I have a new chiropractor...

I'm in love.

Again.

With a back-crackin' fool.

(Will I never learn?)

I'd been seeing my regular chiropractor for quite some time, and the pain in my shoulder subsided enough to be bearable, but the pain in my lower back was increasing to Grandma-ish levels, so I went to the health fair.

And there he was. Right next to the skeleton.

Our eyes locked, and it was as if the sky opened up and angels started singing.

"Would you like to make an appointment?" he whispered into my half-opened mouth.

"Yes, YES, YES!!" I screamed with ecstasy, tossing my hair from side to side, and ripping my blouse from my shoulders.

His assistant (who is way prettier on a regular day than I was at prom -- and younger, too) handed me a card and a smile and sent me on my way.

All I had to do now was wait three days. (And wipe the drool from my chin.)

I felt bad cheating on my old chiropractor, but, truth be told, he wasn't really helping me all that much and I was just going back because it was free. The new chiropractor, though... yeah, he's free, too. (And he offers massage!)

"Dr. Jack," as Cutesy McGee at the front desk calls him, is probably all of 30, if even that. He looks dapper in his black scrubs, and has the harried look of a guy who is trying to do seventy five things at once. (Probably because he is.)

He took x-rays of my back and it turns out that my right hip is (to use a technical term) "all cocked up." And my lumbar spine is crooked. And my neck is curved the wrong way. And I'm single.

Oh, wait, that just slipped out.

To fix my hip, Dr. Jack will actually slam his body into my bent knee. I'll admit it, it's hot. I try to simply exhale, but, well, it comes out as more of a gasp. And (this is the sad part) I want him to think I'm awesome, so I relax my neck as much as humanly possible before he cracks it -- and I want you to know, not everyone can do this. I developed it through years of trust-building exercises in acting class. I doubt he even notices.

Tommy, the massage therapist, is an enormous muscle with hands that turn my back into pre-cooked meatloaf. Sweet as hell, but if you didn't know it, you'd be scared. Especially if he was taking his fist, jamming it into your hip socket, and swiveling your leg around. (He's good at what he does -- and likes Sinead O'Connor!)

It's the highlight of my day, going to the doctor. Which, now that I've written it down, makes me kind of sad.

why online dating is so much FUN

I'm on a dating website that will, based on the questions you answer, match you up with potential mates of your preference. They'll give you a match percentage, a friendship percentage, and an enemy percentage. Some people pay attention to these things, and some people simply pay attention to BOOBS. (Not that I display any on my page. It's just that I have them.)

Thou shalt not mock thy suitors, but with suitors like these, who needs enemies?

A sampling of my inbox of late:

From otherguy832* (52% match, 62% friend, 36% enemy)
Subject: I know your ex!

The subject line was only to peak your interest in my fascinating e-mail. My name is Roberto, found your profile to up beat and positive all qualities that I look for in a woman. How was your weekend ? I spent Sunday skating the line of heterosexuality by going on a fall hike, with a guy friend of mine, to see the leaves. Topped off with a picnic at the summit. I did get some great pictures, while I am secure in my manhood this story should remain between us! Talk to you soon.

From LawGuy1 (78% match, 87% friend, 17% enemy):

(no subject)

geek.

From guythree111 (83% match, 84% friend, 15% enemy)

Subject: Erudite Epicure seeks Sexy Svengali for Succor and Sin

"Keats was wrong. The art of the urn is maybe superior to real life because in most cases, the anxiety/excitement leading up to an event far exceeds the event itself. The images depicted on the urn are frozen in that moment of anticipation: the lover anticipating the kiss, the tree hovering between summer and fall. While that prelude to a kiss is often superior to the actual kiss, we cannot deprive ourselves of the potential satisfaction. Is that why the persona chooses reality? Art is not truth. Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth."

"Shut up and kiss me, you fool…"

Howdy. First, I must beg clemency for I am relatively new at this. Second, your profile, while more expressive than most, is still vague enough to beg the questions: no sarcasm or smarminess? Just sheer spirited and sanguine sincerity? What the hell's her deal? Fret not, young lady, mystery and candor can be very big turn-ons (or turn-offs, depending on how one plays his or her (in this case, her) hand and with whom one is playing. You're in luck). You've cast a rather wide net, so I'll try and be brief:

[Then he spends fourteen paragraphs explaining himself.]

p.s. - You had me at "I'll make you laugh. I'll make you think. I'll make you think about laughing. Then you'll laugh more. (Or your money back!)". you win. No refund necessary...

p.p.s. - Hit me with your number when you mail me back - better yet, just call me - I'm much better on the phone. In person, well, forget about it, you can't even imagine…

p.p.p.s. - I lied. You really had me at "You're the guy for me if you are super-duper smart, with a terrific sense of humor and a passion that drives you to your own definition of greatness. You're self-aware and thoughtful, and not too smelly (I'd eventually like to sleep in your shirt)"...

p.p.p.p.s. - [in a remarkable turn of events, he continues.]

p.p.p.p.p.s. - [then he asks me about Greece]

p.p.p.p.p.p.s. - [and then, at this point, I fell asleep]

And my ABSOLUTE favorite...

From JuanCarlosDos (0% match, 1% friend, 65% enemy)

Subject: I love you!

A nice woman equal to you only so if you want to marry me

Tell me, how did I get so lucky??

*names have been changed to protect the innocently guilty.

oddities for the odd

Excuse me while I kiss this guy:

The refrain of the song that plays in aerobics is, I'm guessing, supposed to be saying "That's right, that's right. Move your body" but instead sounds like it's saying "Basmati! Basmati! Move your body!"

The guy on the sidewalk who is hawking for the gold store is constantly, to my ears, saying "Coincide! Check it out!"

And have you heard that Maroon 5 song, So This Is Goodbye? Me neither. But I did hear that fabulous track, Solipsistic Guy!

How Now Brown, ur Chicken?

I've been buying brown eggs recently because they're the only ones in the grocery store that aren't sold in styrofoam containers. The only drawback is that I hard boil them, and there's something about the brown shells that makes them kind of, well, rubbery. It's disconcerting to crack your egg and have it bounce back up at you.

Haiku For-u

Yesterday I wrote a poem that I felt represented my romantic experience lately:

Online dating guy

Was I more fun when I was

Imaginary?

In response, my friend Christina, who has the plague, created a poem that she felt represented her experience lately:

I think it's swine flu

Sniffling, coughing, achy, plus

I'm sneezing bacon

Speaking of sneezing...

Did you see that the weather on Sunday is Partly Cloudy with a chance of Widespread Flu?

stuff that has nothing to do with anything. (maybe.)

I had a date the other night that I thought was scheduled for a different night, so I didn't leave the house dressed the way I might normally dress for a first date. Luckily I was non-dowdy enough to actually go on the date and not reschedule it. I wasn't 100% confident about my outfit, though, so I asked Fernando if what I was wearing was ok.

"I wouldn't pretend I wasn't there to meet you if I saw you wearing that outfit."

Good old Nando. Always showering me with compliments.

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I left the house the other morning and saw my breath. [insert long, boring, complaint-filled paragraph with lots of muttering and head-shaking here.]

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There were lots of toilets in Greece where you weren't allowed to flush the toilet paper in the toilet. Which made for a lot of smelly bathrooms.

Also, on the island of Santorini, they tell you not to drink the water. And then they charge you €1.50 for a bottle of it. I smell a conspiracy (and a bathroom)!

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I spread my scarf across my face the other day and asked Fernando if I looked like a spooky ghost. "No," he said, "You look like you have pizza stretched across your face."

Oh, right. Duh.

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I cheated on my chiropractor today. I love him, I really do, and I'll be forever indebted to him for introducing me to the many joys of bone cracking. However, my new chiropractor? Ok, yeah, he's ridiculously hot. He knows it, too, so that ratchets it down a notch, but now I have to start thinking about what kind of underwear I wear to my appointments!

The best part? His office likes to focus on massage. (I got poked in the psoas today.) This could be the start of something wonderful...

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I'm reading a 920 page book right now and I've slogged all the way through to page 620. I'm not in love with it, but I'm committed to it at this point. My favorite part so far has been when the narrator described something unpleasant as "moisturizing with Tabasco."

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Crazy homeless man who haunts the 53rd Street station was back tonight. I took notes as he dictated. Learn ye this:

"When you sleep with the boss, you never have to work."

"The Senator had to beat his wife."

"Lesbians don't know they're women. Mental illness!"

Kettle, honey? It's pot. You're black.

am I a crazy cat lady? probably.

Yes, there were lovely sunsets.

Yes, there were ancient ruins.

Yes, there were fabulously good-looking family members.

But most of all, there were cats. Hundreds and hundreds of Greek cats. Stray cats aren't that weird -- I have a family of them in my backyard. But you know what IS weird? Stray dogs. We really don't have them here, and I'm grateful for that. Because if a stray dog gets hungry enough, he might just eat you.

A stray cat would never do that. (would you, kitties?)

Greece Day 11

So, I'm back in Heathrow.

But this time, I'm on a pay-as-you-go computer, with only four minutes and forty two seconds to crank this one out. So be prepared for typos and shorthand.

Here are some observations from the trip, in brief:

1) Greek armpits smell a lot like armpits.
2) Business Class is THE way to fly. Sitting in the middle seat of a three seater in the row behind a toddler is NOT.
3) The world is small. The woman I sat next to on my flight from London to Athens passed me on the footpath from Imerovigli to Fira in Santorini.
4) The Mediterranean is the most beautiful body of water I've ever seen. So beautiful, in fact, that I had to strip my clothes off in front of my paretns and jump into it because it was so tempting. (My mother took pictures of my pile of clothes, just as evidence.)
5) It's interesting to be somewhere so beautiful on your own. (Yes, I was with my family, but I was romantically alone.) Some of the sunsets were so moving and so beautiful that I wanted someone to share them with... and yet, there was no one. I had to keep reminding myself to show them to my self.

And now I'm out of time. More soon, I promise!

Greece, Day 1

Dearest readers,

While I write this (on a British keyboard, which hides some of the important keys and makes it difficult to type), most of you are still asleep. Because it's just shy of six o'clock in the morning.

But I, like the world traveler I am, have been up for HOURS. (Which is just a fancy way of saying I haven't slept yet.)

My mother, father and I left New York last night and, as a gift for mother's day, my dad upgraded two tickets to Business Class. And I, because I'm cute, charming, and the apple of my dad's eye*, actually got to sit with my mom in Business Class. That's right, folks, I flew Business Class. Where the seats recline (and incline, and do yoga poses all at the touch of a button) and the staff are extraordinarily nice, and they give you free wine and cheese and warm towels and free Burt's Bees moisturizer, and just stop short of stripping you of your clothes, giving you a massage and returning your clothes to you washed and pressed.

This, my friends, is the way to travel.

I ate warmed nuts. (Keep your comments to yourself, I'm traveling with my mother!) I ate ravioli. I ate a cheese plate. I ate Ghiradelli chocolate. I ate the airplane.

My mother and I engaged in a little bit of earplug theatre (a special kind of puppet show where the puppets are little, yellow, foamy, better) and we flung sleep masks at each other. We had seat races. I watched 1/3 of Dr. Zhivago. (Omar Sharif used to be cute!)

And now we're in the British Airways lounge in Heathrow, where they have free cereal, internet, juice, CHAMPAGNE, guys with cute accents, all the coffee you could possibly want, and slabs of meat. (It is Britain, afterall.) And cookies. Lots of cookies.

Our flight to Greece has been delayed, so we have another couple of hours to kill here. I plan to keep eating, listening to the cute accents and trying to stay awake.

Because on the flight to Greece I'm back in coach.

*sigh.*