Thursday, April 03, 2008

massages, dissection and certified email

I am a massage giver. According to Al, the best around. Since his days of high school and collage sports (wrestling, baseball and football), he's been pro-massage. He once confided that one of the reasons, he kept pursuing me during our break-up was because I gave the best massages he's ever had. And now I give him at least 3 massages a weekend, working out kinks in his neck, his shoulders, his hands and his feet. When I'm done, he's putty in my hands...but I don't take advantage of it...I know what you're thinking: "What's up with that??"

Now, I'm not talking about mamby pansy soft tickling rubs, I'm talking about deep muscular massaging--the kind that pops our kinks, knots and nitrates--anything that's hampering the muscles. My fingers are very strong and I know much about anatomy--about how the muscular and skeletal systems work.

How do I know? Well, when I first transferred to ECU my major was nursing. I took two anatomy classes and one dissection lab.

Yes... we dissected dead cats. So if you're a Peta Head... don't read any further, please.

I enjoyed the lab the best. As a curious semi-scientific person, I enjoyed the first hand experience of dissection. And still have my dissection kit! We also had access to a cadaver--an old black man whom we had to point out muscles, bones, organs, etc on professor-to-student exams. No, we didn't dissect him...I think the medical doctor students had to do that--because he was dissected on one side of his body and whole on the other before we ever arrived.

Med students like to play gags with putting a lit cigerette in his non-dissected hand and sending the gurney down the hall. My lab class never did fact, my lab partner Kim and I were afraid of him when we stayed after hours to study the muscles of our cat. We would lock the door to the cadaver room and at the first strange sound, bolt like children out of the room, running all the way to our dorm.

And in daylight, laugh at ourselves for being fraidy cats. I got out of the nursing field because I knew my tender heart couldn't take viewing death.

But I did learn a lot about the working of the body...

but this I don't understand:

How can someone send me a certified email?

A piece of spam informed me that their email was certified and I should read it...

but..but...who certified it?

Not I!

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