It all started with a text, how’d it end up like this?
My husband was getting a hair cut; I was at work.
Him: I just purchased you a 45 minute massage for Saturday morning at 10 a.m with a licensed massage therapist … can you make it, right here in (blocked for privacy) next door to granite store?
Him: Great haircut as well
Me: What???? Really?
Him: Is that okay … I have to let ‘Fred’ (name changed for privacy) know if you can’t make it. ‘Fred’ will serve you …. hehe. I figured get it done early so you can get on with your day.
Me: Well yeah!
(Side note: Get on with my day??? I’m getting a massage, there will be no more day.)
Him: Awesome! I didn’t get you a haircut, just a massage, what I meant is that they offer great style options.
(Another side note. I laugh/bleated at that clarification. He was there getting a hair cut. The fact that he didn’t know there are endless haircut options endeared me to him.)
Him: I’ll bet you’re the most stunningly beautiful lady Fred gets his hands on in many years …
That was Thursday.
He left for Chicago early this morning and, the time had come today.
I upped the 45 minutes to Fred’s usual hour and a half explaining I’d pay the difference, because, my GAWD, I need a massage!!!!!
My husband left concerned and insecure – “If there’s something he does that you like, may you teach me it?”
Yes, yes I would.
I’ll now go on to explain why that will never be necessary.
I arrived 10 minutes early. I always arrive early. Walked into a salon, put my mask on, and was greeted by a very small dog.
Explained to ‘lady in salon’ that I was there for my massage.
‘Masseuse’ walked in past our arranged time.
Still petting dog.
‘Fred’ gestures me over to his desk.
Now, I have to point out, my appointment was for 10:00 a.m.
It’s past that.
I join him, masked, at his desk as he proceeds to pull out a … um … schematic of the human body and doctor-like questions.
Okay – he’s very thorough.
15 minutes later, and many intrusive questions later – I’m led to a little room with a red light.
I knew it would be an hour and a half, and have the bladder of a hamster, so, asked, “Where may I use a restroom?”
As luck would have it (dripping with sarcasm here) it was right next to the red light district, oh, I mean, massage room.
I get back, “Okay, undress, keep what you’re comfortable having on and yell really loud when you’re ready.”
Retaining undies and under blankets, I yell out, “READY!”
Looking back – I wasn’t.
SO! I’m undressed, except for undies. Monk walks in. Lovely Indian music playing, candle lit.
That’s basically where it ended.
I had body parts removed from the sheets whilst he breathed heavily and tenderly touched my body.
(It doesn’t go unnoticed by me that that sounds like an amazing beginning to a murder mystery novel lol.)
But no, too tender.
As he ‘massaged’, I tried to float off – be in the moment.
He still breathed heavily, as if I was a Yoga session, yet, he was breathing FOR me. Literally touching my skin and exhaling every.single.time.
Also, I could hear the salon. “You can’t put two properties on your land!” (Me, with over 15 years in the industry) is literally ready to hop off his table and cover myself in a sheet and explain the details and explain ‘Real Estate 101’.
Things got ‘Okay’ for a little while. Still dragging little parts of me out from under the covers and ‘touching’ them; not really ‘massaging’ them.
He’s still exhaling (loudly) … I’m trying to block everything out (including him) and enjoy this HUGE treat.
Then, THEN, came the stretching – Um – I signed up for a massage!
Literally, each leg was taken out of the sequestered blanket and pushed over my head, straightened. Then once more, just to prove that my extension had been improved.
I’m over an hour into (not literally ‘into’ but, time wise) this and regretting being excited.
He’s talked, and talked, and breathed, and breathed.
I know now he’s 74, just got his license 2 months ago after 800 hours. etc. etc. OH! I learned this during a face massage when he poked me in the eye. And, first of all, I don’t wear make-up, so, I DID enjoy the face massage. But, don’t assume that. A lot of people don’t expect that and DO wear make-up.
My hubby bought me 45 minutes for $40. Let’s remember this part.
He finds a wound on me under my ‘scapula’ that he awoke (and not in a good way, I told him about it during our Scientology paperwork beforehand) and it now hurts when it hasn’t for a long time!
He barely touched my feet.
Barely touched my neck.
Then, wanted to massage my stomach. After all, I’d mentioned a surgery I had when I was little – so, he felt for my organs.
I jokingly said, “Yes, please make sure my pancreas is okay”.
He then pulls out this AMAZING gadget! It massaged! Hit points he didn’t for the entire time!
Wanted to ask him where that had been the entire freaking time. lol. For the first time, he was concerned about hygiene, there was a towel between me and the machine.
THEEEEEEEEEEE ENNNNNNNNDING – was huge.
He literally got down by my head, ‘swooped’ my hair off the table and said loudly, “LEAVE HER!”
I glanced at my clothes, at my body – at … reality.
Sat up, shrugged my t-shirt on, no movement from the door, so – got completely dressed.
A 45 minute session was $40. Yet, an hour and one half was $90? Don’t you reduce your price for bulk? I dropped, kindly, 20% and left feeling like a freaking ass with a sore ‘scapula’ and $70 lighter.
I love the thought. He couldn’t have known. AT ALL! He got a great hair cut, and I got a great story!
Missed you guys!
Happy Valentine’s Day!
My life when COVID began …
How dare I even begin with that? There are so many who have been affected. Affected FAR more than I have been. I should mention though, that I am high risk.
But! That’s where my story, (sort of) began.
I was laid off in October. Laid off from a job I loved. I helped create it, and for five and a half years, I loved being part of it.
Broke my leg in November. Was ‘gifted’ (how horrible – I’d rather they still be on the earth and spend it!) a small inheritance late that month due to a family member passing.
I was still, however, looking for work.
It wasn’t until February that I was out of my ‘immobility’ mechanism. But hey, I was still prepared to catch a ride or work from home.
Then March came. But wait,
Holidays came and went
My kidlet came!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Also, my husband’s kidlets were here.
Here some of us are, plus, my ‘Nic 2.0’. I ‘adopted’ him years ago lol.
Obviously prior to COVID.
But, the first of the year, I was very ill.
Not only a fever, but a continuing dry cough for six months. Other symptoms included complete and utter exhaustion. I was not exhausting myself. I literally (and yes, I mean that, not figuratively) couldn’t keep my eyes open lying down.
I wonder now if I had it.
There’s a part of me that hopes that I did. That it’s over. And, I clearly haven’t passed it to anyone as I hadn’t left the house.
Funny thing is …
My husband is in tune to events prior to me as a ‘pedestrian’.
We had already begun gathering the basics. No, no rush for toilet paper, but, water, non-perishable foods etc. went into our cellar. We had previously been purchasing necessities in bulk regardless.
Life going forward
My husband began working from home.
I stayed in the bedroom to not interrupt him.
I was not working, obviously.
I spent the majority of the time either napping or watching Netflix, THEN napping during it.
I would search for work, stress about when the ‘inheritance’ mortgage payments would run out and I was turning off summer coolants off left and right. (We don’t have A/C, we have ONE wall cooler and a ‘swamp cooler’. If you’re familiar with the swamper, you know it doesn’t work if there is any humidity in the air. Funny you should ask, because, (and I know you didn’t) We HAVEN’T YET HAD A MONSOON!
To the point of ants coming in for a drink in the bathroom.
I’m skipping the ants, because, fuck them.
And I say that kindly. Because, I’m the type of gal who doesn’t harm another creature.
I’ll tap back into this later.
What I did do in between
I spent my waking hours on the porch.
I’ve met, Meatloaf, Pacey, Eyelashes, Feather and Broken Wing. In that order. So, I think I may be killing them actually. 😦
I found a job in town!
I get to talk to actual customers (which I love).
Trust me when I say, the chance of getting a job ‘in town’ where I live has VERY, VERY, VERY low odds.
Still in my my first 120 days probation.
Now, for what you’re waiting for, maybe, if you are a fan. If you’re a souper …
She’s hanging in. Let’s see, she ‘found’ me in 2011. Must have been one back then. So, here she is at 11.
We don’t let her hang out in the outer perimeter so much these days. Too many cacti, too many snakes etc.
She still has a great life.
Yes, she gives the roadrunners a hard time lol. I tell her to knock it off.
They don’t have a roof over their head, consistent meals and lovin’s.
We still don’t speak the same language evidently. (I’m secretively glad when she chases them with her bad hips and stiff legs. She gets her exercise.)
I said I’d get back to the ants.
We had SO many in the bathroom. I will NOT harm a scorpion, spider, snake etc. etc. But, I’m sorry, if you are an ant and have 2.15 acres to BE an ant, you have no business in my home! I know you’re looking for a drink, but get more creative! Live near the dripping outside taps! There was one night I got up to pee and was badly bitten just by having my feet on the floor, that’s when I drew the line in the metaphorical sand.)
TERRO! And, since they’re determined to be on my porch at night, AMDRO stakes outside near to the house.
If I were to be judged.
The ants of my past would say, at my funeral, “She always went out of her way to not step on us.”
The spiders would say, “She always put us outside.”
The tarantula would say, “She pet my leg and hung out with me outside.”
Even the scorpion would say, “I got dizzy, but, then was released.” (bagless vacuum.)
Hope you are all doing well, being kind and staying safe.
My Central Coast is burning. I’m incredibly distressed for those I care for.
2020 seems like an awful meme about now.
My First Experience
I vividly remember the first time I shot a gun. It was in England, lakeside, and I got to say “pull!”. To my utter delight, I actually hit a clay pigeon. FIRST. TIME. OUT!
I was so proud. Not only was I unharmed by the recoil, but, I actually hit a target in the air!
Well, not hooked, but, I enjoyed the experience.
I’ve always had respect for guns.
Always believed that I should need to know how to take one apart, keep it clean, keep it safe from others should I ever possess one.
I didn’t own one so, I didn’t have the opportunity to practice that.
A little background here
After my first opportunity to learn how to handle a firearm, it was pretty much my last, other than a BB or pellet gun.
When school shootings and mass public shootings started to become prevalent, I was angry.
“Who needs that kind of fire power?????!!!”
“If you can’t hunt without an assault rifle, you have no business hunting!”
“The right to bear arms didn’t factor in the progress of weapons!”
“No one has business having assault weapons if they’re not in the military or law enforcement!”
“Of course they’re mentally ill! No one ‘mentally healthy’ would do such a thing!”
“Why are there no laws to stop people who shouldn’t have guns??”
“Keep them away from kids!!!!!!”
What is still true to me
People with violent pasts and/or mental illness should not have access to a machine that can mow down a mass of people.
(Do Not Compare Knife Attacks To Guns! Apples and oranges. Yes, if someone has an intention of hurting/killing people, they WILL find a way. However, someone with a knife can be taken down with minimal casualties and a much larger survival rate than someone who has just fired upon a crowd with a gun. Although, yeah, they have access to vehicles, which, can’t be contained and have also taken mass amount of people out in a single swipe. Look, I’m still working this out in my head.)
Keep your firearms away from children! Lock them up! (Not the children.)
And yeah, if you need ‘rapid fire’ to take down something to eat, probably you shouldn’t be putting them through torture trying to do so with a single shot. (Hypocritical animal lover here … I eat meat, yet, there is no way I could shoot an animal. I OWN that hypocrisy.)
What I did
It was always a plan to learn how to operate a firearm responsibly. What you see above is me, in a pathetic stance and loose-handed using the .38 special .
After that, we moved onto other weapons. I was eager.
My husband actually got frustrated with me – and rightfully so.
He was trying to teach me about a particular piece I had ZERO experience with and it was a LOT of information. Too much for me.
After all, I was there to have fun and shoot!!
He was right, and I didn’t get to ‘play’ with the gun (well, after a discussion, I did get to later).
I deserved that scolding!
Yet, there were several guns, and I had already learned a few things about them (as much as I could) – there is SO much to learn! All so different.
Is the safety on?
Is it off?
Is it racked?
Is it clear?
Are you sure it’s clear?
Why are you sure it’s clear?
I should mention that his friend had been low key training me for a while with a revolver.
I would eject the clip (magazine) and check the chamber. Reload, do again. Repeat.
Going to digress again.
My husband told me several times that day, “You have to know this! If he kills me, you have to kill him!”
Me: “Well, wait … what did you do?”
Not so funny to my husband, but I got a few other laughs.
After I earned the trust back
I felt a lot better with this weapon.
If my back was against the wall in my outer perimeter, I would feel more secure holding and firing this than the .38 special. I had ZERO talent at aim with the .38. I need to practice.
Racking was hard at first, but, worth it.
This is why I need to learn how to clean/oil etc. Make that maneuver seamless.
My favorite however … and I was as shocked as you will be!
The weapon I had been the most against.
I had more control, better aim and it felt more comfortable in my hand.
We own over 2 acres. Should people be in the outer-perimeter that I mentioned earlier, with bad intentions, I would be useless with a .38. And, I for sure wouldn’t deter them. (Although, honestly, after that first shot it rang my bell!!! BIG time. Yes, I’m still talking about the .38, which, is why you see me wearing the ear protection afterwards.)
Here, in all it’s glory, is the honor to RESPECT and fire the AR 15.
I have so much to learn
I truly do.
I would love to be in a position to master all of these weapons.
I have such respect, always have.
I love that everyone with me was encouraging, patient, and responsible.
You should know that we hike a lot. At one point in time, we had to leave immediately because bullets were whizzing past out heads. Literally. It was terrifying.
The spot we were practicing shooting was no where near hikers or homes. We were between TWO huge buffers of dirt. No person was at risk. (Well, if you count me pointing the gun down there was one.)
I also would like to make a personal point.
While I respect and will always maintain the right to bear arms … tangent again … here ARE my bare arms after that day lol!
Bottom line, the only person I hurt in anyway was myself (and maybe my honey’s feelings with my joke). And that’s a learning curve.
I want to be a responsible gun user.
I have learned that AR originated from Armalite Rifle.
I have learned that I was willing to stop, accept help, and only proceed when the environment was safe.
And, as for that AR – I’m not mad at it. I’m mad that awful people have ruined it’s reputation.
P.S. If there was one thing I COULD change? (Other than being called a ‘snowflake’) The whole, ‘Red Dot’ means ‘go’ is SO confusing! We’re hardwired with the traffic light scenario. I was thrown off a lot with that. Safety on, is green. Safety OFF? Red.
It’s been a while – I know!
I don’t know whether to blame my lack of posts on the absence of a laundromat, or just be honest and say I haven’t been doing much of anything I used to do .
I have had a pretty eventful few days however, and thought I would share them with you.
I had tried to call in Tuesday morning due to a flipping sinus infection I’ve had for over a month. My boss didn’t get my message until it was after the cut off time for me getting to work on time, so the martyr I am, I drug my arse in.
Turns out my arse was tuckered out after an hour and I had permission to take it home.
I reached a spot where there is a final gas station before coming to my town, and there, on the corner of said station was a woman holding a blue gas can with her thumb out.
I ALMOST stopped – having recently encountered being stuck on the side of that very same road not so long ago, but – I’ve seen too many movies and just knew she had an accomplice lurking.
I passed her, then felt awful.
I vowed if I saw a car on the side of the road (no matter which side) I would go back and collect her.
Not. One. Car.
Which, in and of itself is strange because there’s almost always at LEAST one car showing off it’s hazard lights or exposed engine.
This made me curious and yes, I shared it on my Facebook page.
I was then informed by those ‘in the know’ that the lady hitcher was in fact a hooker.
Hey, I have nothing against hookers personally, but felt like an idiot. And, what if I HAD pulled over? Then what? Would she have come clean? Or got in? I will never know.
Alright, so yesterday, I DID stay home. I slept harder than I can last remember sleeping. (If you are comparing that sleep to other times I did while only utilizing one quarter of one nostril to breathe through.)
Between almost drowning from my own condition or suffocating, I did manage to get quite a bit of rest actually and I was super thirsty due to a lot of mouth breathing. I got up late afternoon craving ice cold iced tea. I had no iced tea. I was to venture out of my infirmary and GET some dang iced tea.
So I did.
Now, stick with me here.
I’ve explained before how dangerous our local highway is. I am very cautious! I get to the gas station just fine, select some tea and prepare to go home to rest some more.
I pulled out into the median turn lane and to my right, both lanes, lots of cars were coming. So I wait.
The ATV next to me however, decided they didn’t want to wait. Oh, and first of all, not sure why he was NEXT to me. Although, I was pulled over pretty tight to the left to execute my turn.
Regardless, back to the ATV.
The driver gunned it!
And as he arrived (barely) safely on the other side of the highway I realized that the ATV was minus a dog.
Here is the actual road (not during the actual moment obviously) – with very professional exhibit markers for you.
There was still throngs of traffic coming and a very stunned looking dog. Beautiful older collie with a worn bandana.
What to do?
GET THE DOG!
I got out of my car, slowly (as slowly as one can while an animal is in danger of being hit) I approached the pupper and grabbed onto it’s collar.
Across the highway I could hear the passenger, who, evidently was the owner, cursing out the driver in a very big way.
He couldn’t cross to me but he did entertain me as I heard sentences like: “You stupid fucking asshole!” and “What a stupid idiot!”
I just nodded in agreement and asked the dog if it was okay.
It didn’t answer – just panted and sat looking at me a little stunned.
Finally the owner was able to come to the middle and thanked me and that’s when the gravity of the situation sort of kicked in.
I remember getting into my car. I remember shaking uncontrollably and I remember making the turn then realizing I didn’t have my seat belt on.
I made it home safely.
I always like to think I’d react a certain way in different situations – but always suspected I might freeze due to my anxiety.
I was happy I hadn’t frozen. Because I never could have erased the image of that sweet dog being hit by a car on that highway.
Just as I’ll never be able to look at a blue gas can now without thinking of a hooker.