Torture in the Treatment Room

I think the massage therapist had me confused with an Olympic Athlete.  Or a prize fighter.

Robin began my massage by pulling hard on my left leg, as if attempting to remove it from its socket.  She purposefully moved it back and forth, in and out, around and around.  It was as if she were playing Pac-Man, and my leg was the joystick.

Except I was not experiencing joy.  Robin continued to angle my legs in ways that legs are not intended to angle. 

I commented on that fact.  "Oh, I know," she agreed.  "I really don't belong in a spa."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, beginning to get nervous.  I wondered if my legs would be permanently disfigured as a result of one too many obtuse angles.

"Oh, I'm an expert on physiology," she bragged.  "I usually work on people with sports injuries, or people who have had car accidents, or people suffering from Fibromyalgia."

OMG, I thought.  Fibromyalgia?  People in great pain come to Robin?!  And she does this to them?

 
On a scale from 1 to 10, where 1 is gentle as a lamb and 10 is Darth Vader, Robin was a 65.

Robin added, "Most spa massage therapists just rub lotion all over your body."

Oh how I yearned for someone to run Eucalyptus lotion all over my body.

Robin moved to my back, attacking it with ferocity typically reserved for the National Geographic Channel!

    

She started pushing and vibrating my shoulder first, before moving to arms.    

"Hey, coach," I quipped, in my best Rocky voice.  "I think I'm finally gonna beat Apollo Creed tonight."  Then I started singing the theme song.  "Da-da-da...da-da-da"  



"Hey!  You got any raw eggs for me to drink?  I'm thirsty."
 Robin appeared a bit defensive by my attempt at humor.  "If you've never had this kind of treatment before, you've been ripped off," she said, as she attempted to rip off my arm.

One thing's for sure.  I didn't have to worry about falling asleep during this massage. 

"I've never had such an aerobic massage before," I huffed, out of breath from all my arm and leg motions.  In fact,  I burned more calories during that massage than in my last Body Jam class.  

Robin had me flip over on my back and continued to "work" my body over. 

Just when I thought this massage could not get worse, Robin got to my ears.

And she started folding them in half.  Like origami.

WTH?  Is she trying to give me Rocky ears, too?  Am I going to have cauliflower ears when I leave here?

She was mumbling something about being an expert on physiology when the music stopped with a click.  "Take your time leaving," she said, and left the room.

I waited just long enough for my ears to unravel and made my exit.  My optimism returned as I realized that Robin would, indeed, make a good blog topic.

And I felt certain that today was the day that I was finally going to beat Apollo Creed.

Unnecessary Writhing

At first I was completely befuddled by Mio Lizawa's invention.  How in the world did she get her Writhing Umbilical Cord Phone Charger to writhe?

I had a bad case of invention envy.

But the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became. Phone chargers do not have to writhe.  

They only need to charge. 

And look good.

And to that end, I am confident that I could easily make a Non-writhing Umbilical Cord Phone Charger.

All I'd need is an Umbilical Cord.  And some duct tape.  And, of course, a phone charger.

I'd simply thread the phone charger through "said Umbilical cord".  I'd use duct tape to secure the charger in place (considering my last Super Glue experience).

And guess what?  Mio Lizawa's Writhing Umbilical Cord Phone Charger works only with I-Phones.  My non-writhing Version would work with any kind of phone, making it much more versatile.

Albeit less entertaining.

The trick, or course, would be to find the Umbilical Cord. 
 
I'm sure any hospital would give me their leftover Umbilical Cords!  

But every good inventor needs a plan B and my plan B is pure genius.

I would make a Faux Umbilical Cord Phone Charger  out of sausage.

I'll bet, to the naked eye,  you couldn't even tell the difference.

OMG!  I just thought of something!  

When you're phone is finished charging, you could eat your Faux Non-writhing Umbilical Phone Charger for lunch.

I think my case of invention envy has been cured.  I've got the best idea ever.  

And Mio Lizawa's is the wurst.  

Developing My Character

I'm about to embark upon the most challenging acting role of my life.

I'm playing the dead body in 9 to 5.

Not unlike Meryl Streep, who spent months and months in preparation for her role in Sophie's Choice, I have to develop my character.   Meryl immersed herself into the role of Holocaust survivor Sophie, and her performance earned her an academy award for Best Actress in 1982.

Meryl Streep completely envelopes herself in all her characters, capturing their nuances, speech patterns and personalities.

I must do the same in my role: capture the nuances, speech patterns and personality of the dead body.

Of course, she will no longer have speech patterns and personality, since she's dead. 

But I refuse to let that stop me from developing my character. 

For you see, I too, am a gifted actor.

I was brutally murdered. 

I was murdered by another contestant on The Bachelor.  I had just been awarded a rose and the woman who had been escorted to the limo, snuck back into the mansion, and into my bathroom.  She viciously assaulted me with a high heel. 

As you can see, it was a crime of passion.  The bitch went right for my face, as if it was my beauty that attracted Sean. 

If only my dog had barked (like Lassie would have), instead of lying next to me... as my life slowly faded away.  Someone could have found me in time.

I may have gotten that final rose.

And that's how I ended up on the gurney in the 9 to 5 hospital where the girls see me, mistakenly believe that I'm their boss and steal my body.

Great story, huh?!

I can't wait to pitch it to the director.

Damn!  I wish they awarded Academy Awards in theater.  I'd have this nailed.

Narrowing My Collection

My daughter Kimmy is going to be so excited.

 
I have completely outdone myself this time.  I have catapulted to a new pinnacle.

 

It is time for me to submit a video audition for Project Runway!  They need me.    

 
I am exactly what they are looking for.  I have the unique combination of creativity, fashion sense and personality to win the "$100,000 prize to start my own line, a fashion spread in Marie Claire magazine, a 2013 Lexus GS 350, a $50,000 technology suite by HP and Intel to create my own vision and run my business and the opportunity to design and sell an exclusive collection at Lord & Taylor."   (Now that's a mouthful!)

I'm certain my video will land me an audition, at which I must bring 5 or 6 of my garments that demonstrate my sewing skills and my fashion point of view.

Only 5 or 6?  How can I possibly narrow my collection down to 5 or 6?  Should I bring the Doggone Thong? 

My Arm Socks are certainly stylin'.  

And my Wine Holder Necklace is functional yet chic. 

Let's not forget the effective and elegant Camel Toe Cup. 
  

One thing's for sure.  I must bring Kimmy's pink shoes.

OMG!  I just had the best idea.  I am not going to tell Kimmy about her pink shoes.  What a fantastic surprise it will be for her to see them for the first time on Project Runway! 

Heidi Klum will say, "Those shoes are amazing!  What technique did you use in the design?" 

And I will demonstrate the proper blend of humility and pride as I describe purchasing the dog scrapbook paper and Mod Podge at Michaels.

 

And the process of cutting out the cute little dog pictures and mod-podging them to Kimmy's pink shoes that she forgot to take with her to Australia.

I wish I could see Kimmy's face when she sees how I transformed an ordinary pair of pink shoes into a work of art. 

Just thinking about that brings a tear to my eye. 

Of course, there are inherent risks associated with showing Kimmy's newly mod-podged dog shoes on Project Runway.  The shoes will no longer be a one of a kind item.  There will be knock-offs EVERYWHERE.

But I guess that's the price one must pay for fame.

Finding My Inner Goose

One would think that I would be a natural Goose Stepper.

I mean, for crying out loud! I am an original member of the world famous First Wisconsin Precision Brief Case Drill Team. 

But at Miss Saigon rehearsal today, it appeared as if I had lost my goose step. 

And it was nowhere to be found. 

Of course, our choreographer made the goose steps a bit more complicated than just swinging legs high off the ground while marching. And, at the risk of tarnishing Tracy's unblemished reputation, I believe he consumed one too many Mad Bulls while choreographing that chaos.

It was NOTHING like my First Wisconsin Precision Brief Case Drill Team days. 

We were celebrities of sorts, back in the late 80's, entertaining thousands of fans as we performed in parades and festivals. What's not to love about a bunch of bankers wearing suits, carrying plastic brief cases, and executing "intricate" routines (without hurting ourselves)? 

We were stinkin' rock stars. 

I still get shivers when I recall the audience reaction to our Pinwheel routine. And our Reverse Inward March? Amazing. But it was the Wall Street Journal routine which brought tears to the eyes of our frenzied fans. 

Craig, our drill captain, would whistle 3 times. Like a well oiled machine, we would place our brief cases on the street, open them, pull out our newspapers and return to a standing position. To the beat of a drum, we would open our newspapers, look up and down the left side, then the right side. Then, in unison, we would shout "Market's up."  We would return the newspaper to the brief cases, the whistle would blow 3 times, and we would march on. 

The audiences loved us. 

Sadly, Tracy's choreography does not involve newspapers. Nor are there any pinwheels. 

Instead, Tracy's goose steps require synchronized lunging. 

He also taught us his own version of the Reverse Inward March. I got my hands on his choreography notes. Here's what it looks like:
 

But I haven't given up.

Rome was not built in a day.

I just have to brush off my goose step skills. All I have to do is watch my, "The Making of the First Wisconsin Precision Drill Team" video over and over again.

With practice I am confident. 
I will get my goose back.


I wonder if Tracy would mind if I carried a plastic brief case in Miss Saigon.  For some reason, my gooses geese look better when I'm carrying it.