Of butts and brides

Today I indulged in a trip to the salon for some pampering and proper gray hair coverage.

Enjoying the contrast of heat on my head and air conditioning on my feet, out of the corner of my eye I noticed a wall of girls in front of the salon windows. Then I saw opposite the girls a photographer taking pictures. Add to that a series of matching flip-flops and the mental math added up to: Wedding party of the hairdo variety.

The door opens, the girls file in and high-pitched voices fill the air over the dryer blowing in my ears. As the girls come closer to my sitting area I'm a bit entertained. It's a bit fun to observe the controlled chaos of excitement and repeated question, "What are you going to do." There's even a large three ring notebook with tabs marking the hair styles for each of the party members.

However, my entertainment quickly turned to discomfort when my personal space quickly began to disappear. They had taken over the dryer chair next to me and as I'm backing my face out of one girls ass, my leg bumps the photog who is directing everyone to get closer so she can get the shot.

I thought they would move away, but they just kept coming. I want to flee or say something, but I can't.

I'm speechless.

And I'm staring. At the skinny butt that is no less than 6 inches from my nose. And then I look at the photog's butt which has moved off to the side of me. And the butt of the hairdresser doing the mother of the bride's hair and I begin dying inside.

Out of all of the scenarios I could have pulled for my Friday afternoon, this went from irritating to awesome. Awesome because I'm pretty sure I was close enough to those girls that there may be a photo out there with a group of pretty young girls, where off to the side an older girl with enough tin foil and product to create Phyllis Diller hair, sits all wide-eyed and grouchy-faced staring at the ass that was encroaching in her space.

Even if the photo doesn't exist, I can sit back and chuckle at what it would have looked like through the lens of a camera.

Tatsu - it is me

Dragon (tatsu) --- Born 2000, 1988, 1976, 1964, 1952, 1940, 1928, 1916
People born in the year of the Dragon are healthy, energetic, excitable, short-tempered and stubborn. However, they are honest, sensitive, brave and can inspire trust in most anyone. They are the most peculiar of the 12 signs of the Zodiac cycle.

Yup - that's about it.

I wanna go home...or beat something up

Either way. I'd be happy.

As I sit with Sam Adams on coffee table, ipod playing Tool, camera plugged in, cell phone open and no less than 6 tabs open in Firefox....My head's racing.

I'm grouchy. Thankful. Anxious. Searching. Thrilled. Jaded. Relieved. Rocking out. Missing my training. Missing the Rockslide. Missing my Mom and Dad.

What a mess.

Places I'd rather be than my couch: My bike. The river. A rock. My dojo floor. Making contact with my kick bag. Jamaica (or other applicable island). The Junk. Dirt. Dirt. Dirt. Oh, and dirt; I've been entirely too clean this season.

Places I'm glad I'm not: My last place of residence. The hospital. Stuck in traffic. Stuck in my shell of a brain and body circa 5 years ago.

What I'll do next: Attempt to shadow box sitting down. Listen to music louder. Bounce my head harder. Visualize myself on top of that mountain back home, in a gi, doing the strongest kata of my life.

When the urge strikes...Push-Up!

Driving to my physical therapy appointment today I saw something so random I'm convinced a cell phone with a good camera is a must have.

I was headed east on 600 South up to the U near Trolley Square. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed an up-and-down motion along the side of the road.

Paying closer attention, I noticed that the motion was being initiated by a human, with flowing hair...and no shirt. Putting it all together, I then realize it was a shirtless man doing push-ups...on the sidewalk.

Humm, interesting, I thought to myself. You don't see that everyday.

But it got better.

Just after I had the time to process exactly what I was seeing, the man jumped up and seamlessly moved into the motion of walking down the street...as if the push-ups didn't even happen. By now I'm rubbernecking and could have caused impediment, but I slowed my car a bit to watch anyway.

The man, with his large, faded, blackwork tattoo on his shoulder and shirt hanging from his jeans waistband, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a comb. A comb to smooth his chin length brown hair that was messy from the push-ups that tossed it about.

OHMYGAWD! I love the city and I'm buying a new phone. The written description cannot do this post justice.

But if you close your eyes real tight, I know you can see it too.

The hygienist to dentist ratio

If you don't like stereotypes or generalized statements, this is not the blog post for you...

I went to the dentist today to get a proper calculation of how much drilling and capping needed to be done in my mouth and I was again smacked in the face with the reality of the formula of hygienists to dentists that occurs in every dentist office I've been in since I can remember.

Dentist: Nondescript Male
Hygienist: Ratio of 3-to-one for the nondescript dentist male of bubbly, perky, young twenty-something girls eager to stick their fingers in my mouth and ask questions....or, better yet, hygienists who ask the dentist questions about dental hygiene that will make said patient wonder how and the hell the hygienist has the got to the stage where they actually DO have their fingers in patient's mouth.

Just once. I want some brass bitch with dark hair, tattoos and eccentric makeup to walk up to my chair and put it to me straight...You know, tell me my teeth are messed up and that they're going to have to do excessive work, that I'm not going to like it and most importantly, not apologize for having to take proper precautions to ensure I don't end up with dentures by the time I'm 40.

I'm bored with the scenario already.

I'm tired of the bouncy, perky standard battery of, "Are you doing OK?" followed by, "I'm sorry." If you're going to ask me how I feel about needing another round of crowns and fillings and, because I have not had the proper dosage of coffee, I decide to tell you I'm not looking forward to it - tell me something you're sorry I'm feeling grumpy about the fact.

Go ahead - tell me I need to lay off the acidic beverages and hard candy - I can take it. I may not change my habits, but I can take it. If I couldn't, I certainly would not intentionally continue to book my appointments on a 6 month basis - Trust me, I'm not coming in for the company.

So if any of my dear friends in the SLC have a good line on a well educated dentist that has biker chicks doing the hygienist work, let me know. I'm ready for the change...