Jody's blog, always my first stop is wonderful as usual. Jody, just know we would all do our jobs in our jammies if possible. In fact, can you imagine how laid back the world would be if everyone dressed this way? How can anyone be pissed at a cop wearing Sponge Bob flannels as he is writing you that ticket?

As for my wardrobe? Garage sale retro would be the best explaination I can come up with. I actually participated in a conversation lately regarding "How To Spend My Powerball Ticket". The first stop on most everyone's lips was.... go buy a bra without the elastic blowing out of the sides and hooks that won't jab you 600 times a day. A close second was underwear without holes. I would include hosery here. I finally parted with my final pair about 2 months ago when I needed to dress up for Sarah's college graduation. Needless to say her mom showed up looking like a granola queen, but who really gives a shit? :)

I can say for sure the jammie look is for me. Now if only the rest of the world would agree.

Good fences

Took Maya for a walk this morning. The humidity level must have been about 600% down by the river. Who knew I have curly hair after all these years? Let me tell ya, I do now. If I could only figure out how to make it stay that way....

Not much to discuss today. I am a bit perplexed regarding the inability to find a simple job for 3 days a week. And the unwillingness of friends to come and get a massage. And the lack of communication from people I care about. And the realization that absolutely no one reads this. Oh how do I know? because no emails came my way after I requested it. Ah, such is life, and my personal rant shall remain just that... mine.

Off to dig in the dirt and contemplate the circulatory system.

Fear Factor

My Swedish Massage class is history. The final was Thursday. Final meaning each student had to give a massage to a client we had never seen. We had to remember the entire routine and execute it with precision and confidence, keeping in mind these people were there simply to critique technique. Yes, the nerve vibe was a bit uncomfortable to say the least. Ok, lets just be honest about it... every one of us were a wreck, acting like we had only had class for a week instead of 70 hours. Alison, our teacher, did her best to calm the spiking energy, but to no avail.

I tried every thing I knew to try, sitting alone, laying on the floor, cleaning (first clue I am loosing my composure) and eventually just gave into the feeling of terror. In hindsight, I have no idea why I was overwhelmed, but I was. My techinque is good. I know that. It was the whole "do it from memory" thing that tore me up. What if my client hated it? What if I just froze?

The first group went and my group had 90 minutes of stewing to endure. This was really hard. 90 minutes can really do some classy tricks on your head when you are out of control with your stress. Trust me, my psyche even suprised me how cunning it can be. All the questions roll through like a river well past flood stage. Will I remember every nerve stroke and every petrissage? Are my fingernails short enough? Did I bring enough linens? Did I bring the right oil? Will he want creme instead? (I was assigned the only guy in the group and I don't like using creme) Is he a snot about technique? How well does he know the routine if I screw up? If I fail this massage will I have wasted our money and my time? Am I even in the right field? ohmygod..... it's time....

The first seven emerged from the room all looking totally relieved to have it over with. Glancing at the remaining seven, we are pretty wired. I wished for a miracle to happen and my head to get in the groove for this. It didn't happen.

Alison introduced me to Chuck. Not a big strapping man, just average height, but well muscled. Good. Not a lot to deal with in locating groups and landmarks. cool... breathe lori breathe... Chuck emerges in my sheets and gets on the table. All the proper questions evaporate from my head so I moved to the table and just stare blankly at the wall. Oh shit I am in it now.

Come on Lori, you know this. Just start in... I made contact and went for it. I knew I was screwed when I did the wrong turn after the face massage. It continued through the rest of the session. I forgot stretches. I forgot routines. I drained one arm and not the other. I nerve stroked one leg and not the other. I redraped before nerve stroking the back. I worked really hard to stay focused on my client and not look at the others in the room. This was a real bitch. Angela was next to me and so was Stephanie. I looked at Angela at one point and just wanted to bolt I felt so bad about delivering what I conceived to be a wretched massage. She looked so happy and confident, and I was freaking out. I didn't have the guts to look at Steph. She and I have gotten to be very good friends and I was afraid she would read me like a book.

I knew if I didn't get a grip Chuck would feel my energy and know just how crappy of a massage he was getting. An old habit cultivated from a life long practice of stuffing my feelings came into play. I kept telling myself to just get through it. Just finish. Don't run. Just finish. I did notice I was ahead of everyone else in the room. Oh shit, how much have I forgotten?

Done. Push the solar plexus. Redrape the feet. "Chuck, your massage is over." I helped him off the table and started to remove the linens. I couldn't deal with it anymore. I bolted like a rabbit, ran outside and sobbed my eyes out. I must have been outside for 15 to 20 minutes. I called Steve on his cell, he didn't answer. I cried some more. I truly knew I had just delivered the worst massage in history. It would be a miracle if he passed me at all. I fully expected to get a recommendation to retake the class. I went back in hoping he had left and I could at least get a drink of water and calm down. As I rounded the corner, Steph was sitting on the lobby benches. "Hey! Where were you?" she asked. Oh Crap! She is sitting with Chuck! He is still there!!! I bolted for the classroom because I just couldn't face him. How do you look in the eyes of a client and face the fact you are crappy and your dreams are just wasted. I am not strong enough for that.

Well, thank God for friends. Steph followed me into the classroom and then I lost it all over again. She looked at me like I had lost my mind. In her words, Chuck was sitting there barely able to communicate. She said he was completely wiped out. Oh hell is this good? He finally asked for my last name when she asked him if he was ok. Now I am sure I failed. Had to get the name right so he could tell teacher Alison how shitty I was. My energy is not subsiding.

Alison entered the room with the sentence sheets. (critique sheets) She handed mine to me and said... "wow Lori, very good!" What? What?? Yes, I freaked over nothing. Chuck loved it. I recieved all outstanding marks except for one. Care to guess which one that was? Yep... memory of sequence. For that he rated me "Above average". His comments on the back said I have a good strong touch and should be successful in the field. WooHoo!!! Successful!!! ~doing the happy dance now~

So I did it. I looked my fear of failure in the eyes and it damn near kicked my ass. During the massage I came very close to apologizing to Chuck and asking him if he minded me starting over. Now that would have been a monumental mistake. Today I feel like I will be a good therapist. I believe I can accomplish my goals and build on my dreams.

Here's the picture in my head. Standing on a wind swept beach, waves peeling perfect rights behind me, oil holster on my side loaded, ready to go, me wearing a tee shirt that says "massage therapist". Smiling. Solidly confident. Well, mostly confident. Facing my fear factors.

Camping on Quindaro

What an exciting couple of weeks I have had. Let's run down the list. Whew!

Memorial weekend we decided to take a float trip down the Niangua river. Beautiful idea in concept, may have worked had we not picked that particular campground, but a total flop in reality.

Hitch #1. We left Friday afternoon for a leisurely drive down to the Ozarks. Word from our friends who have made this trek was a 2 to 2 1/2 hour drive. It took us four hours. Traffic was backed up, stop and go, basically rolling hell for two of those four hours. Yeah, it took us two hours to just get out of the city. We took our dog with us to introduce her to camping. It is that whole "socialization" thing. She is a great puppy, but a puker. Yes, you got it, she was chucking kibble before we got on the open road. Do dogs outgrow motion sickness? hhmmm....

Hitch #2. We finally rolled into NRO campground about 9:30 pm. It was raining. Oh well, no biggie... we asked for a "wet" weekend just by going down the river right? The rain was placed firmly in the neutral column, and the campground was really remote. Well as remote as one can get on Memorial weekend in an over-populated area. As we went down the switchback road I just had a bad vibe. My red flags were aflappin' but I just bit my tongue because Steve wanted to take me down the river in the worst way. Ok. Be a big girl Lori and suck it up. As we pull up to the office to get our "reserved" campspot, we are surrounded by Way Too Intoxicated 20-somethings. (red flag #348) Who knew this was going to be a floating Daytona Beach?

Hitch #3. Reserved camp spot? What???? nope. "Sure there are camp spots left. Just drive around until you find something. Don't go toward the river, but I am sure there is plenty of space behind the store. Besides, there is more grass there." It has been a long time since anyone has just fed us a line of bullshit that wide. Grass? Grey round hard grass in the shape of stones maybe. Ok, ok. We finally found a wide spot on the trail they called a road and threw our tent up in the rain. We looked at each other, passed around the high-fives, and broke out the tequila to celebrate getting out of the city. Neither one of us was mentioning the fact we had left one city full of creature comforts for another city full of rocks and drunks. Real troopers eh?

Hitch #4. No fire. It stopped raining actively, but now we are in a solid forest with the passive rain thing. Not a problem, but a bit on the chilly side when you are edgy to begin with. (come on Uncle Quervo, warm me up) We take the alternate route and join the hoards of drunks. We kept to ourselves, but we promptly getting well rounded after the stress of the drive, ect...

Hitch #5. Neighbors. My neighbors in the apartment complex were not that close. Plus we had solid walls instead of nylon. Well,.... in the inner tent city, drunkeness lead to What? fights. Of course. What would a good camp trip be without fisticuffs? At this point I am thanking my lucky stars I out grew that 20-something bullshit (or maybe just skipped it altogether) years ago. Here's the picture, We are sitting in our damp lawn chairs, pounding down tequila to get warm, and listening to bullies scream out "who is next? You want some of this mutherfucker?" smack smack flump. "Somebody pick him up" laughing "Where's my beer?" Keep in mind this is going on all around us, not to mention throwing gasoline on fires in the middle of tent city. "My fire is bigger than yours!!" Who knew there was such a thing as a pissing contest over campfire size. Meanwhile, we are watching these two poor fools trying to put up their tent with flashlights (batteries failing). They were in the same predicament we were, but they were camping on the extreme edge of a drainage to the river. Can we say please let it stop raining? Empathy got the best of us, and we set out to take our lantern over and extend a neighborly hand. Good concept. Who knew they were just the first of their gang to arrive? Keep that word in mind. (gang)

Hitch #6. More neighbors. Success with the first group led to us feeling pretty damn good about helping these poor stupid children out, and when their friends rolled in with the same thing in mind, we once again extended the welcome pineapple. Ok, if I am old in spirit, so be it, but would someone please tell these idiots about the whole camping experience? Get your own light source. Make sure you are camping in something basically water-proof. Leave your colors at home. Saying hello is not a bad thing. When someone is helping you say fucking THANK YOU! I did my best to warm up the women in the camp because they were not having a damn thing to do with putting up the sleeping facilities. I have made a solid decision in my life. I will take a gang of men over a gang of women any day! I was completely shocked at girls behavior toward me. Talk about frozen souls. Those little girls were the meanest spirited females I have ever met. Needless to say, I went back to helping with tent city.

Hitch #7. Here comes Barney Fife. Imagine all 5'2" of rent-a-cop with the big wad of chew telling these gang-bangers it is time to quiet down. Gutsy little guy. He didn't stay long. I am sure he knew it was a bad plan. At this point, Steve looks at me and we both knew this tent was not going to be up tonight. I went to make the bed out and he followed shortly.

Hitch #8. The air mattress we brought was the twin size instead of the queen size. Ok. No problem. We need some serious snuggle anyway. Would have been pretty cool had the damn thing held air. By the way, still raining.

Hitch #9. Campground rules. No fights. Well that one is out the window. No fireworks. Do roman candles fall under that heading? Saw plenty of those. No firearms. As I am shivering in my damp clothes in my sleeping bag I am just happy fist fighting is the worst that has happened at this point. Then the gunshots start. Then the car alarms start. Then the fights rev up again. By this time Steve is so pissed he is in the car. I am at the point of "lets just get this damn thing over with", trying to sleep off the tequila and all hell breaks loose. Steve is pissed beyond pissed and decided it is time. Time for what I ask? Yes, you got it. We are loading our crap in the car. Wet tent. Flat mattress. Damp sleeping bags. Exhausted german shepard. Did I mention it is now 4 A.M.????

We tore out of that slum-lord hell spitting gravel and screaming at each other out of pure frustration. We fought valiently for 2 hours, calmed down, I of course cried for most of it, then we finally started communicating. He had the same vibe I had when we went into the pit of hell. He went through with it because he thought I wanted to and he wanted to give me my first float trip. I squashed my feelings of camping on Quindaro because I wanted for him to be happy about camping.

Can you imagine???

At least there was no traffic on the way home, and the dog slept through the trip with no kibble chucking. We slept all day, regrouped, dried out everything, washed the sleeping bags and headed off for a wonderful camp experience at Smithville lake. Had the fire, no fights, people quiet and just outdoors for the joy of being outdoors. We still couldn't see stars because we were only 20 minutes from KC, but hey, we had lightening bugs and no gunshots. Good trade.