I am not what you might call a “relaxed” individual.  On the long, long resume of all my wonderful skillz, if you see “resting” on there you will also probably see “lying” shortly thereafter.  “Lying” as in “fibbing”, of course, and not “lying down.”

My mom thinks it has something to do with my caffeine intake.



Whatever, Mom.

Last year Santa got me a massage for Christmas.  I needed a massage because I was having trouble putting my arms down and turning my head.


It’s a long story, but the situation (namely, school) that led to that unfortunate condition has tended to repeat itself ever since, which is why I asked for a massage again this year.

And I think that is why Santa got me a


for a massage.


It turns out that a massage and a Groupon for a massage are not exactly the same thing.

Last year I had quite the boring time getting a massage at this old white Victorian house just up the road from my parents’ house.  The whole thing was really uneventful, as you might suspect a massage to be.  It looked something like this:


This year was…um…different.


Yes.  Yes that is a gun store.  The epitome of relaxation and peace of mind.

Somehow the thought of walking into this place and, you know, voluntarily removing my clothing wasn’t really the most comforting thought I’d had in a while.  But I’d driven an hour to get there, and that’s a loooong way to drive without turning your head.

So I went in.


My therapist actually turned out to be a very sweet lady, and I’m glad to say that I am once again quite the ambiturner.  But I still wouldn’t consider the experience a relaxing one.  Not only was I vaguely concerned with what I convinced myself was just a car backfiring in the parking lot, but I am also extremely ticklish.


It wasn’t too big a problem when my face was all smushed up in that little padded toilet seat they make you smush your face into.  But just because the therapist couldn’t see my face of silent torture does not mean my body spasms went unnoticed.  I can’t even tell you how many hiccups I faked.  And hiccups are most decidedly not relaxing.

But giggles (and anxiety over tipping etiquette…separate story) aside, I left the office like spaghetti sliding out of a colander.


If you think turning your head is important for safe driving, you should try operating a vehicle when your oiled-up noodle arms keep sliding off the steering wheel.


As it was, however, I decided to take advantage of my delusional crazycloud and got three vaccinations and another piercing.