Farewell My Wisdom Teeth

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In less than ten hours, I’ll be having my wisdom teeth yoinked out of my mouth, and I’m likely to be out of it the rest of today. You best believe I stuffed myself for dinner like I was training for the Eating Olympics (which is also how I normally eat), because I also have to fast for this shit, and then switch to cold baby food for the next week or so. I also have to abstain from all my crispy, chewy, and spicy foods for a little while. But at least I never had to sell my nudes to finance this surgery! 

Also, um…as soon as as as possible possible?! 

A Decade of Rubdowns

It’s Labor Day today, so I guess this is a good time to talk about my job. This month marks 10 years of me massaging bodies. The milestone is sweet, but sometimes I ask myself, how did I survive this? How in the hell I survived ten years working my body to work on bodies (professionally, of course)? This is a physical job, y’know. Thank my instructor for teaching me and my class proper body mechanics, as well as my lucky stars for not getting horribly injured in any way (knock on wood) and having a growing private practice where I make all the moneys for mahself so I don’t have to work so much.

I accepted my very first massage job in September 2011, three months after I graduated from massage school. And I left it six months after I started because I quickly learned that two-faced behavior also exists in the spa industry. How and why I dealt with that shit for six months is beyond me. It’s OK, though–that spa closed up for good a couple years after I left.

Insincere ingrates is just one of the many, many, many things I’ve dealt with in my decade of massage.  I’ve worked with catty therapists. Diva therapists. (They’re the ones who must have everything they want at work, like reserve the same room in a spa every time and set the thermostat at their preferred temperature, even if others find it too hot or cold.) Therapists who no-show for their appointments (and get fired after). Therapists who are addicted to their phones to where they’ll have one hand on the client and their phone in the other. I know this from doing couples’ massages with them. (Look at your therapist once in a while during the session, clients.) Therapists who are total new age ninnys and swear by crystals and essential oils for healing while ignoring science. (Sound familiar?) Therapists who happen to be sane. Therapists who become long-time friends of mine.

And then there are the clients. I lost track of how many I’ve taken care during my career, but there are a few client stories worth sharing:

–I’ve told this story to friends in the past, but it was five years ago that I took care of this one lady whose dumper was an obvious fake. The girl was built like a cartoon character–slim elsewhere and her ass sticking out there. Fittingly, she needed focus on her low back/upper glutes, and to massage her fake ass felt weird, like I was gliding on something obviously man-made. Saline? Silicone? Water balloon? I hope women these days still aren’t getting ridiculous ass implants in an attempt to look like a substance-exempt reality show ho, because that was a trend that should’ve died in the 2010s, never to be resurrected again.

–Years ago, one client had the nerve to say (in a review left to my then-boss) I was “the worst therapist” they had ever had. Funny that she says that and also referred her IT band (which she wanted focus on during the session) as her “PT” band. Mind you, what I did with her was no different that the service I’ve given to my other clients. She was a Karen before the term existed. As for me, I joked to my co-workers about me being the worst-ever therapist. Laugh to do away with stupid criticism.

–There were creeps. Oh, there were creeps. Creeps are the bastards who want to rub one off under the sheets, come onto you, or ask you about happy endings. I can count on one hand how many pricks had the nerve to harass me, but, ideally, I shouldn’t have to count as there shouldn’t have been any in the first place. I’ve been taught how to deal with a creep fuck back in massage school, but you never know when they’ll strike. I’ve had to stop the massage immediately when those creeps got out of hand, and I’ve gotten them banned from my places of work. The last incident happened over three years ago, and I hope the streak does not break.

–On a more lighthearted note, I’ve also taken care of a few famous clients. I had one Super Bowl winner who never tipped but at least I got his autograph. I know, still crappy. Maybe I should sell the autograph to make up for the tip I never got. I also massaged a prominent name in the cosmetics industry. She’s the founder of a makeup brand that’s only sold at Sephora, hint hint. That woman gave me some of her products in addition to a tip. Yaaaassss.

I currently have my own private practice and also work for a mobile massage company. I’ve massaged in gated, fancy McMansions with elevators inside and million-dollar views outside. I’ve also massaged in budget motel rooms where I had to lug my table up a couple flights of stairs because no elevator (see, I told you this job is physical!) and set up in a cramped space. My two jobs pay far more than what spas and massage clinics used to pay me, and my clientele for the most part have been great and compliant with my needs. That said, will I still be massaging bodies ten years from now? Ideally, I would prefer to write about my times in massage while getting my feet rubbed by a shirtless hottie as opposed to still living them out, but we’ll see.

I shall celebrate this milestone by using this amazing device on my shoulders before hitting the hay. I had a busy weekend. (Side note: the Theracane rules. Get yourself one if you have busted shoulders like I do.)

New Month, New Nails

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How dare I go over two months without hooking up my nails with new paint? The colors I used may not be autumn-esque, but we’re technically not in autumn just yet so I’m safe with these mauve shades. What I used this go-round: Zoya’s Rumour and China Glaze’s “You’re Too Sweet” (the glitter on the middle and ring fingers). The CG one is like pink diamonds on my nails when light is shone on it. Lovely!

A Golden Milestone!

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It took a little over two years since the start of this blog, and I’m sure some basics on social media have amassed more followers in far less time, but hey! And I didn’t have to buy my followers either! Given some of the shit I’ve ranted about in the past, I’m kind of surprised I got 50 followers.

Time for a happy twerk!

I’m currently watching classic Beavis & Butthead, by the way, which influenced my choice in GIF.

Stylin’ For September

Various blonde models on US Elle magazine, September 1991. I have this now-30-year-old issue in my collection! And obligatory: models and fashion nowadays don’t look this lively! 

It’s a new month yet again, and once upon a time in the world of fashion magazines, way before they became run down by excessive use of actresses, reality show trash heaps, and girls of nepotism, September was seen as its most important month. The likes of Vogue, Elle, W, and Bazaar released their “Fall Fashion Issue” that were thick as a Big Mac, and the model who graced the cover of that issue was seen as the face of fashion that season. Because the so-called fashion mags these days bore (and sometime annoy, depending on who gets the cover) the fuck out of me, I look back at a few of my favorite September covers to not only properly serve me FASHUN, but to remind me of how great fashion mags once were. And if you notice a 90s bias, I’m not apologizing for it!

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Linda Evangelista on US Harper’s Bazaar, September 1992. That was THE cover that resurrected Bazaar from middling mediocrity (see their covers before this one, and you’ll know what I mean) and positioned them to be another stylish rival to the giant that was Vogue. I have many issues of both Bazaar and Vogue from the 90s, and while Vogue had the clout and most of the top photographers, I felt like Bazaar was more palatable compared to Vogue, from its unique storytelling in their editorials to the mesmerizing typography, designed by the great Fabien Baron.

Kirsty Hume on Vogue Italia, September 1994. Leave it to the foreign fashion mags to show its US counterparts how to really serve a cover. Vogue Italia (aka Italian Vogue) was that stylish bitch back in the day. Fall 1994 fashion was all about wild, disco-inspired glamour, the antithesis of all those dreary, grunge looks from the previous year, and this cover (along with Bazaar’s infamous September cover that same year) captured the mood of the moment brilliantly. Photographed by the legendary Steven Meisel, the cover is giving me Helmut Newton/Guy Bourdin vibes. Adore!

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Kate Moss and her brother Nick on US W magazine, September 1995. This is brilliant because of one thing: dude in a kilt on the cover of a fashion mag.

Linda Evangelista on US Vogue, September 2001. This issue is now 20 years old?! I remember buying two copies of this because I was sooooo excited over the return of Queen Linda. I didn’t even know of her comeback until I saw it on the newsstands. (What social media? This was 2001, kiddos.) Easily my second-favorite Vogue cover of 2001 (with the cover of topless Penelope Cruz still tops).

Catfight Friday!

Do you miss bold, take-charge female characters in primetime dramas exchanging catty eyes and bitchy barbs while oozing delectable style like I do? Enjoy this vintage (duh!) clip of Melrose Place on this Flashback Friday featuring the 90s answer to Alexis vs. Sable: Amanda vs. Lexi!

The last minute of the vid is pure twisted gold. So mean, so bad, so sorely needed in today’s play-it-safe pop culture landscape. And soooo rich of Amanda to say that, might I add!

And One Really Important Thing

There are three weeks left till the GQP-backed nuisance that is the California governor recall happens. Why are us Californians dealing with another anxiety-inducing election, and in less than a year. *smdh*  Californians, if you don’t want Florida west to become a reality, fill out your ballot and…

And mail it back or drop it off at your nearest voting box, of course.

While I have a soft spot for delicate roses of the 80s like Angelyne, I’d rather spare her the trouble that is politics in general. Her regular job that is living the good pink life in LA is a lot more stress-free. 

A Few Good Things…

Not even waking up (abruptly) to a shitty charley horse on my left leg can stop me from talking about some good good in my life!

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1) Library book sales rule! You get to support your local library and fulfill your inner book slut. I forgot that libraries had reopened, and here are my latest additions to my personal library. Paid $8 for it all. The DVD has 3 movies and I got them for a whopping one buck. And the bottom book originally retailed for $45. Also, yes, I haven’t owned Waiting To Exhale until now (even though I watched its movie adaptation and listened to the soundtrack many times over).

2) All those millions spent to push inane propaganda to show you’re the good guy in the proposition, and it ends up being overturned. All together now: hahahahahahaha! I laugh because my temp delivery job from last year was a gig job, and I also voted No on that awful proposition.

3) Some people in my apartment building sometimes leave free stuff. Food, clothes, Dollar Tree shit that get sold for $10 at Goodwill, etc. Whoever was the person who left an unopened case of Trader Joe’s Almond Ring Danish, muchos gracias and take my air high-five.

4) My recent Covid test, which I wanted to take after attending that jazz festival last week and massaging bodies for a living, turned out Negative. I haven’t done a Covid test since February, and the lines for them are long again. But, hey, I’m proof that that masks, vaccines, and believing in science works!