Friday afternoon I found myself lying naked on a table, asking a strange man to spend an hour poking, prodding, and rubbing my thighs and butt. No big deal.

Yes, I went in for a sports massage — only my second massage ever. I tend to have problems with my hips (both the glutes and the hip flexors, aka the butt and the groin) and the IT bands (the outer thigh from hip to knee), so I asked him to work these areas. Awkward.

The whole process of getting a massage is, I think, a little odd. You know what I mean? You sit around in a waiting area naked under your borrowed robe, drinking a mimosa, and waiting for your massage therapist to come get you. While you wait you “mark an X on the image [of a nude, male form] in any areas where you are experiencing pain.” This paperwork also reassures you that it is perfectly normal, nay common, to experience the following things during your massage: relaxation, drowsiness or falling asleep, emotional feelings and responses, movement of intestinal gas, and memories. Memories. Okay then.

But, of course, the massage was great. He helped me get my IT bands loosened back up and unstuck them where they had adhered to, ah, whatever other leg structures in there they weren’t supposed to adhere to. Don’t ask me, man; I’m not that kind of doctor. The massage therapist was joking around with me at the end of the massage, saying that he hoped I hadn’t come in there looking for a super-relaxing blissed-out experience (because the type of massage I got is actually somewhat painful), and even though that hadn’t been what I was looking for, I did walk out of there feeling much better and more relaxed. And my IT bands and hips are noticeably looser. Win-win.

The rest of the weekend was pretty relaxing, too. I opted not to worry at all about grading or other work, and instead devoted my time to some serious couch sitting. Not that there wasn’t some excitement to be had — on the contrary! W and I wound up encountering two different stray dogs this weekend, and trying to get them back to their owners. Friday night, after dinner, we came to my house and found a stray pit bull wandering around the lake. We could tell he had a collar, so we got him to follow the car up to my place and tried to get him to come close enough to see his tags and maybe call his owners. He was being all playful and running around goofily, though, so this took a while. When we finally got him over there, we saw that in spite of the collar, he actually had no tags! Dammit!

The fun didn’t end there, though, because the dog decided he wanted to come into my house. He could hear all three of our dogs barking inside (because OF COURSE THEY WERE) and thought, “Hey, man, cool! It’s fuckin’ PLAYTIME in there!” So we tried to get him out of the way of the door to go inside, but he wanted in (and the dogs inside wanted out), and it was just super chaotic. He was a really smart and sweet dog, though (he kept trying to open the doorknob with his paws and never behaved in a remotely aggressive manner, unless you count attempted B&E as aggressive), so we weren’t worried; we just didn’t want him coming in or them running out. So what happened? Despite our best efforts, when we opened the door and tried to body-block the big pit bull, he came in anyway. Cue instant freak out from the canines within: W’s two dogs were jumping all around him and bark-yelping, Egon was setting off the alarm system in his crate, and the pit bull was like OMFG THIS IS SO FUN! All inside my living room. Good lord.

We finally got that straightened out with the pit bull outside and our three inside, but we felt so bad because we couldn’t find the owner and didn’t know what to do. No way we could just keep him in the apartment in that situation. Hopefully he found his way back home after his big adventure.

Then, THEN! In the middle of the night, W’s dogs woke up and wanted to go out (they do this kind of often), so he’s outside with them when ANOTHER big stray dog shows up. Yes. Luckily, this story was simpler and had a happy ending: this dog’s person was out looking for her and so W was able to reunite them pretty quickly, once he got the loose dog to come over to him. I was in bed asleep so I only heard about this after the fact, but man oh man! Two stray neighborhood dogs in one night. What the hell?!

It still bothers me that the first dog, who was obviously well fed and friendly and cared for and was wearing a collar, did not have a tag with a name and phone number on it. I am a big believer in keeping Egon’s tag with my number on it on his collar at all times. I would hate to imagine what could happen to the little guy if he ever got lost and I couldn’t be contacted. What a nightmare! I also really wish we’d been able to help the first dog find his way home. Sigh.

Well, I have rambled on enough and neither of these stories really has a point, does it? How about I leave you with this question: Do any of you watch a lot of Hulu? There is a Clorox commercial that airs frequently on Hulu right now, with two dads in a park. A kid keeps bugging his dad, saying “Dad? Dad? Dad?” and the dad ignores him, only to notice later on (upon smelling something) that the kid, who is probably four or five years old, is in the process of shitting himself. The camera pans over to the kid and you see him just, well, shitting. The body tension, the facial expression, it all reads “shit.” IT IS THE MOST HORRIBLE COMMERCIAL OF ALL TIME. I am serious. I do not want to watch a human being defecate, or pretend to defecate, on camera. No. That is not okay; it is just not. Have you seen this? Can you back me? UGH.

Okay, fine; I can’t believe I did this but I actually sought out the horror on youtube in case you want to watch it. Here you go. YOU WERE WARNED.