Hi. I Have No Idea What I'm Doing

So, as you all know, yesterday, I was a massage therapist extraordinaire down to the Red Cross event. 

Beside me, there was one other local massage therapist and five massage therapists that were traveling with the bikers. 

Three dudes and one lady. 

All of the dudes were granola. 

Like one of them even had long hair, wore rope flip flops, and when asked if he was eating cashews from Whole Foods, he was forced to correct with, "No, not cashews.  Raw cashews." 

As if anyone even knew what that meant.

The lady looked like Shaka Khan and when introducing herself, said her name followed with, "Oh, it's Zimbabwean."

The other local therapist, who has a hard time with pretty much everything, couldn't pronounce her name and ended up calling her Say Cheese for the rest of the afternoon.

I was going to tell the lady that I lived in Zimbabwe for a minute, but instead drank my Coke and sat in the corner reading about Rhett Butler on my Kindle.

I love Rhett Butler.

When the bikers finally came streaming in and got up on the tables, the other therapists went to work.

They were stretching.  And finding trigger points.  And releasing things.

And me?

I was just rubbing.

Because that's pretty much all I know how to do.

One of the granolas was actually climbing on and off the table, walking on people's backs.

I can't really do that.

Because I weighed twice as much as the granola.

I felt completely inadequate.

And also kind of put out.

Because apparently, I was supposed to have learned some of those things at school.

But instead, I learned to properly navigate You Tube. 

And ate grody food at Casa Ole.