Massage Envy

About a year ago I signed up for a membership at Massage Envy, better known as the rapidly growing massage therapy chain with the horrible, horrible name. Because, honestly. "Massage Envy"? You would have to TRY to come up with a name that cheesy. It's practically dripping in Velveeta. I'm surprised the logo doesn't include Swiss cheese holes, arranged strategically about the a's and e's.

Anyway, I decided to buy a membership because for several reasons. The first reason will come as a surprise to no one that knows me well: I'm a bit of a stress ball. Tightly wound. Some might say I put the "A" in Type A. Because of this I often have trouble with my neck and shoulders. Namely, they start to feel like they are permanently scrunched somewhere up around my ears. This is compounded by the fact that I rear-ended someone back in 2000 and suffered some pretty serious whiplash as a result. Before that accident I always thought that whiplash was a load of hooey. Well let me tell you, it's not. It's real, and it sucks. And sometimes, it doesn't go away in a matter of months. Or years. It lingers, and it gets worse when you're stressed out. And when that happens, certain people get very grumpy.

Enter Massage Envy. For the low price of approx. $50 a month, I receive an hour-long massage. Tip not included, but still—it's a good deal. In my case, an hour massage once monthly mitigates the whiplash problem and helps me feel like a regular person with properly positioned shoulders and a functional neck. It also reduces grumpiness, and as Jim would heartily agree, that's worth it's weight in gold.

Overall my experience at M.E. has actually been pretty fantastic. Granted, my local franchise doesn't have the atmosphere of a fancy spa, but it's clean and they have weekend and extended evening hours. So, super convenient. And early on in my membership I was lucky enough to stumble upon Lily, who might be the best masseuse ever. I mean, I don't claim to be a connoisseur, per se, but I've had my share of massages. And while I've only had one really BAD massage (during which my male masseuse managed to seriously bruise my rib in a ham-handed fashion) I've had lots of massages that were just OK. Relaxing and all, but by no means transformative.

Well, I have to say the massage I had the other night WAS transformative. A real trip. I decided to spring for a 1.5 hour session and I was not sorry. It was phenomenal. SO relaxing. And Lily did this wacky energy field thing that is going to sound ridiculous, but it was amazingly effective. Apparently there are points on your body that activate beta wave activity in the brain. But touching these points you reach a deep level of relaxation. So, for example, she took a hold of my little finger and then with the other hand held one of my toes. I know, it sounds totally bizarre, but it's for real. I felt like I had been meditating for 20 minutes. I really must do some research into this because if there's a way I can do this myself, I totally will. That night I slept like a ROCK.

Do I sound like a complete hippie? Because I'm really not. I mean, I think acupuncture is great and I meditate on a somewhat regular basis, but I'm by no means a drum-circle-dancing, goddess-worshipping wood nymph. However, I do think the mind-body connection is really interesting, and I have to say that ANYTHING that will calm my anxiety-addled brain is a bonus. So bring it on, Massage Envy. Gouda-worthy name and all.

Name game

When my parents were deciding what to name me, they briefly considered Jennifer and Jenny before finally settling on Jena. My mom (an elementary school teacher at the time) decided that Jennifer was too long. She always felt sorry for kids with lengthy monikers because it took them forever to learn how to write their names. And I can see her point. I mean, if my name had been Savannah, I can imagine becoming discouraged right around the first "n". And that's just a little over half-way. It's no wonder that kindergarten is the time when Jonathans transform into Jons, etc.

The problem with "Jenny" didn't have anything to do with length. My parents both grew up in farming communities, and they were worried that kids might tease me because—get this—a jenny is a female donkey. I always thought this reasoning was hilarious, given the fact that I grew up in Albuquerque without a donkey in sight. The odds of some kid hee-hawing in my general direction were slim to none, because the other kids would have undoubtedly been like " . . . the hell?". And THEN who would have looked like a jackass?

Anyway, I'm happy my parents settled on Jena. Although I do get called "Gina" an awful lot, I still like the name. It's a little unusual but not too wacky. Fitting.