If they tell me to relax any more, I'll have to kill the Malaysian Prime Minister

Chag Sameach to all of my Jewish friends out there! Hopefully you’re making it through the long week of chol hamoed. I myself have eaten almost a pound of cream cheese in a day, so that should tell you how that’s going…

My parents and my grandfather came down to visit me for Pesach and I hosted the sedorim (is that how you pluralize in English? I didn’t get past HEBR112). Needless to say, my Mom was thrilled that she was actually hosted and not a slave in her own home, as she has been for the past twenty some years. I decided to coincide this with her Mother’s Day gift since she’ll be in Israel for the actual Hallmark day. Because I love my mother and the great value of an Internet coupon, I got her and myself massages at an Eastern medicine place in Rockville through a Living Social deal.

I’ve never had a massage before. I never really liked it when people massaged me. It’s not that I’m scared when people touch me. I’m one of those creepy huggers who will announce ‘huggsies’ for no reason at all and just dive in there. Also, to emphasize points, I will frequently smack people around with what I deem to be playful punches. Liquor me up, and I’ll dance up on anyone. Great, now I just sound like a aggressive pervert. Regardless, that’s not why I’ve never had a massage. Perhaps it was cost prohibitive or perhaps I’ve just never felt like I’ve deserved one. Or, the thought of being face down on a table with lotion put on me sets off my creeper trigger. It really could be any of those.

Anyways, before I delve into issues I only tell my therapist, on Tuesday, Mom and I made the fun trip up I-270 to check it out. I had booked a 90-minute massage plus acupuncture for myself and was seen first. While I’ve never had a massage, I’ve had acupuncture a handful of times. I went into an office for an intake and was shown these maps of the human bodies with certain points and lines on them. The doctor explained to me that they were called meridians and each point corresponded to a variety of energies that would be tapped into by the needles. She said that these treatments help with ‘energy, digestion, headaches and fertility’. Like the wiseass that I am, I told her I didn’t want too much help with my fertility and started to laugh. She told me to be quiet and respect the thousand years of tradition of the medicine. This wouldn’t be the first time I was told to shut up by an Asian woman that day.

I went into a room, where I laid back and had my back poked with needles. Not that I’m a drug addict or something, but I actually am enthralled by needles. Whenever I have to get blood taken, I watch the procedure like a sadist. It’s just kind of cool, I can’t explain it. I probably had more needles in me than Kurt Cobain did and was told to lie back and relax for a bit. Maybe it was the incense or the gongs chiming in the background or maybe one of the needles hit a vessel and I was slowly bleeding, but I passed the hell out. I was exhausted. That’s how I realized I relax. I just work and work and work until something forces me to fall asleep. Usually it’s not perceived exsanguinations though.

Roughly 30 minutes to 30 hours later (I have no grasp of time in Rockville), my doctor came out and whisked out the needles. I was told to flip over, relax and wait for Jenny, the woman who was going to give me a massage. My doctor actually put pillows under my legs and fluffed the one under my head. I may have sworn off opulence a week or so ago, but this felt pretty damn good.

Jenny arrived about 10 minutes (I think) later and I was back to being facedown. Because I love to talk and was nervous as hell during this procedure, I asked her all about massages. Then, I started getting meta-massage. I asked her if she ever got tired and if everyone around here gives each other massages at the end of the day. Then, who gives those people massages? WHERE DOES THE CHAIN END! Surprisingly, I was told to be quiet and try to relax. Again.

For the first 15 or so minutes, I was in pain. I couldn’t understand why people clamored about massages. Jenny found every spot that hurt on my body and drove at them with a harder fist than Chairman Mao. I had to fight back tears when she pummeled my shoulder blade into submission. Every time she said ‘Oh, here’s another sore spot’ I cringed. It was like seeing a list of charges when I got my car’s brakes fixed. At some point, you just give up, submit to the pain and just hope everything gets taken care of. About halfway through, it started feeling all right. I may have been paralyzed a little by those spinal contusions but I was okay. I would never call this relaxing, since I felt a bit like a veal cutlet being tenderized, but it wasn’t excruciating. I was surprised how much strength came out of this tiny woman. It inspired me that maybe the best upper body workout for me wasn’t kickboxing and lat pulls but Tai Chi and a bowl of rice. Okay, now I’m getting offensive. But she really does Tai Chi.

I’m probably not getting one of these again. While it felt nice, there’s no way I can legitimately spend $100 a week when playing with puppies makes me just as happy and energetic. Still, I drove home and felt invigorated. Whereupon I promptly drank a bottle of wine that night and passed out. That’s just how life goes.

If you’re a Republican, I wouldn’t read this post

What a crazy week for the government. Like all of you, I was anxiously watching CNN, following all news of a potential shut down. There was a brief point where I compared it to watching the Weather Channel in 6^th grade. You know, when you’re praying for a snow day so you don’t have to take that spelling test you didn’t study for. I still have trouble spelling acquiesce but thank goodness for spell check. A government shutdown isn’t nearly as fun as a snow day because it’s not like you get to build a snowman all day and drink hot chocolate. No, when the government shuts down, garbage doesn’t get picked up and the Grand Canyon is closed. It sucks.

Thank goodness it didn’t happen. I can’t even imagine what would have happened if it had. Granted, I don’t remember the last shutdown since I was about seven but now that I’m old enough to understand politics (thanks Schoolhouse Rock), I get the ramifications. I’ve tried to look at this rationally, but I can’t. All I can do is blame the Republicans (and a little bit of the Democrats but like 99% of the blame is on the GOP).

First of all, how can a political side with the nickname Grand Old Party be such a boner shrinker? I love a good party unless it’s filled with people who want to cut food stamps money for pregnant women. Seriously? How can you sleep at night? And healthcare? Do you even realize that the vast majority of your voters would never be able to afford healthcare any other way? The ironic situation is worthy of O. Henry, but you probably wouldn’t realize that because you cut funding for literature since it can’t be included on standardized testing for No Child Left Behind. It’s all about bipartisanship. As somebody who’s seen the effects of tequila turning people bi at parties, I don’t understand how a Congressional compromise can be that difficult. Just liquor up Harry Reid and John Boehner enough so that they make out. That’s how shit would get done in my bi-party-sanship. Gross. What a terrible mental image.

worse than a lemon party but better for america.

My hatred of Republicans has been pretty deep my whole life, given being raised in a blue state with liberal parents. I’m pretty sure my mother would rather me marry a heroin addict than a Republican. At least there are rehab centers for drug users (unless the Republicans have their way and cut funding for all of them since they don’t produce oil).

I get that Democrats are a little to blame too about this budget crisis. Sure, I don’t love the fact that I’d have to pay more taxes but I see all the good they do. I believe it was Joe Biden who said that it is patriotic to pay taxes. And nobody is a bigger patriot than me. I would love it for one week if the Teabaggers had their way and got the government they wanted. Have fun driving on your private roads that won’t have funding to fill in potholes or dealing with all the children your preteens will have because you were too foolish to not give them sex ed and a couple of dollars for condoms. And I’m the one with no morals because I don’t like Nascar. Seriously.

I’m glad that we reached a semblance of an agreement in the 11^th hour, as the WaPo put it. I would hate it if all the national parks shut down and there were no museums open for me to suggest as good first date ideas. The idea of calling the majority of government workers ‘non-essential’ is just terrible. America, I still love you but you disappointed me this week.

But I also like saving ze moneys!

On Saturday, I was discussing our rent with my roommate. Alex casually mentioned that the only reason I was paying more rent than him was that I was being charged for the square footage of the sunroom. With obvious religious stereotypes aside, I do try to get my money’s worth for things. So, for that, and more for the reasons we were out of beer and I was bored, I cleaned out the sunroom. I removed the metal washtub (seriously), broken stereo and my personal favorite, the cooler with foul water and expired Yuenglings. A quick sweep later, and suddenly the room actually looked nice, not like some alley for the treasures of homeless person with ADD (no offense Alex).

Thus, I was presented with the question—what now? I perused Ikea’s website for ideas, when my friend John sent me an IM. Some background for those who don’t know John—he’s probably the most Ikea-centric person I know. He’s taught me what a sconce was (I thought it was what English people ate with tea) and the difference between a duvet and a comforter. It was a cosmic sign from the designer gods that if I’m on Ikea, John is my guardian angel.

We went to Ikea an hour later and walked through the maze of Swedish furniture names. Mounds of Malm bedsteads later, I left with a table, two chairs, Chinese lanterns and ferns. I went to the Home Depot to get some soil, and I was set. Yet, still unsettled. I have to admit, part of me was not used to this luxury of going in and buying these opulent items. Thus, today is when I realized what was wrong—I’m the reason why I can’t have nice things. I love the thrill of finding second-hand crap and saving money too much.

While going to Ikea was cheaper than buying from other furniture stores, it still felt decadent. You mean I get to make my own coffee rings on this table? They’re not already there? So, on my lunch break today, I went to Value Village, the local thrift store. Ahh…I felt like home there. Value Village is always an adventure and today was no exception. You can’t go in there looking for something. It’s not the warehouse of requirement. You just go knowing you want things and you want those things for cheap.

I knew it was going to be a good day when they announced in English and Spanish over the loudspeaker that all shoes, blouses, gala dresses, TVs and sporting equipment was half off until 2 PM. Granted I didn’t need all of those things, but for half off of already low prices, how can I say no? I didn’t buy a TV with rabbit ears or lacrosse armor (it didn’t fit), but I ended up getting shoes for $4.98 and shirts for at most $2.97 each. Ironically, I didn’t buy anything for the sunroom, but that’s because I went in looking for stuff for that room. That’s just how the properties of Value Village physics work. Plus, now I have a VIP card that saves me 25% on Thursdays. Carpool applications to get in the Sharbear Express and use my value card begin now.

Even though I have a job now and a real paycheck, I still live my life on that minimum wage budget of college. Maybe I should break that habit since I might go on a date with a guy who recognizes the shirt I run in as a shirt he donated to charity three years ago.  Or, I’ll get tetanus from touching the frame of the picture I bought last month. It could happen. But for now, I have cute sandals with minimal toe sweat prints in them and I’m happy. 

Call me Buzz Killington—why I don’t celebrate April Fool’s Day

It’s been quite a while since I’ve updated. I didn’t forget about you guys, I swear. I guess I’ve just been spending too much time hanging out with everyone instead of writing to appeal to all of you. I’d like to believe that time spent in-person with me is better than reading this garbage.

When I woke up this morning, I immediately said ‘Rabbit, Rabbit’. I’ve been saying this stupid repetition on the first day of every month since I’ve been eight. I learned about this good luck tradition on Nick in the Afternoon by the infamous Stick Stickely, and have been doing it ever since. So far, I haven’t won the lottery but I also haven’t gotten hit by a truck, so I’ll keep doing it.

It wasn’t until I got in the car around 7:30 this morning to feed the Hobie, the dog I’m watching, that I remembered it was April Fool’s Day. I was listening to DC101 (because I have excellent taste in music) and they were rattling some funny pranks to play on coworkers. When I switched on commercial to Hot 99.5 (because I have terrible taste in music), they gave me another list of pranks. And that’s when it clicked. The first of April is always April Fool’s Day. Duh. And once again, my faulty memory prevails. I guess my juvenile Alzheimer’s is the first prank of the day.

Anyways, while on the car back to my place after feeding and walking Hobie-wan Kenobi, I was thinking that maybe I should play a prank on someone. I could probably do something hysterical to Alex but that’s when I realized—I pull shit on people (especially Alex) everyday. I’m actually really bad at planning pranks because I always ruin them. I remember one year when I was really young that I put blue and purple play dough in the toilet and tried to tell my Mom that I had a bad stomach ache and was pooping colors. She didn’t buy it and I had to fish toilet water-soaked play dough out of the toilet.



you'll never think of play-dough the same way.



I prefer the prank of spontaneous surprise because I’m an impulsive person. Those who know me best know how well my planning goes (law school, you were a nice dream for three months).



There is a whole host of pranks for the iPhone alone but the thing is, these are just boring. You get to mess with the phone, probably see something embarrassing along the way, and then let’s say, change their default phone language. Then they’re all like ‘ZOMG THIS IS AWFUL, I DON’T SPEAK THAI, HAHAHA HOW DO I CHANGE THIS BACK!!!!1111” (yes, everyone speaks l33t in my dramatizations). And then you change it back, exchange a weak chuckle and get back on your way. I just don’t get the point. Wouldn’t it be funnier to mess with people not on April 1?

Perhaps April Fool’s Day gives us a reason to be dicks and we can’t get in trouble for it. I don’t know why I’m so unwilling to participate. In my effort to stand out and practice nonconformance, I’ll be polite and proper today. Then, I’ll celebrate 364 days of dick-ishness. Just wait until tomorrow…