Saturday, February 13, 2010

A Romantic Valentine Story

Being Valentine's weekend and all my massage schedule is booked solid with couples massages. If you don't know what a couples massage is it's two massage tables and two therapists in one room so that the couple can be massaged in the same room. Awww...ever so romantic...right? I'm rubbing a away and my client (the lady) lets a huge fart rip. I'm talking this didn't just slip out it was a good 30 seconds of honking. Well doesn't this just startle the shit out of me and I look at the other therapist in the room and we attempt to not laugh. It's bad enough when your client passes gas and your alone with them but now I'm reduced to a Beavis & Butthead mentality and need to giggle but can't because this would disturb the quiet massage environment. Have you ever tried to stifle a laugh? It's hard, you know it's not appropriate but you can't help it so you hold it in and your body shakes. Well, if I shake while rubbing this woman she will know I am laughing at her passing of gas (unexcused and unacknowledged I might add). Okay I'm trying to calm down I close my eyes, must not look at the other therapist as silliness with only break through again. I think I have myself under control, I take a deep breath and whoa....what is that smell? Am I standing in a dumpster on a 90 degree day? Who is eating egg salad sandwiches? Is there a dead animal in here? Gene are you in my massage room? I'm going to die from this smell. I must remain in control and not let the sillies take over again. Ugh...the stench is so bad I pull the collar of my shirt up over my nose & mouth. Whew...I smell good. I showered today and that new body lotion smells yummy, kind reminds me of umbrella drinks on a beach. I think I'm doing okay until I make eye contact with the other therapist while in my safe face cocoon. Oh, no here we go again with the withholding of laughter. I can no longer look at the other side of the room at the other therapist or I will be unable to continue. Now it's time for my client to roll over I'm sure to wave the blankets so she can enjoy her own stink for a bit too. I wonder what her boyfriend thinks of her outburst. I bet it was ever so romantic that he can't wait to take her home and have his way with her. Happy Valentine's Day.

Saturday, January 30, 2010

Three out of Four Clients Today were Weirdos

Three out of four clients today were weirdos. My first client was a man in his 60"s who talks really really LOUD. This man does not possess an indoor voice and we are in a massage studio. So basically I'm the therapist with the loudest client who disturbs all the other clients quietly relaxing and enjoying their massages. This guy is wearing a bright yellow shirt with a giant stain on his very prominent beer gut. It's not like he dribbled a little toothpaste on his shirt on the way out it looks like chili from several days ago. The client proceeds to shout at me about his lower back pain and what can he do to fix this. I want to say you need to lose the beer belly dude but this may adversely effect my tip so I tell him he should look into exercises to strengthen his core. I leave the room so beer belly can hoist himself on to the table. I return and start to massage his scalp which is hidden under a mop of greasy hair. Not product greasy, I'm talking dirty I don't like to wash my hair greasy. I quickly finish with this task as it is making me feel sick. I sanitize my hands before continuing with the massage (I don't usually have to do that). I start to pull the sheets off his back and a horrible smell assaults me. Thinks of a dirty hockey bag or the smell you notice upon entering Kilkenny's. Yuck and now I have to work on this filthy mess for 90 minutes. Ugh! To take my mind of this grossness I start thinking about chores I need to do at home. No matter what kind of mindless shit I try to think of the poor hygiene of this man keeps coming back to me. I guess I didn't get used to the stink. Finally LOUD stinky guy is done, he checks out with the receptionist and tells her that was the best massage he ever had so he wants to give me a little extra in the tip. So instead of his standard $4.00 he left me $6.00. Okay $6.00 friggen dollars and on a credit card to boot so I have to pay taxes on it and wait until pay day to get it. I would have rathered he kept the $6.00 and purchased soap & shampoo and actually used them.

Welcoming client #2 she appears to practice good hygiene habits. Yes, this women is not smelly but she is a talker. I try to discourage talking as this is my quiet time too. This woman hates her job and proceeds to tell me how awful it is and she hates her co-workers and her boss and all she does is drive...blah, blah, blah. Well, talky mctalk talk lets the loudest fart rip, she then clears her throat and say excuse me I'm a little gassy today. WTF!? She continues to fart throughout the session and sees nothing wrong with this. I want to pull the blanket over her head and say sorry, but it's your gas woman enjoy it. Seriously....did she stop for burritos before coming in? I should've let one rip back at her and see how she likes it.

Client #3 has a funky name, or woman? Putting on the Ritz pops into my head until I meet with Ritz. Yuck...I smell curry. Ritzy here tells me he needs his quads worked on...a lot and his lower abs. Lower abs...I think not. I ask why what's going on with your lower abs as that is an area not generally worked on. He tells me there is nothing going on he just likes that area rubbed and points right above his junk. I tell him we do not offer that service. I will work on your quads but no "lower abs". Now I am cranky. I return to the room apparently Ritzy is a neat boy he has hung all of his clothes up on the provided hooks including his small red bikini underwear. Again an unhappy massage because the body odor and curry smell is killing me. When will this day be over?

Client #4 appears to be a normal 20 something girl, after the day I've had I am leery. Yay she was not stinky, dirty, chatty, gassy just a regular girl. Poor girl probably wonders why my room smells like febreeze with an unlying smell of hockey bag/Kilkennys, body odor 7 cury and farts. I want to let her know that funk is not me.

Oh wait today is a full moon that explains all this craziness.

Monday, November 30, 2009


Today my plan was to enter the world of welfare. I asked Trish last night if I should shower before going and here was her response:

I vote no shower, and your worst "going to wal-mart" outfit with sneakers, of course. If you could bring the boy or perhaps borrow a younger, very whiny child from someone else that would complete the look we want to convey.

I set my alarm for 10 (I felt I deserved to get some sleep) I would shower but just throw my hair up since I will need to reshower & pretty up for tonight. I woke up on my own and I'm thinking WTF, well the power was out and it was 10:30 so that took care of the shower issue. I threw my greasy hair up and off I went to the welfare office which by the way has NO parking. Apparently the dirt poor do not have vehicles. The office is filled with filthy people who look dirtier than me. Most were non-english speaking except for a few white trash women, who of course were pregnant. Who actually has sex with these women? I need to get laid but NOT get pregnant. I fill out my foolish form and wait with the germy, grimey masses for my turn. A really young girl comes in with 2 rug rats around ages 1 & 3. The 3 yr. old is wearing a ton of jewelry that appears to be real. WTF...why do small children need jewels? The woman takes her place in line while her children run amuck. The youngest one takes all the literature and throws it on the floor not a word from Mom. The older child spies an ice coffee sitting in a window sill and drinks it. Ewwww....who does that belong to and how long has it been there? Not to mention these filthy masses of people are all coughing. I was surprised not see any fly babies nearby. I'm told by da welfare women (who is safely behind a glass wall to protect her from the germs) that I need to go to the phone bank on the wall and call Ramona at ext. 419. (I immediately think of Ramona the pest & smile). I don't want to touch these filthy phones but I do and call the extension it goes right to voicemail. Muthafucker! I inquire at the desk...should I wait for a return call or just sit tight? She tells me to keep calling, no luck. Finally glass caged woman feels bad and dials Ramona the pest herself. Ramona answers her (must have caller ID) so she passes her phone through her talking hole. Ramona tells me I am not eligible until I receive my last check. Then I can call for an appointment. Once in the safety of my own car I Purelled my hands and face that touched the phone.

On the bright side....I have 2 interviews and hopefully won't have to deal with this shit.

One Long Ass Day

Today has been one long ass day. It started off rather amusing. I dragged my ass out of bed bright & early to hit the gym. I'm chuggin away on the eliptical when a midget comes in. Yes, you read that right a midget. She hops onto a treadmill but cannot see the buttons to turn it on and just presses buttons blindly and ta-da she's walking away. Now that Kmac goes to the gym in Hudson I have no one to share this sight with and because I'm so politically incorrect this makes me want to point and laugh which I know is wrong but midgets = funny.

I have been exiled to work out of the Tyngsborough office for a month to see if walk in traffic/rentals increase. Kind of like Martin Spurlock Super sizing it for 30-days. I prefer to work out of the EML office because it's only 2 miles from my house and I can bop home to do my boring domestic chores (laundry) at lunch. So anyway...I'm in Tyngsborough totally bored. Nothing ever happens up there until today. My first visitor was an old women who looked a farside cartoon character, she had bright orange lipstick and cat glasses. Her order of business was to pick up a new key because she cannot open her apartment door anymore with her current key. I give her the new key and she wants to give me back the old worn out one so it doesn't confuse her. Okay....I take the key and decide to hang onto it for a few days because I'm sure there will be some sort of key situation in my future. Well off she waddles new key in hand and ready to unlock her door. My phone's the old lady. The conversation goes something like this: Hi Cheryl? Is that you? (Duh, I'm the only person in the freaking office) Yes, Kathleen it's me....Cheryl How did you know it was me? Caller ID is a wonderful tool that tells me who is calling and I'm thinking I should've let this go to VM. What's caller ID? Should not have brought up this little piece of technology...Damn! Moving right along I ask Kathleen what can I do for you? Oh, um I need my new key. Yes ,you just picked it up at the office, remember? Oh, yes...thank you. The phone rings again...why it's Kathleen again. Hi Cheryl is that you? (still the only one here) I am tempted to say no you have the wrong # but that may generate bad karma. I tell her yes it's me. Well, Cheryl I seem to have lost my new key did I leave it in the office? No, you put it on your key ring. I ask did you use the key to get into your apartment to call me? Yes, but I'm pretty sure I left it in your office. I want to poke my eyes out with a stick.

It's all rainy and boring and since I'm trying not to be a fatty boombalatty and going to the gym before work I am in need of a nap by 11:00 a.m. My employer does not participate in the naptime/siesta program so I must stay awake. The buzzer rings and I have a visitor. I ask the lady if I can help her and she says I want a prize. WTF...I am the receiver of prizes not her. I ask if she is looking for an apartment, she says no but thought if she "stopped by" and she used hand quotes (douchefucker) that I would receive a prize. Your prize is to exit my space immediately and stop being stupid. So much for this 30-day lets put someone in the Tyngsborough office to see if walk-in traffic increases. If morons like this are going to be stopping in I'm thinking a bow & arrow or a tazer would be good.

Jodi has scheduled a showing in Tyngsborough for one of her people and I am excited for her to come and visit. Yay...someone to talk to, someone normal who does not wear orange lipstick. Although if I had a prize I would offer it up to Jodi and I'm sure she would love it. I offered her some Doritos I found in the cabinets. The origin of said Doritos is questionable. We decide this would be a bad prize. While I'm having my pleasant visit with Jo-day one of my Lakeview Avenue crazies calls to complain that her power has been shut off and what am I going to do about it. I ask her is she current on her National Grid bill? Well, she made a partial payment today so she shouldn't be shut off (her words not mine). This raving bitch annoys me so much I tell her I will call Ntl Grid for her. I wait through the stupid automated man telling me to press 2 for English and all his bullshit. Did you know if you mock him he will become confused and then say I will get a customer service representative, which is what I wanted all along anyway. Finally a live worker bee from National Grid. I explain my crazy bitch tenants dilemma after giving the tenants name and address I am told since I am not the account holder they cannot give me any information but yes they did shut her off. Due to my keen detective skills non/partial payment and shut off I deduct she has been shut off for non-payment. I relay my finders to cunty bitch who proceeds to yell at me about what am I going to do for her. I tell her I will send maintenance to flip her breaker so that when Ntl Grid turns her back on she will be ready. Well, this is not good enough she bitches about how Ntl Grid should not share her personal account info with me (Ugh....typical Lakeview resident dumb as a post) I repeat how I am going to help her and because she is douchey and swearing at me I tell her in my sweetest girlie voice if you are going to use vulgar language I cannot assit you. Would you like me to help you... she shouts Fuck Yar and hangs up. Jo-day and I chuckle...stupid bitch. Well, doesn't cunty call my boss to say I am unhelpful. Now I have to explain the whole thing over again, of course he takes my side. I will so tow that bitches car the first chance I get. Well, Jo-day's appointment no shows so our fun little chat fest is over. Now it after 4:30 and I must scurry to the spa for my second job. I lock up the office only to be accosted by 2 idiots looking to meet Jodi. Dude your over an hour late for your appointment. In my world that is rude not to call so I decide I cannot help these fuckers they can call Jodi and reschedule. I am on salary and do not get paid for the extra time I put in and I now have 15 minutes to get to my other job where I will get paid for my time.

Yay, massage job. Even though it's work it's quiet and my clients are not chatty. Good thing because this is my quiet time too. Bonus they are both good tippers. :)

Finally I am home. Greeted by the roomies and a sink full of dirty dishes, it seems a teenage garbage tornando has blown through my livingroom. This displeases me. I must go to bed now and make this day end.

Cheryl & Lisa Celebrate Yom Kippur

Lisa & I are taking Friday off from work and it seems it's the Jewish holiday, Yom Kippur. Since neither one of us is Jewish I had to do a little research to see if we would want to celebrate this holiday or just take the day off, get my car repaired and bask in the warm glow of the sun. This is what I've discovered. If you're going to be offended turn back now because I don't want to hear it. I have added in my comments in italics.

Yom Kippur is probably the most important holiday of the Jewish year. Many Jews who do not observe any other Jewish custom will refrain from work,(we will refrain from work as well) fast and/or attend synagogue services on this day.(fasting is out of the question, it will make me cranky) Yom Kippur occurs on the 10th day of Tishri. The holiday is instituted at Leviticus 23:26 et seq.

The name "Yom Kippur" means "Day of Atonement," and that pretty much explains what the holiday is. It is a day set aside to "afflict the soul," to atone for the sins of the past year.(I'm sure I have a few of those) In Days of Awe, I mentioned the "books" in which G-d inscribes all of our names.(Is this like Santa's list of naughty & nice children?) On Yom Kippur, the judgment entered in these books is sealed. This day is, essentially, your last appeal, your last chance to change the judgment, to demonstrate your repentance and make amends. (I vow to use nice manners and cut my swearing by 50% that day)

As I noted in Days of Awe, Yom Kippur atones only for sins between man and G-d, not for sins against another person. To atone for sins against another person, you must first seek reconciliation with that person, righting the wrongs you committed against them if possible. That must all be done before Yom Kippur. I apologize for nothing, tough if they don't like it!

Yom Kippur is a complete Sabbath; no work can be performed on that day. It is well-known that you are supposed to refrain from eating and drinking (even water) on Yom Kippur (I'm sure we can change these rules to suit our needs. I want a blueberry beer from Beerworks). It is a complete, 25-hour fast beginning before sunset on the evening before Yom Kippur and ending after nightfall on the day of Yom Kippur. The Talmud also specifies additional restrictions that are less well-known: washing and bathing, anointing one's body (with cosmetics, deodorants, etc.), wearing leather shoes. Sorry, I plan on showering, wearing deodorant and maybe strappy sandals, weather permitting. (Orthodox Jews routinely wear canvas sneakers under their dress clothes on Yom Kippur), and engaging in sexual relations are all prohibited on Yom Kippur. I would like to have sex, but if I don't I will be a good Jewish woman...right?

As always, any of these restrictions can be lifted where a threat to life or health is involved. This rule applies to us, fasting & not drinking will make us cranky which is a serious threat to others around us. In fact, children under the age of nine and women in childbirth (from the time labor begins until three days after birth) are not permitted to fast, even if they want to. What about ovulation? I might be ovulating. Older children and women from the third to the seventh day after childbirth are permitted to fast, but are permitted to break the fast if they feel the need to do so. People with other illnesses should consult a physician and a rabbi for advice. (What about mental illness?)

Most of the holiday is spent in the synagogue, in prayer. In Orthodox synagogues, services begin early in the morning (8 or 9 AM) We will probably be at Gene's gas station around 9:00, we'll pray there or maybe go pee.and continue until about 3 PM. People then usually go home for an afternoon nap and return around 5 or 6 PM for the afternoon and evening services, I plan to nap before continuing with my "services" at the Brewery later that evening. which continue until nightfall. The services end at nightfall, with the blowing (blowing of what? I thought sex was prohibited. Apparently oral is okay) of the tekiah gedolah, a long blast on the shofar. (is this a reference for a bong) See Rosh Hashanah for more about the shofar and its characteristic blasts.

It is customary to wear white on the holiday, (white is unflattering, I'll take the liberty of substituting white for my customary drinking costume, jeans & a black shirt) which symbolizes purity and calls to mind the promise that our sins shall be made as white as snow (Is. 1:18). Some people wear a kittel, the white robe in which the dead are buried. I will wear my robe Saturday morning after I shower.

A night out with Loron & the Office Ho’s

The girls I work with are not ho's even though I fondly like to refer to them as such. We were drinking at the Brewery outside since it was a nice balmy 90ยบ night. The party starts to break up being that it's a school night and all. A few of us head over to the Dubliner. I see Loron walking back from the bar with a drink & a shot. Loron drinks the shot, tosses the shot glass into the crowd, which bonks some guy in the head. We decide all the patrons at the Dub were 12 year old, mandal wearing faggots so we decide we will walk down to the Courtyard, which has a better clientele (not really, but it's outside). On a side note I do not like the doorman at The Courtyard he carded Lauren & Beth and looked at my haggard face and said oh you can just go in. Apparently he thought I was chaperoning my two younger friends. We only had one drink at this bar but Lauren was wrecked. She was talking to some incredible hulk man in the bar; perhaps they did shots or heroin. At this point Lauren can't really stand up and we need to get back to my car that is parked on Market Street. It was quite the task to keep Lauren from falling into the street and telling hideous strangers how hot they are (THEY WERE NOT AT ALL HOT). Let me give you a visual: A man who is about 4'11'', 250 lbs with long fuzzy sideburns walking alone when Loron spots him and yells "hey hottie, oh yar fuck me" all while shaking her hips. The dude looks around to be sure Loron is speaking to him and a smile breaks across his face. Beth & I shuffle Loron along for her own good.

Lauren thinks she's going to drive home but Beth & I will not allow such foolishness so I deposit Lauren at her house. Beth and I head to the McDonald's drive thru as we want to maintain our current weights by eating greasy cheeseburgers. I picked Lauren up the next morning and was nearly knocked down by the booze fumes that were coming off her. We're on our way to the parking garage when she announces she has no wallet or money. I check my wallet and find a mere $2.00 (must have been a good night if I have very little money left). I offer this up, drop Lauren at the garage and wish her luck.

Oh, and Lauren gave her phone to the garage attendant who called her and came by to visit her. Clearly he is of no importance at the parking garage as you will see below stated in Loron's very own words.

So after I played poor drunk me for an hour because Krystal's 20 something friends at the Dub weigh 364 pounds less than me, Cheryl was nice enough to give me a ride home, leaving Karen at the parking garage (Karen is her car). When she was even nice to drive me back to my car in the morning I hopped in and realized I hadn't brought my wallet, to which she gave me $2.00 and we hoped for the best. Upon arrival at the parking garage I got in Karen and attempted to cruise on out but when the gate wouldn't open I backed out and tried the next one to the left. FUCK I can't get out of that one either. Parking attendant man comes over and asks where my ticket is. I inform him that I do not have one to which he is astonished. He asks me to pull over and step inside of the office. Parking attendant man and woman begin to ask questions, I inform them that I have no wallet or ID just this simple $2.00 that my friend Cheryl Casey has allowed me to borrow to plan my escape from this dungeon, this makes them angry. They ask me again if I have ID and I do not. Meter Maid Loretta is paged, she again asks me a slew of questions and then decides that the vodka reeking from my pores requires police assistance. Lowell Police are called. Upon the arrival of the police, they ask me where my identification is, I respond by home. Ohhhhh Lowell police are not amused. They run my plates, and yes the car does belong to a Lauren A. Heeley, so they ask, how do we know this is you maam, I have just put on my cunty pants as they are tying up my 45 minutes left of sleep.....I decide it is a good idea to shout....WELL I'VE BEEN ARRESTED SO CLEARLY YOU HAVE MY MUG SHOT, CHECK IT OUT YOU EVEN HAVE PICTURES OF MY BODY ART AND I CAN SHOW YOU THAT AS WELL....Ohhhh Lowell police is furious, as he is telling me that this is not a joke, Allison Carrol who I tapped danced with to "New York New York" circa 1995 care of Demetra School Of Dance walks in and says HEY LAUREN......I shout "SHE SAID MY NAME I DIDNT ASK HER TOO, I DIDNT EVEN SEE HER WALKING IN"........this does not work, I am asked to get my registration from the vehicle and I do, now I'm stomping my feet as I walk.......they let me go and told me they would send me a fine and I'll pay it but clearly the parking garage attendant who reeks of WD40 being at my house till 3:30 a.m. does nothing for me.....I will NEVER give a carney ass tilt a whirl running greasy pete my number again, he was no help!!!

Wedge Heels Only Offer a False Sense of Security

I'm being peer pressured into writing my foolish activities down for all to read and laugh along with me or at me. Most likely at me. Here's the tale of the night I dislocated my arm. Things like this would not happen if I were sober.

The night started off with dinner with Jen & Kelli, harmless enough. Of course I believe I may have been over served just a bit, but hey it was a hot summer night and I was thirsty. After this delightful dinner we headed over to a tent party in downtown Lowell where For Pete's Sake was playing. During our walk to the tent party I was telling about the pub crawl where Jen fell down the stairs of Pete's Pub and fell again in the alley behind the Bell. Of course it wasn't me falling on my face so the story was hilarious. Now you have to picture the dangerous streets of Lowell. No, not gangs or anything like that. Although I'm pretty sure Kelli was wearing her colors. The most dangerous thing of all, cobblestone streets and very high wedge heel shoes and me with a good buzz. FYI- The wedge heel offers that false sense of security by making you think your feet are flat on the ground. While I'm talking about Jen, boom I fall in the street my drinking buddies laugh at me. Jen tells me I'm being punished for talking about her falling. When I get up I note that my right shoulder hurts, but we continue on to the party. My right arm hangs like dead weight, how will I hold my beer? I will drink lefty. I continue to drink and the pain seems less so life is good. Jen drives me home and I'm far to drunk and lazy to change out of my drinking clothes so I sleep in them. On Sunday I wake up and to my horror I remember I am having brunch with my conservative friends at 10:00. Brunch to me means 1:00 not before noon. I attempt to get out of my drunk clothes and I can't get my arm over my head. It took the work of Houdini just to get out of those clothes, shower and put on clean clothes. I head off to brunch with my dead arm. I don't dare mention to the conservative girls that I am injured or how I have become injured. I feel they would frown upon such behavior. After the brunch I went to the hospital, it seems I have dislocated my arm. The doctor wants to know how. I tell her I fell. Now come the questions did someone push me? Was I alone? This woman thinks I am battered. I have to confess I was a drunk who fell in the street. She gave me no pain pills…bitch.