By Fixing It, I Mean, Don't Be Making Up Days of the Week

So. Many of you have asked how my first day/week of massage therapy decided to go for me. In short, it went very well despite the fact that my very first massage client "no showed" on me. Yeah, they did. How nice is that? I was somewhat nervous (read: very), but in the end, it turned out to not be such a bad thing as it calmed me down for my next "official" appointment. I'm weird like that. I also, along the way got edumacated in a few things in the way of massage therapy.

The few lessons I've learned this past week include the fact, most importantly, that you just cannot please them all. Sometimes you are damned if you do and in the same breath damned if you do not. Just go forward and do the best that you can. I now completely understand how the husband feels on a daily basis. You try hard as well as think you do the right/best thing for people. Usually, they will turn right around and bite you in the a** if they can. People are weird, but they are just not worth what leetol sanity you may be clinging onto in this big ole world of ours.

Secondly, I learned that I can give a very, very, very, very deep massage. I did not think it possible that I could go deeper than I already do, but having the most fantastic husband on earth has its benefits. He has been my ever faithful "practice mannequin." And once again, he didn't let me down when I came home telling the tale of someone saying I did not go deep enough. Um. Ow. Please tell me in the session where I can do something about it - not after when I cannot do a thing to fix it for you. End lesson.

Anyway, in the same sentence, I made the husband jump on my massage table to dig my elbows, thumbs and forearms into his fantastically yummy bicycle racing body. My goal was to make him jump from pain. Yes, on purpose. I needed to know how deep was too deep. I'm not a big meannie to the husband. I am a scholar not a hater. I need to know this bit of important information. But . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . the husband feel asleep. Hard REM sleep. Not to be discouraged, I kept on working deep in the tissues of all that I know is the husband. He never jumped. He never woke up. But(!) I learned that I can give a very, very, very, very deep massage, because, I was very, very, very, very deep into the husbands bodily tissues.

Thirdly, ice is my friend. My very best friend.

Which leads me to my fourth and final lesson of the week, I can give three deep massages in one day. And, if it were certain that I could have two more clients who only wanted light therapy, you can be sure that I would be doing five massages in one day. I only give two right now with practice on the husband. This is equivalent to me weightlifting for two to three hours daily. I would sign up for more clients; however, unfortunately, you never know what flavor you are going to get booked with. The front desk tries their best to schedule accordingly, but if a light massage therapist is full and I have an opening, I am going to get that light client. I am completely okay with this as I am a deep massage therapist and having a break from deep would be graciously welcomed in my world. It is entirely possible to get five or more deep massages in one day if I were to open my schedule for that many sessions. Which would absolutely and undeniably kill me. It would. I'm not even being my usual drama queen self. I. Would. Just. Die.

I start up classwork again on Tuesday. Our Advanced Clinical Massage class is still going strong. Kinesiology and Pathology will be the newest classroom additions. Advanced Business and Ethics will be joining soon. I've also signed up to do two massages as soon as class is finished each day. My days will now be getting a bit longer.

And, to think, I am tired now. . . . .

If all ya'll don't hear from me much, it is because my cute little fingers can't lift themselves to type.




I have seven massages therapy sessions down. . . . . only ninety-three more to go. . . .

Put Your Hands Down Will You, You're Embarrassing Us i. jones, jr.

I've waited almost 20-years. . . .

I'm glad I did!

I Like to Think of Jesus as a Mischievous Badger cal naughton, jr.

The massage school I have been attending for almost the past 3 months has deemed it safe for me to start placing my magic hands on the public. Today is the day I begin that journey. In fact, I'm booked for my time today.

Wish me luck. Or my future clients luck. Whatever suits your fancy.

When All Else Fails, Read the Directions

So.

Mr. Gecko-Lizard-From-the-Wondrous-&-Deadly-Outdoors:

For four(4)-weeks I completely loved and protected you; gave you shelter in our home. Even while many a dog sought and found you. Include the wily cats whom also hunted and located your green leetol bum. I would pick you up and place you on higher ground. Always. I then banished my kitty to a separate room - for weeks. All in the name of safety for Mr. Gecko who found his way from outside inside.

I made sure you had fresh bugs for lively gourmet meals. I thought this was our unsigned agreement: you eat the indoor insects and I made sure that no one stepped on you. I also made sure to find you each and every day to be sure you were still alive and kicking. If I could not locate your scaly arse, I was deeply saddened - ask the husband, I was. I hadn't called the pest control man for fear of killing you with all things fumy. I did not mind you staring at me as I typed on my computer. If you fell, I gently picked you up. I cleaned your poo - and I have enough of that currently going on to last the rest of my life, believe me. I vacuumed up your shredded shedded skin. I found you heat and water. I let you sleep in my family room throw.

The husband helped sustain your life as well. He was like a pro-wrestler keeping the dogs at bay. Without us, you would have been bird food by the second week of your birth. For serious.

Yesterday, I almost stepped on you - curses to you and your chameleon-like ways. Obviously, this meant you were on the floor. So, again, I bent down to protect you from the hounds-of-hell - - - jaws that were just waiting for a good chomp of you. You were a bit squirrely as you had not had your coffee for the day either, but I managed to get you up off to higher ground. I then ever so tenderheartedly put you down. . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . where you promptly turned and unnecessarily bit my finger. Hard. Unflinchingly hard. You suddenly and unbelievably had a sustained spasm of your masseter muscle. I didn't even know geckos had such a thing, but you were strong, let me tell you. I could not get you to LET GO of my precious and, might I add, cute finger. For 5-minutes I pried and pried; where I only to manage to shred my own finger. That was not cool, Mr. Gecko. Not cool at all.

And, that frackin' hurt.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . outside you go, you little b*st*rd.

Warmest Regards,
~Jen-who-used-to-trust-geckos-with-her-life-and-finger(s)

P.S. To any beastly-evil-spiders that may be reading this message: while I may be tolerant of almost any creature who dwells in my home, you best hope the husband finds you first, b/c I will squish you into a pile of spider mucus without thinking twice about it. I hold a doctrine that determines my race is superior to as well as has the right to rule yours. Eight-legged-freaks, I will have none of it. So, beware - there is no lifeguard on duty for you here. Unless, of course, it's the husband. He has taken pity on your souls.

Cloak-and-Dagger

In case you hadn't noticed, I'm indisposed and will be even more so over the coming weekend . . . . more later.

In the meantime, because someone asked nicely,
here are a few photo's from the past week:

Opening a couple of birfday gifts.

Jen, this is your life.
One of the best gifts ever
was received when I opened this scrapbook made by my mom & dad.
[Can someone explain why one of my nicknames in the 1980's was Hair?
I just can't imagine.]


Lastly, things that make you go, "hmmm"?

I hope all ya'll have a super-fab weekend! . . . . .Definitely don't forget your mom's. If your mom is like my mom, then your mom rawks! Hugs to all the mom's out there. If you're interested, here's my tribute to my mom from last year. A new one will be forthcoming, but not until after this weekend.

My Dad Said You Were a Drama Queen

. . . . . running late for the early morning Sunday ride, the husband needs a lift in the truck. I'm not allowed to brush my hair or do anything remotely human-looking before driving the husband to meet 30 of his friends. Nothing. To make me look slightly presentable. With zombie breath in tow and my bewbies hanging to my knees - I just had a birfday, people - I jump into the driver side of thy truck. I'm a good sport. Mostly.

**********

. . . moseying on down the road; driving along in my automobile . . .

the husband: drive it like you stole it.
me: I just woke up and therefore it's probably a little dangerous for me to be driving like that ***wild-eyed abandonment***
the husband: ***snickers*** I know, right?
me: what are the chances that there is someone at the 4-way stop at this time in the morning . . . . . . who, I guess, isn't even going to bother to stop?
swerving around the old man whom, mind you, didn't stop at the 4-way stop himself
the husband: you're going to be turning right up here. . . .
me, slowing down to pull in behind old guy to make the right hand turn up ahead
the husband: punch it!
me: ***punching it*** that old geezer is thinking, "effing* kids these days!"

Come to think of it, maybe the old guy was late for the ride too? I mean, he turned so quickly at the 4-way stop, because, if you remember, he never even stopped, which in turn made him swerve into the other lane of traffic before righting himself back in front of me in my lane. B*st*rd.

Maybe he was just drunk. Double b*st*rd.

Finally, I'd like to finish by pointing out it was far too early for me to be pulling out my Kimi Raikkonen moves, which I flawlessly performed in a truck. But all's well that ends well. I'm safe and back at home with my hair now up in a pony-tail and my pegs are brushed. I can now go out in public. I'm safe. All ya'll are safe.

*technically, this is not exactly the word I used, but I'm a lady. So there.

Sarcasma

What would I rather be doing on this lovely Saturday other than . . . . cleaning. . . . ?

Hmpf. . . .





That's right, I'd rather be doing pretty much anything other than cleaning. I'm heading to the cat boxes as soon as I can let go of this keyboard. The husband is gone until late tonight. I'm bored. Making things spotless is not helping.


What are all ya'll doing today? Make me jealous.





***Though, as soon as I get the kitchen done, I am making my energy pancakes with fresh strawberries in a bright shiny new birfday gift I received from my awesome husband. Maybe I'll show pictures if ya'll are good. Maybe.