloosa" festival tomorrow.

I am constantly wrestling with the feeling that I'm missing my boat somehow.

Isn't that the Buddhist definition of hell on some level?

Being a massage therapist gives me a particularly earthy experience of the body.

All day long I'm touching people--probably more intensively than any spouse or partner (minus the sex stuff--I'm not THAT kind of therapist)--feeling, seeing and smelling a person pretty thoroughly for the hour that they lie on my table.

I remember, as a kid, the hilarious wonder and terror of the fart, of the body sounds that didn't involve the larynx. Even now, most people I know (aside from other body workers) are pained by the reminders of their own, or others', possession of a digestive tract, of secretion glands, and of sphincters that reveal body funk.

After over nine (!) years in this biz, it's pretty hard to phase me--but oh, I've got stories! Tales of funk n' stuff...

...like the man who came to me years ago who reeked of, I didn't know what, until I discovered that, upon his turning over to the prone position,
(Aside: "prone" means lying face down. I've been noticing a lot recently that people have been using the word "prone" when they really mean to use the word "supine", which indicates lying face up. One of my pet peeves. That and the constant using of the word "your" when one really means to use "you're".)
his gluteal cleavage (a trade term-feel free to use it.) was evidently packed with composting human fecal matter.

In other words, the guy obviously didn't know how to wipe his ass.

And, I'm pretty sure that it wasn't just a fluke that day, that he wasn't simply running late and forgot a vital part of his hygiene routine. Because it happened the second time he came--and this time he left skid marks on my sheets. Think about it. Sheets that you lie on are not like the underwear that shimmies up your cleavage and manages to find remnant fecal matter sufficient enough to cause the proverbial skidmarks-No! Sheets stay flat on the table, no creeping, no shimmying! So the stuff had to be pretty thick and far down that aforementioned gluteal chasm to create the mark of the beast. I started to mentally rehearse the conversation I would have to have with him if he were to come a third time: "Uh, John--I'd, um, like to talk with you about your hygiene--er, your bottom hygiene. Can I give you a little lesson on wiping? Uh no, I'm not going to demonstrate." Thank my stars that was the last time I saw him.

I've got more stories, but I'm done for the night. If for some crazy reason you are a body worker reading this blog--tell me one of yours--what's the worst you've got?