Welcome to all of you from work who have recently accessed my blog. I feel so much pressure all the sudden to blog both meaningful and entertaining posts. I hope you will enjoy a day in my life.
As a child, one of the most important lessons I learned from my father was to stand up for what is right at all times, in all things, and in all places, regardless of the consequences. It was instilled in who I am that I was NOT TO LET PEOPLE WALK ALL OVER ME. I have failed to fill that expectation.
Yesterday evening I made an appointment at the spa/salon to help me keep in touch with my feminine side. Hey, us metrosexuals need that every once-in-a-while, even more-so here in the warzone. And besides, it's ridiculously cheap to get massages....$18 for a 30 minute back massage or $30 for a 60 minute full body massage. The only downer is, at a minimum, they require PT shorts be worn. Being pressed for time and having just completed a back workout, my back was a little stiff, so I settled for the 30 minute rub down.
The first 15 minutes or so had passed and I was feeling pretty good about the way things were going. All the sudden I noticed pressure right beside me on the massage table. You know, the type of pressure you've felt on the mattress when somebody is crawling in to bed next to you. Motionless I lay there contemplating what she could possibly be doing. Was she going to sit on my butt so she could reach my shoulders better? Was this some sort of Kyrgyzstani masseuse technique with which I was unfamiliar? Nope. In an instant she sprang to my bed......to use her.....feet? And for the next 10 minutes she proceeded to walk up and down my back. In all the massages I have received, never had I been walked on. All in all, getting trampled over was a relatively enjoyable experience. Dad, you should try it.
On a side note, I may be back for a pedicure. Hey......don't judge. :)
Convenient that this post is relatively new... So I was picking up Amanda and her friend, Jessica, last night from downtown, when the conversation came up about their co-worker. I said that my friends thought that he was gay, until they saw he was engaged. As the conversation continued, Jessica said, "he buys his clothes from Express. Every guy that buys their clothes from Express is gay." Immediately, I said, "my brother buys clothes from Express, he must be gay" (I didn't say the part after the comma, but added it to give the story some more color). It was amusing, and I said that I would tell you that she called you gay. She has also seen your body building pictures in the speed-o... Didn't help your case any.
ReplyDeleteAlso, Amanda thought that it was hilarious.