World…meet Ralph.

Posted on October 21, 2008. Filed under: Uncategorized |

World…meet Ralph.

Some of you may not be familiar with my chronic muscular deformities. It’s possible the giant inhuman maneating knots spawn from the incredible amount of strumming on my guitar. It’s possible they spawned from Satan. No one really knows. But this I do know: there is a an epicenter of pain on my left shoulder blade that became so lifelike that I named him Ralph. In real life it’s more like Ralph, Ralph Jr. #1, Ralph Jr. #2, Ralph Jr. @3, etc.

Ralph and I do not get along so well. Sometimes he hates me so much that he does not let me sleep. Sometimes I think he talks to me. (“Ralph, is that you?!” “Yes, it’s me. I hate you.”) I’ve been to the doctor a few times so he can pop my ribs into place with his knee while 3 med students watch and tell you that they’ve never seen anything like it before.

Today, I had enough with Ralph. I went to the Rec Center today to get a “deep tissue” massage. I’ve had a few massages before. For those of you who have never experienced a delightful massage before, you get naked and a person rubs all over you with lotion while a thin sheet separates you from the rest of the world and Enya is playing in the background. And sometimes they try to make small talk with you. Scrumptious.

For those of you who are young and naive: you may think that massages are supposed to be enjoyable. I hate to break it to you but…h#&% no. Let me explain to you a “deep tissue” massage. You lay down on a nice little cozy massage table and the nice masseuse starts rubbing your neck and shoulders and lures you into false safety. Then, while you drifting into a happy place, he pulls a Japanese ninja move on your Ralph which renders you defenseless and unable to move any of yours limbs because you are now paralyzed from the neck down. Then he asks you if it’s too much pressure, to which you respond: “No, no. It’s delightful.”

After 30 minutes of this (or an hour…depending on how courageous you are), the masseuse leaves and you re-dress. You now have a red splotchy ring around your face from laying on the headrest and your hair looks like you just went for a spin in a B-52 with the hatch open.

Then you go home, tell everyone you got a splendid massage, and live in peace for a short time while Ralph rounds up the troops to plan a new and more powerful assault on your posterior.