April 10, 2002

Today is the day to drink ice wine.

Hey, I may have gotten snubbed for yet another Opie, but I'm still on Opium Magazine today for a short and sweet one, "Some Delayed Responses." It's your duty as an American to read it.

Oooh, the other day I got the coolest thing: a 'hot stone therapy massage' at Mario Tricoci Salon at the Old Orchard Mall in Skokie. Basically, what happens is you get a massage, but the masseuse takes these, well, these hot stones and rubs them on you as well for more heat and friction. My favorite parts were when Mary (that's the masseuse, she has a name, you know) put a hot stone on my tailbone and then, when I flipped over, under my neck. Also, she rubbed the stones on my feet so I could pretend like I was walking on a hot, albeit stony beach.

Of course, I had to partially ruin it by thinking stupid stuff during the whole process. For instance, I wondered, while I was face down, if Mary thought I was asleep, and thus, if she would stiff me, so I tried making little coughs and movements to reassure her that I was conscious. Then, when I flipped over, as she was massaging my fingers, one of my digits itched so I scratched it. "Does she think I'm trying to hold her hand?" I wondered to myself. "Does she think I'm coming on to her?" So I made a point to scratch my finger again when she was done just to prove that I was itchy, not lonely. Then finally, I almost started laughing during the massage because I thought, wouldn't it be funny if Mary started talking a lot and I said, "Hey: Less talk, more rock."

Nonetheless, it was extremely relaxing and left me nice and lavender-scented. I have no good end to this story. The massage was good. I'm silly. Have a good Wednesday.