Closed January 30th, 2009 by Natural
Could you do me a favor, please? If you subscribe to my blog, please update your RSS feed information.
My blog address has moved (thank you Kim) to its own domain, ThinkingOutLoudBlog.com, (not just a redirect) instead of renting space under ValerieMorrison.net/blog.
I really got tired of typing /blog when leaving comments, it wore me out. Now the name of my blog matches the URL and that makes me happy. Of course, this link (http://www.valeriemorrison.net/blog) will still work, no need to worry about broken links, if you link to my blog,
If you don’t subscribe to my blog, it’s okay, now’s your chance to do so over at the new place. Latecomers are welcome. When you do make it over there have a look around in the archives. If you’re tired from your journey, have a sit down. You’ll find that there’s ample seating and plenty of leg room for everyone. Refreshments will be served.
So, I won’t be posting or answering comments over here any more, but over there. Tomorrow I’ll publish a roll call post under the new domain with a very important question. Now it’s a little difficult for me to see the hands way in the back, so please comment “present” and let me know you’re in attendance.
And if you popped over there just for the refreshments but decided not to subscribe, please leave your uneaten food in the basket by the door. I’m sorry to see you go.
14 Comments January 29th, 2009 by Natural
I tried to keep it short. If you missed Part I then you can read it here. The comments in bold and italics are the conversations I have with myself - you get to listen in.
“Please come in.”
Valerie pressed her back against the wall allowing T to pass through the narrow door frame and into the living room. Lifting the strap off his shoulder, he placed his bag on the floor next to the portable CD player and removed his coat.
“Can I get you anything, like an open fire to warm your hands?”
Amused by her dead serious delivery, he replied, “Oh no, I’m going to wash and warm them before we start, don’t worry.”
“Okay, I’ll let you get unpacked and I’ll um…I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before, what should I wear?”
“Some people wear shorts or underwear and I drape a sheet over them, but you can wear whatever makes you feel comfortable.”
Valerie decided she felt comfortable in a pair of shorts and would remove her top once on the table. If she had to take off any more than that, he was going to pay her.
“Take your jewelry off too,” he shouted, as Valerie disappeared into the back room. Making a choice of what to wear was easy because she only had one pair of shorts and returned as quickly as she left.
T glanced up at Valerie with an inquisitive expression on his face and without hesitation asked, “Are you an athlete?”
Valerie thought his query was just as strange as when her chiropractor had asked. She always had a shapely upper body, like a swimmer, and slender legs, like a runner and the mid-section of a person who loved cookies and chocolate. Maybe she was an athlete, of some sort. Rather than delve into his inquiry, it’s obvious he has a cataract, she simply replied, “No.”
Valerie showed T where he could plug in his CD player and assumed she would be listening to the sounds of streaming water or babbling brook, not her preferred jazz. Good thing she went to the bathroom. Perched on the table, she turned to T and said, “I’m ready to take my shirt off now.”
Oh gosh, you sound like a virgin. I’m ready to take my shirt off now. Why are you announcing it?
Using the sheet as a shield, T held it between the two of them as Valerie removed her shirt and tried to find a comfortable position on the table. She could hear T in the background rubbing his hands together and satisfied that they were warm enough, he pulled back the sheet.
Surprisingly, Valerie did not flinch when he touched her. Maybe because his hands were better than warm, it was as if he brought his own open flame. Coming in for a perfect landing at the base of the runway, T worked his way up and down the right side of her back expelling pain and stress one knot at a time.
“Is this too much pressure?” he asked.
“No.” Valerie lied. It was a lot pressure, more than she was used to, but she wasn’t about to cry uncle. She preferred having too much, over too little pressure. Next time she would “cry uncle.” After he finished the right side of her back he did the same to the left side, applying more oil each time.
Cool! Not only am I no longer ashy, I’m waterproof.
Standing at the head of the table, T used his forearms to massage Valerie, who was only occasionally aware of the sound of the music and his breathing, into a motion-induced coma. The rhythm was so intoxicating, the last words she remembered saying was, “Oh gosh.”
****
“You can turn over now.”
Valerie felt disoriented and lost, like she was waking up from local anesthesia. She couldn’t remember how to turn over but somehow managed to roll over onto her back. T massaged the rest of her body and said he would conclude with a scalp and facial massage.
[insert the sound. of a needle. being dragged across a vinyl record.]
Did I hear that correctly, did he just say he was going to mess up my hair?
The massage was going great until he gripped Valerie’s head in between his large hands and messed up her hair! Her scalp didn’t need a massage, her scalp was fine, maybe a little dandruff, but stress free.
Didn’t anyone ever tell you never to touch a woman’s hair without 2 days notice?
Now fully awake and slightly annoyed Valerie could no longer concentrate, the massage was over. He massaged her cheeks, her eyebrows, her lips and even stuck his fingers in her ears.
Okay, if you’re looking for loose change or a generous tip, I got nothing. You were doing a much better job when I was on my stomach!
“Do you want me to massage your stomach?”
[insert the sound of another needle being dragged across a vinyl record.]
You don’t have access to that area. That’s a no-touch, no-massage zone.
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh yes, I’m sure.”
“Okay then you can just lie there and relax.”
I was very relaxed until you messed up my hair.
After the massage was over, T packed a few of his things and made small talk. Partially naked and chatting, Valerie felt a little weird, besides she wanted to get dressed and was getting cold.
“Are we done?”
“Yes, but you can rest a little while longer.”
“Nope, I’m okay!” Grabbing the sheet and holding it up against her chest, Valerie went to get dressed. She thanked T, paid his fee, but before showing him the door, he handed her a few business cards. Business cards that read TSG, Attorney-at-Law.
Wall Street address. Phone number. No email.
Valerie vaguely remembered her girlfriend telling her that he was an attorney and had seen him coming from court a few times on the train, but had forgotten.
Upon returning to work on Monday, Valerie found a New York Lawyers Diary in one of the offices. If he was a practicing attorney, he would be listed in this book. There could only be a few reasons why he would not be listed, like a recent move to the area, or maybe he just passed the bar or maybe he really is a killer and that was a body bag.
Not that it was a conflict of interest for her, he was very professional, kept her covered at all times and he didn’t try anything, it’s a matter of curiosity. She knew several attorneys personally, as well as a judge, and most of them played golf as a hobby, not gave fantastic massages and messed up women’s hair.
Valerie opened the Lawyers Diary to the letter G and scrolled down the list of names. She hoped he was listed, that would make her feel better. Maybe she missed it. She checked the spelling of his last name against what was printed on the card and looked one more time. Nothing. A little disappointed and confused, she closed the book.
Maybe having D come sit and watch wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. She would hate to lose a good massage therapist just because he wasn’t listed in the Lawyers Diary. Valerie returned the book to the shelf and called her friend.
14 Comments January 27th, 2009 by Natural
I originally posted this story as a private post for my Twitter followers - don’t know if any one of them read it - but it’s now viewable to the public. It’s too long for one post, so the final (I think) installment will appear on Thursday. Oh yeah it’s a true story, originally written as a humor piece, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. The comments in bold and italics are the conversations I have with myself - you get to listen in. Happy reading!
In 37 years Valerie never had a massage. A professional massage that is, from someone with training and not ulterior motives. She read about the benefits of massage therapy and imagined it was on every woman’s to-do list, right up there next to get Botox injection.
She just never got around to it. Never received a gift certificate. Never went out with girlfriends for a day of pampering. Never bothered. Her idea of pampering was an empty house, a good book and soft music. Occasional solitude was just as rejuvenating, and free.
Of course, this massage was more than an hour of indulgence, but a medical necessity. Valerie tried chiropractic treatments, heating pads and stretching exercises for pain management. She even purchased a portable TENS Unit to alleviate her sciatic nerve pain, but her relief was always short-lived, temporary. Her only other treatment options were: a massage therapist, acupuncture or surgery.
The choice was easy.
Two weeks later, after asking around, she had the name and phone number of a recommend massage therapist who made house calls. She had her doubts about letting a strange man into her home without a work order and clipboard, but he was recommended and didn’t think anything terrible would happen. Unfolding the paper that kept his contact information, Valerie picked up the phone and dialed the number. She never cold-called a strange man before, invited him over to the house and paid him for his services. Gripping the phone and pressing it to her ear, Valerie’s heart thumped with doubt. Was she making the right decision? Was she putting herself in harm’s way?
After the third ring, he answered the phone. Unlike a killer’s voice, loud and abrupt, his voice was pleasant and relaxing. Valerie felt comfortable with his answers and an appointment was made for Saturday morning, 10 a.m.
****
Saturday, early. A little annoyed with herself, Valerie took a sip of the coffee she hoped she’d be done with by now. It’s hard to think about de-stressing and healing on a full bladder. The last thing she wanted was to have to use the bathroom during her first massage session.
While she waited for T to arrive, Valerie went through her mental checklist of things she needed to remember. Did she remember to shave and put on deodorant? Did she remember to use lotion after showering? Did she remember to trim her toe nails?
There was no need to cut the man, unless he really is a killer.
Taking another sip of her coffee Valerie glanced down at the clock on her computer screen. It read 9:45 and her appointment was scheduled for 10:00. T called to say he had a slow leak in his car tire but was on his way.
“Take your time, I’ll be here.”
Now feeling more excited than scared about getting a massage, Valerie wondered if it was a good idea to tell D that he did not have to come and sit watch. This was no different than opening the door for the cable guy, except the cable guy doesn’t get to see her partially naked. Not even for the premium package.
The sound of the doorbell jolted Valerie away from her thoughts and she went downstairs and opened the door. A slender, light-skinned man about 5’ 11”, greeted her with a smile. He doesn’t look like a killer and besides killers don’t ring doorbells. Nor do they show up at your doorstep with a portable radio and a massage table; unless that stuff is stolen and he’s really a robber carrying a body bag and a radio for drowning out the sounds of screaming.
He was referred; invite him in and stop being silly.
“Please, come in.”
Photo by Massage-Certification.com
44 Comments January 18th, 2009 by Natural
Last Wednesday I received an email from a friend with two photos attached of a former NBA player’s ex-wife, comparing her weight 20 years ago to now. I guess her weight gain was supposed to be a joke because there was a “funny” caption underneath the photos about what may have happened to her settlement. I replied, “She could go to the gym since she doesn’t have to work, but she looks fine.”
- drawing by alonzo.org
A few minutes later my friend replied, “Maybe she doesn’t want to go to the gym she might be quite comfortable just the way she is. There are a lot of people out there who are just fine with themselves but magazines, other people, TV, make them feel bad about their size.”
Fair enough.
I don’t doubt she’s happy or even comfortable; I just assume she would prefer to be a smaller size. I know being fat is not always about overeating, there are other factors (e.g. medical, emotional or psychological) that contribute to weight gain. Who knows what her reasons are yet we still judge or comment.
The issue of weight, especially for a woman, is a touchy subject and is not about the weight but the desire to feel wanted, accepted and loved. It seems socially acceptable to make fun of fat people because no one cares about their feelings. “Fat people know that the first impression that others have of them may be negative. This leads to low self-esteem and shame.”
Not fair.
Losing weight is hard work, it’s not easy! Some people are choosing happiness over body size and have embraced the Fat Acceptance Movement, whose goal is to “change societal attitudes toward individuals who are fat.” I first read about fat acceptance on Kim’s blog over @ FatHappyGirl and I was moved by what she wrote below:
I think an important part of fat acceptance is really understanding what fat acceptance is. It’s personal, it’s not the same way for everyone. It isn’t just about being fat, it’s wanting to be treated equally and fairly. It’s about not wanting to be judged on being fat. It’s about being treated kindly because we are another human being. It means being free of assumptions and half truths. It means being judged less and loved more.
I’m trying to lose several pounds this year with the help of friends/family, my Wii Fit, cutting back on junk food, making healthier food choices, portion control and regular exercise. Not everyone trying to lose weight wants to be a size 3 either, but a size comfortable.
I am not happy my clothes don’t fit anymore. I am not comfortable with my bulge, but I am a happy person. There are days when I dream of Frisbee sized cookies and days when my eyes are on the prize. Can you be fat and healthy? Well there’s a bewildering array of conflicting opinions on the subject, but most of the studies I read said no. A few of them said yes. Can you be fat but happy? Absolutely!
So, what did I mean by my comment? I’ve never heard anyone say they’re overweight because they want to be. Either they don’t have the time to exercise or the money to buy nutritious foods. If someone is well off financially, to me that represents opportunity and freedom. Why wouldn’t someone use these tools to their physical advantage.
Later I apologize to my friend if I offended her with my comment, that’s never my intention, same goes with this post. A person’s size would not prevent me from befriending or treating them with respect. I do think it’s unfair that a person’s “worth”, especially a woman, is measured in pounds, that’s a heavy burden to bear almost more than the weight itself.
46 Comments January 10th, 2009 by Natural
I know it’s time to give up blogging when….the blogging mainstream is video blogging, I’m just not doing that. I’ve seen quite a few video posts on people’s blog and to that I say, not me! 
Several times I thought about ending my online life, but then I woke up the next day and thought: you fool! Actually I did get rid of a few blogs I authored, but I’m not ready to give up on this one.
Anywho, a big THANK YOU to everyone who left a comment and shared a thought or personal experience on my previous post. Your comments were a big help to me and will always remain the best part of blogging.
The baby is fine, mommy is just going through the terrible twos. So I’ll continue to be the diligent caretaker, other times I’ll allow her to take long naps and some times I’ll leave her in the capable hands of a CPR certified babysitter.
When I was writing this post a weird crazy funny thought popped into my head about my mom and the newspaper. She reads the obituaries like it’s MySpace for the up in age, but instead of adding friends, you delete them. I thought it would be cool if there were an online area where blogs could go to die. We could search for blogs that suddenly disappear or when we’re ready to throw in the towel, we could submit a snapshot of our blog and onlookers could mourn in the comment section. We could give our blogs a “proper burial” complete with obituary and all.
Photo: timstvshowcase.com
