Tag Archives: humor blog

Melanie the Master Watercolorist

Imagine a universe where there exists no purpose, and time stands still.  Imagine a place having no matter or gravity, no stars, nor moons and only two known dimensions.  Nothing really exists, and nothing matters.  It’s a universe built upon silent illusion.  Now I want you to visualize what that universe would look like.  The image most people come up with looks something like this:

20130312-113835.jpg

I signed myself up for introduction to watercolors in an adult ed class.  It only cost me $100 for 8 classes!  I’m there with a bunch of menopausal women who fan themselves in the freezing school room, then complain that it’s freezing.  They’re awesome.

I signed up to learn to paint with watercolor because it’s a vital step in my grand scheme of taking over the world…eh hem, I mean becoming filthy rich and living in a mansion.  I have this idea you see, an idea so brilliant that it was never thought of before – I searched Google and no, I’m the first one to think of this angle to take over the world…eh hem, I mean paint watercolor paintings in an adult ed class.

I really do have a good idea but in order for me to make it happen, I need to become a master watercolorist.  There is no other way.  Well, there are other ways, but they aren’t as fun.

As luck would have it, painting in watercolor happens to be the hardest medium to paint with.  Detail?  Bah, who needs it, right?  No wait, I need it!  Me!  I’m a detailed drawer.  I draw in the very finest points mechanical pencils can produce!  I hide myself in the details.  I control what you see.  And now you’re telling me to be vague?  ME vague?

Well, I guess my outward appearance can be vague.  It’s all part of my allure, my mystery – and honestly I can’t help it.  Even when I think I’m being completely honest and forthright, people view me as being cool – and I don’t mean that in a cool way.  But hey, Enlightened people can’t help their own complexity, or simplicity rather.

Shut your damn ego trap girl.

As you can see from my depiction of what a storm looks like over a farm house, I have lots of work cut out for me.

My classes are Mondays, my only day off to spend with family and friends – well, too bad sucka’s!  Mellie’s gonna take over the world!  Eh hem, er, I mean paint purdy colors with watery pigments – yay!

Yesterday was a fine day.  It was the first time in months where I was able to sleep until my normal waking hour of 12 noon.  I got an oil change at Economy oil and the guys working there are nice enough to suggest parts that my little ol’ slutty escort needs.

“You should have new wipers put on.”

“Do it up baby.”

“You should change your air filter.”

“We better get started on that then.”

A young man sitting next to me giggled.  He probably mistook me for a sucker.  Pffff, I’m no easy sell little man.  I just like spending money.

Every time I get my oil changed, the guys replace a plastic zip-tie that bears the responsibility of holding up the steal frame of my car.  When that zip-tie breaks, Essie starts sounding like a box spring getting some action.  It’s fun for her until we both parish in a fiery blaze of inundated fury.

I tenderly pat her on her dashboard – “Hang in there old girl, you still have lots of miles in you.”

I think I need to attend an AA meeting, anthropomorphism anonymous.  Hey, why do they call it anonymous if they make you stand up and state your name?  Not only state your name, but admitting you have a problem too?  That doesn’t sound very anonymous to me, no sir it does not.  Don’t you agree computer?  Computer agree’s that I’m right.

I just chatted with my new next door neighbor moving in to the cramped office on the other side of my wall.  A very handsome construction worker.  And lordy mercy me, he’s even nice!

Around this time last year I massaged a man named Martin.  I massaged him twice and both times I fell in love with him.  Anyway, I won’t get into too much on that since I’m not the mushy romantic type, but it’s suffice to say that I sort of puffed him up into being my illusory soul mate.  EW, I know right?  I’m so lame.  The worst part of this is that even when I meet a hunk of a man such as my new neighbor, I always say to myself, “He’s nice but he’s not Martin.”

If I ever do find myself with the desire of getting hitched, this fake man I created into my fantasy world will far surpass any real man I find.  It’s absolutely absurd, but there you have it.  Actually all this talk about men and love is absurd to me.  It is NOT nor will ever be my priority.  I have Martin as a friend on Facebook and I honesty think I looked at his page maybe three times – three!  This just goes to show that it’s not him I love, but the idea of him – the one so easily concocted in my head.  Either that or I’m not much of the stalker type.

Yuck, enough of all that.

I’m listening to Ani Defranco on Pandora radio.  Is she singing or talking?  WTF is this?  Ahh here’s a good song, Portishead Dummy.

What was I saying before McDreamy rudely interrupted my personal me time?  Shit.  It’s gone.  Hold on.

Scroll up…..

Ah lol, oh yes.  So yesterday was a day where I felt the true fruits of my labor.  And it fizzled over into today.  I received my new work uniform in the mail – an $80 top sold specifically to those in the spa industry.  It looks to be an asian wrap-around frock.  It’s one size too big, but still looks a hellova lot better than my frayed polo from Vista Print (don’t purchase uniforms from Vista Print, they shrink and fray and the collar gets all wonky, you know what I mean?  Ignore the fact that I wore and washed it every single day for the last 6 months.  It was warped in three weeks).

So today before work, I pumped my gas in style.  And when I was done, I hopped in Essie and pulled out into the rain and turned on the wipers.

“See that Essie?  New wipers!  Yes ma’am we are living large.  Ha ha living large indeed.  Me and you.”

I really need that AA meeting….

Speaking of AA, I so should have drank beer during the days I thought work was killing me.  They have a perfectly good refrigerator here and guess what else?  No one is here to tell me not to!

This week is still pretty stacked up, but I have gaps such as now.  These gaps are all that I need to keep me happy.

I loved most of my co-workers in my previous 20 plus jobs, so I hate to say this but, oh how I love this time with myself!  I love being able to see people when I choose – and not have to worry about gossip, overachievers (god how I hate overachievers), or the annoying ones that never shut up.  And I love the fact that if I am being gossiped about, I don’t care!  I don’t freaking care and I love it!  I feel the most stable I ever felt – stable and not feeling guilty or confused about anything.

My new lesson I learned only two days ago was to have compassion for myself.  That will be a whole different post and I definitely will write about it.  I also want to write about how to unlock your creative genius – I know how!  I’m still tapped into this never ceasing strand of understanding.

My brain these days is off the hook.  Or possibly off its rocker, I don’t know and I don’t care.  Anyway, the important thing is, I feel I have much to write about.  I have this passion for sharing everything I learn, everything I’m taught.  I use the word “taught” because it’s not me who’s figuring all this stuff out, but it’s something bigger than me that’s actually telling me.  And that’s part of the creative process, but I’ll save that one for another day.

I also learned that all knowledge is derived from experience.

A conversation I had with my client today:

Client – “It’s hard to trust doctors when they end up doing something that hurts you.  And you don’t say anything because you think they know better and know what they’re doing.”

Me – “Doctors are just regular people like you and me.  They’re no smarter or wiser and they make mistakes and aren’t always considerate.”

Client – “Yeah I know!  They don’t know what they’re doing!”

Me – “Nope, not a clue.  I mean it’s one thing if they seen from previous experience what exactly is happening to you, and they can apply their learned knowledge, but most of them have no idea.  Book learning is very different from actual understanding.  I believe that all knowledge comes from direct experience and that doctors have no experience being in your body, so in essence, you have more knowledge about what’s going on in you than your doctor does.

Client – “Oh my god you’re right!  I never thought of it like that!”

We were talking about those electronic impulse devices that you stick on your body.  I bought one from Groupon and when I placed it on certain area’s, it hurt!  I mean it really hurt!  The manual says to remove them if you feel pain.  His doctor never informed him of this possibility, and so the poor guy suffered through it.

Me – “You have to have more compassion for yourself.  Sometimes it’s not about having compassion for others when it’s you who needs it.  You find your self-compassion and you find your voice.”

Client – “Is it okay if I scooch up a little?”

Me – “Yeah of course.”

Client – “See I did it!”

Me – “Yeah but nobody likes a nitpicker.”

I didn’t actually say that last thing,  instead I said – “It’s funny how our brains work.  30 seconds from now I would’ve forgotten all about you asking to scooch up, even though it was something you had to think long about.”

The guy is one of those self-consious types, too afraid of speaking up.  I am too, or was rather.  I just recently learned why that is but I’ll save that for later.

Anyway, my last client will be here any minute so…..farewell turds.   I mean turtle’s.   Lovely turtle doves that is.  Yes that’s it.  Farewell my lovely turtle doves.  Turds are short for turtle doves.  It’s my pet name for you.

Later turds!

Your friend to the end,

Melanie

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Melanie’s Pervert Policy

Okay, so I’m a massage therapist with my own practice and few days ago an old man exposed his withered manjigglies to me.  I’m not embellishing when I say that my stomach contents rose up to touch my tonsils.  I became worried that once the vomit passed my tonsil threshold, it will land on his own two dangling tonsils that lay between his legs under a flap of flab.

He came in bearing his own washcloth from home.

Dirty old man – “I have restless leg syndrome so I can’t have anything on my legs.”

Me – “Huh….”

Dirty old man – “I brought my own towel for draping.”

He had a folded washcloth in his lap.

Me – “How big is it?” (I meant the washcloth)

Him – “Well, I brought two different sizes in case you’re not comfortable with this one.”

Me – “Do you wear underwear?”

Him – “No.”

I told him there’s no way I’m going to massage him using only a towel for a barrier, and he clearly got upset but wanted the massage anyway.  It was during the massage when he exposed himself.  It’s horribly disrespectful and annoying.  It’s more annoying than anything to deal with someone like that.

I had a cancelation in work today, so I made a few improvements to my business’ webpage.  I added a few new pages, one being a Pervert Policy.  I don’t care if it’s not professional.  I don’t give a shit quite honestly.  I’m someone with little patience and can get quite aggravated and snarky – actually making fun of these people to their faces.  This is something that I have to NOT do.  I must avoid bringing this frustrated Melanie to life.

Here’s what my Pervert Policy looks like on my business site:

PERVERT POLICY

me and mom

See that?  That’s a picture of me with my Mother when I was a wee little lass.  Aren’t I cute?  If you look close enough, you can see that I’m actually somebody’s daughter.

I’m also somebody’s kid sister.

me and fran

Please keep that in mind if your intensions are not pure and you’re planning on taking advantage of this wee little runt.

Pervert Policy #1 – I will NOT answer calls from blocked phone numbers.  You can leave me a message with your name and number so I can call you back.  This is my first line of defense since perv’s typically don’t leave numbers.

Pervert Policy #2 – If you do get me on the phone, questions about draping is a RED FLAG that you are a perv.  I don’t and will NEVER drape using towels.  I use sheets and only sheets.  Haranguing me about this only amplifies your pervertedness and you will get hit with snarky remarks because I can do that.  I’m the business owner.  Also asking me what kind of lotions or oils I use, I found to be an indicator of perversion also .  Why this is?  I have no idea.

Pervert Policy #3 – I can refuse service to ANYONE at any time before or during the massage without giving an explanation.  If you want an explanation, please refer to my Pervert Policy.

These policies are enacted as a way to preserve the sweet innocence of the child pictured above and below.

cute lil me

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Don’t be offended

I woke up today and went to work in my new jacket.  I felt like a blue-collar worker because the jacket is blue, and I stopped by a gas station to buy a pack of smokes and pump myself a cup of their finest coffee.  Blue-collar people refer to cigarettes as ‘smokes.’  Plus I’m wearing a uniform, have on no make-up and my frizzy curly hair is tied up.  I would consider myself a hard-working blue-collar girl.  Yes indeed.  Hard manual labor is good for me.

My client taken off his underwear for the first time yesterday.  It makes no difference to me whether or not a client leaves them on or off, but this client is special because this client is African American.  Can I just say ‘black?’  African American sounds too politically correct and I don’t find the term ‘black’ to be derogatory, just like I wouldn’t be offended if a native american called me pale-face.  I am pale-faced, more so than most.  Can I just call them Indians?  Wait, now I’m getting off topic.

Shall I continue on with this story?  It’s already sounding a bit racy, but in no means meant to be racist, just racy that’s all.  And maybe a tad perverted on my part.

The thing is that African Americans NEVER take off their under-garments.  And sometimes they even leave on their socks.

This man who happens to have a very well put together body along with a Denzel face and cute sophisticated glasses to compliment his brawn with brains has decided to leave off his knickers (still left his socks on though).

He’s been coming to me for a while and I’m always happy to massage him and his muscles, but….well, this is where my job can get complicated.

I was massaging his glut’s and thinking about why black people leave on their underwear when one possibility fell into the empty crevasses of my brain. 

Is it because of their well-endowed proportions?  Free-balling it under the sheets would lead me to believe he’s hiding a kick-stand under there, or a third leg.  What if I accidentally start massaging his third leg?  See, these are the thoughts that I have to deal with on a day-to-day basis. 

I got nervous just like I did when I massaged the Uma Thurman look-a-like.  I flipped him over and my eyes inadvertently shifted to that area – you know what area.  His genital area.  I kept staring at it trying to make out its shape under the blanket.  I could see something, but wasn’t sure what I was looking at.  Whatever it was, it was big and intimidating.

My ears got red.  I became scared I would touch it if my hands went too far up the inner thigh.  This was a new experience for me and I can’t be too careful.  And so I kept my eyes glued to his privates and became perceptive to any subtle movement.

There was no movement.  I finished up his legs and ended the massage with a neck and head massage.  He told me I was a phenom.  You have no idea buddy.

To let you in on the other races;  asian woman are masochistic with pressure, indian woman (real woman from india) have horrible tight neck and shoulders, the only asian man I massaged was gay, funny and chunky. Italian men leave their undies off so I can massage their glut’s, white woman usually have some sort of problem – mental, physical or situational.  Black woman have tight leg and neck muscle’s.  I never massaged a native american that I know of.  I like massaging people from the UK because they call their underwear ‘knickers.’  Hairy men tend to snore.

There’s more, but I have to get back to work.  Three more clients to go.

I’m going to get in a heap of trouble for posting this, aren’t I?  Oh well, bring it.  It’s just my experience and I do love all my clients, well, asian woman are tough, but I still really like them for their culture and food……and chopsticks…. 🙂

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Liverwurst and Massage Therapy nightmares

I didn’t get any sleep last night.  I never sleep when I’m excited for something and last night I was excited for three things;  I’m going to see John Mayer tonight, next week I’m going to Vegas and some time in the future I’m going to become a roadie.

I also couldn’t sleep because this was the first night in a long time that I went to bed sober.

I woke up at 7 a.m from my hour of sleep and ransacked the fridge for something to eat.  I was famished and wanted something quick and satisfying.  I settled on a liverwurst sandwich. 

I do not recommend a liverwurst sandwich at 7 a.m, especially the Stop & Shop brand that costs half a cent a pound.  Cat food tastes better and has more nutritional value.  The canned meat from Upton Sinclairs book ‘The Jungle’ is more appealing to the palette than a slab of cheap liverwurst served up at 7 a.m on an empty stomach.

I take a shower and brush my teeth.  My mouth tastes so nasty from my breakfast that it gave my toothbrush bad breath.  I dress for work, spaced out for a bit and found myself sitting in the ME parking lot with my shirt inside out.

“How did that happen?”  I spotted it before I got out of my car.  Liverwurst is NOT brain food. 

I massage two clients, got a half hour break and then massaged four more.  Now I’m sitting in Starbucks waiting for Sarah to get here.  She’s meeting me here so we can go see John Mayer together.

While I was giving massages today, weird thoughts were bountiful.  Here is a small sample of what I was thinking about while giving massages:

                                                                   Top Five

                                   Massage Therapist’s Worst Nightmare’s

5.  Toilet paper stuck on a shoe is forgivable.  Toilet paper stuck in the ass, is not.

4.  flatulence is embarrassing, although acceptable.  Having a client shard (shit & fart), is not.

3.  If a client is face down with their head in the face cradle, it would be creepy if they turned it all the way around exorcist style and threw-up pea soup.

2.  Massaging a client with a conjoined twin anywhere on their body would complicate pricing.

And the number one massage therapist’s worst nightmare is……..

1.  The client did not like their massage.

Those are really hard to think of.  

Well, I’m out of shit to write.

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A typical sunday evening in the life of all star Melanie

 I started my evening at this excellent restaurant called the Aquaterra in plainville.  I ordered the stuffed tilapia.   

Best tilapia in the world!!

   Holly had the stuffed tilapia, too.  She also agree’s that it’s a very fine dish.   

Holly

   After dinner I decided to impress Holly with my ability to curl my lip like Elvis, wiggle my ears and lift one eyebrow like The Rock.  I have a plethora of God-given natural talent.   

Showcasing my talents made me very thirsty for beer.   

I feel faint and need beer pronto

Can anyone possibly give me a beer? Anyone?

Yeah rock on!

I love you baby beer

Do you love me too beer?

Kiss me one last time before I toss you away

This picture is missing something, but what?

Goggles!

Beer is important before scuba diving

There are many ways of drinking beer

Macgruber taught me how to drink beer thru a snorkel

Having two snorkels makes it easier to breathe

Can't forget the beer

Doing important research on my laptop to find the benefits of wearing goggles and a snorkel while not in water. There's got to be some benefit somewhere.

Holly is a history teacher and so I have to study hard to understand her when she talks.

This is a good time to paint my toenails

and make a few important calls

Happy New Year!

The End

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Under the kitchen sink

                                    More weirdness about my house 

 

Above the kitchen sink

 Above the kitchen sink looks relatively normal.  Here’s a close up. 

 

Yep, pretty normal.  But underneath the sink………. 

Under the kitchen sink

 Not too bad.  It looks organized actually, but let’s get a little closer……. 

 

Oh, what’s that I see?  What’s in the glass jar behind the coffee mug? 

My Mother's 40 year old gallstone!

Yes, you heard correct.  My mother’s gallstone she had removed 10 years before I was even born.  Why under the sink?  Well, where else?  Oh but wait, there’s more.  What’s that next to my mother’s 40-year-old jar of gallbladder waste product?….. 

My Mother's Mother's gallstones!

She wanted to have them polished to wear as a fanciful necklace.  I shit-you-not. 

When I was about 7 or 8 there was a salesman that came to the house to sell us a water purifier.  I remember my parents taking out the jar from under the sink and grossing him out.  They presented it to him like it was their third child, the one they’re most proud of. 

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Adventures of the Dangling Booger

Yesterday I was massaging some random dude and had an inexorable impending sneeze trying to wriggle its way out to cause a vast explosion all over my ill-fated clients back.  So what do I do?  I hold it in of course.

I’m not usually a mucus welding masseuse, however, the sneeze did manage to escape in a slow, deliberate dangling drip.  I tried to nonchalantly sniff it back up, but my efforts proved fruitless and only caused it to droop lower.

When I say droop, I mean it was a flaunting flourish of swaying gelled waste trailing about an inch out of one of my well endowed Russian nostrils.

Have you ever heard that joke, ‘how do you make a handkerchief dance?  Blow a little boogie in it’?

How do you make a client dance?  Drop a little boogie on his back. 

That sounded a lot better in my head.  I made up that joke while the booger was hanging out and I almost burst out in tearful laughter.  What was even more funny than that stupid joke was that I really didn’t care I had obtrusive ooze eeking out of me.

At any moment it was going to drop.  ANY moment.  It was very suspenseful and anyone watching would’ve been on the edge of their seats.  But I seemed to care less.  My face remained completely emotionless.  I could just picture how silly the whole thing must’ve looked.  I mean there I was, a professional massage therapist giving a wonderful massage – the look of serious concentration on my face, with a long booger hanging out. 

I don’t know about me sometimes.  I ended up just wiping it on my shirt sleeve before I turned the guy face-up.  I waited until the last-minute before it snapped off.

This is the second time writing about boogers.  Is a theme happening?  Should my blog be about boogers?

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