Archive for the ‘Regis' Blog’ Category

The sign read, “Fantasy Massage,” and I drove by it every once in a while.   It hung over the side door of a run-down building. The front of the building used to be an adult bookstore many years ago, although I’m sure that had no bearing on its current business. For me, the phrase “fantasy massage” holds a special meaning, but what did it mean to  the current employees? What’s their limit on fantasy?  I had to find out. So one day, out of curiosity only, I stopped in.

My eyes took a few moments to adjust as I entered this respectable, dimly lit establishment. After which I found myself staring at a wall covered with what appeared to be the velvet equivalent of leopard skin, in a light shade of purple. A curtain of plastic multi-colored beads blocked a dark passage to my right and there were several pictures on the wall that accentuated the fact I was standing in a feng shui nightmare. But all of that quickly vanished from my mind as my attention turned towards the women in front of me.

Three, very attractive, scantily clad women, sat on a bench beside a desk. One of them smiled at me. I quickly checked to see if my fly was open – that seems to be the only reason a woman would look and smile at me; I was fully zipped.  I looked back up to see one of the women approaching.  I began to sweat.

“Hi, my name is Cupcake,” she said seductively.

Well, it may not have been that seductive, but when a scantily clad, very attractive woman talks to me, anything she says sounds seductive.

She continued, seductively, “Have you been here before baby?”

I was appalled at her implication.  Did I look like the type of person who frequents a place like this for some perverted fantasy?  Did I appear to be one of those desperate and pathetic losers who would have to come to a place like this?  Well, unfortunately, yes.  Nevertheless, I replied in the sophisticated articulate manner that I do so well.  I said, as I swallowed my dignity, “Um, Nope.”

“No problem honey, the room rates are on the wall and the girls work on tips.  Let one of us know if we can help you.”

She leaned closer to me, put her hand on my shoulder and began to whisper in my ear. Her touch and the feeling of her warm breath caused my pulse to quicken. My heart felt as if it was going to beat out of my chest as she whispered a rather personal statement regarding the monetary value of a really good time.

As she stepped away from me to return to her place on the bench, I started breathing again. As I wiped the sweat from my face, I looked over at the handwritten poster of room rates Cupcake had so beautifully pointed out. The rates were listed by the half hour or hour, and by bench or waterbed, with the latter of both being the most expensive.

My mind was racing between Cupcake’s sensual commentary and how much cash I had in my pocket for tips, when a phone rang. A woman at the desk, whom I had not noticed before, probably because she was fully clothed, answered it.

“Thank you for calling Fantasy Massage, how may I help you?”  There was a long pause as she listened to the caller before she spoke again.

Her reply was only eight words, but those words echoed throughout my entire being. I was no longer thinking of Cupcake or how much money I had to spend; all I could think about was those eight words. There have been very rare moments in my life when someone’s words moved me – this was definitely one of them. After she spoke, she said goodbye and hung up the phone. Our eyes met, I smiled and let out a little laugh. I gave her a polite nod, turned around and walked out the door. I got what I came for. Fifteen years later, the words “fantasy massage” still hold a special meaning for me, but not as much as those eight words.

And to this day, I can still hear her voice saying, “Yes, but you have to tip them both.”

I started blogging many years ago, long before it was called blogging.  My first “blog” was an essay about how any pathetic loser (including myself) could make themselves a web page, express themselves for all to see and completely mess up the ability for search engines to return useful information.  And while that was true all those years ago, it is even worse now.

Ever since mainstream Web 2.0 threw up on pop culture with MySpace, Facebook, Twitter, Pownce, Jaiku, Plurk, Identica, Rejaw, Laconica, Friendfeed and a myriad of other similar services, it has allowed every moron and their pets to think they are bloggers as they express themselves in status messages that are about 140 characters long.  This phenomena, known as microblogging, has been the worse thing to hit the internet since HTTP.

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I’ve always said I’m not political.  And when I say that I mean I’m not a republican, democrat, liberal, or even a conservative.  As a matter of fact, I don’t even know what it means to be republican or democrat.  And that’s because I believe in freedom, safety, privacy, the pursuit of happiness and common sense – most of which has nothing to do with politics anymore.  I believe there should be equal power among the house and senate between both parties (which may never be possible) and there should be a better voting mechanism to allow more bills/issues can be voted on by the public.  I also believe that a bill should be brief and too the point and contain only 1 subject.   But this isn’t the issue I want to talk about.

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Some days are better than others.  Really.  Haven’t you noticed?  I have.

Some days and other days
Sun shines from the ground below
Stars red as fire
The bleeding slows
I see her smile

Some days and other days
Winds blow the clouds
Blood rains down and blurs my vision
Pain is white
I don’t see her smile

Warning: This is not meant to be read by children or anyone who is offended by, well anything.

It’s that time of year when we celebrate the man of the season, that jolly old elf, the stranger from the manger – wait, strike that last one, that’s what Christmas is REALLY about.  I’m talking about Kris Kringle, aka Saint Nickolas (or just St. Nick for short), aka Father Christmas, aka Santa Claus.

No matter what name you refer to him as, he will always be Santa Claus to me.  And when I think of him I think of the North Pole, Mrs. Claus, his elves that make the toys, his sleigh and flying reindeer – Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen and Rudolph (by a strange coincidence those are the name of the strippers I saw last night).  But the most important thought that comes to mind is that Santa is magic for children, but not for me.  For me, I see his evil purpose.

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