Hot Fudge Sunday

So, today I gave my first hour long Swedish massage. I was completely centered and ready for it, but then we broke for lunch and my partner went home with a migraine. So I had to give my first hour long Swedish massage to the teacher. I was so freaking nervous, but I think I did okay. I definitely did not do well– it all felt disconnected and jerky. Not my best work.

If you live in my city and you want to schedule a practicum with me, I promise I will not be nervous with you. There’s just something about undraping your teacher’s glutes and working on them while she continues to pop her head up and give helpful pointers to the entire class while you are doing a sun-moon stroke on her booty that adds a little pressure.

Weekend Recap
Mom and Dad were in town this weekend watching Birdy while I had Sat/ Sun class and A. went to a wedding in Michigan. Two things:

1. My dad calls my massage table a bed. As in, I get a phone call on my way to school on Saturday and it’s Dad, and he says “Did you need your bed?”
And I thought he said “Did you make your bed?” and I was trying to figure out whether to laugh or hang up on him, and then he said it again, and I said, “No, they have tables for us at school, I leave mine at home.”

2. My mom could find the lite rock radio station on a deserted island using a coconut and a palm frond. When NPR switched to classical format later in the evening, she reached up to the kitchen radio, without looking, tweaked the knob just slightly, and landed right on it, and for the rest of the weekend we heard Father Figure and Candle in the Wind every hour, on the hour.

3. Okay, I meant three things. My mom is not a cook. She made spaghetti with tomato sauce and frozen stir fry vegetables for dinner on Saturday. As in water chestnuts and baby corn with marinara pasta and garlic bread. Am I just unwilling to break out of my mold here, or is that weird? I think it’s weird, in a cute, my-mom sort of way. But that did not make the water chestnuts in the spaghetti any less surprising.

Miss Bird, Miss Bird.

  • She almost says “Bear.”
  • She demanded (by crawling over to her stroller, pulling up, looking at mom and DABADABADA-ing and slapping the stroller seat) that mom drive her around the house in it, like a Granny chauffeur. And any time mom would stop, Birdy would furrow her brow and say, “BAH!”
  • She takes steps. plural. (but I do not consider it walking because it is two steps and a lunge toward me. So steps, but not walking.)
  • She can pull your hair, and then her own hair, and laugh like a little maniac. Same goes for teeth.
  • She can look completely asleep and then pop up off of your chest and throw her arms straight up to exclaim, “thuba thuba thuba thuba!”, then fall right back down on your chest and actually be completely asleep. Perfect.

I’m mending my Karma
I will be having another class with G1 next term, which will be a night class, and I have offered to take her home since she lives near me. So there. I can feel my horns sinking back into my head. I also ate lunch with actual other people from my class today, and I did not hate it.

Tomorrow= suck.
For real. I go to work at 8am, stay late for a board meeting until 8pm, then have to come home and study for my exam the next morning. Bah.


One comment

  1. Alisyn

    Just the *thought* of stir-fry-marinara-pasta cracked me up! And Birdy sounds like she would be an excellent playmate for my 15-month-old hair-puller. I smell a cage match!

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