Popping and Locking

I had my first appointment with a chiropractor today.  This was a "free consultation," so the last thing I expected was to actually get what they call an "adjustment."  I was wrong.  I left the massage parlor (where his office was, don't judge me) fifteen minutes after meeting him with a spring in my step and a pip in my pep.

This was my first adjustment.  Needless to say, when the very attractive chiropractor was massaging my glutes (a.k.a. "fanny") to find out "where I carried the most tension," I felt a bit strange.  Not awkward, but so comfortable I just knew something was wrong.  After all, I'm a happily married woman!  I shouldn't be comfortable with a tall, well-built, blue-eyed blonde man (estimated height: 6'2") rubbing my derriere, but there I was, happy as the proverbial clam.  Alas, the butt analysis was negative ("Feels real good," he said. "Thank you," I replied) so the focus shifted to my spine and neck.

We moved on to the neck adjustment.  One excruciating crunch later, I felt lighter and more alert.  We moved on to the mid-back.  This adjustment was accomplished by me folding my arms over my chest while he basically threw his body down on top of mine.  Before any of you begin transposing the surf scene from "From Here to Eternity" onto a chiropractor's table, let me assure you that this adjustment was accompanied by me making the least sexy sound known to man.  This combination of grunt and groan had all of the aesthetic appeal of a diarrheic bagpipe player who forgot to remove his instrument before a strategic retreat to the loo.

The lower back, which I expected to be the motherlode of adjustment, so to speak, was surprisingly anticlimactic.  Bend this leg, straighten that one, turn your head, cough... you know how it goes.  Once I was done, Dr. Nick (really) told me, "I really hope I see you again."  I went straight home to my wonderful husband, Sven, whose idea this was in the first place.  I hope he's pleased with how well it went.

I know I am.  Next time, I'm taking a camera.

The kindness of Relative Strangers

I heard on NPR a version of the following story:

Since it's been 20 years since the Anita Hill/Clarence Thomas scandal, apparently Mrs. Thomas decided to make amends.  (Maybe it's been 20 years.  Maybe not.  I'm not a journalist.)

So, Mrs. Thomas, in an extraordinarily selfless act, decided to reach out to Ms. Hill.  She phoned her (at work) and left her a very touching voice mail, which she describes as "extending an olive branch."

In this phone call, Mrs. Thomas invited Ms. Hill to finally apologize to her and her husband.  Nothing says selfless like, "Hey, it's okay.  Apologize to me.  You've earned it."

I don't know whether or not Ms. Hill's allegations were true, and I don't care.  It's actually irrelevant to this story.  The beautiful thing here is someone actually thinking calling someone who has accused your husband of sexual harassment and not only bringing it up, but asking that person to apologize to you, is "peacemaking."

This gives me so many ideas, I don't know what to do with myself.  I can't wait to start reaching out to all of the people who I think owe me apologies.  The list begins with, but is not limited to:

• Victoria Beckham
• Jane Austen (Death is no excuse for being obstinate.)
• Natalie Portman
• The Old Spice Guy
• Stephenie Meyer
• George W. Bush
• George Bush Sr.
• George Bush (mows the lawn next door, no relation)
• Mittens (cat; can still miaow plaintively.)
• Jon Hamm
• The writers for SNL '09-'10 season
• Glee
• Heidi Klum
• Steve Martin
• Stephen King
• Stephen Weber
• Weber Grills
• Lil' Wayne
• The Ghost
• Mrs. Muir
• Anyone named "Penelope."

I will expect my apologies forthwith.  You're welcome.

These are the jokes, folks.

Place: In Sven's new (non-wrecked) car

Time: Any, as long as we plan to be in the car at least 15 minutes.

Cast:
   Sven: The designated driver and egger-on
   Deb: The long-suffering navigator and general party pooper
   Princess: The comedian
   Dexy: The sidekick


Princess: Knock, knock.

Sven: Who's there?

Princess: Interrupting cow.

Sven: Interrupting c-

Princess: MOO!

{General laughter}

Dexy: Knock, knock.

Sven: Who's there?

Dexy: Interrupting cheese.

Sven: Interrupting cheese who?

Dexy: {long pause}  Cheese!

{General laughter}

Princess: Why did the chicken cross the park?

Sven: Why?

Princess: To get to the other SLIDE!

{General laughter}

Dexy: Knock, knock!

Sven: Who's there?

Dexy: Interrupting poo poo!

{general laughter, except Deb}

Deb: Now, Dexy, you don't have to work blue.  You're better than that.

Dexy: Poo poo!

Princess: Pee pee!

Sven: Kids-

Dexy: Interrupting poo poo!

Princess: Dexy won't let me tell my joke!

Sven: Tell your joke, Princess.

Princess: Why did the...knock, knock.

Dexy: Knock, knock!

Princess: Dexy!

Dexy: Poo poo!

Deb: I need a Valium.

Fin.

(I edited the above to make it much shorter and less maddening than real life.  You're welcome.)