win a cotton-candy goat
RELAX DON’T DO IT
LT gave me a massage gift certificate for my birthday. Normally I hate massage (everyone hurts me ow ow stop that), but this place does both Thai massage and craniosacral. I had the latter once and loved it—afterward I felt like I had taken a very mild dose of shrooms and floated around smiling at everyone. Maybe that’s how craniosacral therapy should promote itself: socially acceptable hallucinogens for grown-ups! You have life responsibilities, and you can no longer tie colored ribbons to your wrists and run around the prairie for twelve hours! Your baby will not appreciate you fingerpainting with the diaper cream, your boss does not care how good the stapler feels pressed against your cheek. Go get some bodywork instead.
I decided on the Thai yoga massage this time though, for the novelty and stretchiness and because Sarah came highly recommended. As I was getting ready to leave:
LT: If it gets sexy, tell me all about it, okay?
Me: Oh grow up. It’s not that kind of massage.
LT: I’m just saying, if it does.
Me: It won’t. Life is not a porno.
LT: I guess that’s a good thing, in the long run. But. [sad face]
Obviously nothing weird happened during my massage, nor did I expect it to, but during periods when my mind was not 100% focused on the stretchy feelings (bad yogi!) I kept thinking about the unexpected. What if Sarah just screamed and punched me in the stomach right now? What if the soft new-wave music on the iPod in here suddenly changed to some painfully loud gong-laden Boredoms track? I would think it would be almost impossible for a massage therapist to resist trolling like that, at least once. And the fact that I think this is why I would not be a very good massage therapist.
I am about to overshare, but curiosity overwhelms me. After getting home from the massage, I experienced some, uh, bathroom frequency. Nothing horrific, but not particularly fun either. Could there be truth to the woo-woo massage legend of “toxins leaving the body”? Was it a delayed reaction to the previous night’s cheese and wine? Opinions?
MORE EVIDENCE OF BEING A TERRIBLE PERSON
Sometimes I like to make stern faces at babies and little children, when their parents aren’t looking. Sometimes I even give my head a little “no” shake while doing it. None of the babies or children have ever gotten visibly upset* (because really, who am I to them?), but they stare and stare like they are trying to figure out why I am so unhappy.
*The one time I did upset a strange kid, I was trying to be nice! This toddler was whining with every step, his mom was clearly over it and ignoring him (good call!), and I caught his eye and smiled/made a silly (friendly!) face. He started freaking out and yelling NO! and I nodded back “yes” while still smiling, which only made him madder, and as I passed this little street scene he was still crying/whining and yelling NO NO NO. His mom was probably thinking that he had just gone from normal fussy toddler to full-on batshit meltdown, which is not all that abnormal for the age, so I got away clean! No one would suspect me! Smile at a child? Why would I do such a thing?
MY DAMAGED CAT
I have already talked at length about Rocko, my emo mess of a pet. He is no better, and the Prozac seems to have made very little difference. He still overgrooms his belly and legs, he still is completely unable to be alone in a room, he still presses his skull into my armpit like one of those sensory-seeking children who need to crawl through the tight squishy tunnel to feel okay.
Normally I am just like whatever: he’s crazy but he’s mine. But the latest has me concerned—whenever I go down to the basement Rocko follows me, and then meows and paces around nervously in front of his litterbox. One time I picked him up and put him in there, and he immediately peed and seemed much happier. Of course now it is a routine. Rocko needs a friend to pee.
A MUCH MORE MENTALLY HEALTHY DOG
What a good puppy!
WITH CERTAINTY, I SAY
On a television promo for some dumb Animal Planet show about looking for Bigfoot, one of the searchers comes across some broken branches and says something like, “Oh yeah, this is definitely the work of a squatch.” This cracks me up, not because of the word “squatch” (although it is marvelous), but because of the word “definitely.”
—mimi smartypants will not debate ontology with cryptozoologists.