Losing the M-card...

Okay SO I think I finally have everyone on this list that wants toread about my life...if I'm just now adding you and you would like some update emails, email me back and let me know...it feels a little presumptuous flooding everyone's inbox with updates about my life whenI'm not sure how interested you are in the first place, so holler back and I'll catch you up...Amy, I owe you a special special email, I will write soon, how's little Melissa doing?

I would also like to give a very public shout-out to Diane Rogers, for the sweet-ass care package she sent me and for helping me break my personal record of home-baked chocolate chip cookie consumption. I opened the package in private at my desk at school and no, I did not offer any to anyone else. I did not even mention their existence because I did not want to share. No, this does not make me a bad person. If anyone was wondering if two dozen chocolate chip cookies can be consumed in less than a day, I am here to tell you with great authority that yes, it can be done.

So..highlights in my Thai life..…I did it. I had my first time and the morning after, I woke up feeling kind of weird…I was a little nervous beforehand and okay, I'll be honest-once it got started, Icouldn't wait for it to be over. Everyone said that I would love it, but after it was finished, I felt let down. For something that was supposed to rock both my mind and body, there were times I found myself so unfocused, unsatisfied, and uncomfortable that I laughed out loud. Icouldn't help but think, this is what I've heard so much about? Maybe my maiden voyage would have been better with a different captain….

I'm talking about my first Thai massage.

After my first week of teaching, and after the second day IN A ROW of a Thai bird bombing Avian flu droppings ON MY HEAD, I figured it was time to pop my professional massage cherry, and what better place to do that than the home of what some refer to as the greatest massage tradition of all time? Spending the weekend in Bangkok with some orientation friends, I decided to go for it.

Liz (orientation room mate slash the universe's flesh-and-blood apology to yours truly for all the unforgivable random room mate luck in the past) and I scoped a few different locales and decided on a no-name massage place down the street from our hostel, where 200 baht promised to get us an hour of rub-down delight. Seduced by the tranquil garden surrounding the outside of the building, a floral contrast to the Bangkok chaos crowding the rest of the street, we ditched our shoes at the door and slipped into some terry-cloth sandals. I prayed to the goddess of foot-fungus protection that the person in the sandals before me didn't have anything contagious and ahead we ventured.

Two pretty Thai girls led us to the large, quiet second floor, where taupe-covered mattresses lay on the hardwood, each little massage haven separated only by gauzy curtains. I was grateful that Liz would be right next to me, as the idea of putting my body in a stranger's hands, in a foreign country no less, was a little unnerving, probably in large part due to the suspicions instilled in me by the great Diane Rogers. I stripped down and donned the snazzy pajamas waiting for me on the mattress (giving them a quick sniff test to make sure they were clean...again, thanks Mom) and then began the first of a long series of awkward inner monologue questions. How should I be waiting for this girl when she came back to service me? Was it too forward if Iwas already laying down? Would I seem too eager? Would I too strongly resemble a deer in headlights if I was standing up? I settled for Indian-style, sitting down, but my anxiety only rose as I contemplated how long an hour would be. After an eternity of mental wandering, homegirl with the magic hands returned, and so began my first time...and my first fit of giggles.

Of my many issues in life, the one that (arguably) causes the most consistent discomfort is that I never grew out of that grade-school stage where inappropriate laughter overtakes you simply by virtue of its poor timing. My masseuse told me to lay down on my back, and the way that I felt reminded me so much of the feeling I get at the lady-doctor when he tells me to put my feet in the stirrups that I had to put my arm over my face and bite the inside of my wrist to get ahold of myself, and even then, it was a huge struggle. The next struggle was my debate over whether or not I was supposed to close my eyes. How was it possible that I had this many questions during an activity that most people find immensely relaxing? I am evidently a creature separate from the normal majority, but no one reading this finds that surprising I'm sure.

So she started with a foot-rub and veryyy veryyy slowly worked her way up my legs. I decided on closed eyes, as it was too creepy to watch a stranger, someone I knew I would never see again, someone whose name was a total mystery to me, rub each one of my muscles...and I'm not a prude, either-I like to think that I'm above-average in appreciation of the sensory pleasures of life, but maybe I'm too analytical to separate myself from the strangeness of the impersonal masseuse/massagee relationship.

Anyway, she neared the tops of my thighs and I thought with a quick flash of panic, I did NOT pay extra for her to go any farther, and THEN she pushed her hand really deeply into the space where my thigh meets my groin, and I became intensely aware of the blood flow speeding up or slowing down or something..I'm pretty sure there's an artery there, and I thought, Well, this is it-This is how they make their money-I'm going to pass out right now and she's going to steal the baht from my wallet and therein lies the manner in which Thai masseuses earn their living. I think I pissed her off when I foiled her plan...I remained conscious during this little artery chopping trick, conscious enough to reach up into my bag and slip my wallet under my back. Take that, sneaky opportunist!

After that she was a little rougher with me. She did the same thing with my arms, albeit in an expedited fashion, and thennn I guess the real show began. Like a monkey, she crawled around my legs and put them into some kind of pretzel bend, placing her foot in my crotch like I was a Twister Board and she had just landed on the most difficult spin. She flipped me over and worked out my back, using my arms as leverage to twist my whole body. Interesting but again, not the coolest feeling my body has ever had and not relaxing in the slightest. By the time it was over, I was itching to leave...not literally itching, again, pretty sure the pajamas were clean, but I had had enough to know that professional massages are just not for me. I could have spent those two-hundred baht on a quality meal and walked away with a much happier bodily sensation. Live and learn.

All things considered, I'm glad I did it. Now, if I'm ever at a party surrounded by pretentious people discussing the fine art of Thai massage, I can chime in that I've had one, and that I got way more out of riding an elephant. And call me old-fashioned, but my new life rule is, no one puts their hands all over my body (or their foot in my crotch) unless there's a good chance I'll get taken out to dinner afterward.

On that note, I have to go get ready to teach, but I miss miss miss each one of you...thanks for everyone that has emailed me to see how my life is going, your emails make my days, and if you haven't emailed me yet, guess what, you've got one week or you're getting crossed off the souvenir list. Amy, you're exempt because you're carrying my child. I LOVE YOU GUYS!