Better sleep via balls on my face.

We interrupt my “guided meditation for insomnia” to report that the soothing Australian man’s voice just told me the “ball of peace” I’d been instructed to imagine rolling all over my body — including letting it gently massage my palms and fingers — has just “split into 1,000 tiny balls” that I am supposed to “feel rolling around, massaging every muscle in your face.”

Guys. 

1,000.

Peaceful balls. 

On my face.

It never occurred to be I’d be too juvenile to meditate. Too high-strung, maybe, definitely too squirrelly. But, hey, no one said anything about balls on my face. Who can relax with balls on their face? I have questions. 

“Your cheeks… chin… mouth… teeth… tongue…”

Wait, what? I’m really against using my teeth on balls unless it’s specifically requested, which, P.S., it’s never been. I am not subtle enough to dabble there. When I bite, I tend to leave marks. Basically what I’m saying is that I can’t be trusted with balls, even in the meditative sense.

And 1,000 of them?! Shiiiiiiit. At least they’re peaceful. I’d hate to have 1,000 angry balls on my face. 

But OK. I’ll try the balls. I need balls, I guess. I hope the Australian knows what he’s getting his into here.

The “happy ending” women are looking for

Email among friends:

Friend #1: “I was listening to Savage Lovecast today. This woman called in and said once a month she treats herself to a massage, and found a masseur she liked. After about 8 months of massages from him, he was massaging her thighs, got a little handsy, and got her off. This is my fantasy. I have watched countless massage room porns. I know, I have issues, but I want this to happen to me someday. Why doesn’t this stuff happen to me?”

Me: “I don’t think you’re a perv — I can see the appeal there.”

Friend #2: “I think it is pervy (which my iPad corrects to Percy) and that’s what makes it hot. The stranger, the boundaries, the ‘good with his hands’ aspect. Yeah, I can see the appeal for sure. And I am also confused why this hasn’t happened to you.”

Me: “I don’t think hands get enough credit. I love men’s hands.”

Gentlemen, seriously…your hands are pretty great. I’m a big fan. I’d “like” them on Facebook if I could. They’re brilliant. Remind me to write a Dr. Seuss-inspired poem about men’s hands — how I love them in my hair, how I love them everywhere.