I don't consider myself to be a high maintenance kind of gal. In fact, I can be pretty friggin' gross (with the exception of dental hygiene. Seriously people, there are maybe 3 legit reasons to ever go to bed without brushing your teeth... Being in a hospital, being held hostage by a psycho, or... well I can only think of two, but I am sure there is a third reason out there somewhere.). I don't always shave or do my hair or shower (because it is totally overrated and waste of water), but every once in a while I like something nice. I like to get my hair done (by people who know what the heck they are doing), my nails done (by Asians... yes, that is racist but don't get your panties in a twist. Asians can just do things the rest of the world has not figured out yet. Don't hate, Celebrate!), facials, massages... you get the picture. Well today was one of those days... MASSAGE DAY!
I love a good massage. A nice relaxing, kumbaya, dig in deep and get those knots out massage. No talking allowed, just crank up that creepy Enya soundtrack and make me drool through the little face hole on the table! I was to have difficulty walking to my car afterwards because my body is too relaxed to properly function. And I thought that is what I was going to get today... but sweet baby Jesus, I was wrong!
So I go to the spa, which shall remain nameless for reasons you will soon discover, and my masseur comes to the reception area to bring me back to the room. Masseur = boy. Definitely not my preference because a man just doesn't know jack about a woman's body. It's not like I can tell him, "My lower back hurts because I am about to start my period and I hold a lot of tension between my shoulder blades because a carry a purse that is comparable to a midsize dog because it is SUPER cute."... a guy just wouldn't get it. He might say he gets it, but he doesn't; because no matter how gay he is, he will never know the true discomfort of ovulating. But if you tell a girl the same thing, she gets it! Boom, Pow, and her little heaven fingers will go to town on easing my female hell.
Ok, back to the massage boy... he starts talking to me as we walked back to the room and apparently I seemed really really interested in being friends with him, because he did not shut up for the next hour and fifteen minutes! It went a little like this...
He is about 5'6", 40ish, white trash and gay gay gah-haaaayyyyy! We walk in the room and he sits down on a chair that is in the room. Ummm excuse me sir, don't sit! Now we have an awkward stance going on here. I am not going to hop on the bed and talk to you while you sit on the chair. Get up! He asked me if I had a massage before but did not allow me to answer because somehow the conversation shifted to how he really knows his clients and how much they love him. Ummmm don't care! Get out of here so I can undress, lay down and you can do your job (ewwwww that sounds dirty haha). 10 minutes later, his ego is sufficiently self-inflated enough to leave the room and let me get ready. Finally, silence!
He comes back in, turns on some meditation tunes and for a moment I had hope that things were going to be normal. False alarm! He starts telling me how he has studied both Western and Eastern massage and even has some experience with chiropractics. That is quite possibly THE WORST thing to hear. Some experience with chiropractics does not make you a chiropractor, so don't try it! POP! Ohhhhh, he tried it! He has lost his mind! Breathe, Brittany. Just breathe. And I probably would have said something had he not bulldozed his way into talking about how he teaching pole dancing lessons in 12 inch heels. #1 - Vomit in my mouth. #2 - 12 inches? That's not even sexy, that is Ringling Brothers circus 'ish! Who are you?!?! He has to know that this is not even close to proper etiquette. People come to a spa to relax and NOT talk. I don't even want to hear you breathe, must less talk!
Don't worry, he didn't stop at the pole dancing lessons. He proceeded to tell me about all of his travel adventures and how he keeps bringing back prohibited items into the USA, because that's really cool??? Seriously. I mean, seriously?!?! What is wrong with this man-child?!?! This is about the time he is massaging my arms and all of the sudden my arm is pointing straight to the ceiling. What is he doing? "DAMN GIRL! Look at that rock! Does your husband have a brother for me?!?!?". Jesus fix it. He did not just do that. Oh yes he did! This is the longest hour of my life.
Here comes the finale... he says, "Do you drink a lot of water?"... Ummmm yep, sure do. And all of the sudden I feel his white trash hillbilly hand grab a fist full of my back fat. You know, that really sweet area where your bra sits and women are usually super sensitive about? That is exactly where he grabbed, and he didn't let go! "I can tell you do because if you didn't, I could never grab like this." Holy heavens, get me out of here! I am going to lose my mind on this guy in like 2 seconds. Done! Done! And thank the good God in heaven, we were done. I've had better massages from turbulence on an airplane!
I will never get a massage from there ever again! Never again! I will not be a victim! My body, my choice! And I am not really sure why I felt it necessary to blog about this, but I did. Sooooo yea... that's all for now. K thanks bye!
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