So after my immature pissing contest with my Dad over who can carry the heaviest furniture, my back went into a spasm that crippled me for about 3 days. I tried icing it, I tried laying on the floor (in the middle of work, mind you), I even tried Vicodin that I got from a friend's coworker, who is, apparently, some kind of middle-aged drug pusher.

After listening to me whimper for about 3 days, my wonderful mother offered to pay for me to get a massage.

Now, I am no stranger to massages, they are some of my favorite things in the entire world. Currently, I cannot justify spending the money on them, but should I ever become independently wealthy, I will have a live-in masseuse. His name will be Hans.

I usually prefer men because they have stronger hands, but the woman I ended up having an appointment with was very good. While we were making small talk at the beginning of the massage, I started thinking about all the ways that a massage with a new masseuse was like a first date.

1) Until I start to really relax, the first few minutes are spent wondering if I'm skinnier than the last person they were with.

2) Let's face it- you don't really know this person. On a date you're in this strange person's car, maybe driving down a dark street. During a massage you are lying completely naked on a table alone in a room with them. With your eyes closed. At some point you think- why the FUCK did I not Google search this person first.

3) Halfway through both, I always wish I had gotten a pedicure.

4) At the beginning, you don't really know how inappropriate things are going to get. Although I did get a clue from this woman when she told me to make sure and "take off the underwear so she could really get at my lower back." I don't know about your underwear, lady, but mine doesn't cover any part of my back. Turns out she was playing it a little fast and loose with the term "lower back." "I want to knead the hell out of your ass cheeks" would have been a bit more accurate. At times, she was about 2 inches away from needing to buy me breakfast the next morning.

5) And finally, perhaps the way that first dates and massages are most similar is in the way that during both, I am just PRAYING that I don't fart.

For the record, I didn't. But there's always next time.

So I moved last weekend. Lets talk about moving for a second.

It's fucking awful. Like- poke me in the eye, kick me in the stomach, spit-in-my-mouth awful.

However! I did learn some things. I would like to share these with you now:

1) I totally understand how people start hoarding. I found a note from a friend from high school. FRESHMAN YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL. And you know what? I kept it. This is probably one of the warning signs.

2. Moving with your parents, while helpful, can make you want to throw yourself in front of a bus. My father acts like I'm as strong as he is. Being a competitive asshole, I will not admit that this isn't true. I've been icing my back for days, and I still can't bend over.

3. I own approximately 5 rolls of aluminum foil. I can't remember the last time I actually used aluminum foil. Or bought aluminum foil, for that matter. This is a complete mystery.

4. You will finally get to the point where you're so fed up that you start just throwing shit away. I go from carefully boxing up and labeling every little thing to wanting to bring all my belongings to Goodwill. Toaster? I'm not carrying that thing to the car- just leave it. More jewelry? Jesus- I've already taped up that box. Give it to a neighbor. Family heirloom? Looks heavy. Trash it.

5. When you have people helping you move/pack, be sure to take care of all *ahem* personal items beforehand. Because...hypothetically....after you move with your mother and father and suddenly don't know where, say, your vibrator is, it's not a good feeling. Or so I've heard.

6. You're supposed to replace the air filters for your a/c units. Oh, everyone knew this? Right. My bad.

7. Even when you're done moving, you still have to unpack. It's like finishing a marathon and finding out that you have to walk 2 more miles to your car in order to get home.

I'm really starting to think that a moving service is the way to go.