Tuesday, June 29, 2010

35 Special

My back's been pretty jacked up the last few days. One month my bed felt amazing, the next month it felt like a 15 year old replica of a medieval torture device. Memory Foam Mattress Topper Spiked With Nails or something like that. So this afternoon I did something almost entirely unprecedented; I got myself a massage. I can count on one hand how many times in my life I've had a professional massage and I don't remember the last time I did. It falls under the category of personal extravagance to me (oh, how I wish it rested under holistic health maintenance instead) so I rarely do it. That'll tell you how bad my back feels.

Granted, a chiropractor might be the more successful treatment route, but I can't afford to see one. I have driven by the sign for "$35 Hour Thai Massage (early bird special)" several times and went for it. For that price, it was worth trying.

Did you know Thai massage means they're going to walk on your back? I didn't. My first tip on this was when I walked into the private massage area and the mattress was on the floor. The parallel bars suspended from high on near and far walls confirmed it. Fortunately my masseuse, Wendy (or was it Windy? It was impossible to tell!) was a rather petite Thai woman.

I got pushed, poked, prodded, rolled, stretched and yes, stepped all over. I have yet to receive a professional massage that didn't hurt at some point, and I've come to learn that it's always worth it in the end. Today though, I'm not sure... My back is still killing me in the same spot. And once I did wince as she poked God knows what pressure point on the bottom of my foot. Windy Wendy had me wondering why it weally, weally hurt. Later she did something I'm certain a more skittish person who happened to peek at just the right moment would have screamed from; she had me on my back, legs folded in a fetal position, and I'm pretty sure she was straddling me, pressing down on my hamstrings with her body. I can't be certain as I refused to open my eyes.

A sign on the wall in the massage area said "None Sexual".

I really hope Wendy meant her and not me. Me, I hold out hope.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Not Wast[ed]

Oh dear God thank heavens I drink Coors Light. Were it anything stronger I'd already be passed out in bed instead of propped up on it enjoying the end of a PBS special. The words on the screen look less fuzzy than earlier but the ringing in my ears hasn't yet stopped...

This afternoon was great. One should always step out of one's comfort zone, preferably on a daily basis! I had a few beers (um, and a ridiculously good shot of something in the Jaggermeister family. Don't try this at home), I did some writing and I met new people. And the day absolutely flew by! I was in a particularly gregarious mood, as evidenced by my sharing of this blog with several people at the bar. Let me repeat this 'cause I'm not sure I believe it... I shared my blog with several people at the bar. YIKES! Yeah, I did. Fortunately most of them were illiterate and/or disinterested. One was not only interested, I have fair reason to believe he memorized my blog name likely so he could check it out later to see what I wrote about before. And here I am - writing about him, a man I met at the bar, read and showed my blog to, and also let feel me up.

Just kidding on the feel me up part.

I think. I was buzzed. Does his hands on my waist and hips meet the definition of being felt up? Hard to say. In my day being felt up meant second base. Don't get me started there...

Now I'm home and drinking water (lots!) and getting ready for bed. Hey, it's 10:30. There are people in Peoria snoring by now.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow... is a new day, not to be wasted.

Make Haste

The pressure to type out a witty but deep, insightful yet light and entertaining entry is mounting rapidly. My brain cells are falling asleep as I write this. The stimuli around me - "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You" by Zeppelin piping through the speakers, miscellaneous chatter from several different conversations and the break of balls on a pool table - are all vying for my attention. I must be expeditious.

I'm getting drunk.

I came home this afternoon after being out and about and realized that I would be yet again passing an afternoon at my kitchen table surfing on Bella, toute seule. It is a gorgeous day out, and a Saturday no less! So I decided to do something both slightly outside my comfort zone and also right in the crossfires of long time thought and desire: I've come to my corner bar to have a drink and enjoy free WiFi. I'm proud of myself, actually. I sometimes succumb to the voices in my head that say I won't fit in by myself in public. As in, going to a bar/movie/restaurant solo means you're a loser. However, upon closer inspection, one realizes that these voices come from fear... and this year being a No Fear kind of year, I chose to ignore them. Silence, impudent maggots!

Um, as I mentioned, I'm getting drunk. As in, I'm already buzzed.

But I digress, surely I digress. Either that or I simply don't remember what the hell I was saying in the first place. I may as well start anew; new topics are always fun.

Have chatted a bit with the friendly bartender who was here the very first day I came in. I didn't know she was working today but perhaps I manifested her since I did picture her behind bar when I envisioned myself sitting here, typing away on Bella over a Coors Light.

And on the topic of Coors Light, pure piss. Diet soda with a kick. Nothing much good about it except it doesn't give me gas (hello, Bud Light) or love handles (goodbye, Blue Moon).

This morning I went to a screening of my favorite TV show. I will leave out its name and that of its star, the featured speaker after said screening. What I will say though, after how brilliant Glee is, is that Matthew Morrison is very much the stereotypical actor: charming, witty, talented, starving for attention, actually insecure, and so, so dedicated to his craft.

Oh crap, I've gone and named both the show and the star. Fiddlesticks.

I must end this now. Clearly I'm too inebriated to be writing in a public forum. And the bartender just brought me another drink - my second. Look out public, I'm drinking up!

Friday, June 4, 2010

Bellis Perennis

Without further ado...

Meet Bella, as she is known around the house. No, she's not named for some vampire novel heroine. She is formally known by Bellis Perennis (see here for a picture of her namesake: http://bit.ly/9TrFs7)

Ain't she a beaut?

Thursday, June 3, 2010

One Double Mocha Fudge Chocolate Chip, Please

People always say that the best relationships develop out of friendships. But what happens if your friend turns into a lover and all the heat between you just - POOF - vanishes??

What if you like your friend so much that you keep him around because you adore him but in the wee small hours of the night when you should be having hot oh-my-god-is-this-a-dream-or-am-I-awake sex you're instead tucking your teddy bear under your arm because, oh yeah, said friend doesn't sleep well with someone in the bed so he didn't stay over?

Doesn't it suck when you think someone likely has a Chocolate streak the size of Fudge Swirl in him but it turns out he is Vanilla - not French Vanilla - just plain old 99 Cent Store brand Vanilla made with artificial flavoring?

*Sigh.* January has some thinking to do.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Rise and Shine!

Brace yourself. I know this is going to seem implausible. But it's finally happened: I've reached the end of the internet. How could this happen, you might say? Isn't there an endless stream of new websites being created and set live everyday? Well perhaps there is. But this morning after starting in Hotmail, checking in with CNN and Google News, reading up on peoples' morning on Facebook and surfing for laptop bags on Overstock and Amazon, I hit the end. There was nothing of interest to me on the screen. Nothing. I found myself staring at my laptop wishing miniature Mickey Mouses would creep out of my keyboard and start to do their very own re-envisioned pas de deux homage to Steamboat Willie. 'Dance, little mouse, dance', I'd say. But no one climbed out from between the keys and I'm left thinking that only a drug induced hallucination (or perhaps an overdose of multi-vitamins, at this hour) would bring about my dancing Mickeys. And the internet, so often my friend and confidante, just didn't do it for me anymore.

I think it's time to get out of bed. Maybe later in the day the internet will have something new.