If I Had Only Known, I Would've Been a Locksmith

I swore I'd never write anything work related on this here blog of mine. However, I feel it deep in my inner most bones as my civic duty to edumicate thy masses. Besides, promises were meant to be broken so they tend to tell me.

Actually, I will not be ye so stoopid - I, at least, won't say where I work.

But I will say this, if you have found it absolutely necessary to do a heavy man encrusted workout before you walk into my room for any sort of therapeutic body massage, for the love of God, please, please, please shower. Rinse off your soaking wet, unpleasantly liquid-esq body that happens to be infused with a steeping sense of odor.

I solemnly swear to not touch the by-product of your apocrine glands.

Also, if you deem it fashionably chic to wear your fraternity boy boat shoes without the glory of your God-given right to wear socks, have the inclination, in the very least, to wash off your variety of saprotrophic micro-organism encrusted feet. I do not particularly like feeling as if I have stepped into a dermatophyte fungi convention even if you are not moldy. By the way, is your olfactory system out of order as well?

I solemnly swear to not touch your smellerella feet.

Finally, while I may view bodies close to being completely nekkid, it does not mean that I want to watch you get undressed. I am not in attendance at a "gentlemen's club" and I will not be throwing money into your tha-dank-ka-dank. So, I only ask that you wait to disrobe until I am safely out of the room with the door shut. It is imperative that you then climb under the top cover of the table sheet.

You are not the husband and I do not want nor need to see all of thee.



Legal Schmegaleese: You have been edumacated. This has been an exclusive public service announcement from your friendly Texaconsin Diva also known as Jen. Thank you. For more views on massage therapy - notice I am not a masseus by any measure or means necessary and I would greatly appreciate you not refering to me as such - please send in your written requests, comments, remarks or observations in the "comment" section of "Tales".

Elvis has left the building. At least until next time.

You Are Only Given a Little Great Spark of Madness

So, I was on my way to the doc's office today when I fell behind a vehicle with this bumper sticker:

I LOVE MY WIFE

As opposed to what . . . . .

Then I looked over to my left where I see a lady riding on the back of a motorcycle. She wore a sweatshirt, mind you it was on backwards. I suppose this is not very odd in and of itself, I mean, obviously she was chilly. However, she put the hood up over her face as they drove off for the highway . . . . .

At the doctors office I received paperwork as one normally does. I sat down in a very empty chair with a very empty chair next to me. I, obviously, was in what used to be one very empty chair and I placed my book, "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" and my purse on what used to be the other very empty chair next to mine. Promptly, as if on cue, the lady with the AARP card who had been arguing with the receptionist about her AARP card, tuned and snapped at me, "CAN I HAVE MY CHAIR BACK!" With no intonation of a question at all. I think I turned 50 shades of red and mumbled an immediate apology along with feigning ignorance about not knowing she was sitting there while I tried to gather up my things before her bottom hit. To which she replied, "well, no. You wouldn't know I was sitting there, because I wasn't sitting there" . . . . .




Is it Freaky Friday? The day has only just begun . . . . .

The Trouble With Eating Italian Food is That Five or Six Days Later You're Hungry Again g. miller

I am a geek.

Reason as to why I'm a certifiable geek? Well, here's another three for the already long listing record:

1) While driving to the grocery in my non-Coco Chanel car today, I turned down Cold Play to listen to the purr of the Italian engine of a sleek and beautifully black Ferrari in front of me.

2) Then pathetically attempting to catch up to the sleek and beautifully black Ferrari in my non-Coco Chanel car so I could continue to listen to that beautiful purr.

3) Finally, being redundantly overexcited when the sleek and beautifully black Ferrari got caught at a turn lane light right next to me, so I could hear those Italian cylinders purr quietly one last time.

. . . thereupon I immediately went back to Cold Play and the grocery. I don't think Chris Martin would've minded.

I've Got a Clue So I'm Sticking With You

If you were a hug, I'd be a kiss

Happy 4th Anniversary
I love you

He'll Make You Silky Smooth

This is only good thing to come out of
"You Don't Mess with the Zohan":

That is all.