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This is my very last time sitting in this particular Starbucks.  My job in this plaza is done.  Finito.  Hasta la pasta buster.

I hate goodbye’s – I really loathe them.  One of my coworkers went all out and bought me a card and several presents for my trip to Nepal.  It was really touching and thoughtful. I have trouble with touching and thoughtful because they’re too much for me to handle.  I’m too sensitive and sentimental so any touching expressions hit me hard in a place where there are no words.

I’m sitting here in Starbucks with the sun shining in my face.  I can’t stop yawning and rubbing my eyes.  I slept so well these past few days, acquiring well over the recommended amount.  I am after all, a professional sleeper.  I know of no other who can sleep 14 hours in a single day, or take naps on a whim other than cat’s and old men in recliners.  I am blessed with the gift of sleep but the only problem is it makes me so damn groggy.

Two clients remain before I can sneak out of ME without causing any more touching goodbye sentiments.

I’m leaving for Nepal soon.  Today is Feb 22 and I leave March 4th.  I’ve gotten very little exercise to prepare myself for the Annapurna Circuit.  Practically none, really.

Last Friday I went out with one of my girlfriends.  We started the night at the Cadillac Ranch where we got bumped and pushed while line dancing.

Did you know that line dancer’s are nuts?  I’m going to get in trouble for saying that because they’re everywhere and overtaking the population.  But if you ever get caught dancing creatively on the line dance floor, you will get pushed and cattle prodded by your so-called friendly neighbors.  Breakdancing for example, is shunned at a cowboy bar.  If I were to breakdance at the Cadillac Ranch, Indiana Jones and the temple of Doom’s fire pit would emerge beneath me and I’d fall to my death chanting “Um nump she body Um nump she body,”  after getting my beating heart ripped out of my chest by a line dancer of course.

Unfortunately for me, the floor attracts my spinning back like poop on boots once I get moving and grooving with a belly full of beer.

Me and my friend escaped to Sam the Clams before getting pelted with flying belt buckles.

There was a band playing at Sam the Clams and people were dancing.  I was getting snockered and having fun, so I got down on the floor and spun around in an attempt to breakdance.  I do this whenever I feel the crowd’s attention on me - and they were egging me on.  After I busted a move (and my tail bone), I got up and did a sort of “jazz hands” to thrill my captive audience.  I had a big cheesy smile on my face.  That’s when an old lady hugged and kissed me.  YES my dancing is really that awesome that old lady’s feel compelled to hug and kiss me.

My friend had her back turned the whole time talking to someone, so she missed my breakdancing.  But hey it’s cool, it’s not like I tugged on her arm and said, “Did you see me?  Did you see me breakdance?”  I’m too cool for such unnecessary attention.  Too cool indeed.

Then I took part in a three-way kiss.  I’m not really a three-way kind of gal, hell, I’m not even a two-way unless I’m madly in love and considering marriage.  It’s a shame really, because I really like sex.  Sex is cool yo.  I at least still have the one-way version.  And also my lucid dreams where I grab the nearest man and have my way with him.

I tried to play it cool by agreeing to the kiss, but it turned out to be a complete failure.  I kept laughing so the only things getting kissed were my teeth, which made me laugh even more.  When it was over, one of the people said, “Um, that was weird.”

It turned out that the high point of my night was the kiss and hug from the old lady who loved my breakdancing moves.

I woke up at noon the next day and went to hibachi with my ex and his entire Polish family to celebrate his dad’s birthday.  It was quite honestly the best hibachi I ever had.  I was ravenous.  Squid hibachi makes for a great hangover food.  The best part was it was FREE!

I went back to Dave’s parents house to eat cake.  His Polish relative who could barely speak English was telling me about people who died hiking the Himalayas.  He said I need wool socks and a radio attached to my jacket.  I don’t think he realized I’m not actually going up Everest, just dawdling around its lowest base camps.

I crawled into bed when I got home and slept for ten hours.

*******************************

I’m home from Starbucks, home from work.

Far away from going berserk

I popped open a Hefeweizen

Read my blog post over again

And tried to find words to describe how elated I am

No, that’s not true

Elated I am not

I feel as scared and helpless as my Mother’s toe rot.

(Click the pic to see)

I had too much nicotine

Too much caffeine

My brain is melting like Charlie Sheens’

I’m leaving in ten days

To a place I never been

No hot water, no indoor plumbing

Will make me feel quite unbecoming 

But alas I must go

It will be an adventure fo’ sho’

My life will be like a brilliant starry night

Like the painting, Starry Night

By Van Gogh

My Mother’s worryied that I might start a political riot in Nepal just because I’m sporting a ”Free Tibet” bumper sticker latched on the side of my car.  It’s a compliment, really.  I mean, does she really think I have it in me to start a revolt?  Am I a leader?  A leader of Nepal deemed worthy of being named Her Holiness the 15th Dalai Lama?

Mom – “Don’t talk politics whatever you do.  Don’t start anything to cause a riot.”

Me -  “I’m going to start a revolt!”

Mom -  “Don’t you dare!”

Me -  “REVOLUTION!”

Mom -  “Don’t forget to bring Nana’s whistle.”

In other news, today was my last day of work.  Christina, my massage nemesis, was there.

During one of her lecture’s a few weeks ago, she was showing me a book - MY book that I brought from home to keep at the clinic as a reference guide.

Christina – “This book is great.  See, you can look up any medication a client is taking and see the contraindications for that medicine.”

Me – “Yeah I know, this is my book.  I brought it from home.”

Christina – “Oh, really?”

And today, when I was cleaning out my locker, I looked over on the bookshelf and seen my book Christina was using to lecture me with.  I was going to take it home just to spite her.  I opened the book to the front page cover and seen written in bold black ink, her handwriting, “PROPERTY OF MASSAGE ENVY, GLASTONBURY.”

Me – “Holy shit that evil bitch.”

She’s not actually evil, but saying it aloud made me feel better.   I know for a fact that wasn’t written there on lecture day.

But just think about it.  I mean, just how much hate and anger can this woman have for me?  I know that Jeff, the owner, talked to her about my resignation letter.  I was keen on her ignoring me.  But I didn’t lie to anyone.  I may have played the role of an underhanded little shit, but I’m passive aggressive and that’s how I roll.

I ended up not taking the book home with me.  Now I wish I had.  It feels like she won by getting to keep my stinking book.

Oh well, what can you do……I’m going to sleep for a good ten hours then go hiking.

Oh no wait!  First I’ll tell you about the dream I had.

I’ve been vaping my e cig a lot and accruing a high nicotine debt, so I think that’s what triggered this lucid dream.  It was a weird semi-out of body lucid dream.  It started with odd sounds in my bedroom, but being too tired to wake myself up, I let it slide.  Then I floated out of bed and looked out my window to see the sun shining and reflecting shimmering wads of cash raining down outside.

“Oh that should be a good sign.  I have to remember to look up money in my dream dictionary.”

Then I was traveling at warp speed.  I had a brilliant idea to use this sacred time to prophesize my Nepal trip.  So I asked the question, “Will I have fun on my Nepal trip?”

Then I was some place dark.  I got scared, but a tribesman picked me up and started running me away from the darkness.  He had a deadpan face, looking straight ahead and running at a brilliant clip.

Once we were safe, he put me down and I asked him the question, “How will my Nepal trip go?”

He starts laughing.  He had short dreads matted down on his forehead, a big smile.

Tribesman – “Ha ha, I’m sorry but I don’t usually get people like you here asking me questions.”

I studied him closely to see if my brain could ever conjure up such a man.  I looked at him expectantly.  He pleasantly came closer to my face and said in a clear, crystal voice;

Tribesman – “Be your experience.”

I had no idea what he meant.  I still don’t.

Then he slipped away back into what looked like another dimension separated by a thick membrane between his world and mine.  I could hear his fellow tribesmen snickering at me and trying to scare me by grabbing at me from the other side of the membrane.  So I ran away and that’s when I woke up.

It was weird.  I’m weird.  Shit.

2)  I was having horrible anxiety for weeks and just figured out today that it’s because of my electronic cigarette.  I’ve been vaping non-stop lately.  Nicotine gives me unfathomable amounts of anxiety (shivering in a fetal position and having hellish thoughts about my parents dying and being alone and unloved for the rest of my life) - it messes me up BIG time.  I’m a dope because this has happened before in the past, I just completely forgot about it.

3)  I bought a box of Vplensih for my 20 day trek thru Nepal.  I thought I was buying 200 little packets of powered electrolytes to sprinkle in my nalgene bottle, but I instead got a huge box of 2,000 packets.  I don’t even think there are any electrolytes in them.  Just small amounts of vitamins.

3.5)  I used to call nalgene bottles, algene bottles.  And still do sometime.

4)  The nicotine in my electronic cigarette is giving me heart palpitations, but I’m still vaping it as we speak.

5)  I bought a box of Jack Link’s (50 count) for my Nepal trek, but found out they are too heavy and bulky to carry in my pack.  So I’ve been eating 4 or 5 of them daily and wondering why my stomach’s been hurting me lately.

6)  I bought an australian canvas dover hat because I thought it would help me look cool.

I was going to wear it out for my birthday dinner to the Outback Steakhouse, but changed my mind because I didn’t want my brother to make fun of me.  Although, he’s the one to make fun of since he ate way too much and projectile vomited all over his bedroom last week.

7)  I’m an avid believer in yoga face.

It works!  It actually works!

I discovered this YouTube video over the summer and did the exercises for a week or two and actually started seeing a change in my face – a good change.  But then I forgot about it until just recently (after seeing my new drivers license photo) and decided to give it a shot again and holy crap I swear it works!

Please watch the video it’s hilarious, and not BS.  I call it the poor mans face lift.

8)  I can never remember how to spell the word EXERCIZE.  Excersize, exercise, excersize?

9)  I’m going to stop blogging now so I can watch Naruto.

There are two very bubbly girls sitting across from me.  How are people able to do that?  Be bubbly?  Now they’re laughing hysterically.  Good for them.  I’m happy for them.

Last night Joel and I met two interesting, desperate poor souls.  One was so skinny that he looked like he was on drugs (I actually picked him up and spun him around), and the other was a short, chubby girl with spina bifida who kept flirting with me and by the end of the night blatantly came out and asked me for my number.  But she kept saying the skinny guy was her fiancé and they were madly in love, so as usual, I had no idea what was happening.

They didn’t have a car, no money, and they lived in a hotel room next to the T & A truck stop.  They seemed nice enough, but I kept checking to see if my wallet was still lodged in my pocket.

I didn’t give her my number.

“Oh, well, I come here all the time.  You’ll see me here a lot.”

I mean, even if I was a lesbian, she’s totally not in my league.

Wow, I’m totally sitting here zoning out and looking out the window.  I’m watching the barista’s take the trash out to the dumpster and thinking how much I hated jobs where I had to take out the trash.  I hate jobs.  Period.

The two bubbly girls in front of me are actually partaking in a job interview for Starbucks.  The over-the-top friendly manager just got up off her chair and left the newly minted employee to read something on a laptop.

I hated job interviews.  I knew I would get hired, but hated applying for a job that I knew would suck.  I knew it would suck because they all do.

I need to sleep.  I’m such a miserable jerk today.  I can’t shake it.

Okay, here’s my new plan.

1)  Hike the Himalaya’s.

2)  Come back home and save $2000 for an aromatherapy oxygen bar machine.

3)  Start my own business.

4)  Take a few college classes.

5)  By the summer of 2013, go backpacking through Europe.  I don’t care if I go it alone -  it would probably be great if I was alone.  It will finally be the time alone that I craved for so long.

Okay, so there’s my plan.  Does it sound enticing?  Does it sound like it’s doable?

One can dream, can’t they?  Of course this all depends on if I survive the Anapurna Circuit.

Now the manager is telling the new girl about her Starbucks story.  It sounds like it’s mandatory for all managers to tell their story.

“I graduated college?  I went to the university of Vermont?  I didn’t know what I wanted to do until my fifth year and by then I didn’t take the right courses for my degree?”

She’s laughing and being bubbly.  How does she do it?  Whats her secret?

An old man is sliding out of his car and limping into Starbucks.  What a cute old man.  Is he capable of being bubbly?

Old man – “I was in the Vietnam war?  My wife has spina bifida?  I have two titanium hips and a plastic rotator cuff?”

I can picture Betty White being bubbly, and maybe that Jessica Tandy, but other than those two, I can’t think of any.  Especially not an old man war vet.

He’s limping back to his car with his coffee, smiling at us as he walks by.  He makes me smile back at him.  Everyone has their own silent happy tune.  Some are just louder than others.

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No I did not do a defamation in my pants.  Just ignore my last post, it was nonsense.  It was one of my clients who searched the terms “Christina Massage Envy” because he wanted to read reviews about her.  His next appointment was with Christina and he wanted to know what he was getting himself into.  After reading my post about her, he cancelled his appointment and decided to go back to the South Windsor branch.  Oops…….

Ha ha, of all the people to search those terms, it was one of my dear sweet clients landing on my dear sweet blog.  What are the chances?  Shit…..

Anyway, I think I’m getting sick dammit.  Everyone is sick at Massage Envy.  The table in the break room is covered with tissue’s, cough drops and medicine.  Oriana, my coworker at the other spa I work at is sick with bronchitis.  I’m being pelted in all directions by hell germs.  Germs from the depths of firy hell!

And today is my birthday.  Valentines day.  The day where most people make plans that don’t involve me.  They would rather spend it with their sweetie’s eating boxes of chocolate and wearing edible undies.  Well those people can choke on their underwear goddamnit.  No, just kidding.  Or am I?

Seriously though, choke on your goddamned edible underwear.  Valentines day is for chumps.  “Oh it’s so romantic!”  Fucking chumps….

I’m sitting in Cheshire Coffee.  I just gave a massage down the street and have to go back to give another one in an hour.  I guess Cheshire Coffee will take the place of my beloved Starbucks.  But now I have Holly here with me.  She works across the street and comes here all the time.

I believe in a thing called mob mentality.  All it takes is one person to start an epidemic, and I am that person.  Massage Envy is turning on Christina by wanting to spit her out and I can’t help thinking that it’s all my fault.  If one person states their genuine frustrations and it is entirely felt by the majority of the people who empathize with her, the projected emotions get carried over from one person to the next creating an aura of emotion – a mood permeated with excitability.  An excitability wanting a change, a release, a breaking point if you will.

Last Saturday I went to Hibachi with a few Envy co-workers and learned that Jeff, the owner, is planning to sit down individually with each therapist in order for them to voice their opinions about Christina.  Apparently I’m not the only one frustrated with her, but my resignation has sprung a revolt.

When I’m not happy with a place or a person, I leave.  I don’t try to fight it, I just leave.  I didn’t expect any of this to happen, but oh well.  What did I expect to happen since everyone that I work with now reads my blog?

I AM A TROUBLEMAKER!

Oh I like that.  I feel like Tom Sawyer causing mischief.  Now all I have to do is stage my own death and free a negro and my Tom Sawyer transformation will be complete.  Holly told me not to write the word “negro”, but it’s in the spirit of Mark Twain.  And Holly isn’t the one writing this blog, I am, and I’m an asshole goddamnit.

***************************************

It’s now 2:31 am.  I just got home from the bar and watched one episode of Naruto (Season 3 episode 5) and here I am writing like an idiot at 2 fucking 31 in the morning.

After my last client, I went to the Thai Hut in Southington with some close friends to celebrate my abhorrent birthday.  The restaurant was packed and service was slow (as expected on crummy Valentines day).  People walked out after being seated for 20 minutes with having no acknowledgement from the busy waitstaff (consisting of two overwhelmed girls doubling as bartenders).

Angry customer – “The food was good, but I at least expected the waitstaff to know how to speak English.”

She actually said this.

It’s a THAI food restaurant lady!  And that waitress did know English you inconsiderate jackass.  Fucking people……

I, for some reason, have a high tolerance for long waits.  I can sit for hours and be completely content in knowing that eventually I’ll be served – even if I was the last to receive a meal, I’d still be happy.  But because It was my birthday, my friends were there because of me instead of choosing to choke on their edible undergarments, and so I felt their discomfort was completely my doing.

I was a wreck.

I was a nervous wreck during dinner at the Thai Hut.   My anxiety was at an all time high.  I was afraid I couldn’t even grasp my water glass without shaking like a leaf.  I’m not exactly sure why my anxiety was so high.  It could have been because we were there for an inexobitant amount of time waiting for service, or because of the mere fact of it being my birthday (always brings me anxiety).  It could have been because of my impending 20 day trek through the Himalaya’s or having to work with Christina tomorrow (who is ignoring me to the fullest), or possibly the soy latte I had at Cheshire coffee gave me the shakes – I don’t know but it was bad.  Very bad anxiety.

My two good friends, Brie and Paul, came out for my birthday.  They just found out today that they’re having a baby girl – That could have contributed to my anxiety.  A baby girl…..I’m 32 and STILL can’t imagine having a baby.  It’s just incomprehensible to me.

Brie and Paul ate before going to the Thai Hut, but they were still upset over the service being so slow (even though they ordered nothing but a soda) – that added to my anxiety.

One of my girlfriends who’s accompanying me on my 20 trek told me during dinner that she’s worried about me going.  She’s worried that I won’t be able to keep up, or hike for 20 days straight.  I taken this realization pretty hard.  I’m one of those sensitive types who believe what people tell me.  If she thinks I can’t do it, than I probably can’t.  Worried about me?  Really?  I’m a nervous wreck as it is and she’s worried about me?  I felt defensive and I hate feeling defensive.

Me – “Well, my job is really physical.  I use my legs a lot…….”

No matter what defensive remark I could say back, I can’t deny the fact that she’s right.  I’m not a camper, I never went on any big high altitude hikes and I’m not a knowledgeable world traveler.  I’m just a 32 year old baby still living at home and quitting jobs whenever they get the slightest bit uncomfortable.  Defensive people get defensive because they feel some underlining threat that what they’re hearing is true.  And I was defensive.

And I can’t quit the Himalayas.  Once I’m there, I’m there.

I felt really discouraged.  But then why was I invited?  Was it a mistake?  She was only voicing her concern, though.  I can’t be angry at her for being honest.

I’m laying in my  warm bed with Naruto paused on Netflix.  Joel brought me home from the bar.  I tell ya, that guy thinks I’m some brilliant person capable of anything.  He lifts me up higher than I deserve.  But it’s people like him that make me feel I can accomplish anything.

I’m going to the Himalaya’s for myself.  Not anyone else.  I have nothing to prove to anyone – I’m just going because I think it will be a great experience.  I’m going there for me and me alone.  I won’t lag behind.  I won’t falter or fall.  I’ll be an exceptional beginner climber!  If I can believe that, than it will be true!  And what I believe is all that really matters, right?

No, maybe I should worry.  I’m a booze hound lay-a-bout after all.  I have no real motivation.  I don’t like getting out of bed unless I absolutely have to.

I have to get vaccinated tomorrow.  I called up and made the appointment, but I have no idea where this travel clinic is.  Did I mention I’m a complete moron?  I have to be there at 10:45 am.  I’m so tired and I have to give five massages tomorrow after I get my vaccines.   Yes, complete idiot.  I’m an aging idiot.

But an aging idiot who’s hiking the himalaya’a and will someday cure cancer!

And now your moment of zen.

What I looked like by the end of the night:

That’s me under a pool table.

Image via Wikipedia

Ummm….Yikes?

My blog has been growing for two years.  Each day I add to it and each day it become’s a little more powerful.  So when someone types the words “Christina Massage Envy” into a search engine, my blog will sure enough pop up.  And that’s just what happened – just now, two seconds ago.  Not only did they type the words “Christina Massage Envy” but they also put in the name of the town where we’re located!

I’m freaked out!  FREAKED!  Is this what they call defamation?  Shit.  Shit shit shit.

I didn’t write anything false.  I mean, I did make my job look pretty bad on a published website which can technically be labeled an act of defamation.  Shit!

Christina was quiet today.  She ignored me completely.  Yesterday she was fine, chatty and upbeat, but today – oh good lord this isn’t good.  She didn’t look at me once.  She must have read my letter of resignation – which was not falsified – all of it was true.  But did someone tell her about my blog?  A few of my coworkers have kept up with reading it, but were they talking about it and Christina overheard?  SHIT!

The very least punishment I can get for this is for them to fire me, but can they take me to court?  Will I be fined?  No, no that’s silly.  I’m over-thinking this.  Can I just say that I was suffering from temporary insanity when I wrote that?  And that post was heated up and dramatized for entertainment purposes.  I mean, I didn’t include anyone’s last name, or the town that I work in, so it would be an incomplete act of defamation.

Besides all that, I don’t want to hurt Christina!  I seriously don’t!  She’s not a bad person and I’m sure she means well.  She just caught me on a bad day is all.

The morning of the day I decided to quit, I had a dream.  I wasn’t planning to quit anytime soon – I was enjoying my job for the most part, but that morning I had a horrible dream that M E was testing drugs on me.  They were using employee’s as lab rats for experimental treatments.  It was a really bad dream – totally unprecedented.  One of my coworkers, Bob, who is honestly one of the sweetest people you can ever meet, told me in my dream that I should quit before it’s too late.  And so I did.  I quit in my dream.  As I was walking out of the massage clinic, I hoped that I made the right decision.  It felt right, but I was still sad.  Then I woke up and was so relieved to find it was all just a horrible dream.

“Oh thank god!  I can’t afford to quit now!”  But then I remembered about my stupid ability to foresee future events.  Many powerful dreams like that end up coming true for me.  It’s a crappy ability, trust me.

“Oh shit.  I’m either going to get fired or quit today.  But why?  How? On what basis does this make any sense?”

By the end of the day, it made perfect sense.  My dream, as usual, gave me a glimpse of what’s to come.  Stupid ESP I hate it!

I need a beer.  I have one left.

Holding down a steady blog for two years gives it weight and power.  I’m not just writing for my own entertainment anymore.  I’m no longer scribbling my life into a notebook like I did for the fourteen years prior, no.  People are actually reading this shit.

Freedom of speech baby yeah!  I also have Article 19 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights on my side.

But even if nothing happens to me, no criminal charges filed……I’m genuinely sorry if she did read that post – it wasn’t meant for her to see.  I can be angry at someone one day, and love them the next.  My ability to undergo radical forgiveness of other’s is so profound that it reaches the farthest depths of my humanity.  I forgive and I love, it’s what I do.  No matter what the circumstance.

Shit.  What if she comes after me?  What if she puts a bomb in my car?  No.  That’s not going to happen.

I can’t wait to leave the country.  Me and my big oaf of a mouth.

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Image via Wikipedia

I quit my job yesterday. Quitting a job, to me, is like breaking a heart. You feel bad, but you know it’s for the best. But making people feel bad is one of my anxiety triggers.  So I was a nervous wreck driving to work knowing I was going there to quit. Anxiety riddled adrenaline was coursing thru my veins.

I arrived at work. Linda and her daughter both sat working the front desk.

Linda – “Hey Melanie what’s new?”

Me – “Oh, nothing much. Just the same old stuff.”

Linda – “Just the same old stuff, eh?”

Me – “Well, there is one new thing…….”

I had the attention of Linda and her daughter. I pause to create a suspenseful dramatic effect, and then the words, “I quit” smoothly snaked out of my mouth.

Silence taken the place of my dramatic pause until Kaitlin, Linda’s daughter, burst’s out laughing. She’s one of those people that laugh at everything I say. I can’t even quit my job without making people laugh. She helped to lessen the blow.

I gave them my resignation letter.

Linda read the first bullet point on my letter (the one about Jeff wanting to fire me) and she was shocked. She stopped reading and looked up to me from her glasses.

Linda – “Are you serious?”

Me – “Yeah.”

That’s when I sauntered away to make my exit. The bomb was dropped, I now must flee.

But it didn’t end there. She kept asking me if I was sure. If I wasn’t sure, she could address most of the problems in my letter and fix them, but my mind was made up. She apologized for the way Christina made me feel. It was wrong.

And so here marks yet another job I’m retiring from.  I shall add it to my list.

Damon’s – Cheshire, CT

Rossini’s pizza – Cheshire, CT

Pasta Plus – Cheshire, CT

J. Timothy’s – Plainville, CT

Cadillac Ranch – Plainville, CT

Yankee Silversmith – Wallingford, CT

Scoozie Trattoria and wine bar – New Haven, CT

East side – New Britain, CT

Paul’s – Cheshire, CT

The Oakdale

Café on the park (New Britain museum of American Art) – New Britain, CT

Westbrook – Wallingford, CT

Ruby Tuesday

The Aquaturf

Some bar I forgot the name of

Stop & Shop

Mcdonalds

Cheshire convalescent center

Bloomingdales by mail

The Dress Barn

Prudential real estate (I tried selling houses)

A lesbian owned and operated landscaping company

I made cold calls selling security alarms for one day

Lavender fields day spa

The spa near my house (I still work there unless I crap things up there too)

Massage Envy

There could be more, but I can’t remember.  I believe I’m a well-rounded person for experiencing all these jobs.  Either that or I have a poor work ethic and I just don’t like doing it.  Well rounded my ass!  My ass isn’t even well rounded.

I’m sitting in Starbucks. It might just be the very last time visiting this place. Even the people working here are all new. Everything is changing. I hate change.

My eye’s want to close.

I had to go to the DMV yesterday morning before work. It was a mob scene. They recently changed their hours to open at 9 am instead of 8, so it was extra packed.

I sat there for maybe two hours?  I played all ten of my games of Words With Friends and taken a picture of a womans butt crack.

And being the asshole that I am, posted it to Facebook with the title, “I spotted crack at the DMV!”

Finally it was my turn.  My number was A033.  I bolted up there as soon as it was called.  The woman at the counter collected and photocopied my info and seconds later my name was called for my photo to be taken.

Me – “Oh, that’s me.”

Woman at the counter shouts over – “Hold on I’m still processing her!”

I wore my best sweater for my new driver’s license picture.  It’s an orange cashmere sweater that I bought for half price at Marshalls years ago.

After the woman handed me back my stuff, I scurried over to stand in front of the big blue background and have the burly Santa Clause look-a-like photographer tell me to look with both eyes into the camera.

“Oh no, I have no time to take my jacket off so I can showcase my orange sweater!  No time to smooth down my hair?”  I was holding all my paper work, so I couldn’t smooth out anything.  “He wants me to look into the camera with both eyes?  What if I had a wandering eye?  What if I was a pirate?”

All these things pilfering through my mind.  “What’s he doing?  I should smile.”  I flashed my sparkly pearly whites.  The grandest most sincerest smile I could muster out for Santa.  And this is what he took of me:

I have a history of perfect license photo’s.  I’m always smiling, always vibrant and youthful, but in this case, no.  I look old and bloated.  Well, I guess it’s not that bad, but oh well.  It’s payback for facebooking that womans crack.  In the words of Juvenile:

Girl, you looks good, won’t you crack that ass up

You’se a fine motherfucker, won’t you crack that ass up

Call me big daddy when you crack that ass up

Hoe, who is you playing with, crack that ass up

I was blogo-philed in my comments the other day.  Take the word pedophile, except  instead of molesting children, you molest blog posts.

He wrote:

pls dont approve this comment. just wanted to  let you know that you missed something. Though you posted a picture to show that, you did not mention that you are hairy.

btw i would love to read more about your client crush. he sounds very funny, so do you.  >>> Okay, so I’m not exactly sure how to respond to his last message.  If you have any idea’s let me know! == If i were you, i would ask him to prove how good he was at bed.

It’s not a horrible comment.  I don’t feel that molested.  But is it my eyebrows that make me look hairy?  How can he tell I’m hairy?  I give my face a good plucking every few days.

Hrrmmm…..What else is there to write about?

One of my co-workers left me a comment on my blog saying that I’m awesome, but then told me not to approve the comment.  Soooo…..thanks?  I have to write about getting a comment saying that I’m awesome.  It is something that border-line narcissist’s like to hear and share.  I am awesome.  I am awesome.  Yes I am awesome!  Muahahaha.  Too awesome for my own good.  Too awesome for Massage Envy and all those other jobs.  Muahahaha.

……….

I gotta pee.

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Yeah people don’t you know the only reason to come here for a massage is to buy one of our overpriced add-on’s so we can line our pockets?!
It means big money for us! Muahahahh.

I liked being alone when I was little, but I never was. There were always people around watching over me, hovering above me, wondering what I was up to. “When I grow up”, I thought to myself, “I want to be alone and think. Just sit and think until I understand.” I was a weird kid, but I actually had this desire. I was really little too, like maybe seven? I couldn’t understand why people talked so much and why they were always angry or sad. I just wanted to understand, but I felt I had to get away from all the noise first, to be able to do it.

This yearning to be alone followed me all the way into my twenties. “Just for a little while,” I thought, “just enough time for me to clear my head and understand better.”

I had an experience when I was a kid. I may have written about it already, but my head is so foggy tonight that I can’t remember.

I was talking to my Dad. I was about 6 or 7 years old. We were talking about the universe and how it all started.

Me – “What was here before the universe?”

Pop – “Nothing was here.”

Me – “Was it just blackness?”

Pop – “There was no blackness. Blackness didn’t exist yet. There was nothing.”

That’s when I experienced my first zen moment. My mind became quiet, clear, still. It became blank and empty. It was the feeling you get when listening to an empty conch shell. Well, almost that feeling.

A split second later, I was back to reality. I had no idea what just happened – had no name or knowledge of it, but I knew I had experienced something, just no idea what. I tried to do it again. I called it “blankness,” and I could only obtain the “blankness” if I thought about the blankness before the universe started. I was able to control it. I was able to go in and out of Zen.

Are these two things normal for a kid to experience?

I had another zen moment a few weeks ago. I hadn’t had one in maybe 10 years.

What brought on this zen moment were thoughts about energy. The fact that it can never be created or destroyed, only change form. I thought about the time before the universe began – the timeless blankness – and wondered that because energy could never be created or destroyed, than it must have always been here, but since nothing existed before the universe, energy had no form to take. If it had no form, than what was it? If it had no purpose, no place to go, what form was it in? Does matter make energy, or does energy make matter?

This type of unanswerable question is called a Koan. It can’t be figured out or understood using rational thought, but can be intuitively felt and realized. It’s something that can’t be described (though, you can try), only felt. And it induces a state of meditation. Zen Buddhists use Koan’s as a way to obtain enlightenment. It is possible to find an answer to a koan, but the answer is only true if it’s a personal realization and not a rationalized one.

With all that said, I’m pretty sure I was a Zen Buddhist in a previous life. I mean seriously! I read that the Dalai Lama has no tolerance for insincere people – and neither do I! And I intuitively sense when I meet an inauthentic human being. I’m not sure tolerance is the right word. Maybe no patience, or no time to be wasted by conversing with them.

I also get an insane amount of anxiety when I feel that I’ve hurt someone. Whether they are genuine or not, I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to hurt Christina for being how she is. You can’t make a person understand by hurting them, it’s just a cycle of anger and sadness. I would hurt her, and she hurts me back. Nothing is gained.

I’m going through a rough time. It’s not just because I want to quit my job at a time when I could really use the money (for Nepal), It doesn’t have anything to do with Christina or the man-baby. It has to do with my Mother. I still haven’t told her about Nepal and it’s tearing me up inside. I feel I’m being dishonest with her – this dishonesty is throwing me off balance. My guilt is wreaking havoc on me. I want to cry. I want to stay home just to appease her, but I know that’s the wrong thing to do. It’s the wrong thing for both of us. I’m hurting my Mother without her knowing I’m hurting her.

I’ll no doubt still lie to her about buying a resort package with a guided tour of Nepal. I have to lie. But it make me feel worse by telling her nothing at all. In this situation, I rationalize, that by me lying to her, I’m only hurting myself with guilt – but by telling her the truth, I’m relieving my guilt, and hurting her instead. Telling the truth to a person who will never understand, is hurtful. However, telling the truth to someone who would understand, is the liberating, respectable thing to do. Well, in this situation at least. Shit, I’m rambling.

But by lying to her, I’m secretly conveying the message that she’s incapable of changing herself or understanding. That she will always be a control freak and not expect much else out of her. This is a paradox. Did I just create another Koan?

I guess the best thing to do in this case is compromise. To grow by gaining small levels of understanding at a time. I’ll tell her I’m touring Nepal, but with a large group of tourists. She’ll become enlightened in increments.

I’m PMS’ing. This type of thought ALWAYS happens to me when I’m PMS’ing. I hate it. Absolutely hate it. Okay, so I was a Zen buddhist in a past life – whatever you say menstrual Mel!

I bought a book about meditation. This is the book:

This guy’s meditation technique is that there is no technique, no effort. It just simply is was it is.

I mix a little of my own technique with his no effort/no control way, and it seriously works. It works to quiet and untangle my brain.

When I meditate to find “quietness,” I feel a physical barrier. A wall. This “wall” feels like a fist that tightens the closer I come to it. It’s stifling, claustrophobic and has the same kind of pressure that you may feel from a headache, only it doesn’t hurt.

My technique to this fist in my head is to approach it lightheartedly without effort, and to visualize it tightening and then loosening. It doesn’t lose the shape of a fist when it loosens, but every time I squeeze it and release it, it’s able to relax slightly more after each pass. I tighten and loosen, tighten and it loosens some more. I do it to the rhythm of my breath. As I inhale, the fist tightens and on the exhale, loosens. And that impenetrable wall and pressure dissipates. It’s left open and free for idea’s to float in.

Of course as soon as I figured this out, I had to jump on my blog to write about it. My mind is a fist once again. I need to learn how to let go. That’s what it is with me. I have trouble letting go. It’s hard to let go of something when you don’t know what it is. I’m guessing it’s fear, or doubt maybe? I don’t know.

Am I done yet? Hmmm, I think so. Sorry for the weird post.

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