Being Rude

Sometimes I wish I was rude. Okay the truth is I am rude, but I wish I was more rude. Rude people don't put up with other people's bull shit. Rude people tell the world where to put it. I like that.
Today I had a client whom I wish I had the balls to be rude to. He was an insignificant, unspectacular runt of a man who felt it was appropriate to boss me around. I hate it when people insinuate that they could do my job better, or that I'm doing mine insufficiently. First of all, I'm in on a Saturday on the long weekend so shut your mouth. Secondly, unless you have an understanding of human anatomy and how massage techniques create different reactions in the body and muscle tissue, then no you couldn't do my job better than me. Asshole. What I should have done, was rudely interrupt him and lecture him on why he's stupid and I'm not but I didn't. Because I don't know how to be that rude.
The same goes for every other situation in my life when people are stupid or rude. When I'm working at my retail job and a customer starts to freak out about a misunderstanding on the price of an item, I'd love to look her sternly in the eye and tell her to settle down, she's acting like a child. Or, when people just walk up to me and start talking to my dog and trying to pet her without asking when we're out for a walk. For God's sake people, I may have a schedule to keep and you have no idea if my dog is friendly.
If only I could be that rude, but I can't. I just don't have it in me. Okay, I have it in me but not the follow through. I guess it's for the best. Being rude gets you fired, and sometimes punched in the face.

Why Bras Are Important

Today I had a client come in who was the perfect example of why every woman should wear a bra. First of all, I could see her nipples. Secondly, her nipples were pointing downward. Thirdly, her breasts were so saggy that they were being held up by her fanny pack. (I know, disgusting visual right? A fanny pack!). If you think I'm exaggerating, I'm not. They were actually being held up by her fanny pack.
The woman was elderly, so clearly she'd lived a long life of unsupported breasts, hence the severe sagging. It was pretty gross, and to say the least very distracting. She was not a pretty woman, and with no where that I could have possibly wanted to look I ended up making fleeting eye contact only when necessary. People mock me for my severe addiction to sunblock, but after seeing her sun ravaged skin I feel thoroughly validated. You can all keep your disgusting age spots, thank you very much.
The massage was not a pleasant one. Her whole body was soft and saggy, and when she breathed out deeply it smelled as though she'd eaten a diaper she'd found in the garbage. Clearly it's appropriate that I will be done in three months. Things that would have only bothered me slightly four years ago now fill me with revulsion. Yep, it's time to move on.

How I Found Out My Dog is Better Looking Than I Am

My dog is beautiful. She's a Great Dane, which as most of you know is not the most common of breeds. Nearly every time my husband and I take her for a walk someone asks what breed she is, or exclaims over how beautiful she is, or pulls their car over in traffic just to ask us questions about her. What I'm saying is, she gets a lot of attention. This doesn't bother me. On the contrary, I'm a very proud mama. I always beam with pride when people gawk and exclaim over how big and lovely she is.
Yesterday, however, was slightly different. My husband and I were walking her as usual when a truck pulled over to the side of the road. He honked, but as we were well away from him, we figured he must be picking up someone from the house he was now stopped in front of and was signaling for them to come out. We were wrong. He got out of his car and called to us, causing us to turn and acknowledge him.
"Is that a bull mastiff?"
At this, I responded,
"No. She's a great dane." (Idiot. She looks nothing like a bull mastiff)
"No way! She's HUGE" (dur! Great Danes are one of the tallest breeds, you moron)
"Yes, well, she's a Great Dane."
He goes on for a while about how big bull mastiffs are and how surprising it is that she is also big (moron) before he then begins talk/yelling at my dog;
"You are so beautiful!"
I, of course, beam with pride and yell thank you, as I'm always pleased when people compliment my sweet little girl. He however, misinterpreted my thank you and felt it was necessary to correct me and say,
"No, I meant your dog!"
Through gritted teeth, I yelled back, "Yes I realize that," and turned to walk away.
I guess he realized that that was rude because he yelled after me, "You're attractive, I'm just saying the dog is really nice."
My husband and I didn't bother to continue acknowledging him after that and continued on our walk. Thanks, buddy. Way to make a girl feel stunning.

That's Right. It's Exactly What it Sounds Like.

We are nearing the end of one of my favourite events in Saskatoon, the Taste of Saskatchewan. Every summer restaurants from all over the city gather on the river to set up tents and present samples of their wares for the price of a few tickets. Many restaurants take the opportunity to show off some of their best and most delicious specialties, one of which I'm only allowed to eat once a year.
I am of course referring to the deep fried mars bar. That's right. It's exactly what it sounds like. They take a mars bar, dip it in batter, deep fry it, and sprinkle icing sugar on top. I doubt you've tasted anything more intense, or delicious in your whole life. In fact, it's so intense that you really won't want more than one. In many cases half of one is plenty. In any case, no matter how sick it makes me each year I always go back for another when summer roles around again. It's one of those decadent treats we all must allow ourselves at one time or another.

It's That Time Again...

Every year, just after the mid point of summer, something strange starts to happen to me. I start to long for the delicious and wicked escapades of Halloween. All of a sudden I'm surfing through the Martha Stewart website, reading up on delightful Halloween crafts, recipes and decorations. (She may be a bitch but damn that girl knows how to celebrate Halloween!) I can't help it. I know I shouldn't want summer to end, there are way too many months of winter as it is, but I just love Halloween so much. And yet again, the longing has started to come upon me and soon I will be counting down the days until I can turn my yard into a haunted graveyard.

Perhaps You Should Get Your Head Examined

For those of you who don't know, I'm a twin. Over the years my sister and I have had to deal with a lot of stupid questions, including "can you read each others thoughts?" and my personal favourite, "when you eat does she get full?" (yes that actually happened) To the latter my sister politely responded that he should have his head examined. The truth is, it's been great. It's not often that one is born already having a best friend in the universe. I never had to suffer through the first day at school alone, or worry about having someone to sit with in the cafeteria. Not to mention, she has to put up with me because we're family. Nope, no getting rid of me. She's also a constant source of entertainment. Take for example, the voicemail message she left me today.

"Dear (insert my name here),
Didn't you know you aren't allowed to work when I want to phone and talk to you? I wanted to chat with you and you're not there. Boo.
I just got finished up about, I don't know, ten-fifteen minutes ago with my second roofing quote. Okay, do you remember the first one? Well you know, shoot! speaking of which, oh my God she's probably screwing me! But at least I had a little more confidence in it. This one - okay number one priced fabulous! Guess how much it was. Guess. Guess. Guess. Lower than that, probably. I don't know what you're guessing. It was over $5000 less than the other one and the other one didn't include tax!
So, anyway I was talking with him, and there's a couple of things. I was waiting for him to notice the same things she did and he did notice some of the same things so okay that gives me a little bit more confidence but underneath there in this one spot it was quite obviously rotted and he's like, "oh no, no, I think that's just staining and stuff like that" and I'm like, "well if you get up there and it is rotted, how much will that be?" and then it would only be another $200. 'Cause I told him I was pretty sure it was rotted. And it's not including all of the things that she would have done but that's not a big deal.
So I wanted to discuss all these things with you and talk about the shoe party coming up because well, I wanted to plan some logistics and talk about all the people coming but you're not there. So yeah, I'm talking to myself. Well, to an answering machine but pretty much to myself. I will, I guess, try you later. Bye!

Small side note, I actually had to cut some stuff out. I know. My sister is the queen of the extensively long voicemail message. In conclusion, we're similar in a lot of ways. We're both hilarious, bitchy, judgmental, and gloriously beautiful. (Obviously we're modest as well. But hey, how can I resist complimenting someone who's identical to me? It's being nice and stroking your own ego at the same time. AKA win-win)

The Art of Avoiding the Sleazebags

Sometimes it's tough in my current line of work. There are a lot of clients (mostly male) that make me thoroughly and completely uncomfortable. My boss isn't the most understanding when it comes to my aversion to certain clients, after all, without them coming out and doing something obviously inappropriate I have only my gut feeling as evidence. It shouldn't matter to him any way. I pay rent to use my room and as long as it gets paid every month I don't see how my earning it concerns him.
I was always taught in massage school that you didn't need a reason to refuse treatment to a client, that your comfort level was just as important as theirs. If they made you uncomfortable in any way, you didn't need a reason to stop seeing them. Unfortunately, that's not the case. It's hard to have that tough conversation with a client in which you refuse service to them simply because they creep you out. Scratch that, it's impossible. So, I've had to come up with an alternative to being professional and handing out the unaltered truth. I alter it. That's right. I lie my ass off.
Take today for example. My boss phoned me yesterday and during the course of our conversation he casually mentioned that a client I despise had booked with me for the next evening. Now in normal circumstances that would suck, but this time was especially bad. He had taken the time slot when I would be completely alone with him in the clinic, everyone else having already gone home for the night. This especially bothered me because I found him all sorts of creepy. So creepy, that if policemen showed up on my doorstep and told me that he'd been arrested for being a serial killer I wouldn't be surprised.
I fretted and fussed all evening long until my sister made everything simple. She turned to me and said,
"Can't you just cancel?"
Hmmm, why couldn't I cancel? Why the hell did I feel like I needed a reason? For God's sakes I had one! He creeped me the fuck out!
The next day I called him and told him one hell of a beauty of a lie. I told him that my boss had not seen my note saying I was no longer working in the evenings and booked him in by mistake. And sorry to say, I simply could not stay late due to the fact that it was my grandfather's birthday and I couldn't miss it. (That's one of the things I love about writing, it's the perfect practice for lying). Needless to say he wasn't pleased. He couldn't make it out any other time but the evenings so sadly, we could no longer see each other. Delicious!
One creep down, oh so many more to go.

Another Day in the Life of a Massage Therapist

Sometimes life isn't as bad as usual. Take today. I thought it was going to be terrible, but as it turns out I was wrong. First I went to the clinic where I work and did a treatment, then I did something I've never done before. I made a house call. Generally this is always off the table due to the possibility of being caught in some sleazebag's house, and because it's just plain inconvenient to cart all of your stuff around to other people's houses. I made an exception today for several reasons. First of all, it was for a woman who is a good friend of my sister's. Secondly, the massages were for her three young sons and her brother who has a learning disability. Obviously it would be more convenient for everyone involved if I came to her. So I did. I wasn't too excited about it, but it turned out that it was a great experience.
The woman's brother was really nervous, he hadn't had a massage in at least twenty five years but he was in a lot of pain. He explained to me how much it hurt and where and eventually we got him up on the table and I went to work. Forty five minutes later I was done. He exclaimed that he was so relaxed that he didn't want to get up off the table so I told him to take his time and relax and went to talk to his sister. After updating her on his condition she went off to help him off the table. When they came up the stairs her brother was wiping away tears and was all embarrassed. At first I thought I'd done a terrible job or something but his sister gave me the biggest smile I'd ever seen, so I decided all must be okay. I treated her sons and afterwards when we were alone she told me that all her brother could talk about when he was lying on the table was how good he felt and when he stood up he burst into tears because his pain was gone. He had insisted to his sister that there wasn't enough money in the world that they could pay me for what I'd done and told her that anything less than a thousand dollars would be robbing me. Now obviously I would never have accepted so much money but I was thoroughly touched by his appreciation. It turned out it was a pretty good day.

Why I Hate My Job

I hate my job. I hate being a massage therapist. Why you may ask? After all, I'm my own boss, I only work four days a week and only for six hours shifts. Why would I hate my job SO much? Well, let me sum it up for you.
Last Tuesday a man came in for an hour and a half massage. He wanted a full body treatment and I of course complied. Near the end of the massage I was working on his quadriceps (or quads - it's the front upper thigh). When I got to the right side I draped the sheet so that his thigh was exposed and started working. As I was working my way up his leg I looked up and was shocked at a most unwelcome sight. The tip of his penis was exposed. How that could possibly have happened I didn't know, because I am a very careful draper. I quickly took the sheet and pulled it over the exposed body part, making sure to tuck carefully so he wouldn't come loose again. He immediately fiddled around until he was exposed again. I covered him again. He moved again. Thus the massage went on until the end. At no point did he say anything inappropriate or hint that he wanted me to do anything with it, but just the same I was thoroughly uncomfortable. I have no idea if it was on purpose or not, but the fact is it would not have kept popping out if he wasn't at least semi-hard. Ick.
Today I had another male client who makes me thoroughly uncomfortable. He is constantly telling me that he'd be comfortable completely naked and undraped on the table. Yeah, you might not mind but I sure as hell do! Today he seemed to try extra hard to get me to see him naked. The door to my treatment room has a window that's all blurry and makes everything look like colorful blobs. Having given my client plenty of time to get situated on the table I came and knocked on the door to see if he was ready. I could see from the window that he was standing completely naked (due to the vertical, human skinned shape) and he told me to come in. I told him that I would wait for him to get on the table and he kept calling that he didn't mind. Again, you might not mind but I sure as hell do! He got himself up on the table but refused to cover himself. I know what you're thinking, I should have thrown him out right there but sadly it's not that simple. I entered the room, immediately covered him with the sheet and did the massage without incident. The worst part was the smell. The man bathes in cologne. It's so strong I can feel it burning in my nose. The entire hour was spent mouth breathing and fighting back a sneeze. So very unpleasant.
That is why I hate my job, because of the clients.