Roadside Massage -- Part 2

After posting part 1, the best comment came from my mother (no surprise there) -- "Stephanie, PLEASE tell me all your little 'adventures' won't be so dangerous." Mother. Chill.

So, the tiny Asian lady leads me into her secret chamber and THIS is what I see ...


Pitch black. I immediately ram my foot into some sort of wooden thing. As my eyes start to adjust, I can see an airline-style pillow and a makeshift bed. My tiny Asian tour guide points at one end of the bed and says a few words. All I can actually hear is ... "take. clothes. off." Oh, okay. I'm having flashbacks to 3 AM post-college keg parties where all you feel is dizzy, confused, and sure a stranger is about to grope you.

At this point, I'm like , sheit...I've already gone this far, and this blog wouldn't be very interesting if I chickened out. So I strip down -- undies and all. I throw my stuff in the corner and jump under the scratchy blanket. When I lay down, I hear a crinkling noise and realize, instead of warm white sheets covering the bed, it's paper. Yeah, like doctor's office paper!

While I'm wondering what the hell I've gotten myself into, I hear, "You. Facing. Wrong. Way." Oh crap. Ok. So, I flip around, practically covering myself in papercuts ... and wait for whatever illegal activity is coming my way.

Up until this point I thought I was alone ... until, out of nowhere, I hear (SERIOUSLY!) orgasmic moans coming from someone very very close to me. OMG! Turns out ... I am not so much alone. Instead of private massage room, I am in one big ass room shared by many, many vocal people. I then hear some dude somewhere extremely close asking if he can keep his boxers on. I look up and can see it's actually a giant white sheet hanging from the ceiling that separates each client. Yikes!

Oh god oh god oh god. I am telling myself ... not a problem, please please please stop groaning LADY NEXT TO ME. I kept having flashbacks to that Sex in the City episode where Samantha was explaining the Happy Ending. Oh god, I just knew that's what was happening just beyond that thin sheet ... and I'm sooo going to be offered it! Ah.

Ok. So, the tiny lady returns and asks, "how. you like. it? hard. medium. or soft." Considering all I'd been through to get to this point, I was not going to sit here for an hour being lightly rubbed by weak fingers. Hard, please.

Then, like a ninja, she jumps on top of me! Woa! Really -- I can't tell if those are hands or feet. They might be both! It's very very bizarre. There is walking, there is pounding, there is pushing and there is stomping. Lets just say, instead of relaxation ... it was more like... protect and survive. At one time she literally grabbed my arms and rolled on top of me. I felt like I was in a Jackie Chan movie.

Eventually the circus freak show is over and she's not standing on me anymore -- time for part 2. Now she's using her hands, and actually massaging my shoulders. The moaning has subsided by now and it looks like, (phew!) I'm in the clear.

The whole thing was weird, bizarre and probably highly germ-filled ... but I gotta say, once I got past part 1 ... it was actually kind of ... enjoyable. It felt like a yoga session on speed. My muscles were pushed into places they've never been. After the porno sounds subsided, I was able to imagine I was somewhere far, far away (like a REAL oasis) instead of a little slice of shady right off the 101 highway.

I left ... happy to have survived ...

... and excited to take a shower.

All in all, would I do this shit again? Hell no. Spend the extra $20 bucks and go somewhere with lighting, 409 cleaner and linens.

The Roadside Massage

I rarely get a massage. But when I do, I spend top dollar to ensure basic things -- a calming experience, a clean environment, and of course, free amenities (cucumber-infused water, warm towels, steam rooms, hot tubs, bottled lotions ... the works). When I spend the money and treat myself, it's not just a 50-minute experience, it's a complete, fun-filled day of beauty. So the last thing I would ever want to do is call a number off a roadside billboard and ask a stranger to strip me down and climb all over my body.

Naturally, that's exactly where this blog begins.

Every day on my drive to work I pass a number of sketchy roadside massage signs and have always cringed at the idea. The tackiness of the billboard alone, and the fact that it lives on the back of a truck -- I can't even imagine calling the number to book my own abduction.

So, I did it. I pulled over .... and ....

... called the number. Expecting to be dialing a seedy bathhouse, I was pleasantly surprised to hear "Oasis Spa, how can I help you?" on the other end. Oasis Spa? Wow. An Oasis. No one gets molested and murdered in an oasis.

So, I jotted the address down and was on my way ... of course, as I drove, I passed several more signs. Oh, it looks like they also offer Foot-Thai Swedish ... whatever that is.

Hmmmmm ... driving closer .... you can say I totally freaked out when I saw THIS ...

Yes, that would be my luscious oasis ... nestled between a serene parking lot and an intoxicating liquor store.

I parked across the street trying to stay positive. As I walked up to the door I saw they also offer teeth whitening, tanning and manicures. This is like the Costco of shitty beauty treatments.

Inside, I was greeted by the boss of the establishment -- an obese white man sitting behind the counter, covered in tattoos with a nose piercing and a lip ring. The decor of the room, with tchotskies of golden Buddah's, striped tigers and emerald cats filled the room -- reminiscent of a super cheap Chinese restaurant and a "Everything Under $5" store in downtown's Santee Alley.

I was immediately told $50. Cash only. Up front. This was starting to sound more and more like an illegal transaction. Um ... as someone who survives on her AMEX and only carries cash when expecting to valet, this was a problem. The Massage Master (aka tat-covered pimp daddy) pointed to the ATM sitting next to the bonsai display. Ok. So, I sucked it up and paid the $2.95 fee.

Completely nervous, I asked if I could use the bathroom (figuring if it was a complete shit hole, I would still have time to run out) and was pointed to a dark hallway. I was told when I was done to just wait and someone would meet me.


Waiting in the back disco hallway, a tiny Asian girl appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and asked, "What kind of massage you want?" (I could barely hear her she spoke so softly) I said, "Whatever's the best." She said, "Combination, Thai Swedish." Of course, I remember seeing that on the sign outside the McDonald's drive thru. That MUST be the way to go. She said, "come this way," and ...

My tranquil, harmonious experience was about to begin beyond this door ...

... and into a pitch black room with orgasmic moans.

To be continued...

Because Wine, Wires, and Work Aren't Enough

The bottom line is -- I spent the last three years obsessing over the fact that I was an adult with braces, and then it happened ... they came off. Now that my wired days are over, I'm left with straight teeth and straight up nothing left to write about.

Everyone around me has always had some sort of hobby -- whether it be tennis or music, volunteering for unbelievably great causes or hell, even dominating football fantasy teams. When stretching for conversation at cocktail parties, after covering my addiction to work ... all I'm left with are my obsessive compulsive self-diagnosed neuroses and love of cheap wine. And neither are quadrupling my friend network.

So I've decided to do something about it! This blog is about trying to crazy new things, meeting crazy new people, and laughing at myself all along the way.

Who knows, maybe in a year I'll be a the reigning scrapbook champion of California or discover my oddly shaped thumbs give me a strong advantage in antique button collecting.

Oh god ... let's hope not.

Here's to one hell of a fun ride.