Smile Politely

Coulter gets a rub down

Well, we’re almost through with January and I finally got around to getting my day planner for the year. When you hear “day planner,” it almost seems like you’re getting something that actually does something for you, but it’s really just a book. I would prefer to have an actual person, who I can tell things to, and who then, at a later time, tells me to do things. I think that’s called a butler though.

Anyway, I usually get my calendar late because they are much cheaper. While I’m more than happy to spend thirty dollars on a bunch of shots at a bar that will last five seconds, I sort of balk at spending twelve dollars on a calendar that I will use for 365 days.

By the time I get around to the purchase, the pickings are pretty slim. Usually I just get something with pictures so I have something to look at during meetings, but this year there weren’t even many of those leftover. I can’t have a Justin Bieber calendar, even if it is in jest. I could have got one that seemed sort of complicated and was based on The Hunger Games, but I’m still not really sure what the fuck that is.

Instead, I got one with no pictures. Still, it appears to mention every holiday ever known to man, even ones that people just thought up. It’s gonna be a long year. Let’s get it on.


It’s weird that I get really excited about relaxing. It usually bites me in the ass anyway. If I find out I’ve got an extra couple of hours to take a nap, this usually excites me so much that I’m no longer really tired. I think it’s more to the point to just say I’m not especially good at relaxing. This makes for quite a potent combination when you add it to my overall laziness.

I did manage to get all excited about relaxing the other day though, and this time it actually worked. It was probably because there was a professional involved. The wife got me a massage for Christmas and I finally got around to using it. Let me just say, it was miraculous … and before anyone asks, yes, I was happy at the end, even though it wasn’t a “happy ending” kind of massage.

I’ve gotten a few massages over the years, but it’s been a long time. A while back, I even thought about getting a massage in a trailer just off the highway south of Danville, but I decided not to since the sign out front was made by spray painting a big piece of plywood. I don’t know, that place just seemed sort of fishy … and also sort of Gonorrhea-y.

The massages I’ve had in the past were okay, but I honestly had a little trouble relaxing during them, which is sort of the point. Nothing makes me unable to relax more than someone telling me to relax. I suppose that since I’m older or something it actually worked this time because I was relaxed out the ying yang.

Being anxious makes sense when you think about it. I mean, it’s weird taking your clothes off in front of a person you don’t know. It’s even weirder when they insist you lay on a table and then begin to rub on your body. I was sort of sore from working out this time, however, so I figured, “Screw it, let’s just let it happen.” It turned out to be a pretty good way to go.

Normally, I don’t have much faith in anyone doing their job correctly, but I sort of had to have faith in this massage therapist being a professional, only because after the first five minutes she could pretty much do anything she wanted to me and I would be perfectly fine with it at the time. There was the usual stuff, like weird, soft music in the background and the sound of oil being squirted from a bottle, but even those blended into the background in a couple of minutes, right about the time the initial drool began gluing my lips to the headrest.

When she started on my shoulders, it felt like she was trying to pop some sort of bubble wrap that had mistakenly got beneath my skin. After a minute or two of that, the blood really gets to moving again and I could totally feel it, sort of like that moment where you get out of a chair too fast and get a head rush. I find that feeling familiar and sort of awesome.

By the time she made it to my hamstrings, which are apparently made of hard, unbending plastic, I was as close to being unconscious as a person can get and still be alive. I couldn’t have told you the day of the week, my location, or my name. I was in a blissful place where I was the king of everything and every muscle in my body was humming like a Prius, except probably not quite as efficiently. I believe in the south they call it folding time or something like that.

It was a very strange hour that seemed to last for five minutes and five hours, all at the same time. When she finished she said something, but I’m not sure what it was. It could have been, “there you go,” or it could have been, “go fuck yourself.” I wouldn’t have known either way. I was confused and in my underwear in a room that no longer looked familiar. I had an urge to run out the door and quickly ask for another hour.

When it’s all said and done, yeah, it’s sort of expensive, about 60 bucks or so, plus a tip, but it totally seems worth it if you have some extra money. It made me feel a lot better than most things I spend $60 on. I could genuinely tell that I was holding myself differently. My jaw wasn’t clinched, I didn’t have a snarl, and I didn’t swear at any other drivers on my way home. I think the massage is going to be a monthly little treat for me from now on. If I would get one every week, I might actually become a decent person.


Okay, normally this would not be the sort of thing I would enjoy, because, you know, it’s got a baby in it. It also has a dog eating popcorn in it though, so it sort of evens out. It’s strangely infectious either way.

I really only laugh that hard about three times a year, and every time, it’s just fantastic. Strangely, I also sort of look like that.


  • We now have a shower curtain with the Periodic Table on it. Ar stands for argon. If this is all I take away from this, it’s still a lot more than I learned from the old shower curtain.
  • It was nice to watch some good football games last weekend. It’s fun when sports are actually about sports and not about doping and getting “catfished.” That being said, I’m not looking forward to the three-hour halftime show during the Super Bowl. The game itself should be interesting though … if they even still show that.

Buona sera, senorina, kiss me goodnight.

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