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Tuesday, June 27, 2006

unhappy endings

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.
i love massages. i usually ache. i ache everywhere. i ache inside, i ache outside. my soul aches. i've been on a perpetual search for an effective massage therapist; someone who can ease those aches, get entrenched enough to mend what ails me.

i found him. and despite a skirmish over an expired gift certificate, we developed a professional rapport. i saw him a couple of times a year - all that i could afford since i don't have a health plan.

i got a call two weeks ago.

"i had a fight with the administration. i've left the club."

"oh no."

"they’re spreading nasty rumors about me. they told the gays that i don't like them."

"you don't like the gays?"

"no, i like the gays. they tip very well."

yes, they do.

"so I’m looking for a new space, but in the meantime i'm offering massages at people's homes. since you've been such a good client, i'll come to your place and give you a free massage."

"should i set up my table, or do you want me to massage you on your bed?" was his first question.

the heat, humidity, and strong hands were lulling me into a rare state of relaxation. and then i noticed his hands were venturing into uncharted territory.

my eyes shot open while my face remained in that round head holder. he had de-stroked and was down by my calf. i decided to second-guess myself and wait for the next venture to see if what i thought was really happening was really happening, if it is was a simple slip of the lavender body lube. confirmed: he was aiming for the nether regions.

how do i handle this, how do i handle this?" my mind raced. was i relaxed? no, i was no longer relaxed.

"is this too much for you?" he whispered in my ear, in what i guess was an attempt at sexy seductionness.

i looked at him. sweat was pouring down his face.

i sat up, holding on to my towel, which had *curiously* become loose. "you look like you need some water." the disdain was evident in my voice.

"no thanks." he wiped his brow and then continued to massage my neck. "you're so tense..." he clichéd.

his smelly, sweaty man thumbs grabbed a large amount of skin on my back, and under the guise of a massage, pulled it up. the release of said skin, which was adhered to the towel due to the humidity, pulled down on the towel.

he attempted the sexy talk again, "is this towel going to stay on forever?"

"yeah, it is." i hopped off the table and gave him my “get-out-of-my-house” stare. it’s a look i’ve perfected over the years.

"okay, your turn." he tossed his massage lotion belt at me.

"no." i flicked it aside.

"krista," he sighed and patted his massage table, "sit."

gawwd. i rolled my eyes, tugged my towel tight and asked him what his deal was.

"even though i am a professional, i have trouble separating my work from what my heart feels. my eyes see, krista. and my eyes don't lie."

"i'm putting some clothes on." i stomped into my bathroom and came out and read him the riot act.

"i'm not looking for marriage, you know," he pursued.

"that doesn't give you the right to touch my perineum."

he's so fired.

"can i come back next week?" were his parting words.

word of mouth is the best advertisement. does anyone want his number?

Thursday, June 22, 2006


Originally uploaded by kristalynn.
the phone rang at 4 am - and only on the last ring did i wake up enough to realize that it could have been him.

"shit!", i said jumping out of bed, grabbing the phone only to hear the dial tone.

i crawled back into bed, looking at the crazy incoming phone number. "crap. i missed him."

twenty minutes later the phone rang again.

"helluh", i grogged.

"what're you doing napping in the afternoon?"

"it's four in the morning."

"it's four in the afternoon..." he erroneously corrected me.

"no. europe is ahead. think of the fashion - ahead."

"oh, i'm so sorry. i'll let you go back to bed."

"no, i'm up now. i'm awake. oh, look at that - the sun is up."

my boyfriend flew to greece to bury his grandmother. her body was flown over on another flight. something happened on that flight. something not so appealing. something that made her body, according to my boyfriend, thaw.

"people kept showing me pictures. i didn't want to see the pictures, but they kept showing me." he said.

"oh lord," i replied, becoming traumatized. i could hardly bear the sight of her at the funeral parlor. i didn't like her thin, grey lips. it was haunting to see her not talking. she was supposed to be talking. it made me cry.

"and how did the exhumation of your grandfather go?"

greeks, in their inexplicable need for extracurricular drama, dig up their dead every four years, or when someone else dies, or when they need to share a plot... i'm not 100% sure. i think it's a little odd.

"it went well. i put on gloves and washed his bones with red wine."

"mm hm. so there was no... um... skin left?"

"no. only bones."

"wow. so they were all, um, detached and stuff. like loose?"

"yep. we had to kind of pull out his rib bones from his suit. they were stuck. we pulled them out one by one."

"lord." i started to feel woozy.

"his pacemaker was still there."

what a image. a sunken suit full of bones, and within the ribcage is a metal thing just clunking around. no more heart left for it to pace.

"we put the bones in a bag and laid them at yaya's feet."

perfect positioning.

"krista, it was the best thing i've ever done."

Monday, June 19, 2006

gun registries

park avenue
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.
i finally watched "chappelle's show" this weekend. charlie murphy's "true hollywood stories" - especially his chronicles of him and his brother beating rick james's legs because he kicked mud all over his couch - cracked me the f- up.

i searched the annals of my tiny mind for my own "true not-so-hollywood" stories.

someone shot at me once.

some friends and i had finished dinner at a thai restaurant and afterwards were perusing a magazine shop. a car drove by and shot at the window. the bullet penetrated the window, about a foot away from where i stood reading a magazine.

"what was that?" my agile and squirrel-like friend asked.

"a gunshot. check out the hole." my boyfriend-at-the-time responded.

"fuck," said my squirrel-like friend. he then ran out the front door and down the street.

my sister raced up to the front of the store. "what was that noise? where'd steve go?"

"someone shot at the store. steve ran away."

"what the fuck?" my sister said, pointing at the hole. "do we call the cops?"

"let's? get? out of here?" i proposed.

"you think they'll come back? like, circle around?" asked my sister's boyfriend.

"i think it was random. i don't think anyone wants me dead. no?" i looked around for reassurance.

we walked out of the magazine shop and headed up a smaller street. my sister's boyfriend returned to the shop a few days later. the magazine shop people had found the bullet when vacuuming. it tumbled along the carpet and had lodged itself near the cash register.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

the internets

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.
two people came across my blog today by googling "i see my sister ass" and "embarrassed about going for a poo near my boyfriend". since these are things that used to be factors in my life, they are, sadly, no longer germane.

so i can only assume that i blog about asses, poops, my sister, and my boyfriend a lot.

keywords, my friends. keywords.

Thursday, June 08, 2006

two notes...

first off, my hat is off, way off, to my imaginary boyfriend, for last night he roused me out of a lackadaisical slumber into fully-seated, hand-on-chest, jaw-dropped awe:

Stewart: So why not encourage gay people to join in in that family arrangement if that is what provides stability to a society?

Bennett:. Well I think if gay... gay people are already members of families...

Stewart: What?!

Bennett: They're sons and they're daughters…

Stewart: So that's where the buck stops, that's the gay ceiling.

Bennett: Look, it's a debate about whether you think marriage is between a man and a woman.

Stewart: I disagree, I think it's a debate about whether you think gay people are part of the human condition or just a random fetish.

second off, my real boyfriend's yaya (grandmother) passed away yesterday afternoon. while she had been ailing for years, her death did come somewhat suddenly, simply due to the tenacity that she demonstrated over those years.

"wow." was the first thing i could vocalize, realizing that i would never hear yaya again. yaya was a very loud woman. i would say that she yelled, but i was always corrected by the greeks and was told that it was simply "loud talking".

yaya would loud talk about everything: a cat in her midst, an undercooked steak, the wheel of fortune... and this was always in greek. despite living in canada for 50 odd years, she never learned english or french.

she'd also bellow and squawk at any given moment. when her husband was dying four years ago, she got so mad at him for allegedly abandoning her that she wailed and beat him with a stick.

when i went with her and my boyfriend to greece, i suffered the worst case of jetlag i've ever had. she'd shuffle into my room several times every morning and screech and squawk at me. seeing that i simply fell back asleep, she tried again every half hour until i got up.

so no more “loud talking”. and she has her husband back. she now has her peace.

her presence is greatly missed.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

stalk worthy

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i recently discovered that someone in my neighborhood resembles jon stewart. although he lacked the dashing good looks and was a tad on the plumpier side, he did employ the hairstyle (grey hair included!) and the shortness. i decided i would stalk him. for the summer months.

not too long ago i was outside reading and i thought i saw rotund jon stewart half a block away. he was locking his bike and went into a pet store. as this was my potential stalkee, i'd alternate my gaze between my book and the locked bike. eventually he came out of the store and starting to bike towards me. i clearly identified him as my simulacrum. but it was also at this time that i got a good look at his bike. my imitation jon stewart was riding a girl bike. his bike was, some might say, gay.

the stalking plan was abandoned.