Things About the Things and the Subarachnoid Space and C1 is Not a Dermatome and Hi and Dysfunctional Gaydar Blaring Pre-Central Gyri!

(Otherwise Known as "Things That Have Happened in Massage-Land Over the Past Couple Weeks")

1. My mom came in for an aromatherapy massage last week. Of course, I fucked up a whole bunch of shit that I normally don't fuck up (forgot my bolster-placement and forgot a pillow-case for the face-rest thing). She apparently enjoyed it nonetheless, despite the fact that the office-folks had queued up some sorta of bizarre flamenco relaxation music that made it feel like a short man in a sombrero was standing in the corner, playing joyfully on his extremely tiny guitar.



2. I scared both me and my A&P instructor by getting a 100% on my Physiology midterm. And apparently multiple non-100% test scores averaged with a 100% midterm score somehow = 100% (which is my grade for the class thus far). I am a bit confused as to how this is mathematically feasible (anything under 100% averaged with 100% would make the end result inevitably less than 100%), but I am just gonna chalk it up to his mad math skillz which (according to rumors) are as piss-poor as his spelling ("vigina!"). I mention the grade not to brag, but because my brain feels all creepy lately, like Rain-Man-esque or something. Like it's just stacking up all these little tiny notecards with random pieces of info all over the place in that little 3-lb. area and it just keeps flipping and flipping and flipping through them at random.* Quiet, brain. Quiet. Quiet, I say. In particular, it's been absorbing A&P information in this voracious manner like it's some behemoth black hole or some super-stoned frat-boy chowing down on Cheetos. I mean, I can almost physically hear the suction noise as the tidbit of info is vortexed into my brain and jammed somewhere into its recesses. It's a-starting to scare me a bit as it feels like when I speak I'm gonna diarrhea out some weird (but interesting) tidbit about the brain or spinal cord instead of normal human conversation. Or instead of saying Hi to some coworker in passing, I'm going to blurt out the name of a spinal segment and its attached nerves. Also daunting is the fact that I can now watch really bad crime investigation/medical-drama shows and actually recognize what they're talking about. Last night, one of Dr. Gregory House's henchmen said something about "the subarachnoid space" and I shouted, "I FUCKING KNOW THAT!" at my cats. They seemed unimpressed.



3. I realized that I have to stop assuming people are gay when I don't know for sure. Even if they are flaming. I used to yell at people for doing just that, and yet I've found myself doing exactly the same, only to be proven wrong in both instances despite the fact that my "gaydar" was blaring. Flaming spa-massage fellow has a wife. I got to see her in a paper-bra. Gaydar is clearly clearly broken and/or needs new batteries.



4. I also got to see my mom's eyes widen as the extremely-tattooed fellow in my clinic put his hands all over my shoulders and back while introducing himself to her last Thursday. I have finally gotten used to the fact that he is very touchy-feely in a (thankfully) non-threatening way, but it was TOTALLY worth it not to have warned her ahead of time, just to see her eyes half-bulge out of her head.



5. I feel like I drank a lot of coffee in the past hour, but I totally didn't. *Twitching just a little and flipping through those notecards one more time*

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*LL: It reminds me of how you described when you were little trying to count all the cracks in the sidewalk (or lifting your feet up over them or something to that effect) as you drove quickly by in the car. I probably totally butchered the details of that tale, but I love that story nonetheless. *Flipping some more and shutting up*

One midterm down, one more to go.

My Massage II Midterm

Last night, for my midterm, I partook in a massage à trois, set to the tune of "A Clockwork Orange with Birds." Two on one, baby. And I was the one.

Beat that.

"You can't beat me on the grade. You can't beat me on the grade!"

Oh last night. Last night, last night, last night. Why did you have to torment me so?

Last night was my night of two major midterms--Physiology and Anatomy--and a night of very jangled nerves.

The drive to school found me chain-smoking the shit out of a pack of cigarettes I had stupidly bought last week, not out of nervousness due to the midterms, but out of nervousness due to the fact that I'd had my head up my ass earlier yesterday morning and, deciding to put some more engine coolant into the car since the light had flickered on and off a few times over the past week or so, had obliviously filled the coolant all the way to the top of the spillover-tank. Damn you paper cone that blocked my view of the tank-fillage! Thankfully I did so on a hot tank, so while it *did* do a bit of splattering on the inside of my engine, it was minimal. But all the while I was driving there, I was picturing great bubbling Shakespearean cauldrons of coolant seeping and oozing and spilling over in my car and *that* most certainly did not ease the nervousness of the two midterms on the horizon.

And the physiology midterm was an absolutely unexpected hair-raising experience once I got to school (thankfully with no major car-complications). I had studied my ass off (E even ran through my notecards with me) and I knew that shit like no one's ever known shit before. And yet there were like 15 questions that I really had no clue about and had to use my power of deduction (and my PLEASE DEAR GOD, GUIDE ME TOWARDS THE RIGHT ANSWER prayers) for. The cafeteria immediately afterwards was packed full of Phys students bitching about the exact same thing--that there were way too many things on the test that we'd never ever gone over before. And yet, she insists that she did. My anal-retentive need to write every single thing down in note-taking form says otherwise though. Thankfully, my ability to educatedly guess pulled through for me and I ended up with a low-A (which should be getting bumped up to a middle-A once she caves and gives us an extra point or two for stuff that she admits she may not have gone over). I am not a big grade-person, but I like to conquer stuff, so I felt like I'd rassled an alligator to the floor with Phys.

Anatomy, on the other hand, was ridiculously easier, despite it being the more hyper-intensive one when it came to studying. I labelled every one of those motherf-ing diagrams 100% correct--BOOYAH, babies. Got a few wrong on the practical part (labelling parts of actual real-life, three-dimensional bones) but was pleased overall with that as well, seeing as a couple of the ones I got wrong were actually the correct bone, I'd just thought it was the left bone instead of the right and so labelled things the mirror image of what they should've been. Lemme tell you though, when you have a bone sitting in front of you, all by its lonesome little self, they are damn hard to identify.

I bailed immediately after my Anatomy midterm, as it'd been WAY too long of a day. Here's to hoping that I didn't completely f- up the bubble-portion after having felt supremely confident about it.

The night ended with jangled nerves as well (and probably my first wish ever that I had a cell phone) when I had the pleasure of driving home near a pretty much absolutely tanked person who was weaving like Ray Charles on a tight-rope (would he really be weaving though--he'd just fall off, no? yes, yes. i just cannot think of a better simile) and who came up on me so fast and so close from behind (despite no one being in the lane to my left) that I actually had to speed up way over the speed limit to ensure that (s)he wouldn't slam into the back of my car.

It was like being chased by that truck out of Steven Spielberg's Duel, but totally not cool or 1970s at all.

And when I got home I slammed my cat in the door.

And then, suddenly, I woke up. It had all just been a dream! Or had it? Dun dun dunnnn.

Alas, it hadn't been. So tonight, I have to study for my Massage II midterm. *Fart*

Massage ye not the ringworm and warts! Massage ye not!

It's funny. When I went into this whole massage-school thing, I went in thinking, "It's a trade school. How fricking hard can it be??" Many of my fellow students have said the same thing.

So I am surprised and awed on a fairly-regular basis at the answer which has come back again and again to bitchslap me across my haughty little arrogant face.

Next week's anatomy midterm (which got bumped back a week) covers all the bony landmarks on the body. There is nothing short of 281 bones and/or bony landmarks that we must be able to label on both diagrams and on actual bones. Two hundred and eighty-fricking-one. That's how fricking hard it can be, Self!

It nerds me up to be able to do this though, despite (or maybe perhaps because of) having spent about ten hours in the sweltering heat on Sunday, trying to memorize them all.

There is something beautiful in just the naming--it feels like what it must've felt when people first stumbled across plants or stars and, in awe and reverence, bestowed upon them the best name they could think of.

This is also why when anatomy folks look down upon poetry and literature, I want to sucker punch them. To me, naming is a form of wonderment, just like poetry.

And next Monday, I'll be wondermenting 281 times. =)

It Was the Best of Days, It Was the Worst of Days

I.

Yesterday was my first day back to school after two weeks off. It was supposed to be Monday, but I received a call in the afternoon saying that somebody's important somebody-or-other had passed away and they were cancelling all classes for the day out of respect. Problem was that we were supposed to be having two quizzes yesterday: one in phys and one in anatomy. I kept giggling to myself and thinking about how pissed my instructor was going to be about losing yet *another* 4 hours of class (we had Monday classes off for Memorial Day or something too at one point) and having us miss our quizzes, which would also mean rearranging our midterms and everything (one of which is this upcoming Monday).

Apparently karma struck back for all my giggling: We're having not just two quizzes on Monday but our midterm as well.

If you can explain how this is logical and "beneficial to the learning process," I will give you a quarter.



II.

Apparently I have a freakishly well-developed muscle in my forearm. I was told this by my instructor yesterday in class.

This would be super-cool, and I would walk around bare-knuckle- sucker-punching people in the throat with the sheer force of this sweet-ass muscle, *IF* it was so well-developed due to something cool, like a) my professional tennis career, b) my weekly professional arm-wrestling competitions, or c) excessive masturbation.

But you know how I developed it?

From spending too much time typing at work.

*Sobbing*



III.

I made someone fall asleep while I was massaging them--for the length of the *full* massage, complete with sleepy muscle-twitches (which I thought were "Holy fuck that hurts" twitches, but apparently I was wrong).

Only in massage therapy would making someone fall asleep be a compliment.



IV.

So, I buddied up with LR Man last night for Massage Class. I don't know why but he *keeps* asking me to be his partner, despite the fact that he has a tendency to act like my massage was completely ineffectual when all is said and done.

However, in all the times that we've buddied up, he's never actually made it around to giving me a back massage. Every single time I've massaged him, he's gotten one (since he always specifically requests that I spend time on his lower back due to back pain). And every single time, as I mentioned, he says something to the effect of "that was... {*long doubtful pause*} good... thanks" as though I could have just pummeled him with a large stinky salmon, and it would've been just as effectual. But last night, last night, I finally requested--nay DEMANDED--that he work on my back.

And as soon as he did, I had a total Last Massage Therapist Standing kind of moment--I wanted to run off to my little voting room and blurt to the camera "I'm definitely more massage therapier than... *gratuitous climactic pause* LR MAN!!!!!!" And then we'd battle it out on-stage, the audience choosing who is the more massage therapier and I would *SO* totally get picked as the Capital One Audience Favorite for the night. (Yes, I've been tuning in to Last Comic Standing way too much.)

Don't get me wrong--I will readily admit that I'm not "all that" yet when it comes to giving massages. But I will openly admit this to anyone who asks.

LR Man, however, critiques me as though he's been giving massages for hundreds of years and has received countless gold metals for his massage techniques. But in reality, his massage yesterday literally had me wanting to shudder and shout PLEASE DEAR GOD, JUST STOP TOUCHING ME!

You know how when a fly gets into your house, it flits about all haphazardly? How you stand there thinking to yourself, Where you going, fly? To that window? OH NO! You totally aren't--you had me fooled, you wiley fellow! Instead you just darted into the kitchen! And now you just made a quick, defensive left-right and zoomed upstairs! Brilliant! You know how you just wanna shout, Pick a direction and go with it already, you crazy fly-motherfucker? (I'm guessing I'm probably the only one who actually stands there and thinks all this--but bear with me.)

Fly = LR Man.

His hands were all over my back but in no specific rhythm or sequence. They would start heading towards the spine and then (what what!) dart insanely to the left for apparently no reason and then jam into my scapula and then thrust their burning lack of rhythm into the crook of my shoulder. It was sheer and utter madness.

And he utilized absolutely no massage technique. My cat piston-paws me just as effectively. Take a couple of wooden spoons (ala Ross on Friends) and start jamming away at somebody, and your "technique" would be about the same.

It was {NOT} {GOOD} {AT} {ALL}.

In fact, it hurt sometimes. And other times it felt like sweet sweet death. And yet other times, I felt like salami (for some reason).

I typically would not criticize a fellow student--we're all learning, and we're all in the same boat.

But HE TOTALLY DESERVES IT for his infinite "It was alrights" and "You could've done _____ a little bit harder" and "Oh baby yes baby yes!" (Ok, not the last one--my brain is just starting to get off-track.)

IT WAS ALRIGHT THIS, MOTHERFUCKER!

*trying to catch breath*

All that being said, I *did* also get the best massage I've had the pleasure of experiencing in class about two hours prior to Captain Bologna-Fingers' massage. The girl's hands were like butter, she pressed on some reflexology point in my big-toe that just made my body melt, and if I could've, I would've fallen asleep. Much much much better than the Man with Ten Sharks for Fingers.

Sincerely,
Woman Who Named One of Her Cat's Toys "Creepy Frog Man Bear" and Can't Stop Laughing Whenever She Refers to It as That
(aka. Sweet Lame-Ass McGee)

The Things You Will Do

1. Remember how you spent forever and ever and ever going over the use of friction on edema last week and how your instructor said, in his thick Russian accent, "If you get this wrong on final, *YOU WILL DIE*?" You will get EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THOSE QUESTIONS WRONG.

2. In quiet desperation, you will begin hacking on a woman's butt after several attempts at trying to remember what part of the leg the "hamstring" is on.

3. The woman who massages you will somehow manage to yank out at least a couple of your pubic hairs.

Centripetal friction! Centripetal friction! Centripetal friction! Centripetal friction!

Motherfuck.

Good Day to You, Sir

Last night was our double-midterm for Massage I. Three hours of hell-filled hellishness: a couple of hours for the actual massage practical exam followed by a sexy 100-question written midterm. Like finding out you won the lottery in the middle of experiencing the most powerful and amazing orgasm you've had in your life.

Yeah.

That's it.

The practical was actually weirdly intimidating. There were two rows of massage tables set up, separated by a large wall of dividers that were put up specifically for the test. Your partner laid down on the table. You draped them correctly. You then went and sat on the chair at the foot of the table. You had to stare straight ahead at the dividers the whole time until it was your turn. If you happened to look around, it was considered the equivalent of craning your neck to get answers off of your neighbor's written test. Tenseness of tensenesses.

They came around first to inspect us--they checked to make sure that we were dressed professionally and that our scrubs were clean. And then they checked to make sure that our nails were clean and cut down so no white was showing. If they had cupped my testicles in their hand and jiggled them around as a quality-check, I would not have been surprised. Thankfully I passed (and thankfully they didn't notice that the sheets I use for draping were covered in cat hair and shared the mildly pungent sweat-sock smell of my car (where they've been sitting between classes every week)). I am sanitary. Yes yes.

Once this was done, the actual test commenced. One instructor stood at the end of the dividers and loudly stated a massage technique. Then you had to wait your turn as one of the instructors went around their half of the room. When it was your turn, you stood up, walked over to your "client," performed the technique (or completely fucked it up, depending), and then returned to your seat.

We had to do about 10 techniques or so, and I was doing fine until we ran into two techniques that we'd NEVER FRICKING GONE OVER IN CLASS BEFORE. Like the doltiest of dolts, I tried guessing at them in completely awkward and weird ways that were absolutely incorrect. Thankfully our instructors were nice ladies, and out of 6 possible points, we only got docked 2 points for not knowing a technique (as long as we were in the right area and succeeded in all other aspects of the technique--they like to throw us curveballs when it comes to the areas we massage; in the land of anatomy, the term "arm" doesn't mean the portion from your wrist to your shoulder, it means the portion from your elbow to your shoulder--from your wrist to your elbow is the "forearm" (as made clear in the following diagram, which illustrates the frequent circumstances under which you might find yourself massaging amputees with legs for arms),

and "leg" refers to the area from your knee to your ankle, not that whole big dangly chunk of sausage that juts out o' your groin--people inevitably fuck this up). Unfortunately, having two techniques in a row that I had no clue about made me incredibly nervous and I literally spent the second half of the test with ears that felt like they were on fire and blood pounding through my temples.

It was not fun.

Thankfully I ended up getting a 96%, despite fucking up two techniques. Yip yip.

After plugging my way through 100 beastly questions the likes of "Which massage technique is most useful for dealing with edema and improving absorption?" or "Which of the following is NOT a contraindication for vibration?" I was done. I immediately bought myself the 440-calorie vegan double-chocolate cookie that I'd been eyeing for 8 weeks in the bookstore, took it home, and ate it while drinking an ice cold beer.

Today I have an Ethics test. One of the many topics it encompasses is "how to address an erection."

I typically address them as "Sir," but maybe that's just me.