The rantings of a massage Therapist

Dear Massage therapy clients…the 5% of you-You know who you are-...It's time to GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER. 

The Stinkys:
Hey!  Lookit YOU, studly,  coming straight from the gym to your massage without showering first!  Thanks so much, fucker.  I REALLY appreciate the road kill smell emanating from your drippy pits.  There’s NOTHING like the smell of ass on a Monday morning and are you enjoying the feeling of grainy sweat salt mixed with oil being rubbed over you skin?!

Yeah, lady..... your 3 days dead salmon-baking-in -the -sun BREATH is making me puke in my mouth.  And you're FACE DOWN on the table with me at your feet right now! What does THAT tell ya?!   Can't wait to work on your neck and head!!!  Reminder to self:  Set a bowl of mints on the cabinet so that some folks might take the hint....

The Creepys:
Whoops!  Pardon me, sir!  Perhaps you didn’t understand the part when I said,”You can undress and slip under the sheet and blanket on the table.  I’ll give you some privacy and be back in a couple of minutes.”  YOU, sir, are still standing in the middle of my massage room in nuthin’ but your Spiderman underpants.  Really?  Spidy?  No, I’m NOT impressed.

 Thank you, but NO please, I’m NOT ok with you laying naked and spread eagled on my table with no sheet covering you, Madame.   I KNOW we're both "girls", but this isn't a fucking locker room.  I'm not comfortable with your dirty bits and floppy tatas staring me in the face. 

And on the other end of the spectrum....are you SERIOUS, my dear?!?!?  You are wearing full on scratchy wool long underwear and won't take them off?  I know it's winter in Alaska, but......alright.  Maybe you have issues....You DO realize this massage is gonna kinda suck now?

Ew.   You are totally silent and staring wide eyed at the ceiling.  Are you dead?  No, I can see that you're kind just looking around at the ceiling.....I don't know what's going on in there but....Jeezus, close your eyes or something, it's creepin' me out.....

The Commanders:

YOU again.  I consider myself a kind and giving person, but I have put up with your malarkey for waaaaaaay to long.  I'll give you this one last time.  If you pull the same shit after I tried to set boundaries last time, I will be referring you out to someone that can "better serve your needs".   Are you going to give me the ole, "Please speak quietly, I have a migranine.  Turn the music up.  Turn the music DOWN.  Don't you have any guitar music?!  I cannot listen to piano, it sets off my nerves.  Can't you cover the window up?!  A good massage therapist does this, a good massage therapist does that.  Turn the heat down.  Turn the heat up.   Go softer.  Softer.   SOFTER!  (you realize I'm not even TOUCHING you right now, right??!?  You fucking loon.)  MORE PRESSURE.  PLEASE! Dig in there.! That's giving me a migraine!  Use less oil please.  Could you use MORE oil?!?!?  Your hands should NEVER leave my body!  Turn that music DOWN!", again today, are you , lady?!?!?!
Massage your "bra line" in the front?  WTF?!  Talk to your husband about that one.  Ugh.  For the love of GOD I'm not interested in listening to an hour of your misandristic bitching.  I'm sorry your husband is such a douche and your son is a mouth breathing turd.  My husband is the best out there so STFU.  What?  You want me to massage you like Karen does?  WHO THE FUCK IS KAREN?!?!?  I don't KNOW Karen and I've never experienced a massage by Karen so how in the name of Beelzebub would I know how she massages?!?!?  Alright, LOOK.  You lay there talking about all the FANTASTIC massage therapists you've had in the past and how 'green' I am....I've been a kick-ass massage therapist for 10 years!!!!!    WHY do you come back to see me THREE fucking times a week?!?!?  Answer me THAT, you horrible TROLL!  That's IT.  I'm done with you.  I cringe and grit my teeth every time you come in the door.  I'd rather punch myself in the va-jay-jay then deal with you ever again.  Let me give you the contact info of a scanky massage therapist who brings dishonor the the profession and deserves a client like you  another massage therapist who can better serve your needs then I can.  Ya corpulent TOADY.

The Fucktards:
Folks, I just LOVE it when I ask you to show me where you are hurting and you answer with, "oh, you'll feel it."   In case you thought otherwise,  I'M NOT A FUCKING WIZZARD.  Yes, I can seek and destroy knots and hypertonic muscle fibers....but most often then not I can't "feel" where your pain is.  A knot hiding under your scapula may be referring pain to your occipital ar-oh, NEVER MIND.  Just SHOW me, will ya?!?!  Just fucking point and help me out?

Girl, are you pulling out a CELL PHONE from under the sheet there?!??!  Really?!  Your TEXING and SURFING during my massage?!?  Just LEAVE.  There is absolutely NO hope for you.

You unabashed dude, you!  You want me to perform "skin rolling".  You are obese.  Can I say, NO?

Honey, really?  You come in for both 15 minute chair massage and 1 hour sessions on the table and you refuse to rest your head in the face cradle for fear of smudging you makeup?  Do you realize how STUPID you look trying to hold your head above the cradle?!?!  Your poor neck!  You come to see me because YOUR NECK HURTS!!!!!  By the way, I SAW you selfishly cut in the Port-a-Potty line at the Zombie Run last year.  My 8year old really had to go.  Vain bitch.

Oh, for fucks sake, come ON.  Look, if you're so content that you fall asleep and totally droll onto the arm rest under your face cradle, fine.  Glad your happy.  But maybe grab a tissue and clean that slime off of it before you leave?!  That kinda shit will make me puke.  Thanks so much for leaving this for me to deal with.

Yeah, THANKS, mister for leaving my tip strewn on the table instead of just handing it to me.  FYI: I'm not a whore.  Thanks for keepin' it classy.

Ok, tough guys!  I'm so impressed with you when you tell me, "Don't worry, you can't hurt me!"  Oh, yes I fucking can!!!! Get over the whole, "no pain no gain" myth, would ya?!?!?  It doesn't have to hurt to heal, Beefcake.

And lastly...the Smokers(also part of the Stinkys but deserving a category of their own):
YOU ALL STINK.  All the time.  Period.  End of story.  You don't think you do, but you DO.  NEVER, NEVER assume we can't smell it just because YOU can't.  No amount of perfume or breath mints will hide it.  It only makes the smell more pukeworthy.  Only smoking outside and driving with the window open to dissipate the smell does not work, LOL!   The toxic smell (and I swear to god, RESIN)oozes from your pores while I'm trying to help heal you.  All I can smell are the fumes emanating from your blackened sick lungs.  Can't go on about it without retching....

To the other 95% of my clients, you ROCK!!!!  You make this profession so exciting, fun, challenging, fulfilling and rich for me!  Know that your friendship, or silence, feedback, courtesy, and willingness to take your health seriously is so greatly appreciated!  You enrich ME as much as I may enrich you! 

Cheers, my friends!

"What do you do?"

This prompt is a bit wonky.  The full question is, "If you couldn't answer with your job, how would you answer the question, 'what do you do'?"  Are they asking me to describe my job without stating exactly what it is....or are they looking for a more esoteric answer?  Well...I'll go with the former.

I HELP....

       I see with my hands...touch with my soul...intent on easing pain...calming spirit and body...listening with ears and heart to both the quiet and to the words that may flow.  I offer my voice to advise and educate....I hold a space of safety and healing... I may not cure-there is no hubris here-but together we work on a journey to contentment in the moment, toward a life of wellness.

I CREATE...

What's in my heart...on my mind...behind my lips...is translated in color, texture, movement, layered depth, onto a pure white canvas waiting to receive the rush of energy or the delicate placing of emotion.  Accompanied by a brilliant sky, warmth, fresh air around me, earth beneath me...the ultimate artist's studio....house, techno, dubstep, electronica engulfing me and feeding my color dance.

 

I do lots of other shit, too.

What the Massage Therapist Knows

Just a slight departure. I came across this poem on another Massage Therapist's blog and felt compelled to share. She must have a direct Psychic Network hotline to my mind because this is the embodiment of my ongoing experience as an LMT.

jasmine added to oil will disguise the smell of stinky feet

but it has changed the way she feels about jasmine.

mascara stains the cradle covers

not even bleach and borax take it out

next time she'll order navy blue

breasts don't stay perky after forty

they droop and slide to the side, except

store bought ones

you'll apologize for not shaving your legs

no need

you should see hers

standing on the edge of the futon

helps her gain leverage, the weight of her body

against yours

men tell jokes to break the silence

as opposed to women,

who tell secrets

they love it when she reaches under the sheet

all the way down the spine, and lifts

she knows that

sometimes she'll do it twice

just to hear them sigh, even though it exacerbates

her tendonitis

you put on heavy perfume to cover the fact

you didn't take a shower

the perfume is worse

you like looking at her bare feet through the face cradle

something about it makes you relax

feel safe

there are times you'd rather not listen

to new age music, sometimes

you just need quiet

when she leans into your sacrum it almost feels

like you grow two inches

doesn't it

flannel sheets are better

warm and cozy

like her room

her hug

you'll know right away if she's good or not

seventeen seconds, they say

that's all it takes

you talk a lot, laugh loudly, tell jokes

hoping she won't notice

that pesky erection

(*Thank GOD this is the only one I haven't experienced!!!*)

you hold your legs tightly together

she almost has to pry them apart to massage your thighs

it has nothing to do with modesty

you may have forgotten the past but

your body hasn't

she wishes she had a big spatula

so she didn't have to wake you up

to turn over

when she rubs your crooked old feet sometimes she cries, thinking of all those miles

behind you

the pregnant ones are hardest to work on

but then the baby talks to her

through her hands

god

you want her to press harder, there

under the scapula, so tight

like a frozen wing

your nose may stuff up from lying face down

or from of the sadness you feel

untouched for so long

it's best to rub toes from pinky to biggest or that song gets in her head,

we we we

all the way home

you're wondering if she heard you fart

no, but she smelled it

there is a difference between hurts

and hurts good

a big one

she rests her hands on your head, shoulders, hips, feet

to make you feel like one piece

connected again

you wish you didn't have to get up

could just sleep there a while, not knowing

she would've let you

you left that extra twenty on purpose

knowing the kid's tuition is due next week

thank you

there are days when she can't wait for you

to arrive so she can touch someone

anyone