Crack me bitch!
I am indebted to my Chiropractor. Ever since the panic attacks started I have had increasingly painful neck spasms that pull my vertebrae out of alignment. When I lived in San Diego I worked for an Acupuncturist who could work wonders with my neck. I must tell you, 100 tiny needles and a lot of love can get a woman through practically anything. But now we moved to Houston and my lifeline to comfort had been cut. What was a girl in pain to do?
Luckily it didn’t take long before I found Dr. Lee and his assistant Ann “Magic Hands” Marie. I was just driving down the street on my way to the grocery store and I saw the sign like a beacon of light calling me home. So I called the number. They could get me in the next day. Awesome!
Now I had been to a Chiropractor in Fort Collins who was pretty amazing but he was a “slam, bam, crack you ma’am” kind of guy. He would literally crack your neck so hard and fast that the sound of your spine adjusting could be heard in the next county. He was rough and I liked it that way. “That’s right, crack me bitch!!”
But then I met Dr. Lee. His style was a combination of both my Acupuncturist and my old Chiropractor. His office is one of a kind. First they start you out on a rolling table to loosen up the spine. I love the rolling table. I want one. But they’re expensive, and they’re not subtle. I might be able to sneak a pair of shoes or two under Poptart’s nose, but I’m pretty sure he would notice a rolling table.
Spine loosened, it’s time for Dr. Lee. Unlike my last Chiropractor, Crackee McSnap, Dr. Lee is very gentle. He has the softest hands. I have to wonder what lotion he uses. By the time he is done I’m feeling like I have been given a Valium. And then Ann Marie comes for me.
I put on a hospital gown and lay face down on a massage table where Anne Marie starts to massage my neck and back. I have to tell you, I’ve had a lot of massages in my time and I consider myself quite the connoisseur. This girl is goooooood. After my massage, I get hooked up to an electro-stim machine. Stands for “electronic stimulation.” Growwr. This is a machine that sends small electrical pulses to the problem areas. “The impulses mimic the action potential coming from the central nervous system, causing the muscles to contract.”- Wikipedia (Don’t you just love Wikipedia?).
By the time all this is over I am having an out of body experience, and I’m slightly depressed that I now have to put on my clothes and re-enter the world as we know it. So I get dressed, pay my co-pay, and I anxiously anticipate my next visit to my crack dealer.
After one of these wonderful visits I came home and wrote this FB post:
MD: I would totally marry my Chiropractor. Besides the fact that he’s married, I’m not attracted to him, he’s too short for me, our cultures just don’t mix (he wants his daughters to live with him till they get married. Mine turned three 4 months ago and I think she should start paying rent). Oh, and he doesn’t get any of my jokes. But other than that, he’s perfect.
Mark: So you’re looking for an attractive, tall, child hater, who gives back rubs and laughs at anything? I’ll make some calls.
Mark: I think I found someone. His parole officer says he is “improving”. Question: Is chronic drooling an issue and does he need to be able to pronounce his R’s?
MD: I LOVE that he is on parole. That way I’ll know he won’t get very far. We can fix the drooling problem by attaching a cup to the bottom of his chin, and I don’t care about the R’s. Actually, if we could make it so he doesn’t talk at all that would be such a bonus.
Christina: Hey wait. I know that guy! Mark, don’t forget to tell Stacy about his sex change and that he still has his man boobs because he had it done in Mexico for 75% off.
Dawn: Oooooh…sorry Stacy. I already married him. Yikes! I didn’t know.
MD: Damn it Dawn! Now who will I get to drool in a cup, while laughing at my jokes, who is tall, good looking, hates children, gives back rubs, doesn’t talk, with an awesome set of moobs? Back to the drawing board.
Mark: It’s a big world; there have got to be tons of guys who fit that mold. Though it might be easier to buy Poptart some shoes with lifts in them, convince him to touch your back, have him stuff one of your bras, gag him, and hire a long term babysitter. I just don’t know how to get him to laugh at your jokes. Oh, get some pot.