I haven’t blogged for a week, since I wrote about my new experience paying someone else to touch me. For those of you wondering—the two or three out there who actually read this—yes, it was definitely a good experience. No bleeding, so that’s a win. And actually, it wasn’t too bad. Peaceful music played, candles were lit… it was like an E-Harmony highlight except I didn’t eat anything and my date spent the entire hour massaging the stress knots out of me. Which, let’s be honest, sounds like the best date ever. Unless it’s with Ryan Gossling, in which case, all bets are off.
I mean, don’t get me started on that Notebook scene. You know the one I’m talking about. With the rain and the swans and the whole I wrote you every day for a year! And then the steamy moment when he pushes Rachel McAdams against the wall and every girl becomes a woman. Yep. I love that movie. That’d be a slightly better date than the one hour massage fest I had with a very nice woman who I never really saw. I was either face down in one of those head-things (shout out to Phoebe Buffay!) or staring up at the ceiling, wishing there was a soaking wet Ryan Gossling nearby but hey, what’re you going to do?
Mrs. Whatever had her massage right after me so that was nice. Since we’re no longer employed together, we used the hour to catch up on some much needed gossip. Like who they’re currently considering to play Christen Grey. Very important. And also, how the Mortal Instruments movie will compare to the book. See, Mrs. Whatever and I are big readers. At least with the romance and YA books. I can also get down with some Game Of Thrones action, but our Venn diagram basically includes all the current populars and the other E-books she recommends. This is how I get all my new books. That, or my friend Seattle, who introduced the Hunger Games and my newest—and probably truest love—Jenny Lawson. Sad, I know. Being a writer, I should probably stalk the NY Times Best Sellers List or one of the thousands of book-nook websites for recommendations, but I’d rather get a personal reference. From Seattle or Mrs. Whatever. Because they’ll tell me what I’ll probably be reading in the next few weeks. And I trust them.
Except—hello, ladies. Let’s get on it. Snap, snap!! Especially you, Mrs. Whatever. I’m rereading Sherrilyn Kenyon because you wouldn’t let me keep Zadist’s book, even after you went garage-saleing at my cubicle. For shame. You know I could read Lover Awakened a thousand times, and still, you couldn’t gift it to me? Or at least, looked the other way when I snuck it in my purse? (For those of you not enlightened, please race out and buy—or download—The Black Dagger Brotherhood by JR Ward. It’s AMAZING. I’ve never been into vampires. Let me repeat NEVER, even when Brad Pitt pulled off an oh-so sexy Louis in Anne Rice’s version, but this series will give your hard backs creases, okay? The pages will be so worn from all the times you’ve reread it, and that dear friends, is the true meaning of Christmas).
But I digress…
Where was I? Oh, yes! So, it’s been a week since my last posting. But I promise I’m going to try to post more for the two or three of you out there. There are so many things the world needs to know about my not-so-crazy, somewhat unimpressive life. Like Sir Carlton, the raggedy neighborhood cat who sits on our porch when it’s raining. I think he’s been sent by Aslan to tell me the entrance to Narnia, but he refuses to spill the beans. And either will Professor McGonagall, the all white cat who always stares at me when I leave the apartment. I think the two are conspiring. There’s got to be a magic door or tunnel around here somewhere. And with Batman only using his Jedi mind powers for evil, I’ll never find it.
So, to sum up: massages are awesome, Ryan Gossling is hot, more postings will come and the cats are conspiring. Oh, and I need a new book.