A little tune

I am having a definite wine and writing night. On top of that I am listening to the most mellow music to go with my mood: Frank Sinatra, Pink Floyd, Fiona Apple and John Mayer are at the top of my list. Another glass of wine and I may just throw in some Juanes - he sings some great hate songs.

I don't know what I would do without music. They say the eyes are the windows to your soul, so they may be, but I think the music you choose says a lot about where your soul is as well. The right song in the morning can set me on the path to a very good day, full of positivity and light. On the other hand, there are those days were all I crave is a good blues riff with some pain and angst to sooth me and make me feel as though I am not alone. Angry? Oh yes, I have songs for this too. Although my musical selection will of course depend on the type of anger I am feeling - or better yet at who my anger is being directed. Sometimes it's a general 'I am mad song' like Nine Inch Nails, Metallica or the like. Other times I grab right for what I describe as my 'sad-ish mad' music like The Cranberries or Joss Stone.

Anyways, so why the music talk tonight with the need for a glass of smooth red wine and a keyboard? I feel alone. I feel left out. I know the source, which does me little good right now, but there is nothing I can do about it at this point. Be angry? What's the point? Get even? Why bother? Instead I choose music and lots of it. Not going to lie either, there may be some dance involved later. Nothing all hip hop like though, that may be odd all alone in my room. Then again, why the hell not?

The rubdown

I am not totally sure but I may have just received an odd, yet good, massage from a questionable location. Questionable in that they may perform more than massages.

Beyond the new experience of having someone walk on my entire body and massage me with their toes, I had a few moments during the 60 minute ordeal that had me questioning the place I had chosen. For instance, I got all the way down into my skivies (as one getting a massage would do) but felt a wee bit odd when the masseuse pulled my thong down to where it rested on my cheeks halfway off. Perhaps I should have left but I stayed because she was doing a good job at working out all the kinks okay? Maybe I also should have left when she massaged my inner thigh just a little too close to my vagina. Serious.

Nah, I stayed. I stayed for the stomach massage that I didn't know was to happen. Yes, she rubbed my chubby belly. Back and forth, in circles, and all around as she needed my skin like pizza dough. Then she slapped me. Well, slapped my stomach multiple times. At this point I was like, you know, this is odd. Maybe I also though it odd that the only voices I heard coming from the hallway and other rooms were the voices of men. Men and little girlie giggles. I was the only female besides the workers.

Scary thing is? I would go back. Why? She loosened up all my muscles, it was inexpensive and she gave me a chocolate mint candy afterwards.

2 kids, a cat and a dog

After what I like to call 'Facebook stalking' my friends, their friends and old friends that I forgot I had (okay, sounding like a creeper), I feel like a bit if either a black sheep or a wild child. Depends on how you look at it. You see, while a good 90% of the people I stalked are married with kids, pregnant or showing off pics of their recent wedding albums, I am not. In fact, my posts are so far from that. I am showing off my nice tan in an assortment of travel and party pics and laughing hysterically about the night before while my other dear friends are posting all about how little Joey just took his first poop in the toilet like a big boy or how teenie tiny Tiffany just ate a lemon for the first time and made a silly face (um, duh, it's a frickin lemon).

Don't get me wrong, I am not bitter. I want my life and I am happy they enjoy theirs. I just feel like, wow, I am soooo not there yet. Do I want kids? Sure, maybe someday. Do I want to be married? Heck yes, sounds like a blast. Do I want a house in the burbs? Hell no. Do I want an SVU? Only if it's to load my friends up for a road trip. I guess I just have to come to terms with the fact that I may be a little different than my "typical" friends back home, and that's okay. Just please, please, please my lovely little Susie Homemakers, stop telling me "it must be nice." Cause you know what? It is. Its bloody lovely.