Today I went for a massage and it would have been excellent...if the masseuse hadn't been undead. I got a massage from fucking Nosferatu.
I was waiting in the lobby waiting when my masseuse walked in. He was wearing leather from head to foot, was paler than me which is hard to do if you are living and was about 95 pounds soaking wet. I tried not to judge and figured, hey, he's a professional sometimes these little dudes can be strong. And anyway I think vampires are supposed to be strong. I stripped down and climbed on the table and then he touched me. It was then that I lost the will to live. The dude's body temperature was about 60 degrees. I went 'Yow' and he said 'sorry, my hands tend to be a little chilly'. No! You don't say!
Here's the deal, I myself am ALWAYS cold, but to the touch am furnace like. So much so that previous boyfriends have put a pillow barrier up in hopes that they wouldn't wake up sweating due to the heat radiating off my body. I figured given this quality I would certainly warm up the dude's hands. Ninety minutes later his hands had actually gotten colder and my teeth were chattering. Also the undead strength is apparently a myth as I felt as though I had spent the last hour and a half being tickled with an ice cube. An ice cube that kept TEXT MESSAGING PEOPLE. Apparently he thought that if he just poked at me with one finger I wouldn't notice that he was using his other hand to type. As I am not functionally retarded, I noticed. When I shifted and it was obvious I had 'figured him out' he sighed and put away his cell. At least the undead are considerate.
All this for the bargain price of 85 dollars. I'm a lucky bunny.