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by Richard Timothy | Feb 2, 2010 | Contemplating Complements, I Think There's a Point, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement
This morning was a “daaaaaamn” kind of morning. You know the kind, where you wake up with the instant realization that that you slept a bit wrong and as you sit up your neck begins unleashing a slew of profanity that would even cause the late Richard Pryor to cautiously pause and reflect that you have one pissed off neck. As you sit on the edge of your bed you attempt the simplest of side to side neck stretches and as you do so your entire world begins moving in slow motion. Then as you attempt to curse out the pain, the pain takes up all your oxygen and most of you vocal ability and all you can really muster is a very softly and slowly spoken, “daaaaaaaaaammmmmnnnnn.”
So yeah, it was an orange juice and ibuprofen breakfast. One of the things you can count on in these situations is the thought of when you last got a massage and if there is any stock or old Star Wars figurines you could sell in order to get the funds to have a traveling masseuse… sorry, massage therapist (as they prefer to be called) make a house call and squeeze, press, and pummel some of your tightened muscles into submission and relaxation.
While fondly remembering my last massage I recalled a conversation that the massage therapist and I had. To give credence to this conversation I’d like to point out a few things. You know when you were younger… or last week, or maybe twenty minutes ago while you were working out, one of the universal attributes that most people seem to equate to a higher yumminess score on the attraction scale has to do with a lovely and well sculpted gluteus maximus. I’m not even going to talk about how many times did that damn Buns of Steel tape. You might laugh, but at my peak, I cracked three different toilet seats.
There is something gravitational about an individual’s neither regions that is renowned for pulling eyes in its direction. This happen when the back region in question is departing from groups of people, random strangers, or spouses of thirty or more years. On the average, people like to check out derrieres. There’s really no polite way to say it. Also, this is not a sexist thing. It applies to men and women alike, and perhaps 99.9% of the Mammalia phylum… or mammals in general. Not to mention, people are constantly checking out their own butts. When people go shopping for new jeans what is the key purchasing point… if your hinder looks good the sale is ensured.
I remember having the occasional flutter of adolescent desire and imagine the “cute girls” having that “whose got a cute butt” conversation where my name might come up at some point in the discussion. Of course nowadays, I’m just excited that I still have something that resembles a butt as opposed to piece of particle board with a crack in the middle… no one likes falling victim to flat butt syndrome.
Still, one term that is generally used in describing a tushies magnetism and discussional fine points is its firmness, nay, its tightness. That being said, there is an important clarification that needs to be made. It’s considered a positive thing to HAVE a tight ass, as opposed to BEING a tight ass. These are two very different things, with very different meanings, and I felt the clarification was noteworthy.
Likewise, and this is what I wanted to get to about the conversation I had with my last massage therapist, which also needs to be clarified. When your massage therapist tells you that you have a tight ass, this is not a compliment… do not say thank you. Trust me on this. They will never find it as amusing as you do. In fact, they will never find it amusing… ever.
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: sore neck, massage therapist, looking at butt in mirror, and working out.
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by Richard Timothy | Jan 29, 2010 | I Just Don't Get It, I Think There's a Point, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
I’m finally going to do it. I’m going to Smirk my way into the political realm. I have no intention telling people what to think, or how to vote. I’m a firm believer of getting your own opinions in regards to politics and then never ever share those opinions with anyone ever, unless of course, you are congregated with a group of like minded political projectionists.
There is one key element that I hope all people take from this, nurture it and make it your own. That is, if you get a mass forwarded e-mail about any political individual, delete it right away. Never read these. This is because 99.99982% of the time they are lies, and 100% of the times they are smear derived propaganda designed to manipulate you. I don’t care what politician they are about or what party they belong to, Republican, Democrat, Green, Independent, Constitution, Libertarian, Federalist, or what ever party Ralph Nader is getting paid to run for, they are all just an electric from of political toilet paper. It smears crap all over the place instead of cleaning anything up.
I remember getting a link to this video a few years ago. The message in the e-mail was to point out what politicians are like and that they are the same all over the world.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-QNAwUdHUQ]
Click here is the video does not load.
Sure it’s a fake, but I’ll admit that the first time I saw it I was open to accepting that it was a legitimate politician. Granted, this was during the Bush monarchy at the time and my perspective on political dialogue and responsibility was a bit negligent and cynical at the time. The generally accepted and expected media response during the time was to stick their fingers in their ears and start yelling, “LA la la la la la la.”
I’d like to point out that 90% of the people I have shown this video to still believe and concede that this video is of a legitimate politician, handing a political situation the way they would expect most politicians to behave. Yes 90%, which is a statistic that I just made up and has no validity or factual backing whatsoever.
The main thing that got me started on this whole topic was an e-mail I friend of mine sent me yesterday. It was a reply he had received from Utah congressman Jim Matheson. My friend’s response to Matheson’s reply was this:
“I love how hard Matheson tries to stay out of any debate that could be even remotely controversial, but this takes the cake. Carbon Monoxide? Who is pro-Carbon Monoxide?!? What about health care, or the wars, or ethics reforms, or banking regulation…. nope, not from Jim!”
Apparently Jim is leading the way in anti-Carbon Monoxide legislation. I mean sure, one might equate that traditionally the first rule of politics is to do your very best to not take a political stand on anything that anyone might be in opposition to… unless of course a lobbyist for some billion dollar corporation is giving you perks that assist you in making a firm stand that protects a corporation and shits on the people.
Yeah, so maybe I’m a little jaded when it comes to politics, but it’s not like they’ve done a lot of good for the people as of late. I get that there is the random noble act and attempted to make things better, but it seems that there are far to many black knights roaming the political landscape yelling that “None Shall Pass!” at every noble gesture that any attempt to make. So far, all of the black knights still have all of there arms and legs, and the search for the Holy Grail is still just an idea being sketched in a notebook belonging to Sean Connery.
Yeah sorry about that, I got caught up in a few to many pop culture references there. So back to Matheson, of course his big legislative push is going to be for anti-Carbon Monoxide. He’s representing Utah, a state so red that you’d think it were a baboon’s blushing ass. This is a state where we gauge our political successes based on whether any new liquor laws get passed that enable drinkers the same rights that drinkers in other states experience.
I suppose that fact that Matheson is attempting any type of legislation at all, says something. Personally, I think it says, “Hey, Facebook is down and I can’t play Bejeweled all day today. I wonder what I should do?” and thus birthed the anti-Carbon Monoxide legislation, but then again all of this is just my opinion. I feel it’s important to point that out, because, well, I don’t want some to get emotionally unstable and attempt to violate me for slanderous frumpiness.
My political battle cry… “Can’t we all just get along?” I hope someday we can, or at the very least we’ll be able to wave a friendly hello at each other from across a crowded Earth, and everyone will be ok with that.
What do you think?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: politics, fingers in ears, and Monty Python black knight.
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by Richard Timothy | Jan 27, 2010 | I Think There's a Point, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
After yesterdays epic struggle to Smirk about politics, I decided to let the piece breath for a few days before I jump on it again and try to salvage some of what I’ve written. It started well enough. You know, one of those, “No one expects the Spanish Inquisition” openings. Then half way through it, my comfy chair was suddenly replaced with a hard wooden one and a thumb tack was placed in the middle of it. At which point you begin to understand what kind of pain the topic was becoming.
So I bagged on what I had written and took the night off, sort of. I had a bit of a sit down, watched Rear Window, and then wrote a few e-mails and did a little research in the web. Once midnight rolled around I was struck with writable whim and found myself “doing it old school”… meaning I was lying in bed listening to Danger Mouse play on a small DVD player on my night stand, while writing this post on a legal sized yellow with blue lines note pad using what some might call an archaic hand held device, a pencil.
I know! When I say “old school” I mean “old school”. Sure I could have make it “older school” by actually mailing what I had written to me using a stamp and an envelope, but really, who has time for that. Besides I still needed to transfer the hand writing to electronic form. I did start thinking what would constitute “oldest school” or maybe “original school”, which I imagine could be done using a stone tablet and a mallet and chisel, but I really didn’t want to get rock crumbs in my bed… oh and I didn’t have a rock tablet or any rock carving tools. I suppose I could have used a screwdriver and a hammer, but that would have been cheating.
So as midnight spun closer to a quarter of, I was still rambling about rambling and realized I really better get to the point, or at least a point. So I decided to take the easy way out, which today means, stop motion.
My littlest sister, which means youngest, because my littlest sister is actually the second youngest sister, but for some reason littlest has always been synonymous with youngest, and I’m not really sure why. So Steph, littlest sister there, has been working some retail lately. The place where she works gets mixed tapes, or CDs, or something each month from the company to play as background music. This is music that is officially acceptable to be played with the intent that no one will get offended.
After the new mixed tape arrived, Steph started noticing a new song repeating every few hours while at work. The song almost instantly began to make out with the portion of her brain that causes one to move from the “I really like this” reaction to the “Oh my (insert deity of your choice here) I love this!” This is usually said with ones eyes open a little wider than what is acceptable for normal conversation. Occasionally a form of physical contact is felt necessary and the person experiencing this reaction will usually place a hand on your shoulder while they tell you about the thing of such excitable appreciation. In some situations, an individual may bob up and down a bit while talking about this said “thing” of new found delight.
The problem Steph experienced was there was no play list that accompanied the mixed tape. Thus the mystery of the unknown song began. Holmesing her detective skills she finally, after about three weeks of Google and lyric database searching, found the song, and a video to accompany it. So pleased with this triumph she posted this success and a link of the video on her Facebook page.
The song was alright, I didn’t hold it to the same level of amazing reaction as it did for her, but I did not have any abrasive reaction to it in any way either. But the video… the video was bloody brilliant, and as I start typing about it, I just might be bobbing up and down a bit in appreciation, but I’m not saying for certain. Simply, it’s just stop motion, but brilliantly captivating stop motion. Here, the song is called Her Morning Elegance by Oren Lavie, check it out for yourself.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XiLulP9EErc&feature=fvst]
Click here if the video does not play.
It’s just one of those things that puts a smile on my face. Let me know that you think.
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: Spanish Inquisition, stone tablet, and excited face.
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by Richard Timothy | Jan 26, 2010 | I Think There's a Point, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement, Something to Wine About
There is something eminently satisfying when friends are over and you’re enjoying a collective collaboration of wine and one of the wines are being a little stubborn about wanting to open up so you pull out a decanter, which is not to be confused with a decatheter (which is actually nothing, but sounds like its related to a catheter, which does give one a moment of pause). You’d be amazed at the looks people give you when you mispronounce one for the other.
I’m a great fan of the decanter. Essentially it’s the masseuse of wines. When a wine is a little to tense and just can’t relax enough to let’s its true potential come out to be shared with others, the decanter, removes the “can’t” and makes it a “can”… usually.
A few weeks ago, there was a lovely little gathering at the house, were I had an old friends, who had just moved back to town, meeting new friends, because I’m a big fan of my friends being friends with my friends. Sure it’s a bit redundant sounding, but I think it makes sense. One of the wines that gathered for the occasion was a short life wine, meaning that it was designed not to last very long. It was only a year or two old and it had already peaked within that time. A peak is when everything comes together in the wine just right so that the flavor is at its perfection point. If you wait to long though, the peak expires and the flavor of the wine begins to pass away into a vinegary death.
The wine had peaked in November, and the friends that tried it over Thanksgiving were so smitten by the taste that they grabbed a few bottles to take home with them. You would think that two months would not make much of a difference, but then we popped that little tyke open and gave it some time to breathe, the wine had already entered retirement.
Still there was hope, there was the decanter. We unsheathed this tool of spirited divinity and… seriously? Spirited divinity? I’m really getting into this aren’t I. Ok so maybe I read a little too much Rilke this weekend, but it was worth it damn it… besides, can one really read too much Rilke? Answer now or answer later, but it is worth answering. Even if you’re not a fan, it can always be said that at least it’s not Vogon poetry.
Right, so we poured the entire bottle into the decanter and gave it another 30 minutes. The wine refused to revive. In events like this, there is one key ingredient that can usually bring wine back to life, and no, it’s not lightening, no matter how many mad doctors tell you contrary. When a wine fails, I say turn it into a wine that almost always succeeds. Turn into sangria… just add fruit.
There is something incredibly dreary about seeing a near full bottle of wine being emptied into a sink, never to be heard from again. So, I took the decanter of dying wine and added two oranges, one lemon, two limes, a handful of frozen blueberries (because I found them in the fridge), and about two cups of Sprite. I’m not sure why, but it seems there is something amazingly compelling about a container of liquid that is filled with fresh fruit. Ten minutes later, the decanter was empty, except for a few orange wedges.
I’m not sure if fruit is universally the great liquid rejuvenator. I don’t think a splash of lime juice would correctly accent a twenty year old scotch. Nor do I think a tablespoon of puréed strawberries would compliment a dirty gin martini. In vodka’s case, yes, fruit always helps. In the case of beer though, it’s a bit of a hit and miss. 
An orange wedge in a pint of Blue Moon receives the type of praise that some people only reserve for masterfully performed opera. At the same time, if you were to ask for a lemon wedge to be added to your Guinness, there’s a chance that some Irishman might smack you in the face due to your flagrant sacrilege toward the perfected stout. But for wine, it’s a life saver.
You know, I had a reader recently ask me if there was a point to my writing. I mean for me yes, there is always a point… the point is to write it. Then there’s the hope that the person reading it is entertained enough that at some point they smile or even laugh to themselves. For the reader though, I think that sometimes there really isn’t a point, or message. I think message is more of what they meant. 
And I think sometimes there might not necessarily be a message, just an observation. But today, there is a message, and that message is:
If your wine sucks add some fruit and maybe a little sugar and make that bugger into sangria.
It might not be very poetic, but it’s pretty damn useful… and it makes me happy. If I can save just one crap wine from the disheartening pour down a drain, then my mission today has been a successful one.
And to those of you that don’t drink wine, a little wedge of lemon can always add a little pep to whatever your drinking… except coffee maybe. That hurts my brain to even think about that one. You never know though, there might be someone out there are not only has tired it, but loves it. Still, I hope I never have to have that conversation.
I guess there’s only one thing left to add… Cheers!
Do you have any “save a dying wine” formulas that have worked for you?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: decanter, wine with friends, Rainer Maria Rilke, blue moon with orange, and sangria.
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by Richard Timothy | Jan 24, 2010 | Adolescent Shenanigans, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, When I Was a Kid
This weekend hit a transitional moment in my life… Ohhh sounds ominous doesn’t it? Truth is, it’s probably just a fluke or a random phenomenon, enous, eni, no ena… yeah phenomena, I think that’s right. So a phenomena in opposition to what is a staple of my aging night life.
It’s kind of sad really. In the earlier version of myself I was quite a professional night owl. Of course I had very good teachers. My parents were always up until midnight or one, or two in the morning, or… actually 2AM on a weekday was usually the latest anyone would stay up when I was little. The thing was it was normal. I remember having a conversation with one of the local cops who said that one thing he could always count on was that the Timothy house would always be lit up well into the middle of the night.
The late night teen years encompassed the most concentrated collection of late nights and consecutive all-nighters. I think my record was three days without any sleep. It’s not that I have had anything to do or any homework, or any Atari games to keep me up. No, I think it’s because I wanted to write really bad teenage poetry about girls I had crushes on that I believe the parlance of the time was “didn’t even know I existed.” After the half way through the second night, I think the motivation shifted to, “I just wanted to see how long I could go without sleep.”
It was on the third day of no sleep where I had my first and only hallucination. It was during my art class, 5th period, right after lunch. I was working on a pencil drawing of a lady in a dress almost in a profile view and with her arm hanging down to the side, in front of the dress.
Everything was fine and normal. I was shading along the dress next to the arm and then it happened. The arm became three dimensional and popped out of the drawing, just hanging there in front of the dress. I wasn’t worried or confused was to why my a portion of drawing had decided to become three dimensional, I was just annoyed. I kept trying to shade the dress around the arm, but the arm kept moving to where I was shading, constantly getting in my way. So I started grabbing the arm and moving it out of the way so I could shade the dress. I kept losing my grip and the arm kept moving back to get in the way again.
This lasted about five minutes, until I heard someone saying my name. It pulled me out of the intense focus I was giving drawing. I looked up and sitting across me was one of the other kids in class. “Yeah?” He started explaining what he saw and wanted to know if I was alright. Apparently the action of my grabbing at my drawing, trying to push the arm out of the way was a little visually disturbing to the boy.
I told him I was just a little tired. Adding, “Damn it.” when I looked back down at my picture saw what I had being doing to my drawing. It was starting to look like the dress was coming through the middle of the lady’s arm. I commented I should probably go home a little early and started erasing my artistic result of my hallucination in art class. Once I got home I took a 13 hour nap.
Things have not changed all that much from my youth apart from the all-nighters. I mean I do get to bed a bit sooner, usually midnight. Going to bed early is being in bed by 11PM. So when this Friday arrived let’s just say it had been a full week, which left me a touch worn out. I thought about taking a nap, but got side tracked with a new book I’m reading. After thirty or forty pages my eyes started reminding, through a series of uncontrolled shutting that, oh yeah, I was going to take a little nap. Knowing that I had missed my window of napping opportunity I decided it was time to get some sleep instead.
I brushed my teeth and climbed into bed. I looked at my clock and make sure the alarm was turned off so I could sleep in a bit and, guess what? It was just barely 10 o’clock. Un-bloody-believable, 10 PM on a Friday night, I was going to bed earlier than I have in almost 10 months (being ill the only exception). I thought about it for a few minutes, then came to the conclusion, “Bugger it”, I was tired.
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: art class, lit up house, and man sleeping.
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by Richard Timothy | Jan 21, 2010 | My Cutie Baby Sweetie Pie, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement
I’ve been thinking about a conversation my cutie-baby-sweetie-pie-wifey-pooh and I had a few days ago. And you know, since starting this blog thing, you’d be amazed how many times a week I hear the sentence, “And no, you can’t put this in your blog.” as the closing remarks to some of our conversations. This conversation, however, was not one of them.
I guess one of the things to start out with is to explain a little about my love, my Angela. I think it would be safe to say that we would still not be married if she has not proposed. I always get mixed reactions when I tell people this. Men commonly give me a sort of “well done” nod of approval. Women on the other hand usually give me a “you romanceless lout” look, but it usually passes once they get to know me.
We actually met at work. We even shared an office for a while. And No! There was no hanky-panky at work. I’m a professional damn it… better make that a we. We’re professionals damn it! I know it’s a bit cliché to admit we had an office romance, but, well, yeah we did.
We did keep it mostly hidden. I mean our boss knew obviously. Mainly because she was the one who introduced us and had, on more than one occasion, subtly implied to me that she thought we would make a good couple and would like to see us go out… No, it wasn’t a boss to employee request, like “Get this newsletter finished and mailed out by Friday.” So, like, “Take Angela out to lunch this Wednesday and tell her how beautiful she is.” And come to think of it, it wasn’t subtle at all. It was much more of a matter of fact statement and suggestion, you know, in a wink, wink, nudge, nudge kind of way.
Once our professional relationship evolved to a private relationship I’m sure more people at work figured it out, but there wasn’t a lot anyone could say. I mean the president of the company’s wife use to be his receptionist, which is much more cliché than our situation. In clarification of his character though I will point out that he was not married at the time, making his situation much less cliché than the married boss sleeping with his secretary, so kudos to him for that.
Anyway, back to the conversation Angela and I were having. It was about self progression or development, but more than that. It was about investing in yourself. For a lot of people, college or a trade school is the big self investment. For others, buying books and reading about things that ignite a spark in them to make a change or start a business is a self investment. It doesn’t have to be a self help book, or a comprehensive comparison of world religions, but maybe for some it does. That’s the nice thing about investing in ones self. It’s all personal and very subjective to each individual.
Angela has gone to a number of trainings and seminars as part of her self investment, and they have been amazing experiences for her. I have even accompanied her to a few, and I have always gotten something out of them. Sometimes it’s just a nugget that has helped open a door inside, letting me reevaluate and adapt some knowledge of who I was to become who I am. Then sometimes it’s like walking into an old room that has not been visited in years and you walk over to the window and open the blinds. Light fills a room in your mind that has been dark and dusty for far too long. Sometime you cry, sometimes you laugh, and sometimes you just quietly sit there.
I think one of the things about self investment is being ok with attaching a monetary value to it. Whether it’s spending $300 to go to a writing conference or $10 for a used book on eBay, I am making that purchase because I know I am worth it. When people pay for something they are going to be more invested in it. People want to get their money’s worth, and they are much more willing to do the work required of them to make sure it’s as worthwhile as possible.
I’m pretty sure that if my college education were free I wouldn’t have completed nearly as many homework assignments as I did, and my all nighters would have consisted of a lot more libation and togas a lot less retention. But because I was paying for it my all nighters consisted of studying and writing and rewriting the same paper just to make sure it was right and that I was learning what I needed to from the class.
Self investing is not just a belief, it’s a personal knowledge. I know I am worth the 40 dollars I spent on a collection of poetry by Pablo Neruda. It opens up my heart when I read it. It gets my brain processing word painted imagery so vivid that I can almost taste the salt from the sea and feel its mist caressing the skin on my arms. It ignites my love for words and inspires me to create, and write, and share.
Honestly $40 is a very small investment based on the way it assists me not only as a writer, but as a person. Likewise, when I purchase books on writing, or on being a writer, or things that focus on writing tools that can be used to strengthen the development of my characters, all these are self investments. And if I paid for the book, you can bet your ass I’m going to read it, and mark it if as well. Some books help, some might not, but I’m willing to invest in the time and money to continue to expand myself as a writer and a person.
In Angela’s case, she is opened up by investing in herself through programs and processes and the interaction that goes along with that. Then again that is what she is all about. Inspiring others to be who they really are after the fear is removed and their true self worth looks them in the eye. She loves to assist people in facing and accepting their greatness, then with open arms give to and receive from the world. Angela is about empowering others, especially other women, so they can empower themselves, and eventually empower others as well. Everyone deserves to connect to their own greatness and share it with others. She is a living example of that.
Sure I’m biased when it comes to talking about my amazing, beautiful Angela, but I believe in her and in the message she has begun sharing with the world. She is putting together a woman’s conference at the end of February. (Yes, a woman’s conference, sorry guys.) So today I’d like to invite you to take a look at her site. Read a little about what she is doing to assist and empower women. Check out all the amazing people she is bring together to talk and present their messages of love, and hope, and healing the world one person at a time. I honestly believe her conference is something all women not only should experience, but deserve to experience.
Please go to Illuminated Woman to see what it is she’s doing.
http://illuminatedwoman.com/
Thanks for checking out.
Let me know what do you think?
Image Sources:
Illuminated Woman
and Google Images, key words: conversation, office romance, investing in yourself, and man reading.
This morning was a “daaaaaamn” kind of morning. You know the kind, where you wake up with the instant realization that that you slept a bit wrong and as you sit up your neck begins unleashing a slew of profanity that would even cause the late Richard Pryor to cautiously pause and reflect that you have one pissed off neck. As you sit on the edge of your bed you attempt the simplest of side to side neck stretches and as you do so your entire world begins moving in slow motion. Then as you attempt to curse out the pain, the pain takes up all your oxygen and most of you vocal ability and all you can really muster is a very softly and slowly spoken, “daaaaaaaaaammmmmnnnnn.”
While fondly remembering my last massage I recalled a conversation that the massage therapist and I had. To give credence to this conversation I’d like to point out a few things. You know when you were younger… or last week, or maybe twenty minutes ago while you were working out, one of the universal attributes that most people seem to equate to a higher yumminess score on the attraction scale has to do with a lovely and well sculpted gluteus maximus. I’m not even going to talk about how many times did that damn Buns of Steel tape. You might laugh, but at my peak, I cracked three different toilet seats.
There is something gravitational about an individual’s neither regions that is renowned for pulling eyes in its direction. This happen when the back region in question is departing from groups of people, random strangers, or spouses of thirty or more years. On the average, people like to check out derrieres. There’s really no polite way to say it. Also, this is not a sexist thing. It applies to men and women alike, and perhaps 99.9% of the Mammalia phylum… or mammals in general. Not to mention, people are constantly checking out their own butts. When people go shopping for new jeans what is the key purchasing point… if your hinder looks good the sale is ensured.
Likewise, and this is what I wanted to get to about the conversation I had with my last massage therapist, which also needs to be clarified. When your massage therapist tells you that you have a tight ass, this is not a compliment… do not say thank you. Trust me on this. They will never find it as amusing as you do. In fact, they will never find it amusing… ever.
