Sunday, March 29, 2015

Feature Interview: My Imaginary Friend

I should be so lucky.
Yes, things got away from me again this week, but I did manage to snag an interview from my imaginary friend, who is quite cleverly named, Imaginary Friend. I usually only see him after my second drink, and I don't really talk to him much anymore since I started the one drink a month rule, but he was willing to sit down long enough for me to ask a few questions. Mostly because he needs the imaginary cash. Enjoy!

IMAGINARY FRIEND: THE USUAL UNUSUAL DISCLAIMER: I, Karma Girl’s Imaginary Friend, being of sound mind but no “body” because I’m a creature of imagination—and possibly, delusion—do solemnly swear to tell the banana, the whole banana, and nothing by the bana—Wait…who the hell wrote this bullshit disclaimer?

KARMA GIRL: How long have you been in the imaginary friend business?

IF: How long have you been drinking Schnapps?

KG: Am I your first “friend” or have there been others?

IF: You aren’t the first loser to dream me up, and you sure as hell won’t be the last. I’m an independent contractor, so I make my own schedule, which is good. Gives me lots of free time to trash talk you in front of all the other imaginary friends. Too bad I mostly end up with writers and artists. Jesus! You will never meet a whinier bunch of jerks than people who string words together or paint pretty pictures. Musicians are just as bad, if not more so. And they always get me confused with those good-for-nothing muses! “Oh please inspire me, Jack Daniels!” “Give me some freakin’ ideas so I can make rent this month, Mary Jane!” (Eye Roll)

KG: Who's your dream client?

IF: Kids. They're easier. All they want is someone to blame for their screw ups. The parents never believe the little turds, and other than the occasional game of "Oh God, Why don't I have Real Friends To Play Monopoly With?", they leave you in peace. Give me a snot nosed hell spawn any day of the week.

KG: So, what is the difference between an imaginary friend and a muse?

IF: Muses are supposed to “inspire” you. Imaginary friends are there for moral support when muses inevitably let you down.

KG: What’s up with all the muse hate?

IF: Assholes get the credit for all the good ideas when they do jack squat to deserve it. All they really do is look pretty and steal ideas.

KG: Did you always want to be an imaginary friend?

IF: Nah. When I was young, I had dreams. Dreams of being an operatic mezzo-soprano…

KG: Really?

IF: No, you moron! I’m a fucking creature of whimsical fantasy! I only exist in your imagination. How can I have dreams of my own? Dumb-ass.

KG: This is the part of the interviewing process I like to call, THE SERIOUS THREE.

IF: Ah shit! This thing. (Sigh)

KG: It includes a series of three indelibly significant, unbelievably serious questions. You are obligated to answer them as seriously as possible. Are you ready, Friend?

IF: Whatever.

QUESTION #1: How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

IF: …You’re brain damaged, aren’t you? It's the only explanation. Crap! I hope I'm not a delusion brought on by oxygen deprivation. I hear those guys have terrible job security.

QUESTION #2: If Bobby has eight pencils, and Sally has two erasers, how many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?

IF: Ask your muse, bitch.

QUESTION #3: Where can my readers follow you (Facebook, Twitter, home address, etc.)?

IF: I’m a fucking imaginary friend! I. Do. Not. Exist. You kind of have to exist to have a Facebook or Twitter account. Hey, I got an idea! Why don’t you go look up Santa Clause and the Tooth Fairy and ask them these stupid questions. Let me know how that works out for you.


IF: …Well, shit!

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Massage Time: Deep Tissue? Swedish? Aromatherapy? What the Hell???

The other day, a client asked me what the difference was between Swedish massage and deep tissue. If I had a dollar for every time I was asked that question...well, I wouldn't have enough money to quit my job, but I'd be able to pay my electric bill for the month. Since I have a limited amount of time to explain things between clients, I just tell them it's a difference in pressure which is true and not true at the same time. Since I'm not currently at work, I've decided to take time out of my busy schedule to explain the differences between the various modalities. Oh, and I'm running late with my third post of the month, so there's that too.


I've mentioned before that chair massage is massage with training wheels. It's what I suggest to clients who've never had a massage and are a bit leery over the whole "take off your clothes" thing. This is silly since Louisiana state law prohibits me from working on or even revealing any of the "sexy parts". If you come to me for a massage and are unhappy with this law, feel free to shove it up your ass. Just...not in front of me.

In relation to all the different types of massage, Swedish is the pre-k of the massage world because the basic techniques used in Swedish (effleurage, petrissage, tapotement, etc) are also used in most other forms of massage. Swedish tends to be lighter pressure, but not necessarily. The difference is in the goal of the massage which, in the case of Swedish, is to relax the superficial muscles. Did you book a massage because you wanted to veg out? Then Swedish is the massage for you. It's also good for improving circulation and releasing toxins from the muscles, so there's that too.

You see that picture on the left? You see the way that man's arm is being held behind his back while the massage therapist works around his scapula? One of my instructors called this "The Police Hold". She also warned us never to call it that in front of a client. No sense scaring the poor bastards before you get to their rhomboids.

It looks like torture, but really it's pure heaven. Especially to someone like me with concrete between their shoulder blades. If the guy in the picture went to his MT complaining he couldn't throw the old ball around like he used to (or, if he's like me, a lazy asshole who can't reach his behind to scratch his ass), his therapist will use friction around and beneath the scapula to help increase range of motion. That's the goal of deep tissue-to unstick the stuck muscles by working the fascia or connective tissue.

This is the easy one. Basically, aromatherapy is any type of massage that uses scented oils such as lavender, eucalyptus, and bergamot-to name a few-to address a specific complaint or need. Each scent is supposed to be good for something. For instance, eucalyptus is supposed to be a good decongestant and expectorant. Bergamot is supposed to be an analgesic. Lavender is supposed to make you happy...unless you're allergic to it like my coworker, in which case, not so much.

The question I get on this one is, "But do they really work?" The answer changes depending on whether or not I'm working at the spa or doing a bit of freelance. My boss generally frowns on me shrugging and telling the client, "It's never been clinically proven, but what the hell. They sure do smell nice, don't they?"

Reflexology is a massage that uses pressure points on different parts of the hands and feet to affect changes in corresponding organs or zones of the body. Like the toes correspond to the head and points around the ankles correspond to the sex organs. I was taught never to work the area around the ankles on women when they're pregnant because you risk them going into labor on your table. This is not a good thing to happen if you're not a midwife or hate buying new sheets.

But does it work, you ask. Well...I'm an agnostic and a skeptic. This is a wacky combo in a massage therapist since a good many people in the industry are into alternative medicine. I'm not much of a believer myself. If I have a headache, I'm going to take an Advil before I start pressing points on my hands and feet to cure that shit. But you get foot rub out of it, so why not?

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Doomtown Theater Presents: Fifty Shades of Grey

I've been threatening to post a Fifty Shades live-tweet review for some time now, and every time, I've found better things to do. Like one day, it looked like rain. And the next, it was such a nice day, I didn't want to waste it. And you know, like pretty much anything else that didn't have to do with sitting in a movie theater while watching this film. But last Tuesday, I finally did my duty to blog and followers and saw the film. And yes, it was ALL of the awful.

Although I've never read any of the books in E.L. James' series, I've always been careful not to put them down-at least, not too hard and not in front of a hardcore fan. I've learned the hard way what trash talking a book you've never read will earn you, and it isn't a light spanking from a rich hunk sporting a gray t-shirt. But much like Twilight, I'd heard enough about the general plot to know how bad it would be. And when I learned it was first conceived as Twilight fan-fic? Yeah, I knew I was in for a hard time. But I said I would watch, and watch it I did. 

I'd like to say I went into this with an open mind. I mean, who knows? E.L. James didn't write the script, so the movie might have ended up being an improvement on the books. But in my heart, I knew Fifty Shades was going to be so bad, my soul might rip itself out of my body just trying to escape the badness. And bad it was. Not soul devouringly bad, but bad none the less.

Pictured above: The bad. All of it.

So what did I hate about Fifty Shades? First, it had “insta-love”. I hate insta-love. That’s writer speak for having characters fall instantly in love without them getting to know each other first. Love at first sight might sound romantic, but in fiction, it’s boring as all fuck. 

Another thing I hated was the dialogue. It was wretched. The part where Ana and Christian meet in one of his boardrooms to discuss the terms of the contract was kind of funny, but for the most part, the script could have been chucked. Like the part where Ana confesses she’s a virgin and Christian is all, “Where have you been?” and she’s all, “Waiting.” At the end Christian tells a frustrated Ana that he’s “fifty shades of fucked up.” These were actual lines from this actual film. I could come up with something better by shitting on a piece of paper.

Not mine, but still better than Fifty Shades the movie.

But the thing I hate the most about Fifty Shades? The thing reads as if it were written by a writer who didn't do her research. I don't care if you're not into ball gags and whips, if your characters are, you better read up on that shit. The movie gets so much about BDSM culture wrong. Christian wants to beat Ana, he wants to sex her up, but he doesn’t want intimacy. Sadomasochism isn’t always about sex, but it is ALL about intimacy. It’s about trust, something Christian Grey is incapable of doing. Not that I…would know about that sort of thing…(sneaky eye)…shut up! 

So here it is. My Fifty Shades of Grey live-tweet movie review. I hope you enjoy it more than I enjoyed the film.

Saturday, March 07, 2015

Lazy Time Reblog Sunday: Adult Wednesday Addams: Wednesday vs. Catcallers [S2, Ep 3]

I really need to stop reading the comments section of...well, just about any article/YouTube video/Facebook post I happen to come across. Reading any comments section-other than my far-is a good way to gage just how full of stupid the internet can be. And it's getting harder and harder to tell what brand of stupid you're dealing with. I mean, you could be reading stupid in the form of an internet troll looking for attention via wacky hijinks and bile, or it could be the honest type of stupid that is Male Rights Activism.

"'Cause in my day, women and minorities didn't exist except to make me a sammich and shine my shoes...GET OFF MY DAMN LAWN!"

Yes, this is a thing. Because women are really getting out of hand with this "equal rights" shit. It's like, men gave us the right to vote and crap, right? We should be happy with earning 20% less than men. Surely our husbands will be happy to supplement our income with a little pin money. As long as we do what we're told.

So I really wasn't surprised when I skimmed through some of the comments in Melissa Hunter's Adult Wednesday Addams series. In an episode titled "Wednesday vs. Catcallers" (Season 2, Episode 3), what should my wandering ovaries find but this:

Fucking women. Having "opinions" and shit.

The episode in question is about an adult Wednesday Addams, all growed up, taking a leisurely stroll and minding her own business. Out of nowhere, a couple of douchetards come along and ruin her day with a bunch of nasty, catcalling comments. She repays the favor by hunting them down to their place of residence and hiring three thugs to stand outside their doorstep to stare, breath funny, and make sexually explicit comments. Because she was in an exceptionally forgiving mood that day.

Wednesday Addams in a less forgiving mood.

I seriously don't see why Miguel has such a problem with the episode. I mean, Wednesday is only doing to those guys what they were doing to her. And I think it's sad that men don't get as many compliments as women do. So if any of you dudes out there happen to see a guy catcalling a woman on the street, please do a bro a solid by telling him how nice his ass looks in those jeans. You'll be doing it for male equality.

And for all you dudes and dudettes fighting the good fight, this month's Lazy Time Reblog is dedicated to you and Melissa Hunter. Subscribe to her channel here. And be sure to follow her on Google+, Instagram, and Twitter, as well as her blog.