Today's topic: Massages and blockages.
This was spring break week for the kids. Since I don't want to take crazy vacation days because I need to see The Black Keys this summer, and we are hoping to take the kids on the lifetime pilgrimage to Graceland and then Atlanta this summer, I only took Monday off. Current Husband took the kids, plus another teen, to the Wisconsin Dells to party like a rock star, if the rock star was underage and liked waterslides.
I sacrificed and stayed home to work. By sacrificed, I mean had a delicious meal of Spicy Basil Noodles with one friend one night, and a spa night and meal with another friend the next night. It was tough, but someone had to do it. On spa night, I opted for a facial and a pedicure, while my friend took the one hour massage. During our post-rubbing analysis over a couple glasses of ice-cold Blue Moon, we had a massage discussion.
HER: "The person was great, but she spent a lot of time on my butt."
ME: "You have a nice butt. I would probably spend most of my time there."
HER: "I was starting to wonder if she would move in."
ME: "I don't think people in the Quad Cities give Happy Endings."
HER: "You might be surprised. I wonder if someone has ever been giving a guy a massage,
and then suddenly he has an erection."
ME: "You know that's happened."
HER: "Yeah, because any guy, if you rub him anywhere near there, has to get a hard-on.
I don't think they can help it, it's automatic."
We interrupt this Whoreticulture Friday
for an intestinal blockage. No shit.
(HA! GET IT!?!?)
I started this post last night, as I usually try to do on Thursdays. Then CH took an Aleve and it went down his airpipe, and I briefly thought he was going to die, and then, even though he repeatedly assured me he was okay, I had to call the doctor on call to be sure he didn't need to have his lungs aspirated, which he did not. But it sort of took the wind out of my sails on Whoreticulture. "I'll do it tomorrow," I thought, while I watched CH sleep and looked for signs of respiratory distress. (He made it.)
Then I'm at work, and it's Friday afternoon, and everyone else seems to have left for the day, and I never took a lunch, so I thought, "Hey, I'll blog for a little bit." I tried to start blogging, and then this very nice co-worker man comes in to my office area, I'm the only cubicle-dweller left, and we started discussing a co-worker's medical issue. (Productivity at work today peaked around 2 p.m., and then I think everyone just sort of phoned it in. If you are my boss, or think you are my boss, you are mistaken. Go to thebloggess.com. There is nothing to see here.) Before long, I found myself victim to a 40-minute detailed description of his intestinal blockage. Really. Did you know if a doctor wants to "Run your Bowels" it means they cut you open and take out your bowels and hang them on hooks so they can examine your entire colon? Now I do. It's not something easily forgotten.
Current Husband and I went out for drinks and then to see the musical production of "Avenue Q", and while I was eating my bruschetta and drinking vodka cranberries (River Baron vodka, made here in the Quad Cities and fabulous) I wasn't thinking about Whoreticulture Friday, or about whether or not guys get erections during massages, but instead about what that bruschetta might look like in my colon if it was hung out on hooks in the ER. It made me think, "I hope if they ever have to Run my Bowels I am caught with broccoli in my colon, and not two boxes of Dots damming up a strawberry cheesequake Blizzard."
I'm sorry if I've failed you in the Whoreticulture department, people, but think of it as a public service. Here is what we've learned:
- Sometimes it is good to stay home while everyone else goes on vacation.
- Guys probably get aroused during massages, but it's unintentional.
- Be careful when swallowing pills.
- Don't tell casual acquaintances about your bowels.
- Eat healthy food if you think you'll be going into the hospital.
Happy Whoreticulture Friday, have a great weekend!