with release

this weekend i had my first massage. that is, my first massage outside of church choir, since my director insists on starting each rehearsal with "backrubs." if i'm not sitting next to friends, "backrubs" always ends up an uncomfortable situation--like giving a massage to some old black lady named sheila. i look anywhere but at her or her shoulders: out the window, at a friend, at the ground. i don't want to know if she's enjoying the backrub. throw in a fireplace, some champagne, and some essential oils and this backrub becomes a romantic getaway to the adirondacks. with sheila.

anyway, i had my first non-uncomfortable-choir-backrub massage on saturday afternoon and it was magical. not surprisingly, it was also a strange experience. i say not surprisingly, because strange experiences seem to be following me around like flies on shit. i think i just called myself shit, so never mind that last metaphor.

"do you have any problem areas, any areas you want me to work on specifically?" purred sherri, my massage therapist. i had to look twice at her because she looked strikingly like my moron apartment office manager. they could be sisters, what with their lucrative careers: kate the apartment office leasing agent and sherri the massage therapist/contractor/singer.

"well, no," i stammered, "this is actually my first, uh, massage. so wherever's fine. i mean like all over, you know, whatever you usually do." for some reason, i felt completely powerless in the situation. it could be because i knew that in a matter of minutes i'd be face-down on a table in my underwear with a stranger standing over me. not that i'm not used to that sort of thing.

"ok, i'm going to leave the room. get as undressed as you feel comfortable with, then lie face-down with your shins resting on this foam pillow." i followed her instructions and got as naked as i'm comfortable with. truth be told, i could've gotten completely naked and not been uncomfortable. i'm no porn star (yet) but i've gotten naked in front of enough people to stop being self-conscious. for sherri's sake, however, i left on my underwear and hoisted myself onto the massage table, face-down into what looked like a mini-hemorrhoid ring that smelled like lavender.

sherri knocked on the door. "come in," i yelped.

"you're too hyper," she told me. too hyper? clearly, sherri didn't know who she was dealing with. this was me being extremely calm.

i won't bore you with the details of the massage. of course it was heavenly and relaxing. of course i left the massage parlor (doesn't that make it sound like a whorehouse?) smiling, after sherri told me on my way out, "you look fantastic." apparently having a massage makes your eyebags go away and magically adds 20 pounds of muscle to your frame. i should get them more often.