Thursday, December 15, 2005

Salt Shake-her

Justin and I, for the most part, are finished with the Christmas shopping. There was a shopping emergency because my Mom proved to be the difficult gift receiver this year. In a panic I phoned my little sister Jill and she helped me out.

Where I live there is NO shopping. None. You think I'm kidding don't you! With the exception of a grocery store and some casino gift shops, there is very little to buy. My town is consumerism free. You wouldn't think it would be very pleasant, but actually it is. The amount of running around I do is at a minimum and I like it that way.

We schedule 240 mile round trips into Salt Lake City to do the shopping. The drive doesn't feel so long anymore. You would think that driving over 120 miles of salt flats and barren landscape would get dull. It doesn't. It's amazing how much it changes every time we drive it. It is really very beautiful. This is a picture I stole of the salt flats when the salt mines flood them. Only parts of the flats are hardpack. The rest of the flats look tough, but they are mush. Dry salt on top with a layer of mud underneath. When the salt on top is dry enough the salt mines scrape it off. Dorky people regularly decide to get off the freeway to drive on the flats and end up tire deep in mud. It's really very funny.

So, after driving 120 miles to shop, across the flats and the salty goo and dealing with truckers and more dorky folks driving 120 miles per hour, I wasn't leaving SLC without a present for my mother. What did I get her? I'm not telling! She might be reading this!


Shopping is serious exercise. Shup! I'm not just saying this because I'm female! You can't disagree with me about the stress inducing, panic driven, sweat dripping exercise that is holiday shopping. It's hell...

This is why I'm very grateful that while shopping the day after Thanksgiving Justin bought me December's Bestest Housewifely Doodad!

The Percussion Massager! I know God loves me because this gadget exists. (Even though no large photos exist and dammit, I'm too lazy to take one.)

Just plug it in and you can literally beat yourself into bliss. It's a Sado Masochistic dream and your defiant muscles will submit! Bad Girl! When Justin uses this on my back my neighbors call the police to quiet my Thor thundergod-like moans and my satisfied screams. I especially enjoy the attachment that looks like a brush-head. It makes my brain googly.

You can buy this and similar gadgets at many fine establishments. I got mine at Radio Shack for $29.99 after instant rebate. The Radio Shack clerk smirked at me. Damned electronics geeks.

Thank you Radio Shack percussion massager, I like you, I really like you.


  1. So, I guess the percussion massager qualifies as a 'marital aid' eh?

    I actually learned more about the Flats from this post than anything else I've read about them.

  2. LOVE my massager.

    However, I need to seriously reduce my skills for a back rub. The Man must have my back rub, not the massager, as "Hon, nobody does it like you....".

  3. To heck with the percussion section I am still in "scratch-mode."
    When pregnant I get so danged itchy, and this time it has carried over into nursing. I need my back scratched every night and Dadguy obliges, I suspect, because I am pretty easy afterward.

    hmmm.... that was probably too much info.


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