"Occupational Hazards"

Every workplace has it's own safety issues. That being said, I work in a gorgeous spa on an airy open hilltop. The treatment rooms are superb and the atmosphere is exquisitely tranquil. My co-workers and management are extremely laid back. Of all the spas I've ever worked in, this is by far my favorite. The clientele is different here, to put it simply, they're polite. I have always had one real concern though, it hasn't ever happened in the 12 years I've been a massage therapist, but it is always been in the back of my mind... and today the 26th of August 2014, it actually happened. You see, we have these stools on casters, so you can roll them around as needed. I use them a lot so I can lower my center of gravity when working on muscles that are more tender, so I can still detail the area, but with significantly less intensity. Now let's imagine... chair with wheels + slippery yoga or harem pants + look mom, no hands. I dance this dangerous, yet virtually silent samba a number of times every hour while successfully keeping my hands on my client. I never miss a beat, I move the stool into position with my foot. To be clear my feet have flawless monkey-like dexterity. I stick the landing every time, but it is still a little cagey. Today I was working on another massage therapist who was visiting from Massachusetts. I was rocking her world when I discovered that her rotator cuffs needed some extra focus, so I perch on my chair and gently caress the right side into total submission. Maneuvering to the left side to repeat the procedure, I guided the chair into position. I went for my landing, when in painfully slow motion I found myself losing altitude. Betrayed by my outrageously beautiful, yet dangerously slippery harem pants, I slid helplessly to the floor with a loud thump followed directly by the deafening clatter of my chair bouncing off the wall. Jolted from her bliss educed coma, my client shot into a back bending clench position that can only be compared to a hot dog in a microwave, exclaiming "OH MY GOD SWEETIE, ARE YOU OKAY?!?!?!" I wasn't especially "okay" since I had, in fact, just taken a caster to the IT band, but the whole thing was so funny, I couldn't help but erupt into a hysterical fit of laughter. I pulled myself together and got back to work, choking back cackles while my client continued to laugh so uncontrollably that she thought she was going to pee herself. She said it was the highlight of her vacation and as it turns out she had been under a lot of stress and needed a good laugh. Well, mission flippin' accomplished. I like to show off my best tricks whenever I'm working on a fellow massage therapist. Sometimes it comes in handy to not take oneself too seriously.

Nice to meet you, how's sex going?

            I'm not sure why I need to say this, perhaps society in general has no sense of propriety, perhaps common sense is no longer common, or perhaps there exists a glitch that has caused a shortage in clever discussion topics, forcing small talk into directions that aren't useful, applicable or even appropriate. I'm sure you've experienced it firsthand (and if you haven't, then you are very likely an avid perpetrator sitting in the darkness of your own ignorance)    

            There are many dilemmas that stem directly from this phenomenon. One being the uselessness of an interaction with a person who's understanding of you as an individual reaches no further than pointing out what they see, or rather what they think they see. For example, I am over weight. The super special part is the bulk of it rides around as, "belly fat," and happens to pitch just right, making me look like I might be slightly pregnant. It really depends on the shirt I'm wearing. I'm torn between finding it funny, or finding it insulting. I have had dozens of people congratulate me at random, pull me aside to tell me how I'm positively glowing, wish me the best of luck with my family, or the one that is most concerning are the ones that ask me "Oh wow! When are you due?" I'm talking cashiers, strangers on the street, salesmen, etc. P.s. If you're a salesman and you ask me this, you just lost a sale.... and you're and a-hole.

            People, people, people.... I don't care if a woman looks like she's 16 months pregnant with octuplets and her belly button is poking out 6 inches...You just don't ask certain things. She may not be pregnant. She may be and perhaps would rather buy what she came for without issuing a progress report to a total stranger. She might be struggling with her ever changing image and feeling like she's the size of a truck and perhaps just hoping to get through her errands without some jerk reminding her. She may be a victim of sexual assault or one night stand.

            The other end of this issue are your classic super nosy casual acquaintances. I'm sure you've seen this, they love to creep out newlyweds. They're the ones who want to know when you'll be getting pregnant, how many you want, when you're ovulating and what you're waiting for. If you happen to not be physically capable of reproduction, they want to know if you're doing it wrong, if you're climaxing, if you've tried different positions, if, where, when and how you were tested, if it's his fault or yours, are you undergoing therapy to resolve the issue, maybe you're not having enough sex, try losing some weight- you'll feel better at least, have you tried IVF? They'll rattle off a bunch of his and hers remedies based on old wives tales to maximize fertility. For the most part, these are the people who rarely talk to you, but then plow into a hot and heavy discussion on the inner workings of your reproductive systems. Just when your eyes glaze over, they start digging into adoption, fostering or checking the lost and found at bus stops and bars. Ultimately it ends the same way, "Well don't lose heart." Umm... thanks.

            My husband and I got married in July 2011 and as of yet we have no children. People expect me to be at the height of desperation and panic. Its been nearly 3 years of people repeatedly adding to the previously mentioned exasperating annoyances and, well, we've pretty well had it.

            The decision to procreate is a private and personal one, to be made within the home of each family. I'm not sure why so many people feel the need to weigh in on it, but I get pounced on about it on a steady basis and quite frankly, I'm tired of it. I refuse to recognize this notion that so many people relish, that one's life is not fulfilled without kids. Let's slow down here and call a spade, a spade. I'd like to know who you think you are that you can say my life is any less fulfilling. I don't share your romanticized notions. Sure parenthood is a wonderful opportunity, frankly I think there needs to be an approval process, if you know what I mean. Would I love to be a mother? Of course. You can bet I'd be an amazing one. BUT I don't feel like I'm lacking anything or that my life is less fulfilling, after all, what good does that do? I don't have to look far to look on the bright side. Ladies and Gentlemen, I get to sleep and wake up when I want. There's no mystery bodily fluid anywhere in my daily routine. Everyone in my house is potty trained, can drive, vote, cook, clean and make it through the cereal aisle without a meltdown. We have time to contribute to society and can easily live within our means. I am an aunt of three, Godmother of one, and there are a number of children who call me Auntie Jean, "ANTJEEEN!!!", Aunt Jeannie, and Big Momma. I get to be the fun one or the hired gun, they love to see me coming, they miss me when I'm gone, they know I always have a present special for them and they can help themselves to the gum in my purse and pictures on my phone. I have energy to play, I love Disney movies and can sing along with every song (so will Uncle Chris). I have a black belt in hide and seek. I know so many random facts that you'd think you were spending the afternoon with Bill Nye. If they want to stop and watch a bug, I have all the time in the world for that. School fundraiser? I've got $100 that ain't doing nothin'. Need a t-ball coach? Uncle Chris. If we're horsing around and something breaks, I'll take the fall.

            To all the mommies in my life, you have a lot to be proud of and grateful for. Save your pity though, because my life rocks!! To all the weirdo's and biddies, quit fussing over my lady junk and get a hobby. To the strangers who feel the need to ask way too many questions for their own good, I am pregnant... with a can of whoop@$$ and my water just broke, fool!

Flushed Away

Ah, the joys of home ownership. Gone are the days of calling the landlord when something breaks. Renting was convenient in that aspect, but I still wouldn't trade our crooked little house for love nor money. Well, maybe for money, but it would have to be a LOT and I'm afraid she isn't currently appraised for what it would take to get me to pack up my chachkas and walk away from this little slice of paradise. Everything about this place takes hard work, but every once in a while she puts up her dukes, and it comes time to see what we're truly capable of. If there were ever people never to underestimate, it's Team Saari ECE (east coast edition). My husband is a strong man who can problem solve like a boss, his homespun fixes can verge on sheer genius. His amazing wife (see what I did there?) who's Green Mountain brand of stubborn, bull dog brand of tenacity and deep-seated blue-collar roots all converge, enabling her to get her hands dirty and, shall we say, "spur results," while maintaining a strong aversion of hiring help. It's been a long fight, but we can officially say we took a proud win. I'd like to thank our seasoned consultants for their vast knowledge and full support, who helped us to have the confidence to nail the victory- Bernard Shatney, the former owner of our little love nest, who was able to lend solid insight, and Glenn Goodrich my dad, who doesn't hesitate to lunge ahead armed with an iron will (and iron gag reflex), and do what it takes to help things happen.  I'd also like to take this opportunity to say neaner-neaner to the professionals with which we consulted in the infancy of this project,  who said it could not be done. Today we laughed in the face of opposition and then threw caution and dignity to the wind. We are now familiar with each inch of our homes plumbing system, and could not be more pleased to say that in all of her GLORIOUS SPLENDOR, she is restored to full battle mode. Ladies and Gents, after 2 months of waiting for the ground to thaw, followed by 12 hours of hardcore handiwork that included the invention of Chris' homemade plumber's tools (made from free materials, ultimately saving us over $500 in professional fees and he's never been more sexy) digging up pipe in the rain, 6 Billion rubber gloves, some cussing and grumbling, a considerable amount of crack exposure and head scratching, finally culminating in my running around in the yard yelling for joy as if we'd struck oil, we have completed the most daunting task we've faced on this scale to date.