Monsieur Masseur

I'm addicted to professional massages. Unfortunately, my bank account does not allow me to indulge in this addiction very often. So, when a salon that I had a gift certificate for started offering massage services recently, it was cause for excitement.

I called to make an appointment and the receptionist confirmed the date and time. "You're all set for a 30 minute neck and back massage with Daniel," she said. Great! Uh, wait a second, what was that last part? Did you say Daniel? As in a man? Rubbing oil all over my neck and back? This could be weird.

I've always gone to a woman masseuse, it's what I'm comfortable with. Massages can be very intimate situations that are completely dependent on your ability to relax. Most involve getting completely naked, lying on a cozy, cushioned, heated table in a dimly lit room with soft music playing. For me, it's the most relaxing thing in the universe. My mind wanders into complete nothingness as the silky-smooth hands of a professional massage therapist hit all the right pressure points and release all of those nasty toxins. It is heaven.

Having some dude at the helm of my journey to relaxation was a little scary. Would I be comfortable? Would I be able to relax? What business does a man have getting into a profession that involves rubbing oil all over naked women? (I have similar feelings about male gynecologists). I considered calling back and rescheduling for a manicure, but what the hell, a free massage is a free massage and I was sure that Daniel was a professional. He deserved a fair shot. Besides, it was just neck and back, not like I had to take my pants off.

So, I went. And it was weird. And Daniel was hot. Which made it weirder. And he was not the best massage therapist I've ever been to, which was a little disappointing. But, I conquered my fear of masseurs and used up my gift certificate, so all was not lost.

It wasn't that he was bad, I've just had way better (nothing will ever compare to Ariel at the Paris Spa by Mandara in Las Vegas.) And it was different. His hands were rough. His sneakers squeaked on the tile floor. He tried to make small talk. I had to stifle a giggle fit when he asked if the pressure was OK and said, "Tell me if you want more." He was also on the short side, which put his crotch basically on my head when he bent over the top of the table to reach down my back. The whole thing had qualities comparable to an awkward one-night stand, including when I told him I'd call again.

I'll be sticking with female massage therapists in the future. I don't want to base my opinion of all masseurs on Daniel, I'm sure there are amazing ones out there, but I will never be 100 percent comfortable in a room with a strange man, without my clothes on. And to Daniel - thanks for being my first. I'll never forget you.

Could I be a California Girl?

It's 2 A.M. on Monday morning and I have to be at work in a few short hours for the first time in almost two weeks. It's going to be the worst Monday in the history of Mondays. I'm wide awake though, changing time zones will do that to ya.

I just returned from an eye-opening trip to California and my mind is racing with hopes, thoughts, plans and possibilities. My dear friend Molly moved to San Francisco this past summer and I finally got the chance to visit. "You'll love it out here," she told me. "You should really think about moving here," she said. "You NEED to get out of Buffalo," was repeated many times.

Truth is, that thought has been in my head for quite some time. The only thing holding me back was fear. What if I can't stand being away from my family? What if I hate it? What if it makes me sad? What if I miss something important at home? What if I want to move back and can't find a job?

Some of those fears still exist for me, but this trip muted them substantially. And it pretty much obliterated the, "What if I hate it?" part. I know with almost absolute certainty that I would completely love living in San Francisco.

Whenever I'd considered moving away before, New York was always at the top of my list. I think that was part of the problem. New York is scary. It's dirty and cold and gigantic and mean. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love it, but it's MEAN. (New York, you know I love you, please forgive me.) The scariness is part of its appeal though, if you can make it there you can make it anywhere, right? I've always had this drive to prove that I can be successful on my own in a big city like that.

This trip opened my eyes to the possibility of being successful on my own in a big, friendly city. San Francisco is clean and warm and bright and welcoming. Life there seems manageable. Everyone seems genuinely happy, at least everyone that I met. And the best part? It's on the freaking ocean! It doesn't get any better than that. Any city where you can look out your window and see surfers walking down the street in their wet suits, carrying surf boards is far from intimidating.

Observing Molly and her group of friends, many of them Buffalo transplants and almost all of them transplants from somewhere, I saw a group of positive, adventurous, energetic, spirited, easy-going people who are so full of life. A drastic change from the mid-winter population of Buffalo. I had a lot of fun with them and hope to have more fun soon.

I will always be a Buffalo girl at heart, but there is a whole big world out there with so much opportunity. I want to explore it, to learn and grow from it. There are things out there that Buffalo just can't offer an unattached 25 year-old girl itching for something more in her life.

California inspired me to end the stagnation. I've been in a rut and the only way I'll ever get out is to climb. I've been unhappy with life lately and I am the only one that can turn it around. Will I end up in San Francisco? Perhaps. Only time will tell.

"We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of the dream. Wandering by lone sea breakers, and sitting by desolate streams. World losers and world forsakers, for whom the pale moon gleams. Yet we are movers and the shakers of the world forever it seems." - Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy

So Much To Be Thankful For

Thanksgiving weekend is always crazy, fun, exhausting and one of my favorite times of the year. It's the official kick-off to the holiday season and there is so much going on. I know it's cheesy, but it's also the perfect time to pause for a moment and reflect on the many things to be thankful for. Here's my list:

• That I finished the 8K Turkey Trot almost ten minutes faster than last year. OK, it still took me 1:15:13, ranking 600 out out of 647 in my age group, but it's an improvement damn it!
• My job. Times are tough and I'm lucky enough to not only get a pay check every two weeks, but to actually enjoy my work and the people I do it with.
• All of my friends and family are healthy and we can celebrate another holiday season together.
• My parents. They're awesome and I don't thank them enough for their awesomeness.
  
• Staying in touch with friends. It's hard to do sometimes, but you find away to stay connected to the ones that matter most.
  
• The urge to clean, consolidate and get rid of junk. It's a project I was putting off for a long time and I've been on a roll lately! Organizing your physical space has a funny way of helping you organize other parts of your life.
  

I don't care for your fairytales.

I haven't written a blog about my personal life in quite some time. I tried to stick with current events for awhile, in order to keep writing without spilling my guts to the entire Internet community. Today, I say "screw it."

Writing is so therapeutic for me. It provides such a release, as if each word I type helps me let go of whatever ails me at the moment. It's been too long since I've gone through this process. I suppose I've been holding it all in because if you don't admit your problems, they don't really exist, right? Not so much.

So what's the problem this time? A boy, of course. I thought this one was different. It started out like a fairytale, for crying out loud. Girl's high school crush resurfaces ten years later to reveal his feelings for her. It sounds like a movie plot. I shouldn't have let the romanticism sweep me off my feet like that. I know better. But it was so nice to feel warm and fuzzy toward someone again. Particularly this someone.

So, I jumped in. Except I think that I jumped alone. I thought I was diving into an ocean, mysterious, beautiful, vast and full of life. It turned out to be a dirty puddle. And now I stand here, sheepishly, with wet feet. And my damn shoes squeak when I walk down the hallway, each step a reminder of my mistake.

OK, maybe I took that analogy a bit too far. Blame it on the writing drought. The point is, I thought I had become sufficiently numb to love. I thought I trained myself to get involved without getting too close. Not true, dear readers of my blog (if there are any), not true. I just wasn't involved with anyone worth getting close to. It's looking like this one wasn't worth it either.

So, what have I learned? I am not numb. That's a good thing. The emotions that have surfaced are not pleasant, but they are mine and I just have to plow through them until I get to the other side. It stings, but I've been through much worse and lived to be a better person for it.

Also, boys cannot be trusted. Kidding, kidding. I am quite sure that there are plenty of trustworthy males in this world, I even know a few of them. Just haven't found the one for me yet. My second lesson goes something like this: Jumping in is not a good idea unless you're holding someone's hand and they jump with you. Even then, sometimes it doesn't work out. So, next time, maybe I'll try actually talking things out before setting my expectations so high. Yea, that sounds like a better idea.

I shall leave you with a song that I thoroughly enjoy singing in the car at the top of my lungs in times like these...

"Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom
Man made up a story said that I should believe him
Go and tell your white knight that he's handsome in hindsight
But I don't want the next best thing"

Target Women

Check out Sarah Haskin's hilarious Target Women videos on Current.com. She makes fun of gender-specific advertising and other things society says girls should like or be good at, including cleaning, feeding your family and chick flicks. I'm a fan of the Disney Princesses and the Number Two episodes. Check them all out by clicking here.

Breaking the Glass Ceiling

Last month, I attended the Public Relations Society of America Northeast District Conference. It was held right here in Buffalo at the Adams Mark Hotel and the conference was a huge success, blowing past attendance numbers out of the water.

The most interesting session that I attended by far was titled, “Is there a glass ceiling for women in public relations?” It was given by Brenda J. Wrigley, Ph.D., APR, Associate Professor of Public Relations, S.I. Newhouse School of Public Communications at Syracuse University. Dr. Wrigley has done extensive research on gender and diversity in public relations, but her findings extend to women in just about every field.

In most cases, women are paid less than men to do the exact same job, and the higher the position, the wider the gap. The salary difference between a man and woman hired for an executive position is much greater than an entry-level position. This chart from The Scientist demonstrates that gap for professionals in higher education. How unfair is that?

So why does this happen? Some people say it’s our own fault. Even if differences in starting salaries are minimal, those differences can have a huge impact down the road. An article in The Washington Post explained it like this...

“If a 22-year-old man and a 22-year-old woman are offered $25,000 for their first job, for example, and one of them negotiates the amount up to $30,000, then over the next 28 years, the negotiator would make $361,171 more, assuming they both got 3 percent raises each year. And this is without taking into account the fact that the negotiators don't just get better starting pay; they also win bigger raises over the course of their careers.”

Guess what my starting salary was at my first job? Less than $25,000 and I did not negotiate. Dr. Wrigley would not approve. She encourages all of her students, men and women, to never accept an initial offer, no matter how badly you want the job. She said that a company will treat you the nicest when they are trying to hire you, and if they’re not willing to play ball then, don’t expect much once you’re in. If they won’t negotiate, you probably don’t want to work there anyway. I wish someone would have told me that a long time ago.

The article goes on to say that while some may conclude that women are simply less aggressive than men, due to a combination of genetics and upbringing, that’s not the entire story. A study found that men and women get very different responses when they initiate salary negotiations. The article said, “Both men and women were more likely to subtly penalize women who asked for more -- the perception was that women who asked for more were ‘less nice’.”

Put bluntly, women who ask for a higher salary are bitches. The study also found that men were always less willing to work with a woman who had attempted to negotiate than a woman who had not. They always preferred to work with a woman who stayed “mum,” but it didn’t matter to these men whether a guy had chosen to negotiate or not. [EDITOR’S NOTE: WTF?!?!?!?!]

So, if a woman makes less money than her male counterpart, but can’t ask for a higher salary or that counterpart will think she’s a bitch, what’s a girl to do? I say, bring it on jerks. I’m not condemning every male on the face of the planet and calling them all sexist pigs. Certainly, most men do not hold this view, at least most of the men that I know. But some people do think this way, to some degree, and we can’t sit back and take it anymore. You think I’m a bitch because I want equal pay? So what? I think your CRAZY. Let’s not let a little name calling stop us ladies.

We need support from our non-crazy male coworkers as well. I work closely with several guys and I don’t think they’d be less willing to work with me if I asked for a raise. I’d like to think that showing initiative and asking for a higher salary would earn respect.

The only way to change this is to take action and refuse to accept the status quo. This may mean personal sacrifice, in the form of passing up unsatisfactory job offers, but we can’t keep doing this to ourselves or things will never change. It won’t happen overnight, it might not even happen in my lifetime, but we have to get the ball rolling and take a stand. Women deserve equal pay and we can’t wait around for someone else to fix the system.

The House That Ruth Built

I spent Labor Day weekend in New York City and let me tell you, it was a good time. My little brother and I drove there together, almost sixteen hours in a car with your sibling... not everyone can survive that. He's an odd duck, but we get along well, most of the time.

The idea for this trip came about while watching the Home Run Derby back in July. Tim and I were sitting in the living room, watching Josh Hamilton blast homer after homer out of Yankee Stadium, when we thought, "Wouldn't it be cool to see that place before it's gone forever?"

My parents were vacationing in Boston at the time and being the spoiled brats that we are, we were a little miffed about being left behind. Itching to take a trip of our own, we bought tickets to the Yankees vs. Blue Jays game on August 31.

I'm not really a Yankees fan. I'm not passionate about baseball, I don't have an allegiance to any particular team and I have enough respect for baseball's true fans to not be a faker. Hockey and football rule my heart, but I can appreciate any sport. I play softball, grew up going to Bison's games and find baseball entertaining. Plus, how can you not love those tight pants? I kid, I kid.

I am, however, a sucker for history and seeing an 85-year old stadium where all the greats played - Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle, Jackie Robinson, Yogi Bera, the one and only Babe Ruth and so many more - THAT was really, really cool.

The Yankees lost that day, but it didn't matter. We got to see the the House that Ruth Built. We got to eat Nathan's hot dogs (which I didn't really like) and see A-Rod hit a home run and cram into the subway with all of the other Yankees fans. It was an experience I won't ever forget.

The rest of the trip was lots 'o fun too. Except when Tim accidentally got lost in the Bronx in the middle of the night and I had a mini panic attack. I checked out ESPN Zone for the first time, saw Times Square lit up at night (something that never gets old for me, no matter how many times I've seen it), moseyed around the Virgin Music Store, said hello to Lady Liberty, ate pizza in Little Italy, sang karaoke in Chinatown and even hung out at a block party in Brooklyn.

Thanks to our gracious host for the place to stay, the endless hours of entertainment and putting up with my anti-social sibling. Someday he'll grow out of his quiet phase and astound you with amazing conversation skills. Maybe not.