Yeowch.

Hello, O The Internet! It's time for another one of Platypus's Intermittent Blog Posts. I've been doing insane amounts of knitting lately, which is part of the reason I have completely neglected to update the blog. Also, not much of interest had been happening.

Things got very interesting on Monday morning, however. I woke up with absolutely excruciating abdominal pain, so Mr. Platypus and I trundled off to the emergency room. The docs poked and prodded and did an ultrasound, and then informed me that the ultrasound images looked rather...not good. My peritoneal cavity was filled with fluid, and there appeared to be a fairly large mass on each ovary. The "cancer" word was tossed about as a possible diagnosis. As I'm sure you can imagine, I just about shat bricks at the thought of having ovarian cancer. SCARY STUFF.

Anyway, the good doctors did a CT scan of my abdomen and discovered that no, I did not actually have a mass on each ovary and that the fluid in my peritoneal cavity was blood. (Apparently, in situations like this, seeing blood in the peritoneal cavity is an indication of fixable things rather than being an indication of cancer.) Turns out that I'd had a hemorrhagic cyst on my left ovary that went "pop" just like a giant zit of painful doom. At that point, they booked me for an emergency laparoscopic surgery to cauterize it and clear the blood out of my abdomen. Everything went well during surgery, and I am healing up nicely.

It was a frightening experience, though. I'd never had surgery before, and I felt a little bit spooked when the anesthesiologist came by to give me the speech about the risks of anesthesia and surgery in general. I think I was still reeling from the hour or so I'd spent telling myself "you don't have cancer, but if you do, here's what we're gonna do about it". The doctors and nurses were all absolutely wonderful about explaining everything to me, answering my questions, and holding both mine and Mr. Platypus's hands when we needed it. I had to laugh when the doctor heading up my case came by my hospital room day before yesterday to confirm that all my labs were normal and that I appeared to be doing really well...she did a little happy dance and everything. (She is seriously made of Teh Awesome.) They sent me home Tuesday afternoon, and I have since been alternating rest with carefully planned bouts of walking about to encourage my body to go back to its normal routines.

Plus, I have TEH GOOD DRUGS. Yaaay! The nurses told me that I should take one of the Percocet at the first sign of pain, since people heal more slowly if they're hurting than they do when they feel good. I've been saving those for when I really really hurt, though...if good ol' Naproxen will do the trick, that's what I'll take.

In other news, I picked up a copy of Morgan Llewellyn's book Red Branch at our local library yesterday...Red Branch had been one of my absolute favorite books when I lent my copy to a then-boyfriend years ago. (The lousy bastard absconded with my book. I KEEL HEEM!) It was wonderful to stumble across an old friend on the shelves, especially right now when I'm still feeling a bit of a need to stay well within my comfort zone. If you're into Irish mythology or sword-and-sorcery-type tales, go buy this book. It's a wonderful re-imagining of the Cuchulainn myths, and I'm absolutely positive you'll love it.

Today's planned adventures include a visit to the optometrist so's I can get new
eyeballs glasses and picking a headshrinker from the list of psychiatrists in my health insurance coverage plan book. Having health insurance again after so long without it is really weird! It's a relief, though...I shudder to think of how far my little ovarian escapade on Monday would have put us into the financial hole (that we're already in) without the insurance. Anyway, I will also probably finish the first sock in the pair of socks I'm knitting for myself, and then I will bake a layer cake (vanilla cake with strawberry preserves spread between the layers, then iced in chocolate) to take to my knitting group meeting tonight. I also plan to spend a good portion of my day giving affection and cuddlin's to Mr. Platypus.

So, Internet O My Internet, what mischief are you up to today?

Gummy bear vitamins give me super powers!

...or something, 'cause I have been feeling mad crazy awesome for the past two days and it looks like that's going to continue today.

Who knew that daily exercise and eating healthy stuff could make me feel all happy and hyper? Srsly! I did my upper-body workout yesterday (mostly at work), as well as doing my core exercises. Did three sets of push-ups! WOO. I hate push-ups with the burning passion of a thousand fiery suns. Have I mentioned that? Unfortunately, they are a necessary part of my plan to make myself all HAWTNESS by the time May rolls around.

By the way, I am managing to turn into a Bridezilla despite the utter lack of necessity for doing so. I am about to smack myself in the head with something large and heavy to see if that keeps this whole wedding madness shit from eating my brain completely. Exercising seems to distract me from the whole thing very well, so that's a bonus. I should also get back to that whole doing-algebra-every-day thing.

I had more to babble about, but then I saw something shiny and forgot it.

boingy boingy boingy!

So, yeah, Platypus the Genius managed to forget that today is Martin Luther King Jr. Day. I got up early so I could call the health insurance place and didn't realize what was going on until I got the automated voice saying "(Office) is closed for the holiday". Of course this did not happen until I'd had about half my first cup of coffee, and so I am now far too hyped up to go back to sleep. Ergo, I harass and befuddle you, O Internetz!

I know you've missed me, right? I've been really locked up in my own head for the past (few) months, which makes it hard to think of anything to babble nonsensically about to the world in general. However, I seem to have managed to wade through whatever mental jello it was slowing me down...now I am back to my old spastic, verbose, easily-entertained self. Woohoo!

Anyway, Big Doings in the World of the Platypus have included setting a date for that whole gettin' married thing (May 19th, if you're curious); listening to Eve 6 and Barenaked Ladies semi-obsessively (not that this is anything new); increasing my daily amount of exercise (because I want to be all sexalicious with my bad self on my weddin' day, natch); and writing stupidly long sentences (yes, I do this in my pen-and-paper journal too). Mr. Platypus had a job interview with Big Important Research Hospital a week ago, and now we're frantically hoping that they'll call him back. (Would have been nice if they'd done so like, four days ago, but so it goes.) That whole Mr.-Platypus's-Job-Search thing is kind of on a mental back burner for me right now, so I think that's all I'll say on that subject.

I just know you're all eagerly awaiting the details on the Wedding Plans of Scary Doom, so I shall fill you in. We are having a very small (one might almost say microscopic) ceremony in a park that has a gazebo. Hopefully, my friend/coworker who happens to be an ordained minister will be able to officiate for us; that will both save me some money and make the ceremony more meaningful. My best friend will be there to take pictures and sign as a witness. That's gonna be it as far as attendees, unless a random raccoon or other small animal happens to be sitting in the gazebo whilst we're exchanging vows. Afterwards, we are going to go out for lunch or for dinner together; I just have to figure out what restaurant we're going to choose. It'll probably be an afternoon ceremony, 'cause none of the four of us are really morning people. As far as dress, rings, and all that sort of thing, I've got that pretty much sorted. I've had the dress for about two years now; it's a lime green cotton halter-top sundress that looks all pretty. (I just have to dye it a slightly darker shade of green so it's not translucent, although people being able to clearly see my undies while I'm getting hitched would be HAWT.) We're going with simple tungsten carbide rings, and I'm not bothering with flowers.

The tl;dr version of that paragraph is that I'm having an itsy-bitsy inexpensive wedding because I am just awesome like that.

Anyway. No especially entertaining client stories, although at one point during the past few months, I did have a client I found very thought-provoking. This teenager came in for a massage, and at first came across as one of those cocky little asshats who needs a big ol' slap with the Reality Stick. During the massage, they started to open up a little bit...turns out that they're getting ready to go off to Florida for college, that they've only been that far from Massachusetts once (when they were three), and that they're going through a really tough time right now. They come from a hyper-religious family, and they're starting to question all the stuff that's been shoved down their throat as fact for the past 18 years...which is a bitch of a position to be in even when you're not about to take that big scary leap of jumping out of the nest.

I remember how alone I felt when I started questioning the faith in which my parents attempted to raise me...that SUCKED. For serious. Fortunately, a lot of my friends were going through the same general sort of stage at the time, so we kind of leaned on one another and found a "life raft" to cling to in the form of paganism. Kind of replacing one drug with another, I suppose. Anyway, it wasn't until maybe three years ago or so that I started becoming disenchanted with that whole "woo, lookit me, I'm a fancy witch!" schtick...and that opened up a whole other can of worms for me. I'd been kind of dancing around the edges of sitting down and trying to logically think out the whole dilemma, but that was the point where I started realizing that it doesn't really make sense for there to be some sort of god figure out there. Long story short, becoming an atheist was definitely a long, drawn-out process for me with a lot of tangents and dead-ends along the way; that made it a lot easier for me to empathize with Kid Who Turned Out Not To Be Arrogant.

I was able to send them out the door with a short list of books to read that I thought might help them realize that there's a world of options out there as far as belief structures go, as well as the reassurance that they aren't alone. I hope it helped. I've had them on my mind a lot lately, just wondering how they're doing and wishing I could somehow do more to be of assistance. I figure that suggesting The God Delusion (Richard Dawkins for the win!), The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark (Carl Sagan), and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (I miss you, Douglas Adams) should hopefully have given the kid a bit more of a "toolbox" with which to tackle the issue, so to speak.

Anyway, now it's breakfast time. To the kitchen!

blurgh

So I totally had this brilliant post all figured out while I was at work, and then I got home and had food and now my brainmeatz are teh dead.

Stupid brain.

Anyway...

nom nom nom pie

So, knitting group was fun. I was totally the only person wearing a Ridiculous Hat, but that's okay. I fully expect that the trend will take off like gangbusters in a matter of weeks.

Additionally, the sweet potato pie I made was a big hit. I am the Queen of Pie the past couple days...sheperds' pie, then apple pie, then sweet 'tato. Next thing I know, I'm gonna morph into Martha Stewart or some crap.

Okay, yeah, probably not so much. I haven't got the faintest idea about interior decorating.

Off to go watch another Desperate Housewives episode while I knit.

Thursday Is Ridiculous Hat Day.

Yes, it is official.

Thursdays are now the Platypus-Appointed Day For The Wearing Of Ridiculous Hats.

I will be doing my bit by wearing my top hat to Knitting Group tonight.

Hilarity will no doubt abound. I shall update you on this later tonight when I get home.

SHE LIVES.

Holy crapmonkeys, it's been a month since I posted anything? Guh. I so massively fail at life for my shameful neglect of you, O INTERNETZ THAT I ADORE SO MUCH.

Let's see, what amazingly entertaining shenanigans have been going on in the Life of the Platypus lately? Um...oh em gee, this totally calls for bullet points!

• I have been been on a knitting bender LIKE WHOA. I thought it would be a Super Cool Awesomely Brilliant idea to try to knit giftymas presents for the in-laws (because there's only four of them; there's eleventy-kazillion people in my family so knitting presents for all of them is right out), but I now realize that this is about as likely as me suddenly becoming President of the World and having a movie deal in the works where Mr. Platypus is played by Johnny Depp or Nathan Fillion and hel-LO, would that not be AWESOME? You need to get right on that, Hollywood! Oh, wait, where was I going with this? Uh...


• I had two interviews for a sooper-dooper new job at a Mad Crazy Fancy Spa. I did not get hired at said Mad Crazy Fancy Spa. Strangely, this bothers me not at all. I think I would implode from sheer boredom if I had to do nothing but relaxation-oriented massage all day. I like fixin' busted muscles, yo. It's my thing; it's what I do.


• I have gotten exactly nothing accomplished towards the whole Going Back To School endeavor. I did, however, begin considering whether I wanna just lose my mind and double-major in Biology and Human Health/Rehab for the bachelor's degree bit of it. Ponder, ponder, ponder.


• I now weigh the same as I did in high school! NONE OF MY PANTS FIT AND THIS IS AWESOME. No, for serious. I adore the fact that all of my pants are baggy as hell and I'm no longer Rocking The Sexy in them. Because honestly, I'm all slender and sexalicious with my bad self. Oh, Reverse Crunch Extensions. You and I are bee-eff-effs FOR LIFE. Okay, I'm done gloating. For now. No, come to think of it, I'm probably not done.
  


• I managed not to beat Crazy Mommy-Dearest-In-Law over the head with a pepper grinder during Thanksgiving dinner! Probably because we had dinner in a restaurant, and I didn't want to Cause A Scene, but yanno, whatevs. Point remains that I didn't maim her (despite ample provocation, let me tell you. That woman, she is the crazy.).

Other than that (and really, let's be truthful here and ignore my silly-ass list), a whole lotta nothing has been going on. I made an apple pie tonight! Whee!

For the record, you guys should totally go watch Mega-Shark vs. Giant Octopus. Debbie Gibson trying to pretend to be a marine biologist? HILARITY ENSUES.

I am way too fond of my caps lock key.

Hmm.

I suppose that I should not be so irritated about the dreadful tips yesterday...after all, we wound up fully booked, and I do get paid per massage I perform. Still, yesterday was pretty seriously sucktastic.

Y'see, the Big Boss in their infinite wisdom decided that they were going to send out an email coupon telling folks that they could get their 55-minute massage for some ridiculously low price (I believe it was fifty bucks) and their 80-minute massage for some other ridiculously low price (I think it was eighty bucks) on Oct 31. and Nov. 1 only. Naturally, the clients took advantage of this; who wouldn't? I therefore wound up with five 55-minute sessions yesterday.

Ordinarily, I would have been pretty darn thrilled about that. After all, staying busy makes time seem to pass faster, and I do like the chance to make several good tips. I was not very thrilled, though, when all but one client tipped fifteen percent based on the discounted price rather than the regular price. (One client tipped me five dollars. I felt insulted, because I'd really tried to deliver the best massage that I could. It felt like they were telling me that my time and skills are neither important nor valued. Sigh.)

I realize that I'm being a whiny little twerp right now. I realize that people don't necessarily think about tipping us therapists (despite the friendly little "for your convenience, here is a chart listing 15% of the massage price, 20% of the massage price, etc" signs in every massage room and at the front desk. Oh, and the discreet little tip envelopes.). I just feel like four out of my five clients yesterday were trying to tell me that they think that my skills and training are a joke.

One of the ten-dollar tippers is a regular client who comes in for a massage with their significant other about once a month, and always tips ten bucks. This is after their significant other spends the entire massage being a demanding, whiny pain in the posterior and snarking at me "is Client asleep? They better not be asleep. Are you doing Swedish massage? They like Swedish massage. Don't go too deep with the pressure." while simultaneously yammering at their therapist about how they are such a Special Snowflake who deserves Top-Drawer Treatment. Client, for some reason known only to them, never tells Significant Other to shush. It drives me absolutely bugpoop crazy, so much so that I was in tears last night after they left. Today, I shall talk to my boss about whether I would be permitted to "fire" this client from booking appointments with me. It's unprofessional of me, but my annoyance at Significant Other's shenanigans and Client's inability to understand that tipping is important has affected my ability to give Client a good massage. I don't want Client to pay for a massage that isn't excellent quality, because I'm sure they work hard for their money, and I'd hate to see them waste it.

Anyway. Yeah. Yesterday sucked. I have no clients booked today, and I'm working an eight hour shift. If nothing else, I will be able to study some algebra, do some crocheting, and ponder the mysteries of the universe. Whee!

we meet again.

So that you may all enjoy the Cheesecake of Ungodly Goodness, I give you this link:
your new raison d'etre

Follow the suggestions given in the first comment down, and your cheesecake will turn out eleventy-seven different kinds of awesome. (I vote for using 'nilla wafers for the crust, rather than graham crackers, but that's because I hate graham crackers.)

So anyway, I have a new obsession! I learned to crochet granny squares last night, and now I am making an afghan out of them. I literally spent like six hours crocheting. It was kind of hilarious. I get like this when I have a new project, though...it becomes almost all I can think about until the "new" wears off, and then it goes back to just being more interesting than the rest of my mental dreck instead of the SHINY NEW THING of the moment.

Wow, that was a long sentence.

Anyway, I have big plans for crocheting myself things like fingerless gloves to keep my hands warm whilst typing, several afghans, perhaps some baby blankets for the friends of mine who have crotchfruit, et cetera and so forth. Enormous amounts of fun will be had. By me. I don't know anyone who would find it all that entertaining to watch me crochet, so I'm thinking I'm most likely the only one who's going to be all that entertained.

You haven't missed any entrancing stories about clients lately, mostly because they've either not been inspired to weirdness or I just haven't noticed their weirdness. There's been a lot on my mind, what with this apparently being the Year for Enormous Drama in my family. Can't give you any details on the Enormous Drama, mostly because none of it is my story to tell.

Gasp. Platypus has some kind of ethics? Shocking!

Actually, I'm keeping my mouth shut because I don't want to cause any sort of yucky familial fallout WHY YES, I HAVE ETHICS, HOW KIND OF YOU TO ASK.

I had to take like eleventy-billion hours of ethics classes at school, after all. Can't have massage therapists running about without ethics. That'd be like running about without underpants! Except you can't exactly get pink flowered ethics, but you can get pink flowered underpants. There was a point to this comparison, but I forgot what it was.

And on an entirely unrelated note, you guys should totally go hiking in New Hamster. Because it is all pretty an' stuff.

Back to the tying-knots-in-yarn I go! Whee!

whurbleburbleflurblegurp

Events in PlatypusLand this past week have included:

• spending eight hours in the emergency room to find out that I had a mild UTI, a case of gastroenteritis, and a 2.5 cm cyst on my left ovary; their symptoms had combined to form something that felt like the Kidney Infection from Hell
• going to Nude Hamster (also known as New Hampshire) to hike and buy cheap booze
• going to the library (because I love the library)
• reading a book entitled After Silence: Rape and My Journey Back, by Nancy Venable Raines
• receiving three or four emails from the admissions department at B.U.; apparently they are desperate for me and my parents (because, y'know, I totally am bringing them along, fact that they live about a thousand miles away notwithstanding) to attend one of their open houses (which are all during my work times)
• and making Mr. Platypus's Favorite Cheesecake of Awesome Tasty Doom.
  

The time in the E.R. was not especially happy fun-ness. I spent most of it catnapping, since they gave me Dilaudid for the pain I was in. Whooboy, that stuff does not mess around!

The book has been a difficult read for me thus far...it's beautifully written, and I admire the author's courage in coming foward with her story. It's just that the subject matter is...challenging, shall we say. Reminds me of the hours I've yet to spend talking to a therapist. Have I mentioned that I hate talking about unpleasant things? Shocking, I know, considering how much I complain.

As far as the cheesecake goes...it is totally worth the 450 calories per slice. It's all almondy-amaretto-y-smooth-melty-goodness. If it were a man, I'd run away with it to a Caribbean island. Except that might make me a cannibal, because let's face it: if there's a man made of cheesecake out there somewhere, he probably deserves to be eaten. I mean, srsly. It's cheesecake. It's almost better than sex.

Come to think of it, perhaps I should post the recipe sometime. Y'all let me know if you're interested.

I don't really have much else to say right now...gonna go fight with my unruly hair because for some reason it is absolutely crucial to me that I have it in French-braided pigtails right now.

I mean, what's not to love?

Excitement and apprehension!

So, this is going to be my next big endeavor.

Assuming I can get my G.E.D.-earning, flunking-out-of-community-college, deranged-massage-therapist ass into Boston University after slamming through a few prereq courses at one of the community colleges.

I sent off for admissions info today, and I find it amusing that I'm already wibbling about "oh em gee, what if they laugh in my face, what will I DOOOOO?" Let's just say that I am very good at talking myself out of taking risks once I take steps towards actually taking them...did that sentence make sense? Yeah. Anyway.

All the woo and wackadoo behavior I keep seeing within the massage industry has me pretty much soured on staying in it for the long haul, which is kind of depressing when you consider that I only graduated from massage school last December. Don't get me wrong. I love my job. I love helping people feel more comfortable in their own bodies, both mentally and physically. I do not, however, love all the nonsense about reflexology, acupuncture, and whatnot that people seem so much more prone to buying into when they're involved with massage in some way. I do not love the ridiculous assertions that poking someone in a particular spot on their foot will cure their thyroid issues, or that jabbing a needle into a supposed "chi point" will "correct" the "imbalances" causing a person's health issues.

Really, I'm working in the wrong field, and I'm fully cognizant of that. I'm not going to try to paint myself as some kind of uber-skeptic or some such...I do my best to think rationally and carefully research new topics in healthcare, and I do my best to consider things from a fair and balanced standpoint. I'm only human, however; I know that there are things I buy into that are complete stuff-and-nonsense. On the other hand, when I'm in a field packed with people who think that all this alt-med bullshit is actually worthwhile, I start to feel like the lone thinker in a sea of crazy.

Bluh. I can't maintain a coherent train of thought right now.

days like this...

...I'm glad I work in a low-pressure field.

See, ol' Platypus has some kind of wonky thing going on with her brainmeats in which she is prone to random sudden mood swings and copious amounts of causeless anxiety. Panic attacks are fun!

Today is going to be another very rough day, mood-wise. I can feel "the crazy" lurking just under the surface of my mind, much like river water under black ice. I get this feeling like if I can just keep moving fast enough, I can stay ahead of the breaking "ice" just enough to keep from drowning.

It isn't much fun, and I really dislike it.

So, here I am whining about it, because that is clearly the most effective solution to the problem! Bluh. Time for me to slug back a teaspoon of concrete with my whine and harden the fuck up already.

Anyway, O Innarwebz Of Bliss, how fare you this lovely partly-cloudy day?

What the hell?

So, Gentle Reader whom I adore and worship (oh, but honey, please re-think the plaid pants; you look so much better in the khaki corduroys), I believe that I promised you the Wonderful Tale of Pervy Pervyson, did I not?

Never let it be said that the Platypus does not keep her promises.

Unless it involves promising not to drink everything in the liquor cabinet, because seriously? You should know me better than that. I see booze, I drink it. That's how it works.

Anyway, so onward to the interesting part (unless you're absolutely dying to know what my favorite drink is at the moment).

(The answer is yes.)

Way back not so far in the not so misty reaches of time, I had this client who was a Weird Guy. Yes, I know, I get a lot of Weird Guys (and Gals, because honestly, people are just weird). This guy was...how shall I put this? Special. Yeah.

He comes in for his massage, and I'm pleased to see that he's very polite...shows up on time, answers my questions with a minimum of fuss, so on and so forth. I'm thinkin', "whee, this'll be easy". You'd think I'd know better than to assume such things, but that is not the point. Anyway, so things progress pretty much as expected when I'm working on his arms, neck, and shoulders. He's pretty quiet and laid-back; I'm assuming that he's napping as I do my thing and proceed onward to his ankles.

Well, may the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch explode in my face if I lie, but the minute I touched his ankles, it was like he'd shoved a damn colony of gerbils into a tube sock and then stuffed it into his Jockey shorts. There was all KINDS of happy-peenor-twitching going on! Of course, this necessitated a raised eyebrow and a mental "what the fucking fucker fuck?" from me, but ol' Pervy Pervyson remained a gentleman...y'know, aside from the Dancing Penis of Weirdness. I continued doing the massage as per standard operating procedure, figuring that if he said or did anything even the least bit inappropriate, I would be outta there in a flash (after seriously considering punching him in the nadgers). Pervy kept his hands by his sides and said nary a word as I completed work on the fronts of his legs (with extra-deep tissue work on his quads and IT bands, since extra pressure in sensitive areas like that tends to take the mickey right out of an...unruly male client, most of the time). When he was face-down, there was no heavy breathing or other shenanigans. I figured it was a fluke and chalked it up to the vagaries of the human nervous system.

So, I finish the massage, run through my usual list of recommendations, and tell Pervy that I'll be out in the hall with a bottle of water for him when he's ready to head out the door. He took about ten minutes to get up off the table, get dressed, and show his face...I thought, "whatever, he's probably fallen asleep, no worries".

Yes, Gentle Reader, I can hear you face-palming from here.

Anyway, Pervy comes bouncing out of the massage room all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (as well he might), hands me a $30 tip (which is about double the norm), and raves about how wonderful the massage was and how he's definitely going to re-book with me. I'm feeling all pleased with myself as I trundle into the linens room to grab a fresh set of sheets for the massage table. I took a few minutes to scribble down some notes on ol' Pervy, as I do with every client, then proceeded into the massage room to do a quick sheet change.

You know that smell, don't you, Gentle Reader? The post-coital smell that, if you've just gotten done with one of those rousing sack sessions where you swear that you had an out of body experience, is not really all that objectionable? (Assuming, that is, that said sack session was the sort involving a male of the species and that equal amounts of fun were had by all concerned.) It's pretty unmistakable.

Yeah. That smell was what slapped me in the face like a ton of dirty, diseased bricks when I opened the door.

So of course I had to run up to the desk and grab my usual partner in crime our hapless receptionist, Jane, and get her to confirm what I already knew. The joy just wouldn't be complete if I didn't share it, right?

"Oh. My. Gawd. He did not flog the dolphin in there, did he? Ew. Ew. What the hell? I'll go get the bleach. Ewwww. Who the hell whacks off after a massage? Ew ew ew ew EW."

Yeah, we had about the same reaction. Pervy had, shall we say, opted for some manual release of tension of his own. He at least had the decency to clean up after himself and chuck the used towels in the laundry bin, but still. Who the hell does such a thing? The doors to the massage rooms do not lock! It wouldn't have bothered me if he'd done that in the bathroom, but in the massage room, where I could have walked in on him at any time? Yuck.

Of course, I did make a note of this in his file on the computer at work. Because, y'know, it's important for the other therapists to be aware of his...predilections.

Sigh. All of our clients are special people. Some of them are more special than others. At least he tipped well!

Don't lie to me. Seriously.

So I had this one client today...new client, seemed like a decent individual, wanted a light-pressure massage geared towards relaxation. Easy peasy, right?

After the massage, she raved about how relaxed she felt and how wonderful it was, and made a big production over how she was going to leave my tip at the front desk. I smiled and thanked her, then went on about my business.

Worked on my next client (and had this sudden bizarre unexplained fit of rage at everything in the history of ever during said massage), went out to grab me some diet Pepsi (mmm, diet Pepsi), and then checked with the front desk about whether Client A had left a cash tip or had put it on her credit card.

Yeah. She left me nothing.

Not even so much as a "never pet a burning dog".

Hell, if you don't wanna tip, that's your prerogative...but don't effing lie to me about it!

weeda weeda woooo!

Okay, so it's been nearly a month since I posted, which maybe kinda makes me the worstest person ever? Yeah, probably not so much. I haven't had anything of interest to say (or at least nothing that I've considered interesting enough to post).

Also, I've been working my way through a lot of mental yuckiness, and that tends to be rather draining. Feelings suck. I'm not looking forward to talking to a shrink-type person once I get my health insurance situation sorted out, but it's either that or continue to go crazier. And I doubt that I'd be crazier in a fun way, so there goes that idea right out the window.

I kind of think that maybe, if I had some sort of theme or unifying subject to this blog, it would be easier to come up with regular posts. Of course, I then realize that I would thereby be depriving the Innarwebz of my pointless ramblings, which would just suck. Really, how is anyone going to survive without hearing my six-minute dissertation on why tube socks are stupid?

Since having a blog seems to be about telling stories, I shall dig through the ol' mental filing cabinet whilst at work and see what I can scare up to use as subject matter for a longer post. Perhaps I shall tell you about Pervy Pervyson, the guy who enjoyed his massage a little too much. I know how much y'all love stories about idiot massage clients...right?

And if you want to hear a different story, there are scads of other blogs out there deserving of a read or six.

Off to work!

holy froombonglies

I am going to start off by apologizing for my shameful neglect of you, Gentle Reader, over the last few weeks days. Rest assured that you haven't missed out on any especially entertaining shenanigans, unless you really want to hear about horrible cramps of abdomen-shattering death.

You don't? Good.

So, anyway, the Flubbulous Platypus is down to 143 pounds! Hooray and rejoicing! Okay, last night the scale said 146, this morning it said 143 again...what is up with that nonsense? Water weight? Was I exercising in my sleep? Have I stumbled upon a brilliant way to lose weight while snoozing my happy little head off?! (insert hopeful face here)

Somehow, I think Mr. Platypus is correct when he says it has to do with water weight. (Although I hadn't gone to the bathroom in between weigh-ins, so who knows.) Whatever the explanation, the nice low number on the scale this morning kind of mitigates the silly drama of the past two days.

See, I turn into (more of) a complete and utter psycho when Mother Nature brings the monthly horrendous torture gift (oh, how I HATE those commercials!). This usually entails moodiness, crying jags, et cetera and so forth. Apparently, this time around came with the bonus prize of panic attacks. Whoopee! I am so thrilled that I can hardly stand it! I got the joy of spending most of the past two evenings/nights crying my head off and feeling like I was about to implode and explode all at once. Such wonderful fun we are having here, I tell you!

Le sigh. This too shall pass.

Anyway, you need to go to your local library and pick up a copy of Robert Heinlein's The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress right this very minute. For serious. I'll wait.

Are you back now? Good! Because this book? This book is made of 100% professional-grade awesome. Admittedly, I am a) halfway through it, and b) a diehard Heinlein fan. Still and all, it's a good read. Mike, the self-aware computer, is simultaneously hilariously funny and enormously thought-provoking. (Also, he totally makes me wish that my computer could talk and be my friend, because then we would have awesome adventures together. Oh, and we could totally annoy Mr. Platypus by having contests to see who could sing the most annoying song. That would be epic.) (Except that my computer would probably be a crotchety old jerk. Hee hee, I said "crotch". Ahem.) I don't ordinarily go for political novels, but Heinlein showed a very deft hand for making a point without belaboring it.

At any rate, that's going to about do it for my useless yammering until I get back from work. I require another cup of coffee. Vaya con quesadillas!

wharrgarbl!

Wtf? It's September already?

Where has my year gone?

WANT

The adorable little wubbulous kyoot things in the picture above are momongas, or Japanese dwarf flying squirrels. I want the one on the far left to live at my house.

Doesn't he look like an adorable little fuzzy evil genius? I could totally dress him up in a little ninja costume and watch him use his mind-searing rays of cuteness to annihilate all who pissed me off. It would be truly epic.

Especially since there are so many people who piss. me. the. fcuk. off.

Example number 1 is Mr. Florplehead (not his real name, obviously) who comes in for an 80-minute massage all whinge-ing about his TMJ dysfunction and how ohmigawwwd, his neck is so hurttyyy and he's such an impoooorrrrrtant person and blah blah fucking blah. Okay, dude, I get it. You hurt. I am sorry that you are in pain. Will you shut up long enough for me to attempt to do something about it?

What's that? You don't think I'm capable of doing anything to treat chronic muscle tension?

Well, shit. Why'd you even bother coming in, then?

Anyway, long story short, I managed to simultaneously murder my thumbs and beat the crap out of successfully treat a lot of the triggerpoints in the dude's face, neck, and shoulders that were causing him so much pain. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I am not untalented at finding and dealing with triggerpoints. Mr. Florplehead raved about how he felt so much better and how he'd definitely be re-booking an appointment with me in a week and how thoroughly awesome I am, then proceeded on his merry way...

...after handing me a ten-dollar tip like it was the gorram key to the city or some crap.

Well, shit. Don't do me any favors or anything, man. I'd hate for you to strain yourself.

Example number 2: my beloved car ate its water pump. Since this means that Beloved Car will not run without overheating like a crazed wombat in a forest fire, Mr. Platypus (whom I love and adore) has been doing the research of the phoning-around-and-whatnot sort to get estimates on how much it will cost to fix Beloved Car.

I was happy as a clam until some dorktastic buttface place near where Beloved Car is currently languishing said that they could fix it a-okay...for almost nine hundred dollars.

I do not think so, you assbags. I may look like a complete and utter nutjob, but I am not stupid. It is not going to take you six hours to replace a water pump. You get none of my money.

NONE, I SAY.

Example number Q-37: why must there be so many calories in my beloved booze?

Bluh. I am going to go stare at the picture of the kyoot leetle fuzzy things.

day in the life of a ducky

Hello. My name is Xavier Xerxes Quonset XXXII. Since Platypus is so lazy, I was coerced into doing a guest post for her today. Something about a car malfunction and copious amounts of vomiting? I don't know, I wasn't really listening.

Anyway, our day began with me commanding Platypus to get off of her butt and do something productive, since she spends most of her non-working time in front of the computer. I keep telling her that she needs a hobby, to which she replies that she knits and that knitting is a hobby.

I don't think she's quite getting the point.

Also, where in the hell did she find that ugly, ugly plate? I wouldn't serve food off of that plate to someone I hated! I attempted to push it off of her desk while she was in the shower, but it unfortunately didn't break.

Note to self: push the plate out the window next time.

Anyway, the next part of the day involved Platypus's commute to work. I chose to tag along, since there was nothing of interest going on at home.

At least I got to pick the music for the commute...we weren't gonna be having any of that whiny depressing garbage she often listens to, and I certainly wasn't going to pollute my delicate ears with the yackety schmackety on the radio! I chose the Vengaboys "The Party Album!" for our listening pleasure...we were dancing around the car like looneys until the traffic got bad. Apparently, people in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts are too lacking in common sense to use their turn signals nearly as often as they ought to.

Also, the sight of not one but two dingbats careening down the breakdown lane was greeted with much entertaining expletive use from Platypus. It was kind of monotonous, in many senses...that girl really needs to learn some four-letter words other than the one that starts with "f" and rhymes with duck. I'd suggest "quack", but that's five letters.

Anyway, we at least had air conditioning to enjoy, which certainly made the trip more pleasant. I think I would probably have to go on some sort of deranged destructive rampage if I didn't have air conditioning when it gets really hot out.

Oh. Wait. The house isn't actually air conditioned. Crap.

We made it to Platypus's place of employment without anyone dying or even getting maimed, at any rate. I got to chit-chat with the receptionist in her office...the receptionist is a very nice lady. We watched the Food Network on her little tv while Platypus was back in the back doing whatever it is that she does all day.

The receptionist (we'll call her Jane, because I like the name Jane) even let me decide whether or not to have the sound on during commercials and whether or not we should change the channel, which I thought was most gracious of her. It would be nice if I could get the same kind of respect at home...*ahem*.

I must say that I'm glad I don't have to work in front of a laptop all day. I would probably get the most terrible cramps in my shoulders and neck. I suppose that explains why so many of Platypus's regular massage clients work in front of computers.


After Jane and I had hung out and shot the breeze for awhile, Platypus took me back into the back part of the office to let me check out the massage rooms. I'm quite fond of the massage tables, I must say...there's this spiffy electric-blanket-type dealy on the table under those sheets that keeps the table feeling nice and toasty warm. You'd think that having the table all warm when it's hot out would make you feel hotter, but it actually feels really nice during the massage. According to Platypus, the table warmer feels good because your body temperature drops slightly when you're getting a massage...something about increased circulation in the extremities and in the superficial layers of muscle. I was half asleep by that point, because the table was so comfortable. I wanted to just take a nice long nap on the table while Platypus went to do her charting, but she said that she didn't trust me not to do something nefarious.

I'm almost insulted. Almost. Really, I wondered whether the charting was the pen-and-paper kind, or whether there was a computer around that I could use for browsing Fark. I did rather fall behind on my Farking during this little field trip today, after all.


Charting turned out to be kind of dull, since there's only one computer and Platypus said that she didn't think it would be wise for me to be reading Fark when she had notes to finish. She wrote her notes while I kept an eye on her spelling and grammar...they use some very strange abbreviations in this industry, let me tell you. Apparently, sp cap stands for splenius capitis. I'd have thought it stood for spelling cap or something. Perhaps I should get out more.

I did find it rather amusing that the computer matched my glorious plumage.

Oh, and that purple thing on the counter to my right is apparently some kind of tool that Platypus uses for doing deep-tissue work. I just thought it was a weird-looking piece of plastic for fiddling around with when one is stressed out, kind of like a worry stone. Learn something new every day, I guess.



As you can imagine, I was feeling rather tired out by all this gallivanting. I thought that taking a brief nap in the tanning bed sounded like an excellent way to end the day.

Apparently, however, this is not actually a tanning bed. The UV light in there is intended to disinfect and sanitize the towels in the warmer.

Personally, I thought it was just the right size for me...Platypus was laughing so hard that I thought she was going to have a stroke.

I'm still not entirely sure what was so funny.

All in all, I think I can understand why she doesn't really complain much when the end of her weekend rolls around. Her office is a good spot for hanging out in.

my abject apologies

...for my shameful neglect of you, Gentle Reader, over the past couple of days. The 90+ degree temperatures combined with the lack of air conditioning in the Platypus Habitat as well as cramps of death have made me rather less than inclined to do anything other than lie on my bed and caterwaul my misery to Mr. Platypus.

Oh, and read. Because I am seldom, if ever, in too much pain to read. I heart books.

Incidentally, if you're thinking of picking up Dragonsblood, which Todd McCaffrey's take on the Pern series? DON'T. It's terrible. Plot holes you could throw a freaking horde of Volkswagens through, horrible lack of characterization, and no originality. He basically took plot elements from Dragonflight and from Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern and stuck them in a blender. It reads like an epically bad fanfic. Consider yourself warned, Gentle Reader; I would not want you to suffer through such an awful book.

However, I can very strongly recommend that you run out and get a copy of The Demon-Haunted World, by Carl Sagan. His baloney-detection kit is brilliant! Plus, it's an amusing and most thought-provoking read.

Anyway, I'm going to drag my grouchy self off to bed. Vaya con taquitos.