Thursday, February 23, 2012


I came down with something sinus-y Sunday. My throat was on fire, burning like I'd spent Saturday licking subway handrails or Duane Reade door handles. I spent Sunday drinking hot minty tea with lemon and honey, gargling with saltwater and speaking as little as possible trying to stave off sickness. Not because I cared about missing work - first of all I get 20 sick days a year and I have almost no work ethic - but rather because I had a massage scheduled for Tuesday afternoon and I really really didn't want to miss that. 

Monday I went to work (stupid, I only ended up feeling shittier), I got home from work and promptly fell asleep, waking up at 8pm to watch How I (endlessly tease you about how I) Met Your Mother. I took cold medicine, had soup for dinner, slapped a breathe-right strip across my nose and went back to sleep. 

Tuesday I woke up feeling the exact same but I was positive a massage would help (because I lack common sense but enjoy indulgences) and I really wanted to just get there. I found two Claritins in my drawer from the last time my sinuses attacked, popped one, took a long hot shower and was actually beginning to feel better (all in my head). I even managed to get there on time, despite being in the worst location Manhattan possesses; Penn Station area. I warned the masseuse that I'd probably have to interrupt our session for a few nose blowings and we were on our way. Hippy-dippy chimes chimed in the background, I was doused in Neutrogena sesame oil and things were going well if not a little greasy. Then I sneezed.

The masseuse decided she'd help alleviate my sinus congestion by massage my face. After pouring oil over it. She spent, no joke, 15 minutes rubbing my cheeks and my nose and then doing this weird butterfly finger thing all over my face. Just as I was noting how weird that was I was also thinking I probably had another 15 minutes left. Suddenly she squeezed my shoulders, announced we were done and disappeared. Uhm, what the hell? How did a 60 minute massage lose 20 minutes? I got dressed feeling really annoyed, as I made my way down the hall to find her and ask what happened I could hear her voice through the wall, she was already getting started in another room. So at best no one at the desk would know why I'd lost 20 minutes and at best they'd offer to have someone else fill in but I'd have to get undressed and start all over just for 20 minutes... I was annoyed and not sure what to do so I left. That definitely wasn't the thing to do because know now I'm just annoyed and I screwed up my chance to have them fix it. What would you have done?

Wednesday I still felt shitty so I stayed home again (remember, 20 sick days). I cleaned up around the apartment and watched 
Life as We Know It. It was kind of really cute and totally watchable. Normally it seems like Katherine Heigl has a tricky time being watchable. I think it helps that Josh Duhamel was in this (Josh Lucas is too for that matter but eh... Josh Lucas is bland) and both he and the house the movie is shot in, are ridiculously gorgeous. Ok fine, the movie was decent the house was the star, it was house porn, are you happy now? 

Which reminds me of a thought I had while I was in bed last night, watching a few Friends episodes before bed. Remember when Phoebe carried her brother Frank and sister-in-law Alice's triplets? Well that was back in 1998 so the triplets would be nearing 15, for what it's worth I'm dying to see that sitcom. Frank and Alice with their crazed brood (including littlest triplet, the girl named Chandler) and wacky aunt Phoebe. Can anyone make this happen for me? An early birthday present perhaps? 

Today I woke up feeling better than I have in a few days. I got up and showered and went to the kitchen to get coffee when I discovered the dog was now not feeling well. Ah fuck. Well I guess
ah crap is more appropriate. I clean that up, get dressed and ready to go when I realize I can't find my glasses. Any. Where. This is not so crazy, I'm awful with my glasses, constantly taking them off and leaving them in whatever room I was just in. I've been surprisingly good about not leaving them anywhere but really I think that's just because I need them to see distances, that's the only reason they're not at a nail salon somewhere. I check the living room where I watched Law & Order: SVU last night. Nope. The kitchen, bathroom, my room again, my closet, in my bed, under my bed, under the sofa, no, no, no, no glasses anywhere. I'm late now, if I don't go I'm going to miss the last bus. I give up, put in my contacts (hate!) and rush out getting to the bus stop just in time to see the last bus pull away. Offuckingcourse. I walk over to the subway because subway and bus through the Bronx is my plan B. I get on the 4, I'm pretty much as pissed off as I can be, the morning could have barely started off worse and at 125th Street a lady gets on, sits next to me and starts literally screaming in my face about how Jesus saved her life. She needs to be punched in the face. 

But what I really want to ask her is does she think he'll save it twice? 


  1. Loved this post. The last line was priceless! As for the massage...first of all, I would never have let her rub on my face. Second, you're right. You really can't just take off the clothes and dive back in for 20 minutes. They should have offered you some sort of compensation. Gift certificate....something!

    Glad you're feeling better. Have a perfect weekend!


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