So, I recently read this post from a blogger, (True Tales of a Hair wrecker) that I started following, and was reminded about another pet peeve that really grinds my gears. I absolutely detest people who are impolite and have no sense of common courtesy. I hate them almost as much as I hate one eyed midgets and those stupid cycling helpmets that look like a giant sperm. Almost.
That's right people, learn some freakn' manners. Open the door, get out of the aisle, let someone in your lane, stop for a pedestrian, give up your seat, hold the elevator, and for the love of God, don't you dare stop abruptly when walking in the mall to look at some random shit. I'm right behind you and I may just not feel like putting the breaks on.
I can't stand when you are walking, whether you are carrying something or not, (more so when you are) and people are conversing in the middle of an aisle, completely and disrespectfully oblivious to on comers, and fail to politely move out of the way to allow unfettered passage. I don't think I can properly convey how much this makes my blood boil. What's even worse is when you say excuse me, and they shoot you a look of complete inconvenience, as if you were asking them to help you dig a trench after they've already given you a kidney. Yeah, go ahead and roll your eyes at me asshole, I'll be sure to do the same when you beg me to remove the duct tape from your mouth before I shove you into the trunk of my car.
My absolute favorite is when, after you've been given the "I can't believe you're going to actually make me move" look, they step only an inch or two forward allowing barely enough space for a cardboard cut out of you to get by. I always make it a point to lead in with my shoulder like a running back trying to gain extra yards for a first down, hopefully knocking them off balance enough to let them know how reprehensible I think they are. If I'm exceptionally irritated, I cough and sneeze like I have the AVIAN flu and watch those inconsiderate miscreants disperse like roaches when the lights come on. They're lucky I'm not blessed with my brother-in-law's talent to fart obnoxiously on command. So, Lindsey, I salute you and all mothers who make it your personal endeavor to properly educate and instill proper courtesy and gallantry in your young men. It will serve them, and the rest of humanity well. Even if only to provide one more dry toilet seat in the restroom.
p.s.
Just as a side note, whenever I do open a door for a female, I think it's rather impolite for them to put their hand on the door as if I were going to let it go. Do people actually do this, open the door for someone to only let it slam on them as they pass through? What would be the point of me opening the door if you are going to practically do it yourself? Don't act like you're too good to accept this small chivalrous gesture from a man either, I'm not doing it because I don't think you're fully capable of doing so. I do it because it's the right thing to do. . . . .and because I need a reason to see your ass as you go by. I'm just saying, staring is rude.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
Rain Man
In celebration of my infinite wellspring of useless knowledge, I found it appropriate to share a little gadget with you that would simultaneously symbolize my savant-like abilities and help to spread the wisdom of impractical trivia. This bastion of useless information, although not as brilliant as the cuss-o-meter, is equally as adored and hopefully will serve to educate you, or at the very least provide a modicum of inconsequential entertainment. (notice how I'm always looking out for you)
Toodles . . .
Toodles . . .
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Jerry Maguire
Probably one of the Grand Daddy of all my pet peeves is people who do not tip 18 to 20%. Plain and simple. If you can't afford to tip your therapist even a measly 15%, then you shouldn't be getting a massage to begin with. What's even worse, is when people tip like that when someone else is paying for their service. If you come to get a massage with a Gift Certificate and don't have the decency to tip appropriately, your skin should be shaved off with a cheese grater and you should be dropped into a pit of flesh-eating ants after you've been dipped in molasses. Look, I'll be the first to admit that we charge way more than is humanly necessary, but not only are you getting high quality work, you are also in the most luxurious of surroundings and have access to all the amenities of our entire facility (which includes a state of the art fitness center).
Although, my spa caters to the wealthier elite class, this concept is easily applicable to your every day spa or anyone else who depends on tips as a source of income. Unless your therapist touched you inappropriately, (perhaps a little tea-bagging incident) managed not to listen to any of your needs, or literally didn't know what he/she was doing, then I can understand tipping below the bench mark. However, when you visit one of the country's leading luxury spas and pay a few hundred dollars for a treatment, and you get this tall drink of sexy brownness, and I give you the most bad-ass massage you've ever had; you better be leaving me 20% or I'll wish evil upon your children and steal your favorite t-shirt.
There is nothing more insulting than to hear you rant and rave about how I was the best you've ever had, how exquisitely wonderful I am, and how you wish you could afford for me to work on you everyday . . . . and then for you to leave me 25 bucks on a $230 treatment. Um, excuse me mam, but you seem to be mistaken. Perhaps the lights were a little too dim for you to see correctly, or maybe you were still a little lightheaded by the bomb-ass massage you just received, but I think you meant to make that two, a four. Seriously. My favorite is the pompous asshole who nonchalantly shakes your hand on his way out while inconspicuously leaving a twenty dollar bill in your palm as if you had just parked his fucking car and he's doing you a favor. Hey there Guido, I just spent the better part of 80 minutes rubbing your hairy-ass and listening to you snore like you a were a troll with pneumonia. Mr. Jackson here, better have some friends joining him shortly.
It's actually quite an interesting phenomenon that continuously keeps us scratching our heads. The people who don't have much to say are generally the ones that exceed your tipping expectations. It's extremely difficult, in the short period of time in which we introduce ourselves and find out what you want out of the massage, to ascertain exactly what you're feeling, or what you may be going through. Maybe you just landed a 747 from an 18 hour flight from Germany while suffering from a bout of diarrhea, perhaps you just ran a marathon in flip flops and your feet hurt, you could have just lost your dog, or wasted the last few hours of your life watching the Republican National Convention. Unless you say something, we can't always tell. I'll have clients on occasion that flat out don't even seem like they're enjoying the massage. They answer your questions abruptly or ambiguously, making it difficult for you to gauge how things are going. Some are even a little rigid or fidgety at times. But when you go to pick up their receipt, you find an even 20% or higher as a result of your labor. Apparently they loved it, but either weren't quite the social butterfly or weren't in the mood to express it. Quite frankly I prefer clients who are responsive and complimentary to you during their treatment, but if I had to chose, I'll go with the cool hard cash over the compliments any day. I know I'm good, and although I absolutely love to hear you tell me so, Brown's gotta put food on his family. (if you know where that last part is from you'll get a special prize!)
I've discussed this issue before with other therapists, and usually we are all in agreement. But I have had the pleasure before of hearing the perspective of one therapist who thought that I should be happy that we even get tipped and that being able to give someone such a wonderful gift should be the only fulfillment I need (I choked her and dumped her body in a swamp) I am very appreciative of all the things that envelop the type of work I do, and I indeed reap great rewards from being able to facilitate the body's healing process, bring someone peace of mind, or even rid someone of pain entirely. I meet all kinds of fascinating people and I feel very blessed to share my gift with those who need it. And when I volunteer my work, believe you me, an appreciative smile or thankful nod, is all I need in return.
However, I'm not going to lie, massage therapy is my profession and I'm giving you two of my greatest nonrenewable resources: my time and my energy. When you book me, you are entering a business transaction and as a result, I expect to be paid accordingly. I'm not sure how it is with some body workers, but I take extreme pride in what I do, I pay attention to the smallest of details to ensure that you get the most for what you are paying for. With every one who lays on my table, I make it my personal endeavor to give you the best of what I have. I know for a fact that most massage therapists don't do this. It's too physically and spiritually demanding to give a 100% to all of your clients, but day in and day out, that's exactly what I do. That's how I roll. So, do us all a favor, the next time you get a massage . . . . show some damn respect . . . . then SHOW ME THE MONEY!
Although, my spa caters to the wealthier elite class, this concept is easily applicable to your every day spa or anyone else who depends on tips as a source of income. Unless your therapist touched you inappropriately, (perhaps a little tea-bagging incident) managed not to listen to any of your needs, or literally didn't know what he/she was doing, then I can understand tipping below the bench mark. However, when you visit one of the country's leading luxury spas and pay a few hundred dollars for a treatment, and you get this tall drink of sexy brownness, and I give you the most bad-ass massage you've ever had; you better be leaving me 20% or I'll wish evil upon your children and steal your favorite t-shirt.
There is nothing more insulting than to hear you rant and rave about how I was the best you've ever had, how exquisitely wonderful I am, and how you wish you could afford for me to work on you everyday . . . . and then for you to leave me 25 bucks on a $230 treatment. Um, excuse me mam, but you seem to be mistaken. Perhaps the lights were a little too dim for you to see correctly, or maybe you were still a little lightheaded by the bomb-ass massage you just received, but I think you meant to make that two, a four. Seriously. My favorite is the pompous asshole who nonchalantly shakes your hand on his way out while inconspicuously leaving a twenty dollar bill in your palm as if you had just parked his fucking car and he's doing you a favor. Hey there Guido, I just spent the better part of 80 minutes rubbing your hairy-ass and listening to you snore like you a were a troll with pneumonia. Mr. Jackson here, better have some friends joining him shortly.
It's actually quite an interesting phenomenon that continuously keeps us scratching our heads. The people who don't have much to say are generally the ones that exceed your tipping expectations. It's extremely difficult, in the short period of time in which we introduce ourselves and find out what you want out of the massage, to ascertain exactly what you're feeling, or what you may be going through. Maybe you just landed a 747 from an 18 hour flight from Germany while suffering from a bout of diarrhea, perhaps you just ran a marathon in flip flops and your feet hurt, you could have just lost your dog, or wasted the last few hours of your life watching the Republican National Convention. Unless you say something, we can't always tell. I'll have clients on occasion that flat out don't even seem like they're enjoying the massage. They answer your questions abruptly or ambiguously, making it difficult for you to gauge how things are going. Some are even a little rigid or fidgety at times. But when you go to pick up their receipt, you find an even 20% or higher as a result of your labor. Apparently they loved it, but either weren't quite the social butterfly or weren't in the mood to express it. Quite frankly I prefer clients who are responsive and complimentary to you during their treatment, but if I had to chose, I'll go with the cool hard cash over the compliments any day. I know I'm good, and although I absolutely love to hear you tell me so, Brown's gotta put food on his family. (if you know where that last part is from you'll get a special prize!)
I've discussed this issue before with other therapists, and usually we are all in agreement. But I have had the pleasure before of hearing the perspective of one therapist who thought that I should be happy that we even get tipped and that being able to give someone such a wonderful gift should be the only fulfillment I need (I choked her and dumped her body in a swamp) I am very appreciative of all the things that envelop the type of work I do, and I indeed reap great rewards from being able to facilitate the body's healing process, bring someone peace of mind, or even rid someone of pain entirely. I meet all kinds of fascinating people and I feel very blessed to share my gift with those who need it. And when I volunteer my work, believe you me, an appreciative smile or thankful nod, is all I need in return.
However, I'm not going to lie, massage therapy is my profession and I'm giving you two of my greatest nonrenewable resources: my time and my energy. When you book me, you are entering a business transaction and as a result, I expect to be paid accordingly. I'm not sure how it is with some body workers, but I take extreme pride in what I do, I pay attention to the smallest of details to ensure that you get the most for what you are paying for. With every one who lays on my table, I make it my personal endeavor to give you the best of what I have. I know for a fact that most massage therapists don't do this. It's too physically and spiritually demanding to give a 100% to all of your clients, but day in and day out, that's exactly what I do. That's how I roll. So, do us all a favor, the next time you get a massage . . . . show some damn respect . . . . then SHOW ME THE MONEY!
Friday, September 5, 2008
Cuss-o-Matic
Warning: The following entry contains a significant amount of foul language, and although not primarily intended to offend anyone, certainly harnesses the inherent capability of doing so. With that said, if you have delicate sensibilities, are underage, or suffer from a heart condition, then you definitely should not read this. As a matter of fact you came to the wrong place altogether. . .
As you may have noticed, there is a brand new, shiny Cuss-o-meter that decorates my little space in the blogosphere! I stumbled upon this lovely contraption a little while ago and instantly knew that we were destined to be together. Now, I know that using expletives in writing can usually indicate a lack of intelligence or literary imagination, but this device is was too fucking brilliant to pass up! In seconds, it can analyze thousands of pages and count how many times you used a bad word, instantly giving you a cuss-rating to warn your readers of how often a fuck, shit, or motherfucker appear in your writing. Completely fascinated by this new discovery, I was determined to find out how I ranked amongst my peers.
Which leads me to another observation about how different levels of exclamation can be achieved by either adding other seemingly innocuous words in front of, or behind, these grammatical gems like "Holy shit" (I think indicating the highest level of shit). Shithead, Fuckface, and Fuckwad, are enigmatically used to either describe undesirables, or people we actually care about dearly. Your deepest adoration can also be projected by saying, "I fucking love you man". The most obscure of these phrases may very well be "Shit-eating grin" (for obvious reasons) and "Fucking-A". The latter, although a relic in most contemporary social circles, can still be heard, but is often followed by "man" or "dude" to express your disapproval with another person's behavior. "Clusterfuck" (a military favorite) is commonly used to indicate a situation that is hopelessly in chaos or disarray, where as "We are so fucked" and/or "Fuck me", is widely accepted as the last thing a person would say right before being obliterated by explosive materials.
As you may have noticed, there is a brand new, shiny Cuss-o-meter that decorates my little space in the blogosphere! I stumbled upon this lovely contraption a little while ago and instantly knew that we were destined to be together. Now, I know that using expletives in writing can usually indicate a lack of intelligence or literary imagination, but this device is was too fucking brilliant to pass up! In seconds, it can analyze thousands of pages and count how many times you used a bad word, instantly giving you a cuss-rating to warn your readers of how often a fuck, shit, or motherfucker appear in your writing. Completely fascinated by this new discovery, I was determined to find out how I ranked amongst my peers.
I began to wonder how discriminatory the Cuss-o-Meter might be, what criterion he might use to determine my cuss-rating, and ultimately how accurate it really is. I mean, if your reiterating something somebody else said, does that cuss word count? Or what if you were telling your readers about something you read? For instance, if I tell you that I had a wallet that read, "Bad Motherfucker" on it, would that count? Does goddammit count? Surely "goddammit, I lost my motherfucking wallet" would have to be considered. More over, words like "asshole" can easily be used to depict some body's demeanor, or refer to their actual rectum depending on connotation, and would my cuss-o-meter know the difference? I had to know the answers to these burning questions.
"Bitch, although originally meant to define a female dog, has become a swearing staple generally used to characterize a woman, (usually one of strong personality) "She's such a bitch", or even a group of women, "Look at these bitches". It can be applied to your current location, "You have anything to eat in this bitch?", or when trying to pursuade someone into action as in "C'mon, don't be a bitch". Ironically, it can possess positive implications when you want to illustrate how wonderful something might be, "This party is bitch'n", or to portray an unfortunate event, "Aint this a bitch". People will even use it to report an extraordinarily challenging task, "It was a bitch to get these jeans on", or "climbing those stairs was a bitch".
It's well known that "fuck" is the most versatile word in the English language. It can be a noun, verb, adjective, or even an adverb as in "absofuckinglutely". Regularly used as an exclamation, "Fuck, I stubbed my toe", or even more predominately to insinuate sex, "Let's fuck", "They're in there fucking", and "She's already fucked the whole office". Routinely used as a vociferous retort "Fuck you", to tell someone where you'd like for them to go "Fuck off", or what you'd like for them to do when they get there "Go fuck yourself". "Don't fuck me" and "Don't fuck me over", are customarily utilized when you are trying to convey that you are strictly against having your trust broken, (usually uttered before loaning someone money) and "Don't fuck around" when discouraging shenanigans. When at a loss of words to describe a situation, (like this post for instance) or to express disbelief, one could say "unfuckingbelievable" or "no fucking way".
Which leads me to another observation about how different levels of exclamation can be achieved by either adding other seemingly innocuous words in front of, or behind, these grammatical gems like "Holy shit" (I think indicating the highest level of shit). Shithead, Fuckface, and Fuckwad, are enigmatically used to either describe undesirables, or people we actually care about dearly. Your deepest adoration can also be projected by saying, "I fucking love you man". The most obscure of these phrases may very well be "Shit-eating grin" (for obvious reasons) and "Fucking-A". The latter, although a relic in most contemporary social circles, can still be heard, but is often followed by "man" or "dude" to express your disapproval with another person's behavior. "Clusterfuck" (a military favorite) is commonly used to indicate a situation that is hopelessly in chaos or disarray, where as "We are so fucked" and/or "Fuck me", is widely accepted as the last thing a person would say right before being obliterated by explosive materials.
Finally, combinations using three or more of these words can create a colorful tongue twisting language all it's own like, "Bitch ass motherfucking asshole" or "Punk ass motherfucker". Please keep in mind that using words like "suck", "lick", "eat", "hell", "balls", and "ass", are essential in creating the flow necessary to pull off the desired effect. Again, I warn against trying to use these combinations before you're ready, because you could sound like a fucking idiot in the presence of seasoned professionals. However, with enough diligent practice and an experienced mentor, you may one day join forces with the elite cussers of our time. Me? Well, I have other shit to worry about. . . . . Peace the fuck out.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
Out of Time
I suppose when it's your time to go, it's your time to go. I often wonder if there's somebody in heaven who's job is dedicated solely to monitoring an enormous room with billions of shelves full of clocks with every one's name on it, and when your clock indicates that your time is up, he picks up the receiver on the red phone with a one way line directly to the angel of death, (or he might even send an email) informing him of the people who need to be neutralized for the day.
I bring this up because a couple of months ago a man was virtually sawed in half by a great white shark about 150 yards off the coast of a popular beach in California, a tragedy that hasn't happened in 50 years. Apparently, the man was swimming with a group of athletes training for a triathlon, and he began lagging behind. A great white patrolling the waters for food was probably alerted to the presence of the swimmers splashing about on the surface and noticed the weak one in the group. Evolutionary behavior that has kept the shark alive for thousands of years, prompted the animal to investigate by taking a bite to check if this particular prey was edible. As with most great white attacks, the the warm blooded shark realized that it was a bony human and not a fat sea lion (which it prefers), so he let him go. Unfortunately, a 15 foot great white produces so much force by his bite and extremely sharp serrated teeth, that usually we bleed to death before we can be medically treated. Both this man's legs were fatally shredded and he died of blood loss well before his buddies could get him ashore. Although I think that this could have been prevented had he stayed with the group, this next story certainly proves that there's no denying when your card is pulled, even if you're safely on board.
I'm sure you guys heard about the lady who was killed in Florida by a 75 lb sting ray with a 5 ft wing span, while sunbathing in a boat yes? Well, if you didn't, I'll summarize the freakish accident for you. She was chillin' in her boat soaking up the sun, when a sting ray leaped in andbitch slapped her in the face impaled her in the neck with it's venomous barb, delivering her to an extremely bloody demise. They say that sting rays do not attack people, however I'm convinced that this particular creature was gunning precisely for her. This assassin of the sea surely had orders and there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. Case closed, welcome to heaven, the line on the left is for your linens during your stay and the line on the right is for your name tag and meal card. Trash is taken out on Tuesdays, recycle on Thursdays and your favorite TV shows are on every night.
Lightning strikes, broken elevators, derailed trains, rogue sting rays and any other totally random and outlandish method of death is only the creativity of the death dealer and nothing more than the result of an alarm clock going off. However, just for clarification, if you happen to be mauled by a bear while training it for a part in a movie, then you were definitely asking for it.
I bring this up because a couple of months ago a man was virtually sawed in half by a great white shark about 150 yards off the coast of a popular beach in California, a tragedy that hasn't happened in 50 years. Apparently, the man was swimming with a group of athletes training for a triathlon, and he began lagging behind. A great white patrolling the waters for food was probably alerted to the presence of the swimmers splashing about on the surface and noticed the weak one in the group. Evolutionary behavior that has kept the shark alive for thousands of years, prompted the animal to investigate by taking a bite to check if this particular prey was edible. As with most great white attacks, the the warm blooded shark realized that it was a bony human and not a fat sea lion (which it prefers), so he let him go. Unfortunately, a 15 foot great white produces so much force by his bite and extremely sharp serrated teeth, that usually we bleed to death before we can be medically treated. Both this man's legs were fatally shredded and he died of blood loss well before his buddies could get him ashore. Although I think that this could have been prevented had he stayed with the group, this next story certainly proves that there's no denying when your card is pulled, even if you're safely on board.
I'm sure you guys heard about the lady who was killed in Florida by a 75 lb sting ray with a 5 ft wing span, while sunbathing in a boat yes? Well, if you didn't, I'll summarize the freakish accident for you. She was chillin' in her boat soaking up the sun, when a sting ray leaped in and
Lightning strikes, broken elevators, derailed trains, rogue sting rays and any other totally random and outlandish method of death is only the creativity of the death dealer and nothing more than the result of an alarm clock going off. However, just for clarification, if you happen to be mauled by a bear while training it for a part in a movie, then you were definitely asking for it.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Footloose
Ah yes, ladies and Gentlemen, summer is undoubtedly here. The lovely time of year when people are on vacation visiting the beach, the monuments, museums, and amusement parks, putting countless unforgiving miles on their feet. Never paying them any mind until the end of the day when they finally turn in for the night and realize that they've been mercilessly pummeling their feet by not only carrying their kids around for weeks, but also the extra pounds that have pounced on them since last Christmas when they quit smoking.
Of course I don't expect everyoneto be worthy of my touch to have perfect feet, but for the love of humanity, (and your therapist) if your feet look like you could swoop down on a lake and catch a trout, or if they resemble concrete in any way, then it's probably time they met a pumice stone . . . . . . or an electrical sander.
The past month has been extremely busy, but as chance would have it my schedule has been gratuitously peppered with extra helpings of feet that could use some TLC. The last two weeks in particular have seen their fair share of travesties, but two nights ago I had a client that, hands down, had the most repulsive feet I have ever seen. Her heels had cracks in them that looked exactly like the ones you'd find in moistureless volcanic rock. If that weren't bad enough, the cracks were equally as black. These mammoth crevices swallowed massage cream like the dry barren earth of a desert would soak up the rain. I was convinced that her rough alligator feet had never seen a sock, touched a drop of moisture, and certainly never had an encounter with lotion.
As I continued to lather her death dealing razorblades of calloused flesh with cream, I did all I could to keep from throwing up. No amount of medicated heel cream or Shea butter would ever soften these Komodo Dragon feet. All I could do was try not to cut myself and move on as if nothing had happened, but something had indeed happened my friends, [cue extremely sad violin music] my love for massage died a little that day. Little pieces of my heart had become calloused and hard as stone, eventually becoming brittle and crumbling away as if they had witnessed Medusa's fatal glance.
Of course I don't expect everyone
The past month has been extremely busy, but as chance would have it my schedule has been gratuitously peppered with extra helpings of feet that could use some TLC. The last two weeks in particular have seen their fair share of travesties, but two nights ago I had a client that, hands down, had the most repulsive feet I have ever seen. Her heels had cracks in them that looked exactly like the ones you'd find in moistureless volcanic rock. If that weren't bad enough, the cracks were equally as black. These mammoth crevices swallowed massage cream like the dry barren earth of a desert would soak up the rain. I was convinced that her rough alligator feet had never seen a sock, touched a drop of moisture, and certainly never had an encounter with lotion.
As I continued to lather her death dealing razorblades of calloused flesh with cream, I did all I could to keep from throwing up. No amount of medicated heel cream or Shea butter would ever soften these Komodo Dragon feet. All I could do was try not to cut myself and move on as if nothing had happened, but something had indeed happened my friends, [cue extremely sad violin music] my love for massage died a little that day. Little pieces of my heart had become calloused and hard as stone, eventually becoming brittle and crumbling away as if they had witnessed Medusa's fatal glance.
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