Deep Tissue Torture

Good Afternoon.
It is an amazing feat that I can actually sit here and type today, since I participated in the most expensive form of torture, yeah - I paid for it; known to man kind last night. I decided to endure a 90 minute session with a little Ninja Japanese lady called Ileen. Reason being that I am sick to the back teeth with trying to ease the pain of my right shoulder with a highlighter pen! Strange but true - I used to alleviate the stabbing sensations with a ball hammer, when in the landscaping business, but since I am now in a position which requires lots of sitting one's arse with a pen pot of deliciously different writing implements in fornt of me I have progressed onto the good old luminous yellow marker.
I was listening to my pregnant friend Fiona talking about her Carpol Tunnel Syndrome the other night over dinner and began to wonder if I was either a) expecting or b) overdoing it with the old mouse. It is definitely not the first presumption as I have been in a moaney biatch the last few due to a pending menstruation (sorry). Ninja woman said it is the intense mouse action I participate in for 7 hours a day.

I will now try and explain to the best I can (with as little mouse maneuvering as possible) the agonizingly awful experience I had at the 'Face and Beauty Works', I know it sounded fabulous to me too (yesterday evening).

Firstly I perused the menu and decided that $110 for a 90 min session of deep tissue sports massage therapy would be sufficient, after all I am not an Amex Black Card holder yet (give me time), and even though I do need a serious bikini wax - the $85 sides, round the corner and tush wax was gonna have to wait (birthday treat). A tush is an ass for those of you wondering - I had to ask ;-). Then I was asked to sign my life away by means of a waiver form, I panicked when I was asked to give my next of kin. What exactly could happen in this softly lit candle cleptomaniac's dreamboat of a salon? Maybe I was coming to a massacre parlor instead of massage palor, well, I am living in San Francisco after all.

I drank a glass of water - By order, then took my kit off and waited face down on a bed of white fluffy terry-towel clad gorgeousness. Waited, waited, then began to crap my pants (well, I wasn't wearing any but you get my drift).

ENTER THE NINJA.

My pain is on my right shoulder - RIGHT? The left one was pulverized first. I am sure her teeth were grit tight, like she was trying to open a beer with her pearly whites. This hurt - like a white pain, that's all I can say. Like a red hot poker stabbing into the depths of my flesh, like a small golf shoe clad fat dwarf jumping up and down then stubbing out a cigarette on my shoulder. You know just a little bit of pain. Tough Northern lass like me could cope with it. I was asked several times over if it hurt. Once I regained consciousness, I told her it was the sort of pain one likes, you know means to an end and all that jazz. I nearly fell through the floor when her attention focused on the shoulder in question, the one which had survived ball hammer and highlighter blows for the past two years. Friggin hell fire. Boy did it hurt. The pain is worse than a migrain which is self induced after a bottle of tequila (the hangover on 5th July springs to mind - note to oneself - DON"T do that EVER again). It was really painful. But I survived.

The rest of the full body massage went well. My arms and legs were pulled, distorted and squashed, no pain there then. I was wondering how long this had actually been going on, as I seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. I though my time must be up by now. Oh no. No, no, no no. It was back to the little shoulder problem... 30 more minutes of intense agony. Followed my a nice glass of H2O and a chat on stretches and how to position my PC screen. All I really wanted to do was get up and run for the hills. I could not however as I was naked and immobile, my muscles had all died and gone to heaven. It actually felt really good once I'd got over the initial shock of it all. I wish I could say the same for the day after.

I have done nothing but moan, groan and bitch all day. My Step dad thinks it is hilarious especially since I am trying to claim the whole procedure on company expenses. Work injury right?

I was recommended to go back once a fortnight - Like hell. Yeah and at $110 a pop I bet Ninja Bonce would like to see me again. No I think I will stick to my new swimming regime and the towel behind the back stretches she showed me. I am seriously considering hair removal creaming the old bikini line, I am not sure I dare set foot in that place again.

See Ya x