Lincoln knew what he was doing.

I shaved my beard off today.

This happens about once a year and always sort of sporadically. It’s usually because of a show/role/performance but this year it was more of a check in to see “how things were going”. I first grew my facial hair in to give myself a bit of a false definition to my chin line which for many years was not very well defined (read: nonexistent). After losing a significant amount of weight in the past year I thought it might be something to check in on to see if any of my chins had disappeared along with the other weight.

Thankfully they had done just that and I now only have one real chin rather than multiple chins all sloughed together on my neck. Now, my face is less an amorphous blob and more an actual face. Hooray for actual face.

Also, I have a bit of a confession. I’ve started putting minoxidyl (the main ingredient in rogaine) in my beard to try and fill it out a bit. Vain? Absolutely. I have always had a lot of my self image tied up in my facial hair. My beard has been a bit patchy in the past and I’ve had a couple spots where things didn’t quite connect (bridge between my moustache and goatee, sideburns on my left side, couple of larger patches on the right side) that have always bothered me. I’ve always had to grow my beard out quite a bit to mask these bearded imperfections. I’m jealous of guys who have genetically lucked into beards like this:

Perfect coverage. Full. Thick. Amazing. 

Or this:

Football beard. *grunt* 

Or definitely this:

Photo selected only to show beard fullness and for no other reason...*melt*

Lucky bearded bastards all of you. Thankfully I can grow enough facial hair for it to look right but not as much as I would want if I had my druthers.

When I was in college one of the running jokes was to give me rogaine as a present or gag gift because I was quite clearly losing my hair on the top of my head (monk’s hat style). After the obvious hilarity ensued from the initial gift I did actually use the bottles they would give me. Like they always say in the commercials/warnings the effects of Rogaine will go away when you stop using Rogaine. So while sometimes it would show some extra hair growth on the top of my head, it would go away after I ran out of the bottle. (I was a college student so I couldn’t afford to buy anymore either.) I would always apply as directed to the top of my head then it would leave some residue on my finger tips so I would rub that on the largest patchy spot under one of my 4 chins. This grew in amazingly and even after I stopped using Rogaine, it stayed on like a champ. My oval beard champion spot.

This has always made me think dreamily that maybe one day I too could have a beard like these lumberjacks. I too could posses facial hair deserving of admiration and jealousy. Little ole Strother could have a beard that could take any other beard in a cage match of beards. (Thanks “Title of Show”) I found a good batch of generic minoxodil on sale on Amazon and decided to pounce. I have now been using one bottle for the past month or so and have definitely seen some improvement. The shave was a way to take my face back to zero so I could more closely monitory my progress. It’s a lot easier to see hair follicles popping up when the beard is short/nonexistent.

Why all this devotion to facial hair? Why such a strong desire to have a thick beard? Well, it’s what I’m attracted to and with a bit of an “I’d fuck me” attitude, I want to have that same thing.

When I was in high school I grew facial hair to cover my chins and also to somehow assert my masculinity. In my tiny little small town mind, who could suspect a guy with a beard of being gay!? It just didn’t seem like it could exist in the world. (Thank God I was wrong about that.) I held on to facial hair tightly throughout high school to the point of refusing to shave at the cost of missing a performance with my choir because our director “didn’t want anyone to think I was a drug dealer”. I even came up with an elaborate hide utilizing some of Ginger’s concealer and some clear packing tape. While it fooled my director from a distance, he still refused to let me participate in the show…bastard.

My facial hair remained a huge part of who I was even after I cut off all my shoulder length hair (which was the right choice). I always feel kind of naked without at least some hair on my chinny chin chin. It's colder without it for sure because all the skin under there is not used to braving the elements. All through college and all post college I've kept my face adorned in some form of hair so that's why a shave gets such an extended post. 

I just think I look better with some facial hair. I used to wear it to hide what was underneath but now that I'm happier with all that, I wear it to enhance what's underneath. I don't look as ridiculous without facial hair as I used to but it's still not how I want to look. I used to try and hole up in my room until my facial hair grew back when I shaved, now I'm no longer at that point and I don't hate it with the same fervor. As the beard comes in a bit more I'm even finding myself happy with just some stubble, but something has to be there.

And for those who care to know, it's working. The patches get smaller and the stache gets ever closer to connecting. It won't be long before I can actually rock the elusive "monkey tail" style in all it's glory. 

Christ Blogging is Hard

Jesus. I did such a good job there for a little bit.

Apparently a hurricane and earthquake are still not motivating enough to blog about. Long story short they were both anti climactic and boring...at least here in DC. I've had all sorts of "experiences" since the last post and I've just been zapped energy wise. Also, when you fall so far behind the mountain of updates you have to do looks so daunting that you say "ahh fuck that" more often than not. I'm going to spend the next couple of hours catching up...sort of.  So I am going to grant myself amnesty from all the posts before and try and catch up a little but not kill myself over it and start anew.

Or I might spend 15 minutes trying to make this damn thing in Gimp. Writing with a track pad is hard. 

Maybe a daily recap is a bit much to ask. Still a good goal to aim for. It's probably better to expect 2-4 updates a week as far as real posts go. Maybe that'll stick...

...probably not.

Keep on dancin' till the song ends...or turn it off before it gets that far.

Being one of the gays I have a small (not-so) secret place for little miss B Spears in my heart. She is a skanky white trash hot mess but lord love her little heart I like her. Or I usually do. Her new CD is just awful and I have absolutely ZERO standard for her. Does the song make me wiggle? If the answer is yes then I consider it a win for Britney. This cd blows.

Most of the songs are boring and repetitive. The couple of singles are ok but the rest is all filler. With the exception of gasoline and brief moments of a couple of other tracks the cd is not even qualified for background music at a party because it’s all over the place. I do love the whistle-filled "I Wanna Go" and think it’s a pretty solid addition to the Spears library. THIS is what you need to crank out B. Catchy fun and danceable fluff. Don't try and transition your career to some sort of house mash up. You don't do it well. Even with (or especially with) Will.I.Am. in the studio. (Big Fat Bass is one of the top 10 worst songs ever written. I will defend that to the end. It. Is. Awful.)  "Till The World Ends" isn't bad but nothing terribly exciting and "Hold It Against Me" is lackluster. Of course, the radio has played them so much that now I do groove a bit more than when they first came out but they're flat and boring songs overall. 

I was hoping for a fun dancey album of trashy pop but what I got was an attempt by a pop star to give herself an “edge” with “house” music and “urban” beats. All of these words deserve quotation marks as she doesn’t even get close.

Buy the singles and don’t waste your time with the rest of the album. Miss Spears, you have one more shot. Don’t shave your head again either. 

I may not be Fred Flintstone Baby but...

It was just another day. Until terror struck P St…for everyone but me.

This is now the 7^th earthquake I have lived through and not felt. A couple in California (where I was sure I’d feel at least one) and now DC. I was walking back from Starbucks to a meeting at the gym and all of a sudden people started running out of the buildings and looking up. After a couple of seconds murmurs of “Did you feel it?” started making their way through the crowd.

No. No I did not feel it. (That's what she said...bazing!) 

I had no idea anything had happened. Apparently if you were moving at all (on a bus, in a car, on a bike, walking quickly) you might not have felt the quake. Since I had no objects to really put any of the movement into perspective for me it just felt like a regular step in my stride and I didn’t feel even a quiver.

Government agencies shut down, businesses closed, people went home and took unscheduled leave time. DC is the least prepared city for a natural disaster ever.

Teeny earthquake: City shuts down

Snowstorm: City shuts down for weeks

Hurricane threat: Grocery stores emptied

The capitol of our nation is the wussiest city I’ve ever lived in.

1)    It’s fine, some people didn’t even feel it…yes it cracked the Washington monument but it certainly didn’t fall. Take precautions but it’s not a sign of the end times.

2)    Invest in some snow plows. I know it doesn’t snow most of the year and the budget is tight but for Christ sake have SOME option for when/if it snows. The money lost due to lack of people going out for 2 weeks of snow time is way worse than the money it would cost to get a couple plows and hire some people. Even if it took a day or two to do, it’s fine.

3)    Don’t even start with hurricane. It’ll be a separate post all together.

I know I shouldn’t “wish” an earthquake to happen anywhere. Even a pansy little one like we had here has done some damage. It shakes buildings off their foundations and cracks penis shaped monuments. No one wants that. So clearly I don’t want another earthquake to happen…I’m just saying if one does and I live in that city I hope I feel it next time. (I also hope it’s a little puss puss quake like this past one because I think while I want to feel one, I’d also be terrified if one really rolled through and say knocked down a wall or something so dear universe…don’t take this too seriously, I wanna feel one but I don’t wanna die in it.)

Second star to the right and straight on till morning.

I never want to grow old.

Now not "old" the way kids say old when they think of 30 (which is just barely over 2 years away) or 40 or even 50. Old to me isn't so much a number as it is a state of being. Things give out. Our bodies can only take so much and enough wear and tear and we're all gonna deteriorate sooner or later. We can slow this down by treating our bodies well and by staying in the right mindset but it's going to happen to everyone eventually. I am fully aware that I will not be as spry or limber as I am today when I am in my 50's. No getting around it.

But.

I won't have to consider myself "old" when the 50's run around necessarily. Old to me is "given up". You can be much older than 50 and still not be "old" as I use the term. I don't think anyone is "old" until they are done living. Sure your capabilities change but that means you readjust and figure out where to find the life and the youth in the parameters your body gives you. Can't mountain bike anymore? Go for a walk on the trail. Can't walk the trail anymore? Try a wheelchair. Can't use a wheelchair? Paint a picture of the trail. Can't hold a paintbrush too long? Dictate a story about it. You get my point. Life is about living and until I'm in a box (or more likely scattered in the ocean) I don't plan on stopping. If I ever get to a point where my days are spent being unable to take care of myself, lonely and in pain then I don't want to extend that time any longer. Life throws stuff at us and who knows if I'll even be able to walk tomorrow but hopefully I;ll be able to find life in whatever turn it takes.

Why this sudden ode to youth?

I went to visit my great Aunt in her assisted living community today. I go to visit her about once a month. I'm the only relative nearby so it's basically my duty. This all sounds pretty selfless but don't confuse me for a saint. While I definitely see how much my visits mean to her and at the end of the day I'm glad to go...it's a giant pain in the ass.

Ask anyone who has had an aging relative and (if they're not sugar coating it like an old southern lady is wont to do) they'll tell you it's tough. The older you get it seems the more set in your ways you are (somewhat rightfully so, you've earned it) but with that comes a stronger sense of annoyance when things aren't as you see fit. To block out one of my days off in a time period where I already have next to no free time is a tough sell especially when the things we often talk about aren't terribly fun. Now and then I'll get a good story about my family or some of her work history (she had a high government clearance level...but she's a good former worker and never tells me any of the really good stuff) but most of the time we talk about which of her friends are sick or dying, how terrible her doctor's appointments were or Charlie's bowel movements.

(Her cat. I could have placed the parenthesis right after his name but what fun would that be?)

Aunt Betty, while certainly a sweet old lady who means well by all her friends and family, is still a bit at odds with many of my viewpoints and at times difficult to interact with. Of my family however, she and I probably do share the most liberal leanings but that's like saying she's the skinniest girl at Kirstie Alley's house. (I kid, I kid. I adore you Kirstie and you look great these days.) She is still extremely conservative but unlike most of my fam, she will listen to rebuttals and discuss her points with a somewhat (mis)informed POV without just shouting at you that you've been brainwashed by the "goddam liberal media". It's still tough though to gear up to go listen to how Obama is destroying the world, marriage should be between a man and a woman and Bill O'Riley has "some really good ideas" on my day off.

However, Aunt Betty is not what this post is about. I can handle her quirks because we have a pretty good mutual understanding that we're not going to agree on many issues but that's ok. (A disagreement in my family that doesn't end up in a shouting match?! Shocking.) That and of course she's my family and has done lots of really great things for me and those important to me so the least I can do is visit now and again. She's grateful to have someone come out to talk to her and help out with her computer and I'm happy to stock up some good karma points and actually feel connected to one side of my family. Aunt Betty and I have a pretty solid mutual understanding of each other even if our viewpoints are clashy.

This post is more about the slow spiral many people hit as they "get old". (Remember getting old and aging are two totally separate ideas for me.)

I am glad that she has someone around to come visit her mainly because when I arrive on the assisted living campus (it is like a sprawling college campus for the 65+ frat boy and sorority girl) you can feel the people there staring at you because you're young. For some of them it's a wistful look as if they are remembering their youth and what it was like when they were my age. Others it feels like they're actively trying to suck the youth out of you a la Hocus-Pocus (which PS scared me to death as a child). They stare at you from their rascal scooters as you walk by, some saying hi, others just staring and you can feel the eyes of most everyone in the room land squarely on you. It's a creepy feeling especially the first couple of times you visit. I'm a bit more acclimated to it now and I just smile and exude as much youth and vitality as I can and say hello to every person I pass just so they have some human interaction. It's really sad to think (know) that some of these people don't have anyone left in their lives. That they spend their days in pain missing days and people gone by. Longing for some form of real connection and interaction other than a casual hello from a guy with a beard walking down the hall going to meet someone who is not them. This, this is where I never want to end up.

I want to age. I want to grow and learn and experience. I want to fail and succeed and go new places. I want all the great things that come with getting older and I'm prepared to deal with the inevitabilities that come along with that. What I'm not prepared to do is live a life where I'm just stalling. If I get to a point where my friends and family are all dead. I can't move. I spend most of my day in pain. I lament even having to get up in the morning because of the supreme amount of effort it takes me. If I get to this point then I don't want to be there anymore.

Death is scary yeah but I'd rather check out what's behind door number eternity than cling to an unlivable life.

I'm ready to get older but in true Peter Pan form, I'll never be ready to be old.

"That man ate all our shrimp...and two plastic lobsters"

Brunch. The gayest (and therefore the best) meal of the day.

Today's brunch is brought to you by Masa 14.

Masa had been on my "to do" list for a while and I finally had someone to go with. The delightful Sara Brunow.

We got there before the doors opened which turned out to be pretty unnecessary as there was plenty of space. We sat down and knew before going that we were doing the unlimited brunch for $35 (including drinks). We perused the menu and ordered some breakfast-y items and drinks. Sara got the Masa Mimosa and I tried the Lychee Bellini.

Can someone please clarify whether it is pronounced lie-chee or lee-chee for me? I have now officially heard "people who should know" (read: Chinese people) pronounce it both ways and I keep making myself look like an ass when I order anything with lychee in it. I just want the confidence in my pronunciation so that no matter how they say it back to me, even if in a corrective tone, I can think to myself "no way mister, screw you. I said it lie-chee and I know I'm right so you can take your lee-chee crap elsewhere because that don't fly over here."

While the lychee was fantastic, the Masa Mimosa is clearly the winner of the drink race. The Masa Mimosa is a regular mimosa but instead of orange juice it has blood orange juice and a hint of mango puree which was amazing. Bottomless is a dangerous term but thankfully I wasn't in the mood to get smashed.

Now to the food. The most amazing thing we had was easily the chorizo plate. Had the waitress just brought that dish out over and over again I would have been satisfied. Their granola was really great with a hint of vanilla/almond to it that I enjoyed. I was a bit underwhelmed by both the tuna steak and the chilaquiles although both still good they just didn't stand out with quite as much flavor or pop as the rest of the dishes did. Everything else we tried was quite good and the overall experience was pretty solid. With attentive waitstaff (my water was never less than 1/3 empty...but who's drinking water here really?), great ambiance, yummy (and bottomless) food and drink for a reasonable price it's tough to go wrong here. I'll certainly head back and probably lounge around a bit longer. With a larger group or date it would be a great way to spend your 11am-2pm Sunday time frame and then leave stuffed and buzzed. Sara and I had to roll out early to get some errandy things done and having already made asses of ourselves mispronouncing lychee and talking too loudly (theatre voices) of our sex lives (limited shame) it was probably best to leave before the bell rang anyway.

"It is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time"

Career.

Yikes. Heavy wordage when you think about it. What you "do" with your life. How do you make a living? How do you set your work/life balance? Can you really separate "work" from "life" or do the two intertwine too much?

For me "work" has often been a large part of "life". Pursuing theatre, music and teaching was a big part of my identity and remains part of it even though it is removed from "work" for the time being. I think one of the things many people struggle with is deciding if what they "do" defines "who they are". (Let me put more quotation marks in this post how bout it?)

Right now I'm caught in the middle of a somewhat amorphous phase of my life. I've stopped "working" in theatre and the arts and now my job is massage therapist and spa manager. I still believe that my passion for the arts helps define who I am and what my life is even though I'm not working in that world. Massage is something that has happened pretty organically for me. I've always been good at it so when the chance to take classes while keeping my full time job came up I thought why not. I've really connected with the work and I love the things I am now able to do. (Ref: older post about being called a healer.) So now, for the first time in my life, my job has not been a (mostly) complete representation who I am. I don't say the words "I'm a massage therapist" with quite as much conviction as I used to say "I'm a(n) actor/director/teacher."

This makes it sound like I'm not happy with being a massage therapist...that's not the case at all. I'm actually quite happy with it. I'm paying off all the debt I accrued saying "I'm a(n) actor/director/teacher". I'm learning new skills and how to think in different ways (which is extremely important to me). I have met lots of really amazing people. I am exploring lots of new ways of thinking and developing new and healthy habits. I'm learning about the human body and ways that it breaks and ways you can fix it. I'm engaging and training a completely new side of myself and I am constantly excited about it. I think the disconnect is coming from my life time dedicated to saying "I am __(insert job)__" and letting that take all the work out of defining who I am to someone else. I think there is such a strong idea of what a(n) actor/director/singer is that when you tell someone that one of those things is your job then they already "know" a lot about you. When you say "massage therapist" or "spa manager" it doesn't come with quite the same understanding.

Having a job that doesn't have an immediately defining manifesto leaves one in a place where you have to confront exactly what you want to portray to people as you. A hefty task.

Hmm, that was a significant ramble away from what this post was originally going to be about. Let's backtrack.

I saw a client of mine who I have been seeing for many months this weekend. I hadn't seen them in forever and our schedules finally clicked for them to come in. After catching up briefly we went into the spa and I asked what they wanted me to work on.

Lots of stuff came pouring out about how difficult things have been lately. No real specifics but just a clear picture of a rough patch from a client who isn't terribly talky about personal life. It was clear that this massage was going to be the first real break the client had had from this shitstorm in their life and it was super important to them. I have yet to do a massage that had quite as much meaning as this one did for me. This client was around from the very start of my massage career and we developed a great rapport. To see them so clearly frustrated and upset with something was tough because I'm a bit of an empathetic d-bag. It was clear that this massage was the first time they have had to really switch off and disconnect from all the shit going on in their life. I have never felt more motivated to do my best work than here. I felt like I was really making a difference in my client's life that was significant and meaningful.

All of a sudden the work that I've not been ascribing as my "I'm a __(blank)__" is actually pretty important and can be really powerful. I may not be curing cancer or saving starving kids but I am helping people feel better and I think there is a lot to be said for that. Helping someone recover from a sore muscle, a stressful day or even a month of shitty stuff going on is a pretty great job and I'm happy to take it on. To be an integral part of the health and wellbeing of others is necessary and worthwhile. I may have to explain who I am a bit more now than I'm used to but I think that's a good thing. I want to be more complex than a job title.

Till they fall off

Today the experience is training arms and core. (God that's a douchey way to start a post..."Oh you know just workin' the lats and the tris baby, gettin' swole". Kill me for that.)

I've decided the reason to have a trainer is mainly to have someone tell you "Oh no you're not done yet."

When I train by myself I lift until I'm pretty sure I'm done. That I can't do anymore. Everything I've read says you should lift to exhaustion when you're looking to gain muscle.

Well my idea of exhaustion on my own is different from exhaustion with a trainer. I lift to my idea of exhaustion and then Chandini says "Ok 8 more to go...for this set."

What the hell do you want from me?

It's good though. It's good. I've just resigned myself to being sore for the rest of this year. I hope that by the end of all the PT time that I'll have learned more about where "actual exhaustion" is and have some lifting regiments I can do on my own.

I think one thing I have to stop doing is equating lifting and the gym with douchey. While yes often times the two do indeed go together (stop bouncing your pecs in the mirror when you're done with a chest press asshole...you know who you are) they aren't necessarily always tied together. I've learned a lot working out with intelligent and informed trainers about the body, nutrition, health, wellness and being sore. Having a commitment to being healthier is actually pretty awesome and making lifestyle changes that positively effect both my body and my health are good steps to take. I think growing up in a pretty unhealthy environment engrained in me the idea that being healthy and fit was a bad thing or something to be looked down on. "Why waste your life in a gym or eating healthy foods when you can be fat and happy?" Well fat was certainly not happy and while I'm sure some of that is mental, a lot of it is biological. Low energy levels, inability to walk long distances or even stand for long portions of the day and low self esteem tied with poor body image from years of being unhealthy certainly aren't the way to go. There's a balance between letting the gym and your eating habits take control of your life and letting them govern your decisions. All sorts of studies (which I will leave unreferenced because I don't feel like looking them up right now) have suggested that working out during the day actually makes you more productive and while yes you do have to give that time to being in the gym, it's not a waste at all. I'm starting to look at the time I spend working out or the times I skip the free bread bowl or a slice of pie at the beginning/end of a meal as investments in the future. Sure I "lose" an hour now but it's hopefully going to help me live longer and improve my quality of life when I get old. Growing old (and I mean actually old as in nursing home old) is terrifying to me. I have been to those places and the people who are confined to rascals and walkers with tennis balls on them are pretty depressing. I want the ability to walk and move unassisted as long as I can have it and if that means I have to spend some time in the gym now and maybe skip a movie on the couch now and then well then so be it.

Changing a lifetime of unhealthy choices and habits takes a lot and it's hard most of the time. Of course I'd rather have Doritos than green beans for my snack but I'd also rather be confident going to a beach and taking off my shirt. I spent too much time apologizing for how fat I was (or how fat I perceived myself to be) with my body language and attitude. Shaking all of that off (literally and figuratively speaking) has taken a pretty intense borderline obsession with this process but I keep looking towards the light at the end of the tunnel. When I've built up the body and the health that I'm aiming for and I can start the "maintain" phase I hope it will be a bit easier than the "swimming against the current" mentality I have now. I've still got a ways to go before I'm there mentally but each day is a step in the right direction. (How motivational.)

Huh, this was supposed to be a boring short post about an arm work out.

I wish I had Gob there to make it more interesting...

I ran a quarterly all staff meeting today.

It's as exciting and interesting as it sounds.

It was the biggest thing that happened today. <---Depressing sentence.

My staff is awesome and they had great ideas though so I do have that going for me. Thank goodness they're all so great or I'd be boned. Yay staff!

I'm not gonna write anymore about this. You wouldn't care to read it anyway.

To make up for how boring of a post this is, here's a link to a cat trying to get into boxes that are too small for it.

I admit that in the past I've been a nasty

I love the Little Mermaid.

Guilty.

Super gay? Oh yeah, but you can suck it if you have a problem with it.

Lots of gays seem to like the Little Mermaid too...what is it about this movie that unites all the homos? Well, let's break it down.

*A story about a young girl struggling with living in a place where no one understands her. (Ghey)

* Singing/Dancing undersea life. (Ghey)

* A young girl searching for a forbidden true love. (Ghey)

* Some of the best Disney songs ever written. (Ghey)

* A Disney Villain modeled after a drag queen (Ghey g-ghey ghey ghey)

Urusla is the best Disney villain ever. (Malificent is scarier than Ursula but Ursula is such a better overall villain.) She has the best villain song too. Today I youtubed "Poor Unfortunate Souls" to catch up on all the words and re-familiarize myself with the song that I as a child had memorized.

A little piece of me died to see that The Jonas Brothers have done a cover of the song but I pressed on. I now proudly know all the words to "Poor Unfortunate Souls" and have sung it basically every day since learning. If I could audition with this song I absolutely would.

While I might not be able to use it professionally...the drag race is coming up soon...

Facebook update: Your Gall Bladder Meridian has poked you.

Working in the spa industry makes you want to do weird things.

Like asking someone to stick needles in you and paying them for the privilege.

I'd always been a bit curious about acupuncture but am a bit of a needle-phobe and it was always too expensive to just "give it a go". Finally a living social deal came up for an acupuncture session at Creative Hands Massage so I decided to jump on it.

I'll focus mostly on the session as opposed to my review of the space. There are some negative reviews on Yelp which I didn't have any similar issues with but it sounds like it's something I should investigate if I'm going to return for my follow up appointment.

I arrived about 20 minutes early (as is spa courtesy, especially for a first time appointment at an unfamiliar place) and accidentally came in the back door. (Har de har har.) The space is actually in an alley way and a bit tough to find. I opened the door to the studio (which I only knew was the right door because of the recycling bin labeled "CHMassage" by the door. I interrupted the receptionist (who was very sweet) on her lunch break. She led me to the front and had me start filling out the intake form. I met the owner briefly who was apparently working on something for the website. She seemed a bit stressed out but was nice overall.

The intake form was 4 pages long or so. It asked how much water I drink, what color is my tongue, how often I poop and all sorts of other questions. I filled everything out as best I could then was escorted to my room to hang out and wait for my acupuncturist. Zinnia (sp?) showed up with her chakra stone necklace in tow and checked over my intake form and promptly told me we wouldn't be using this one.

"So what hurts?"

"Umm, well nothing really..."

"Well then what do you hope to accomplish with the session?"

"Well honestly I'm a massage therapist and have just always wanted to try this and I got a good deal on the session today so I thought why not...umm I do have tight hamstrings though."

"Alright, we can work with that."

She then asked me all the questions I'd already filled out on the form and we chatted a little bit. I showed her my squat (she also studied Alexander Technique so that's helpful) and we got to work. She decided to focus on my bladder meridian which apparently runs down the center of the back of the leg.

She asked me to take my shorts off and then just sorta hung around. I thought she was going to leave and then come back but she just stood there so I took them off right in front of her (which was a bit awkward but I'm not terribly shy) and got on the table. She started putting the needles in and everyone has asked "what does it feel like?"

Well it feels like a needle going into your leg.

It's not comfortable.

It's not relaxing like a massage.

I don't know how I expected it to be anything like that. I don't know what I expected it to be like but what you *should* expect it to be like is like a needle going into your leg.

That being said it didn't hurt TOO much but it's not comfortable.

So the needles start going in on the bladder meridian and I feel a couple of pulse-like sensations but nothing terribly crazy. A bit pinchy and pokey but overall nothing too out of the ordinary. No overhwhelming sense of relaxation or release. No super painful pokes. Just sorta run of the mill needles in the leg sensations.

Then she said "Let's try some of the Gall Bladder meridian, it's right here along your IT band"

*poke*

"Whoa....what is that?!"

This time I felt something big. The needle went in to my GB Meridian and it felt like a rush of water from my hip to my knee converging on the spot about 3/4 up my thigh. The spot pulsated for a couple of minutes and I had a pretty strong response to all the remaining GB meridian needles.

"This must be your meridian."

"What does that mean?"

"It's the meridian of creativity and vision..."

Well...sure that sounds nice but I still don't really know what it means.

After putting 10 needles in each leg she said "Now you relax for a bit" and left the room.

She left with no music playing and no time frame for when she'd return so I started trying to zen out a bit. (I also snuck a peak of my legs just to see the needles sticking out and it wasn't as terrifying as I anticipated.)

I'm a bit of an antsy person. I move around a lot. I toss and turn before I fall asleep and my mom always called me a "wallerer" (which is apparently a southern term that not everyone understands...think of someone rolling around on the floor mainly for the tactile stimulation they get from rolling around...or a cat doing lots of slow stretches just because...that's what it means to waller). This just means I can't stay still for too long unless I'm totally asleep or totally blissed out. Needles in the leg = not totally blissed out.

I tried to just chill on the table but the urge to move even just a tiny bit kept sneaking up. I had no idea how long I was going to be on the table and that uncertainly just made it worse. I kept wanting to roll over but could barely move without the needles changing position and pinching a bit. Finally after what felt like about half an hour she came back to take all the needles out. I got off the table and she had me do another squat. She said it looked better but I couldn't really tell much difference. We scheduled an appointment not with her but with another acupuncturist 6 weeks from today. I tried to tip her (whoops) and was told "This is a medical procedure, there's no tip." Hopefully I didn't piss her off...I didn't know the etiquette.

The owner told me it varies from acupuncturist to acupuncturist...some that she had would take tips and others refuse them. So now I have zero standard and run the risk of looking like a cheap bastard or a trashy douche anytime I go to a new person. Maybe I'll just ask on the phone.

For a couple of hours after my right calf was pretty sore...as if I'd just gotten a much deeper shot in the middle of the muscle belly. It went away the next day and I had a training session. Apparently I looked a lot more flexible to my trainer and my hamstrings were "pretty impressive" as far as flexibility goes. My squats were better, my caterpillars were better and my overall range of motion improved. Now was this due to acupuncture or the fact that my body is just getting better at the moves now that I've been doing them pretty consistently? Not entirely sure.

Overall reaction is I'm going to keep my 6 week appointment (as long as nothing more fun comes up) and see if it helps more with a stronger focus on the Gall Bladder meridian. The rates at the clinic are pretty cheap so it's wroth it at least to experiment. I'll update when the time comes.

The Pitter Patter of White Noise

I live in the attic of a 100 year old row house.

Temperature control is a bitch but it's the biggest room in the house. It has a horribly ugly green carpet but is such a cool space that despite it's flaws I do love living there.

One of my favorite things about the room is that my ceiling is basically the roof (see "issues with temperature control) so when it rains it sounds amazing.

I'm not really one for white noise machines but if they could mimic what is sounds like in that room I would sleep like a baby every night. While I usually have difficulty falling asleep, when it's raining and I'm in my room I am out.

With all the stressful things in my life right now, it's nice to have something so small have such a strong effect.

Dear rain, please don't rain on Sundays when I have free time to do things but do rain every night around midnight-2am. Thanks.

"It'd be cute if you weren't gay...well it's still pretty cute."

Today (8/13) was a pretty busy day at work with lots of boring work things going on and then a fairly uneventful evening so this post is a bit of a stretch for "experience" but hey they can't all be winners right?

After coming back from lunch with my work wife we ended up getting caught in a pretty torrential downpour. Work and lunch aren't even a full block away from each other but we still ended up getting soaked. She had an umbrella and I did not so we decided to make the trek under the one brella. From the outside it looked pretty adorable. What a romantic/playful thing. Sharing an umbrella and clinging to one another to stay dry while running through the rain giggling. It's so sweet my teeth hurt but sadly "work wife" is but a title and her parts just don't do it for me. (Much to my father's chagrin.)

While this time it wasn't quite the romantic romp I'd like for it to be, it's cute to practice.

And you shall be...

I had a couple of reasons to become a massage therapist.

1) It was more lucrative than teaching or theatre/music.

2) I was always pretty good at it

3) It fit into my schedule

4) It was flexible so when I do start doing theatre/music again I have some sway in my hours.

5) There's a bit of a romantic ideal to working in a spa and the idea of traveling the world as a massage therapist was really appealing.

6) I like working with people.

I think these are all pretty standard reasons for lots of people to become massage therapists. Well I got a bit of a pat on the back today which is always nice.

I have a client I have seen a handful of times and each time I have always gotten the vibe that the client was unhappy with me as a therapist. That, despite my best efforts, they left the spa less than satisfied. I don't know what gave me that impression (demeanor? tone of voice? body posture?) but I always felt a bit like they were disappointed. (You may notice I'm not giving my client a gender, mainly to protect client confidentiality...any time I write about an experience in the spa it will remain as vague as I can leave it and still tell the story.)

Well today the spa got a call from one of the trainers at the gym requesting me specifically for their client. I work fairly closely with the PT department so my name is probably at the top of most of their recommendation lists whether or not they've worked with me before because I'm one of the only therapists they would even be aware of. The trainer said their client was complaining of an issue in their neck and was about to go on a long business trip and they had to get in. My book was closed off but I said they could come in for a 30 minute session to see what we could take care of.

When I saw who the client was I thought that the trainer had probably forced me as the therapist because they knew my name and knew I had a solid reputation but the client still wasn't excited about it.

I consulted with now my client and found out the source of their pain and what the issues were with range of motion and got to work. About midway through the massage (after the client actually stopped to take a work phone call) they said:

"I'm so glad you were here and could see me. You always fix me. I've gone to other therapists and I always feel a bit better when they're done. You fix me though. You should do as many massages as you can because it will be great for your karma. Being a healer is so amazing and you're a healer."

Wow. I gotta say that's a pretty strong reinforcement that I'm doing something right. This client went from one I was certain didn't like me to one of my biggest fans. Clearly it's silly of us as therapists to impose anything on our clients or to assume anything about what they think of us unless we're told directly. I'm confident in my abilities as a massage therapist and I like to think that I do certainly help people get better but there's some sort of density to the word healer that I'm not sure if I'm ready to own just yet. I aspire to one day be comfortable with that title but in the meantime it's really nice to know that at least someone already gives it to me.

This post about ta...

It's nice sometimes when you get an unexpected burst of being happy.

This morning (9/15) I had one of those moments just driving to work. Some dancey song came on (embarrassingly enough I think it may have been Ke$ha which makes my heart die a bit to type) and I just immediately fell into a good mood.

Work is hard. My body is sore from training. I don't have a ton of free time to do the things I'd like to do. Then suddenly something gives you a burst of happy and it carries you for a bit. It's moments like this that are refreshing and more importantly reassuring for me that even though I'm not exactly where I want to be in the moment (in more ways than one) that my core is still pretty happy...even when lots of things are stressful. I'd like to think that I won't ever lose that.

Meathead Princess

I work at a super chi-chi/posh/upscale gym spa in one of the fittest cities in America.

This is not really a place I would ever have really seen myself working had you asked 2 years ago but somehow here I am.

You can't work at a place like this and not be shamed into trying to get into shape. The most perfect bodies (and judgmental eyes) come in and out the doors all day. I had just begun trying to "shape up" a bit during massage school because I felt like I couldn't market massage as a health benefit if I waddled into the room. (I also have bad lateral turn out so the descriptor of "waddle" is really not that much of a hyperbole.) After getting a job at this gym I had to kick things into higher gear. I started trading massages for personal training sessions with my trainer Lisa at the first location I worked at. I learned a ton from her and we started putting together some fitness plans/goals so I could get in shape for Ginger's wedding.

Having been a "fitness baby" I was learning a lot of things really quickly from the PT time and I started to see results. By the time Ginger's wedding rolled around I had lost quite a bit of weight and was pretty happy with the results. I did however want to put on some muscle. I've always wanted a nice chest, arms and back (who doesn't?) and I thought while working at a gym spa, surrounded by knowledgeable personal trainers is probably going to be the best time in my life to get it together.

Since Ginger's wedding my goals have changed from weight loss to muscle gain officially. (Hopefully weight loss will continue as I gain more muscle and increase my metabolism but the body only does one of those at a time really well I've been told.) Apparently the best and most effective move for total body muscle gain is a weighted squat. So of course I want to do squats.

Problem.

I have ridiculously tight hamstrings and calves from being overweight my whole life. My pelvis has tilted and elongated my quads resulting in ridiculous flexibility in that direction but tightened my hamstrings leaving me unable to even do a straight legged toe touch. Apparently, flexible hamstrings are pretty necessary to doing a squat. So while I've known for months now that squats are the way to go, I haven't been able to do one even without weight because of my hamstrings. I can't get fully into the squat position without falling over so you don't want to put a huge bar on top of me before hand.

We've constantly been working on increasing my flexibility to try and get my body able to handle a squat and today was the day to really go for it. We started doing squats on a medicine ball (trying to touch my butt to the ball without falling and without flaring my knees) first to get the form down. I could cheat and grab a stabilization bar if I needed to but slowly my form improved and I got deeper into the stretch. Then we added the bar with no weights (which is still pretty damn heavy).

This hurt. A lot. Apparently the flexibility level in my back is pretty low too because even just holding the bar felt like it was ripping my shoulders out of socket but on we press. The added weight actually helped get deeper into the squat and wasn't terribly difficult to lift. I have pretty strong legs if I might toot my own horn...not much else on my body is strong but legs seem to develop some power when they carry around a fat guy all day for 20 years.

We added weight and it started to get more challenging but I actually enjoyed it. (Who am I?) There are apparently some exercises I actually like. Squats, dumbbell rows and overhead presses being the three that immediately jump to mind. I feel like that meathead I always secretly wanted to be. Lisa, knowing my goals are 90% aesthetic, told me that once I added dead lifts to my repertoire then I'd have a routine that would make me into that meathead princess I hoped to be. Lisa has learned that I enjoy two types of exercises, ones that make me feel like a badass (see above) and ones I can pretend are dancing. She's slowly putting together the complete "Meathead Princess" routine. You can bet there will be a workout DVD coming out of this. Reserve yours today, it's gonna fly off the shelf.

Get in and don't ask questions

Tuesday August 16th (to catch up on the date this *should* have been posted.

Not too much exciting to write about. The "return day" is always a bit mundane I think when you're coming off a trip high.

The only real notable experience was riding home (at 1:30am so it counts as happening on Tuesday) in an unmarked cab.

I got off the bus and was dreading finding a cab. As I approached the gates I was relieved to see a couple of cabs waiting and a guy asked me if I needed a cab. I enthusiastically forced out a "Yes!" in my sluggish half asleep state. Rather than whisking me off to his bright yellow cab he pointed to a lady who came up and asked me "where ya goin'?" and I told her my address and she said "Yeah, I'll take ya."

Now I still think she's going to lead me to her cab but she leads me to her Corolla with a strawberry shaped air freshener hanging from the dash and motions for me to sit in the front.

"Ummm, how much is it gonna cost to take me home?"

"Where do you live again?"

"14th and Webster, northwest..."

"Ohhh ummm that's gonne be $12."

That's about what I was anticipating so rather than dealing with the hassle of finding another cab I agreed.

Now if you've ever sat in the front of a cab you might be familiar with how awkward that kinda feels. You want to just zone out and either close your eyes, look out the window or play on your phone but it's a bit weird to do it when there is another person right across the arm rest from you but at least most of the time the driver doesn't really engage with you.

This was not Kristen's way.

"How was your trip?"

"Where did you go?"

"That sounds fun! Did you like it?"

"What do you do for work?"

"Ooooh I love spas, I just went to get my nails done last week and they *longer story than worth typing*"

"Oh so this is up past the Upshur pool? That's gonna be $14."

Damn it. I knew that would happen. I briefly considered telling her to just let me out there cause unmarked cabs are so sketch (I had already passed up about 3 in NYC when I was there due to sheer skeeze factor) but I was exhausted and couldn't imagine traipsing around looking for someone else to take me home. While mentally and verbally exhausting, Kristen was at least nice and had called me "boo" a couple of times and I'm a sucker for that.

By the end of our trip I had recommended Spaworld to her for her weekend plans and I had learned of her affinity for baths over showers and how spicy foods make her gassy.

Unmarked cabs...probably best as a last resort unless you're feeling chatty...or like you don't need that extra $4.

I crossed the river but didn't die of dysentery

Day 3 in NYC's experience is walking the city. It's a great (albeit tiring) way to see the city and get a better feel for it.

After taking the subway from Astoria down to the Battery I walked around the coast line and had a brief moment of "What would my life be like if I had moved here right after college like I always imagined I would in high school?" It wasn't a sad moment just one of those million possibilities kind of reflections.

An awesome urban community garden plot on the Battery

My dear friend Ginger (who I grew up with and have followed each other basically everywhere till graduating from college) and I always sort of dreamed of moving from bumblefuck to the biggest city we could imagine and what it would be like to be artists/actors/musicians/bohemians/servers/bartenders/badasses in NYC. We visited in high school and it was the last time I saw the Statue of Liberty. I've been back to NYC since but it was foggy and she was just a dark blurry shadow every time. This time the sky was clear and I could see her. Even though I live in DC where I see impressive monuments all the time (and they still have an effect on me even two years later now and again) this time it made me stop and have a nice little moment.

Not the best view of her for sure but this is the exact moment I had my "What if" pause.

I followed my iPhone map (it's a phone too?) to the Brooklyn Bridge. I wandered past Wall Street and then found the pedestrian entrance to the bridge. It was actually a pretty nice walk. Pretty crowded but everybody was pretty easy going. It's a great view of the skyline and it finally helped solidify exactly where the hell Brooklyn is in my mental map of NYC. After picking the absolutely wrong turn (that leads down to Fulton Street, the shopping district in Brooklyn, via an extremely long and impossible to escape path down the middle of the street) I jumped on the subway and went to Central Park.

What's good for Wall Street is good for main street...right?

The bridge walk begins

Great view of the sky line

Obligatory self shot to prove I was there. See! I didn't just steal all these pictures.

Central park is a strange combo of huge empty fairly boring spaces and beautifully manicured and interesting gardens. It's so big and daunting...I've been before and thought I'd seen all of it but clearly that's not the case because I hardly even recognized anything. Wandering past the turtle pond, the Shakespeare garden and all the other areas was a great close to my trip. I had no idea where I was going but just enjoyed the process of exploring. I think if I lived in NYC I'd take my days off and just wander like this a lot (at least to start). You get more mental map (clearly this is important to me since I can't stop talking about it), you get time to reflect on what's going on and you get some pretty amazing people watching.

I'm a sucker for pathways with trees rounded over them like this. I will take a picture every damn time even though they ALL look the same. This one is pretty quality though.

A little pavilion area near the row boat docks.

I've got to do this but I wasn't about to be that lame guy rowing a boat by himself.

I dare you to look at this bench and tell me New York isn't romantic. Seriously. You sit in this bench with somebody and you're getting married. Done deal.

While I hadn't reached my fill of Central Park, I had reached my limit for walking. My feet and calves were starting to tighten to a level I couldn't ignore anymore so I decided it was time to plant somewhere. I hopped in a cab and made my way to the West Village to crash at a coffee shop on Gay street and see the landmark Stonewall Inn and the memorial.

After work my friend Will came out to meet me for dinner but not before I drug him along to "The Pleasure Palace" to purchase a new accouterment or 3. (On a completely unrelated topic there are no more photos in this article.) Will is clearly a pretty good sport.

After this round I've decided that I could definitely live in NYC and I'd probably enjoy it a lot. The fear of not having my space is mostly dissipated and I think the trade offs would be worth it, if only for a while. Now it's just a matter of when does it make sense or does it ever?

Give my regards

So day 2 of New York is of course another whirlwind of activity but I've decided that I should try and keep things to a minimum when there's just tons and tons to write about. So this is by no means a full account of the day but hits the high point.

A Broadway show.

The Dramatic Arts major in my clamors to see something when I go visit. While there were clearly more "artistic" shows offered while I was there, budgetary and time restrictions (couldn't get to TKTS early enough to grab tickets to much else) helped me decide that I would be going to see that camp-tastic movie port of "Priscilla Queen of the Desert".

Rachel and I searched for about 15 minutes trying to find the theatre...another moment of "I wish they'd just put up a huge sign somewhere and then it'd be easier to fi....oh."

Gay confession time: I'm not a huge fan of this movie. I've seen it once and did really enjoy it but I couldn't quote it to save my life. I felt a bit like a poser rolling in but nevertheless glad to be there. My friend Rachel joined me for the trip and we ended up moving up a tad to get a bit better of a view. I was kicking myself for not getting the cheapest tickets possible because they moved EVERYBODY up. Oh well. This was our final view from the balcony.

Sparkles!

Of course I didn't take any pictures during the show (because I'm a respectful theatre patron) but that's where all the real visuals were. The costumes were insane and over the top. The dance numbers were well done and the quick changes were all super impressive. I felt like overall the characters were pretty engaging (with an especially touching yet humorous performance from Bernadette the full on transexual). The arrangements were fun and the staging exciting. We ended up actually seeing the understudy for Adam/Felicia who did a pretty solid job overall but you could tell that the chemistry was a bit different between the girls. It was really clear though that he was really enjoying the chance to take the lead so I couldn't fault him for anything. The final number culminates with every cast member on stage in over the top Australian themed costumes. (Read oversized koala heads and full body kangaroo jump suits etc. etc.) The girls came out in Victorian hoop skirts that transformed pretty flawlessly into the silhouette of the Sydney Opera House. Really nice touch.

While it wasn't ground breaking theatre and the audience didn't leave the theatre changed in any sort of profound way, it was a fun show with some great spectacle. Aristotle may say spectacle is the least important aspect of a show but I think in a show based around 3 drag queens in a pink bus the order may shift around a bit.

Acrobatic Boobies

NYC. A city of "experience". Millions flock here to experience something. Theatre, food, culture, drugs, alcohol, excess, poverty and beauty. Constantly changing and moving. Even writing about NYC at all in a way seems cliche. Every writer and their mother talks about New York. All the theatre kids flock here to "make it". Everyone who grew up in a small town feeling like they didn't belong finds their niche in New York or dreams of finding it there at some point. So much to do and see and a constantly changing and growing landscape with an unceasing pace make this the perfect city to experience all sorts of things. (Hence the delay in writing about it, there was a whole lot of stuff crammed into three days and I wanted to include some pictures for this one. Maybe I can learn how to budget some time in the morning or something to get this done in the future. Damn you complete lack of self-discipline. Damn you.)

I'm quite honestly a bit intimidated of New York. Could I live here? Sure. I'm adaptable and pretty savvy about most things so I think I could totally "handle" living there. Every time previous to this trip I've come to NYC thinking "It's such a cool city but I don't think I'd want to live there." This trip I may have changed my mind. This time I thought it could be great to live there just for a year or two to really get the feel of the city and understand it...at least to some degree. Still, I wonder if I could keep up with the pace. Where would I find my "break" time? Where would I get the quiet moments? I know they exist here but they're pretty tough to find when you're just on a quick visit. Maybe one day in the future though a post will be titled "The Big Move". Until then, long weekends will have to do.

I arrived in New York as the sun was heading down and met up with Cathy's friend Cole (who's apartment we graciously crashed at) and we all went out to grab dinner at a vegetarian/vegan Thai place called Red Bamboo which was pretty tasty. We took a brief stop at a gay bar called "Boots and Spurs" (maybe?) where Cathy and Keri touched a footlong in a mesh hammock (I do have pictures but I don't think I'm allowed to post those) then we jetted off to meet Danielle (Cathy's bestie) and her boy Joe (both of whom have amazingly thick Bostonian accents which I for one find adorable...not the word most Bostonians would probably want attributed to their accent but trust I mean it with best intentions...it's a sexy accent and it makes me like you more so talk bean town to me). Our destination was "The Floating Kabarette" at a spot called the Galapagos Art Space.

The space is beautiful. My lame iPhone photos can't do anything justice but I'll include a couple.

I want a space like this.

There are two levels, the main level has 6 islands shooting off of a main aisle where patrons and performers can walk to get to their seats and the stage. The main stage is a proscenium and has a very minimalist charm to it. The stereotypical red curtain and velvet ropes separate the stage from the audience and our enigmatic host Bastard Keith paraded and entertained. Keith was a great blend of camp and talent and was a great MC for the show. The show opened with the performers from "Suspended Cirque" who had a great routine from hanging silks. The aerialists were just mindblowing, in particular the male members of the company. The movements being combos of sexuality, power and grace. It was truly inspiring (and makes you feel like the weakest piece of shit that ever walked the earth when you see them roll themselves up to the ceiling in the silks with their arms).

Here we have the ladies opening act. There was a third member who was performing on stage but these guys had our focus clearly. Core strength + 1000

Here are the menfolk: one singing a version of "Mad World" the other blowing my mind.

HOW DO YOU DO THIS?

The other "main act" so to speak was Jenny Rocha and her Painted Ladies who combined hardcore tap dancing (which I wouldn't have really believed existed until seeing them perform), Burlesque and a playful theatricality into what ended up being some amazing performances which I would categorize as the most turned on by women I've ever been .

This may be the first time I've had to "think about baseball"

with ladies.

If you made Stomp sexy and took off all their clothes and added pasties, you would have the above photo.

Interspersed between these acts were some great burlesque performers (who ranged from a pretty hot take on Alice in Wonderland to a pretty terrifying take on BDSM with lots of violent pelvic outbursts and flailing).

The group's agreed upon favorite.

There was a singer who had a decent voice who “remade” songs into a bit dirtier versions and it was fine and decent filler but nothing terribly exciting. We also were treated to the intensely weird but equally intriguing comedic stylings of Manchego the rail thin, poofy haired yet balding comedian who adeptly dealt with a Jersey Shore Douche Bag (JSDB) and ended up in a gas mask and tighty whities snapping a whip at a confused but well mannered chubby gay jewish guy tied to a chair.

There are lots of moments in my life, this being one of them, where I think to myself "I grew up in Harlan, Kentucky and now here I am watching a skinny caricature of a man wearing a gas mask snapping a whip at a tied up gay Jew while sipping on bourbon and coke...how did I get here?" I'm always pretty happy to be in those places.

After the show ended we all went out to some bars in NYC and ended up at a pretty cool spot called 2A. It was a low key and chill spot until the inevitable bar fight broke out and a dude punched a window and spidered it out. After some police drama and lots of drunken yelling the guy was arrested and taken off. We had a pretty great time overall though and we stayed out until around 4:30am then made our way back to Washington Heights to crash.

Night 1 officially closes as the sun starts to rise on the city.