2005-06-04 @ 11:59 a.m.
Yes, my very own copy of the Playbill from tomorrow night's "Tony Awards" (6/5/05). Am I not the Queen of all that is theatrical? Ya wanna touch the hem of my nightgown? Heh! Ok, only if you want to though.
My friend "G" who lives down in Manhattan and works on one of Broadway's biggest hits, was kind enough to forward me a copy of the Playbill for tomorrow night's show. Growing up on the West Coast, we used to always get together on Tony Night so that we could get all giddy whenever anyone would start tap dancing. Little did I know that one day, "G" would actually be in attendance at the Tonys and would be working in shows that won Tonys, but there you go.
Today was actually a pretty primo day. By 10:57 a.m. I had a man hand on my naked ass. YAY! That was pretty damn exciting. And no, it had nothing to do with sMatch.com. It was related to getting my first massage since February 12th. I met with my coworker and one of my clients at the local massage school for a 10:30 appointment.
I had called ahead yesterday and requested a male massage therapist. Why not? The receptionist kind of waffled on me though. "Well, we have three male therapists, but I can't promise you one, but it looks pretty good, but I can't say for sure, so I guess, you might expect one, since there's three. But it really depends on who's available. But I guess since you requested a male therapist, we might be able to Part the Red Sea and turn George Bush into a Democrat and make Larry King look like Brad Pitt...."
"Oh ferchrissakes!" I thought as I sat on my bed, with the phone in my hand, wondering JUST WHO was going to be massaging my lovely ass Saturday morning. Fortunately it did, in fact, turn out to be a member of the penis clan and his name was Ken. He was a nice young man. I, of course, tried to look ravishing. I'm always on the lookout for a new masseuse, for private usage. But I think he was married.
But witty darling, that never stopped you before. You know, ahem, Married Guy. The masseusian. Ok, that's history, despite what "A" thinks, but its true, every massage I have gotten since then, I do tend to compare them to his and they never, ever measure up. EVER! He was just the Michaelangelo of Massages. He had such a wonderful, confident, if not sensual touch. He touched my body so lovingly which is where I got confused a lot. I've had three massages by three different people since him and none of them have been anything like his. He touched me like a lover, although I hasten to add we never did anything.
No one has yet to trace the edge of my breast with their finger tips. No one has yet to slip their hands between my thighs from the rear with such precision and then massage my inner thighs so slowly yet so delicately. No one has yet to breath so heavily and rhythmically as they were running their hands down the entire length of my back down to my ass. No one else has yet to get so close, that their beard would brush my skin and I could feel their breathe against my hair. Funny, how nobody else has done any of this yet.
But "A" says I'm delusional. Yeah, I guess I am. All of us survivors are. Nothing really happened. We made everything up. It's true. Definitely. Gives us something to talk about.
So Ken was okay. He could have used a little more massage oil. His technique was pretty textbook. But, it was nice getting a massage. And I'm all about being the center of attention for a full hour. Whether its being asked if everything is okay or if the pressure is all right or whether I'm comfortable. I like being pampered and I could really get used to it some time soon. Any offers? I've actually got another massage scheduled for June 16th with a woman. Yow! That'll be a first! The massage today was actually borne out of that discussion in our women's group that poor, homeless people never have any of the comforts of a nice life. Unfortunately the woman who brought the whole thing up, missed out on the experience today. Nobody could get ahold of her. I felt bad that she missed it, since it was her idea to begin with.
But as it happened my other regular client "M" the talkative one who I like, was the other person who got to take advantage of the massage offer, so rather than calling a cab to take her home today, I said, Hey, we're supposed to meet for an appointment this week anyways, so why don't we just do something today! And "M" is spontaneous like me, so she was all excited when I suggested lunch and a trek along something called the Art Trail. The Art Trail was a one day event in the artsy hippie part of town where all the artists in the area open up their homes and studios to the public and you can tour their studios and look and/or purchase their artwork. I went last year too. It was fun.
So we ate lunch first and then headed back to the artsy area. She said she grew up there and I asked where and she was like one street away, so I asked her if she wanted to drive by her old house, or whether it would bother her (she had a bad childhood). She said she wanted to go, so I drove by and then suddenly she wanted to get out of the car. She said she thought her sister was in her old house. I didn't really know what to do. She was practically out of the car before it was stopped. So I sat in the car for about 10 minutes and then I started to worry. She has problems with her family and I wondered if they were having some kind of knock down drag out fight. "M" is also an epileptic.
So I finally pulled my car out onto the Westfort St and walked over to the house. She was inside talking to an African American man, who had bought the house. It looked like a total crackhouse inside, but he was renovating it with his wife. It looked like it had once been nice (beautiful handcarved wood staircases with spindles, a huge fireplace in the entry hall, a spectacular rubyglass ceiling lamp with crystals), but for the most part, it was in terrible condition. Huge holes in the walls. Ripped apart wainscoting. Peeling paint. "M" was standing in the hallway reminiscing to the guy about the house, but he looked slightly uncomfortable. Like she had been there too long. And he had a lot to do. So I kind of circumvented the conversation by asking a few questions and finally got "M" out of the door. The guy immediately went upstairs.
Next stop was the community center where I take my art class. I wanted to get a map for the Art Trail thingie whether than drive endlessly up and down the artsy hippy streets and who do I see there? The Lesbian Chick who has a mad crush on me from work. Yarg! And I've been avoiding her so well at work. She was ecstatic to see me, and well, yes, I did look stunning in my summery yellow dress. She immediately started talking about OUR @rt therapy group she wants us to do together. The one sticking point at work, is that they don't want us to do it at work. HINT, HINT. They want us to have the class someplace out in the community, so that the public could come, as well as the crazies.
Can I digress for a moment here.....
I would rather drink a barium/poop/spider intestine/maggot larvae milkshake for three weeks than do an @rt therapy group with this woman. I can barely stand the sight of her. But she is under the impression that I am all gung ho to be her partner in artdom. This girl is dumber than a package of post-its, first of all. She's been at her job for a year and a half and only has one client. I've been there 7 months, I have three. She keeps getting clients and they don't like her. In fact, my boss just offered me one of her escapees on Friday. She's the person who comes in my cubical and just stares at me. I'll be working on the computer and then suddenly feel her looming 300 lbs. presence after like 15 minutes and nearly jump out of my skin. She also stares at me all through all the meetings. I was also talking to "J" the married man at work about a month ago and instead of walking around us (and there was plenty of space), she walked between us, and leaned forward just when she was right in front of me, and our boobs touched. I got so eeked out.
I was nice to her at first, and then civil, and now I'm fairly chilly. So I see her at the community center talking to a guy out at a table. He was selling magnets. She was all excited. She said, "They have FREE space here at the community center for OUR @rt therapy group. I just have to call someone on Monday!!!!"
Ok, first of all, I happen to know a little about our community center, because I go there every Wednesday night and I'm on the board of our nonprofit arts group. I see our financial statements. We pay rent for the room we use. If we were to have a guest speaker, we'd have to pay for the use of the room for that night. In other words, there is no such things as a FREE room. I wanted to tell her that right then and there, but I've seen how dense she is at work. I went to a seminar with her once and she just could not get this most basic thing about SSD. She must have asked the speaker the same exact question 4 times in an hour. It got to be embarrassing. She's also been talking to our most prestigious art gallery in town...the one where I sold my painting, and I cringe to think what kind of impression she made on them. She's huge. She wears soiled clothing. She has the mental capacity of about a fifth grader. Yeeks.
So, she'll probably call them on Monday, and they'll tell her it isn't free and she'll probably call back and ask them again, since she didn't really understand it, because after all, the guy selling magnets said it was free, and they'll say no. And they'll hang up, she'll think about it for 5 minutes and then call again and say, "Are you sure? Because this guy selling magnets...."
The last stop of the day was at my aunt's house. Tomorrow is my mother's birthday, so we had a little party at her house. My aunt is like the official family birthday cake maker. Although I didn't get one this year, because she was in Florida, but bygones. I know my Aunt loves me, so its okay.
My mom was her usual bombastic self. She had to recount everything I had already heard and lived through from her birthday party on Thursday at the piano bar. All her gifts, her SEVENTEEN birthday cards, the singing of Happy Birthday by the entire
And then tomorrow, on the actual birthday Day, we will be going once again to the same restaurant for a once a month Brunch thingie. I'm not really much of a breakfast eater, but I guess a once a month plate of bacon-o-rama is doable.
Lastly, I'd just like to give a shout-out to my cousin, "D". Its kind of a posthumous shout-out since "D" died at 11 a.m. Friday. "D" was always my favorite cousin. She was one of the most lively, funny, outgoing, positive thinking people I ever met. She died of brain cancer. She got it about 7 years ago. She went through her first round of chemo and practically cured herself with positive thinking, I swear to god. It was really amazing to watch her. She did very little crying or whining or "this really sucks". She just said, "I'm going to kick this thing in the ass" (namely because her only daughter was getting married in about 10 months and she didn't want to miss the wedding). And she did get cured. And she grew back most of her hair (although she wore a wig for her daughter's wedding).
She lived the next four years like she always did. She was always very outdoorsy. She liked to camp and hike and go snowmobiling, and do archery and go ATVing.
But just at the very tail end of the fourth year...around the time when, if you don't get anymore cancer, you're probably cured, they found tumors behind her eyes. She continued to drive for a while (she used to come and see my mom every Tuesday for many years), but finally she had to give it up during the second batch of chemo. Then her daughter found out she was pregnant and "D" really wanted to be around for the baby, so she once again called upon her angel, a small gold pin she had used for strength, during her first chemo. Once she had gotten her first clean bill of health, she had given the pin to another cancer patient who subsequently got better too. She then got the pin back.
Unfortunately the pin didn't work the second time. She did get to see her grandchild born, but was paralyzed by a mini-stroke and was never able to hold the baby after it was born. Did this bother her? Probably. But she never let on. Because that's just how she was. Her boyfriend, who was allergic to cats, let her get two cats for the last year of her life. They were indoor cats and her constant companions on the hospital bed she was confined to in the living room. They practically lived on the bed with her and offered her a lot of comfort.
The last time I saw "D" was last fall at the hospital. She was wearing her Yankees baseball cap backwards and was cracking jokes. She was pretty much acting about 7 years old, because the cancer had really done a number on her mental capacity. But she was still delightful and I know we will all miss her and her wonderful, infectious laugh! So in the words of "D", "Go Yankees!" (They need a miracle too, it seems).
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty