Paranoia

Posted on by lindsay
This past Saturday afternoon, a very kind friend sent me to a local spa for a professional massage. The whole experience was incredibly relaxing and enjoyable, save for my ridiculous urge to exclaim, “Don’t break them!” when the woman started to massage my toes. I know it sounds crazy, but whenever somebody rubs my feet, I always feel as if they are moments from snapping one of my toes. This massage, although given by an experienced and gentle woman who could not have been more professional, was no different.I know such a warning is unnecessary, as it is exceptionally unlikely that the masseuse would ever do such a thing. First and foremost, fracturing a client’s bone would probably decrease from the overall enjoyment of the massage, and therefore any reputable masseuse would willingly choose to avoid such an uncomfortable situation. But second, the breaking of an appendage would most certainly ...continue reading.

Expert Advice

Posted on by lindsay
Things have been really busy at work lately. My number of clients has increased exponentially in the past three weeks, and I've gone from spending endless stretches of time dusting the spaces between the keys on my keyboard with my tongue to spending endless stretches of time sighing loudly and declining to take client phone calls because I am too busy dusting the spaces between the keys on my keyboard with my tongue.To be honest, I actually like having a lot of clients to handle. It helps the day pass more quickly, enables me to write and then ignore countless to do lists, and allows me to feel important. But the frightening thing is that the more clients I have, the more people that are relying on me to provide answers to their questions. And the questions. My god, these clients must stay awake all night thinking of questions to ...continue reading.

Considering a haircut.

Posted on by lindsay
I just returned from a particularly disturbing trip to the bathroom, where I was instantly disheartened with one glimpse of my poufy, frizzy hair. "Okay," I moaned to my coworker. "My hair really does need to be addressed.""You know, they make frizz control products," he replied."But they make my hair flat!"A disdainful look followed. "That would be the idea."

48 Hours Of Conversational Gold

Posted on by lindsay
"So do you think that hourly rate is per person, as in 'I'd like to hire three people at that rate to trim my tree?'""No, I think it's more of a 'Here's my tree; trim it.'"***"I accidentally peed on my face. If you need me, I'll be scrubbing my face with bleach."***"Do I look okay?""No, not at all. Your hair is frizzy and you look like you've gained weight."***"Very professional outfit you're wearing today. Do you always dress so haphazardly?"***"Have fun sperm shopping."***"How did the meeting go? Did the Aleve help?""It certainly did. And I didn't even cry or throw up on the client."***"I cut my boyfriend's hair and it looked great. So his roommate, who was always really rude to me, asked if I would cut his hair as well. I happily agreed and then butchered him, blaming the disastrous cut it on his unruly hair. He had to ...continue reading.

In Need of Dust

Posted on by lindsay
When I was in high school, I worked at a small pet store that carried a wide assortment of animals, including the occasional chinchilla. These small squirrel-like animals have delightfully soft fur that feels marvelous if you stuff one under your shirt or down your pants. I'm kidding. In actuality, it probably would be fairly enjoyable, but I've never tried. The inappropriate factor aside, chinchillas have sharp rodent teeth that make nestling one next to tender parts of your anatomy a poor idea.I'm getting off topic.My favorite thing about these chinchillas was that they required regular dust baths. You'd find a dish roughly the size of a dinner plate, fill it with special chinchilla dust, and drop in the little animal. Within a moment, the chinchilla begins to writhe frantically in the dust, flipping and diving until the dust has removed all traces of oil and moisture from its fur. ...continue reading.

Because You Asked…

Posted on by lindsay
Yes, that is my foot in the picture. I'd like to say it is actually the foot of a long-toed sloth or perhaps another person's hand, but unfortunately, that appendage is all mine. I used to be very shy about my overly long and crooked toes, but now I bare them with pride and dignity. And while people are often alarmed when they first catch a glimpse of my huge, pale feet with the octopus tentacles hanging off, their fear turns to laughter when I play them a concerto on the piano using only my toes.