Weird Japanese Things are like Mecha Robot Food for the Soul

This photo makes me hungry.

I love anime. I love Asian horror movies.  And I especially just love random things that make me say “Because… Japan”. I mean, those awesome little people on those little islands probably have a lot of radiation in their brains to come up with the stuff they do. Without them, half of my hobbies would be gone. So thank you Japanese people, thank you for helping geeking up the interwebs and my free time.

There’s so many things that you can find just sitting in the weird part of the internet… and it’s somehow the creation of Japan.

Take this video that I just saw today. What the frack is that? It’s a muthajumpin super large cat. And it only appeared because chewing that gum makes you feel like the meow version of Falcor is toting you around for some reason. That is a load of awesome to brighten anyone’s crappy day.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v8kU8aCVG0Y

And this link. Oh my sweet baby hay-soos. Who would think that Iron Man and Sailor Moon mashup would make so much sense in my brain? I’m an old school Sailor Moon fan, and I’m very much a fan of Robert Downey Jr’s take on the iron man. This. This is art. This is what I try to look at every couple of days when I lose hope in humanity. I don’t need puppies. I need sailor iron man to keep the doctor away.

And the anime version of Doctor Who. This is one of those things that you stumble across that you never knew you were missing in life until you saw it. Granted, out of all of these I’m not sure if the guy who made it was Japanese, but the feel is so very Japanepic.

Last but not least, I love horror and action movies that are really bad… B movies. And I really love Japanese B movies.  And the one near and dear to my heart is Robogeisha.  People I have this on DVD. I know the trailer by heart. It is a masterpiece of wackiness, and if you don’t find this hilarious there is something wrong with you and I’m sorry for your LIFE.

Okay… my bit of randomness is done. Carry on with your regularly scheduled program.

George Bailey Disease & Ungrateful Muthajumpers

“Why George, do you really think you can handle that? “

 

I got a disease. It’s a disease that when it flares up I never realize it until after its finished. After I’ve given my time, money, and energy to someone else. George Bailey disease.

Who here has seen “It’s a Wonderful Life”? In my family it’s a staple for Christmas day. It may just be playing in the background, but that old black and white movie will play through at least once on Christmas.

This year, I realized that the movie really started to piss me off.

George Bailey constantly goes through life giving and giving and giving to his family and friends, never getting a chance to realize his dreams. He comes to terms with that until his frackin alcoholic uncle loses the money for their savings and loan, on a day when the Inspector is coming to see how the do business, and the depression is in full swing. Bailey gets straight up suicidal, and honestly, after the life he’s had, who the frack wouldn’t. The rest of the movie goes to show George all the lives he saved and changed for the better, and how horrible it would be without him in the world. And at the end… the town of Bedford Falls gets together to raise money to save him and the Bailey Savings and Loan. The end.

Pffffffft.

I am George Bailey, and I think that’s why his character makes me mad. I’m not as bad as some, but a lot of decisions I’ve made in life has been for others rather than myself. I’ve given away cars for free to family members, paid off bills, bought furniture, loaned my home and time to people without getting anything back. And some will say, well dt5, that’s just being a good person. You’re supposed to do things without expecting things back.

But I get burned because of it constantly.

When I’m in a bind those same people disappear like smoke. Or after I’ve given everything they’ve ever asked for, I’m told to stay out of their business, I shouldn’t have an opinion. And of course there are those that just feel entitled, and once you give an inch freely, they take a mile and a half, the shoes off my feet and the shirt off my back.

I love to give. It makes me feel like my tummy is full of care bears and unicorn farts. Just happy bubbles. At the same time, spending year after year as the only one to not get anything for Christmas wears kind of thin. Or that I’m the first pick for extra military work because “oh she loves that stuff and is good at it.” It mentally hurts to turn someone down, but I am only one person! I’ve in the past been close to stress breakdowns from being the one doing everything.

Maybe it’s my fault for not saying no. But like George Bailey I can’t help helping. I was made this way, born to want to help others.

But sometimes. .. it pisses me the frack off.

It’s a wonderful life. But those that help make yours wonderful, just let them know your appreciation. .. and give back to them every once in a while.

And don’t wait until they’re jumping off into the ocean and meeting angels without wings and stuff.

Plotting Ways To Get a Voodoo Doll To Use On Your Instructor

About one-quarter done of massage therapy school and I’m. .. LEARNING ALL THE THINGS!!! Seriously, I have a 4.0 and am proudly good at this ish. I’ve found (part of) my calling. And it brings me peace and relief to learn these new techniques to heal people.

But…

There is the added stress of work, and military physical training, and snow fracking days taking my night school from 4 days a week to 5.

Fridays? I miss you. I didn’t want to leave you. I’m being held captive by touch hippies! It’s ok, I’ll be back one day.

The problem that gives me the most heartburn though is 2 of the instructors I’ve had so far.

First up is our pathology instructor. Let’s call her something Holly because that sounds like a generic peach crayon retired cheerleader. Her real name is just as bad. Anyway “Heather” sounds like if Ben Stein made 5 clones of himself, went to a party, gangbanged a high valley girl with no goals in life, and then she somehow birthed a child with all their powers combined.

Her voice had me sitting on my hands because I had started to strangle MYSELF. How can you sound like a zombie cheerleader on roofies?! Every frackin sentence is a half death rattle. And the face? Nope, close the shades because no one is in that attic except cobwebs and tumbleweed. In fact, just sell the house.

On top of the voice… she reads. For 4 hours. As an instructor, the worst, absolute worst thing you could do to any class (especially a night class) is just read monotone from a dry book. I’m not a science minded person (unless it’s sci-fi), so I’m already struggling to keep attention. I seriously feel homicidal every time I walk into the classroom and see this chick. I picture squeezing her neck and her head popping off like a balloon. It’s a Looney Toons death in my head, maybe because she’s driving me to lunacy. That is not the way a massage therapist should feel. We’re supposed to be hippies and one with the earth and all that b.s. right?

Sadly, there’s another, and I’m not sure which one is worse. The other instructor that raises my hackles and brings out the kitty that’s had their tail stepped on? Our so-called professional development instructor. THIS dude. This dude is like an unfunny Tyler Perry without the crossdressing. Or the tallness. Or the money. Maybe he’s not like Tyler Perry at all.
But he IS a pompous douchebag of douchebaggery proportions. He is the level of irritation like a pimple on a butt.

The biggest problem I have is his “I got a bachelor’s degree in business and even though I’ve never ran my own business you can not possibly be smarter than me” attitude. As one that has actual experience in marketing and branding and strategic planning thanks to DOING IT IN THE REAL WORLD AND NOT OUT OF A FRACKIN BOOK, I guess I get a little offended. Well, especially when I answer a question, I’m told I’m wrong, and then someone else gives the same answer I did, and told they are right.

The second issue is his nails. Yes. His nails. He has coke nail pinkies. When I see them I imagine dark alleys and purple pimp suits. Maybe even some boots with a goldfish swimming in the heels. For fracks sake, what man walks around looking like a reject from the Cosby show with just super long pinky nails???

Just add coke pinky…

And how is that in any way being an example to the students you teach when day one we are told to keep our nails nubbin short. My tender little fingers still feel so raw and brand new like a baby just coming out of their mommyverse (momalaxy?) every time I cut them.

My new mental health lady (I’m going for stress, not because of my crazy. My crazy is my normal!) says I need to let go and just focus on things I can control. So while I keep my 4.0 in school, I will control my urges to possibly do violent things in class. That’s enough slack from me, they get to live!

You Snooze You Lose… SUCKAAAAAAAS!

Some men (and women I guess. Not sure since I’ve never did this myself) have a mental defect in dating that I think I will call OPP disease. “OPP” in this case refers to “Other People’s Property.”

I am NOT down with this OPP.

Nope. LIES!

It seems that since I have gotten into a relationship after all this time of being single, all these fellows come out of the woodwork! Seriously, I still have my OK Cupid page up (I haven’t looked at it in a long, long while) and still receive many emails that I just delete as they pop up in gmail. The thing is, I get MORE emails now that it says “seeing someone.” I’m sure more than half of these guys are probably married or in a serious relationship and think I’m still up there to cheat or something, but that rubs this kitty the wrong way.

And then there’s Sippy Cup. Remember him? Very nice looks but no substance? Read here: (http://dimensionthe5th.com/2013/06/23/hes-awesome-wait-whats-wrong-with-him/ ) and here: (http://dimensionthe5th.com/2013/09/12/im-a-dating-alien-but-not-dating-aliens/ ). Anyway, Sippy does an open mic night at his place of business. That’s one reason I still talk to him, and stay friendly. He has plenty of women that come in and drool all over him like I did for a short while. A few have irritated me, until I’ve told Sippy to let his heffas know I’m not interested in any way shape or form in him. Other than that, we’ve been just friendly. Until I brought the Dude in one night to hear me read some poetry. Suddenly my phone starts blowing up afterwards with messages from Sippy Cup. The“do you have plans this weekend” kind and such, when I could barely get a message before even when I was talking business. Oh, and the really creepy one from him, sending me a picture of my housing area sign along with the message “Guess who’s nearby. Are you home?”

Yeah, Sippy, I’m home, with my DUDE. And my other man, Hector the Couch. What is your malfunction?

This may be another “dimensionthe5th has prude ways” thing, but it doesn’t flatter me. It makes me very disgusted when someone shows interest AFTER the a person becomes involved with someone else. It’s like, someone is happy, let me try to stop that ish because it’s not natural.

There’s that weird foot and sock guy that started trying to text me again and see what I’m up to. With him, since he thought I was on the stupid truck with his girlfriend situation, I think HE thinks that now that I’m seriously dating someone I can be a hoe-bag right along with him.

Um, no. I’m very satisfied.

There’s the exes from years ago, who always seem to pop up in my inbox and say we should hang out. For what? I haven’t seen you in almost 10 years, we’re FB friends and that’s it. Why would I want to see you. By the way, I really should clean up my faceybook friends list.

Sometimes it’s not the guys trying to get OPP flowing through my veins. It’s also the well-meaning friends that think that you shouldn’t put all of your eggs in one basket. That believe in having backup twig n berries in case your significant other pisses you off. To me, that shows that these women with their so-called advice do not at the time, or have not ever had a good relationship. For me, if it is great, I can’t even SEE other guys. There is just no attraction. Even when the dude and I have our mini disagreements I don’t automatically think “Hmmm, I need to bring out the twigs and berries in storage and get some use out of them.” I’m not a teenager. That’s young girl beliefs that I’ve stopped long before now.

Maybe I should just take it as compliment, but I really just feel it’s a grass is greener on the other side thing. And it just make me green, hulk green. I think I’ve just really mixed up where I was trying to go with this point, but oh well.

When Even the Monster Teen Thinks You Gone Too Far… My Un-PCness in the Home

I’m not politically correct on my good days. And on my bad days and medicated days I tend to let anything and everything fall out of my mouth. Especially to my son. Even without cursing, he says I’m the crudest person he knows. I don’t think I’m as bad as he feels…I’m sure other parents have these kind of conversations right?.

Monster Teen: *walks into living room after spending a day being a lazy teen. His afro that he recently started growing is completely flat and matted from where he’s been laying. Also, he’s wearing a grungy t-shirt and shorts and his skin is crying out “moisturize me!” (Doctor Who reference there 😉

Me: Sooooo, I take it your name is not Toby today. Looking more like Kunta Kinte (Roots reference here). *sips tea*

M-T: * looks at me appallingly* Are you serious? That’s just racist Mom!

I love this little guy. I think he’s hypnotizing me with his toothless screams…

Me: Not my fault you come out looking like a runaway slave.

I think I’m to the point of my son threatening to tell me I’m going to hell.

I’m more of the mindset that if I’m not crude and up front with my monster, who will be? So I tell him that not washing his long johns will give him a stank crotch. Or let him know that if he fails 9th grade and continues to have a gpa below at least a 2, I’m legally changing his name to Taekwondus Aloewicious Jones and then kicking him out my house.

Monster Teen: Taekwondus?

Me: Yeah, you’ll need a proper flipping burgers name.

MT: Mom…

Me: and you’re from Bah-more now. Forget that you’re from *******. You have to learn to talk like you’re from Merr-lin!

MT: *walks out of living room to my cackles.*

Well, I’m having some oral surgery this week, and I know he’s happy about not having to hear embarrass him while he’s on the phone about his room smelling of armpit and teenage spunk.

That’s ok. Nothing wrong with my hands and my access to his FB page.

MWAHAHAHAAAAAAA!

Im Not a Jerkoff Artist, I’m a Massage Therapist; the Cesspool of Ignorant Internet Fools

Let me educate you on the differences between a “masseuse” and a massage therapist, m’kay?

I’ve recently had a super huge change in my life. Remember my recent post about Tornado dreams and how they always come up when something is about to change in my life? Well, the huge was that I started school again. And not just an ordinary school, no, not for the always random DT5. Instead of continuing to work on a degree I could care less about in communication, I’ve gone with something that makes me feel like I could make a difference in someone’s life. Massage therapy school.

Yes, I plan to go from rough and tough military chick to a massage therapist helping people with their stress and pain. It seems sorta left field for even the people who know me, but it has been something I wanted to do for a while. I was just making as many excuses as possible because of fear and stress. But I these excuses didn’t fly for my heart anymore (lost many feathers, been on the sauce). So I went to a local massage school with the intention of window shopping, and walked out with most of my paperwork filled out, paid for, and a start date.

A huge change. And a step in the right direction for my life. My family and the Dude have been super supportive, even though the Dude and Monster Teen know that it means I’ll be spending less time with them (well, Monster Teen was more concerned about home cooked meals. Like I sit around in the kitchen that much in the first place, pffft). But it’s okay with them because it makes me excited and happy.

And then I made a post on Facebook talking about my new exciting adventure. First thing I get? Some buttholepottomis saying:

“So you’re going to school to learn how to feel people up?” I try to take it as a joke and say that maybe he needs school for that but I don’t. And then let him know that since he’s confused as to what a massage therapist does, he will not be a client of mine. Some time goes by and then I get another “joker”.

“So you learn how to give happy endings? Sign me up!”

….
…….
…………

Are you frickin kidding me?! Let me clear that these two aholes are not close friends of mine, they are associates. And I don’t make sexual jokes with associates. I don’t look at their dream jobs and flat-out sh*t on them by basically insinuating that they are learning to be a prostitute. What in the flying frackadoodle. When I call the both of these dog aholes out, I’m told I’m being sensitive and that no one was insinuating anything of a sexual nature… and that I was possibly ashamed of my decision to attend a (accredited, licensed, legal) school to become a massage therapist.

Where’s the dumb broad truck, because apparently I missed the stop in my neighborhood.

Ahhh, there you are. Still about -5 brain cells in change to ride?

I deleted the whole post after that. I take certain things seriously, and my dreams (not owning a robot ninja monkey army but dreams of being a benefit to others with my work) are not something I take very kindly to. It’s like me crapping on anybody’s dream of a new profession. And I think part of it is a lot of stereotypes based in ignorance. So as a lesson for you all, here’s some facts and myths about massage therapy:

Myth: Masseuse and Massage therapists are the same thing. No, no, no. A masseuse is an unlicensed person with no degree or certification to practice. Pretty much they can be anyone off the street rubbing on you. A person calling themselves a masseuse probably wouldn’t mind giving you a “happy ending”. They’re prostitutes.

Myth: A massage therapist that wants to massage your butt is a little freak. False. Do you know how many muscles in your butt help you walk around each day? A real therapist will ask because they don’t want you freakin out, but it’s a bad therapist that DOES NOT massage your glutes. Unless you’re all punked out and scared. Fine then… have a knotty booty. Knotty, lumpy, booty.

Myth: Therapist and happy endings. Refer to myth 1. That’s a masseuse, and someone not professionally trained.

Myth: Speaking of training “All massage therapists do is how to rub your back. Anyone can do that.” WRONG AHOLEE-OH. Really? Guess what I’m wracking my brain trying to learn right now? Anatomy. To pass I’ve got to learn all bones and layers of muscles in the human body. And then learn the right stroke to go for each muscle and body part. Do I need to use my elbow or knuckles. On top of that we’re learning each and every massage you can think of, whether that’s swedish, sports, shiatzu, etc.

The ahole that for some reason thought I was ashamed of my new profession, I’m not. At all. In fact maybe I’m just way too proud that I’ve found something I enjoy to help others. And since I already have a mile long waiting list, those aholes are never going to be a customer of mind. Hope they go find a masseuse and get d*ck cancer from a herpes hand.

Ohhhh, you want a “mah-sah-gee?” Go right ahead you nasty buttmunch.

The Understanding of PDA: What Is This Thing Called Hugs?

*melting into goo*

Growing up, public displays of affection between my parents only happened when the father figure was drunk. Granted, there were hugs for the kids until they got a certain age. And even “I love you” … again until a certain age. It’s like once you weren’t a small child those things melted away.

I remember calling my mother on it not that long after their separation. I was battling not wanting to live with either parent, and staying with an aunt in the hood, a step down from our nice middle class fake happiness. I remember telling her “You never tell me you even love me!”

I said it again less than 10 years later when she fought custody against my best friend for my god-daughter, my birth daughter I decided to give away (http://dimensionthe5th.com/2013/03/18/the-girl-grows-and-asks-questions-the-child-i-gave-away/)

It took me until my 30’s to realize that it’s pretty hard for a woman to teach love if she’s never received it.

My mom with her siblings grew up in different welfare available projects. I know she grew up without toothpaste at times. Without any food but flour and water. Using sheets as menstruation pads because they weren’t affordable. If my grandmother had been a better person, maybe she would have shown more love to her 6 children, but the woman didn’t know love herself, probably because again her mother of 13 children probably could not adequately show it.

So it’s a cycle that my mother and I are slowly breaking, through trial and error with new relationships. In some ways I see my mother in her first relationship after 13 years and it frustrates me of her naivety. Luckily she’s not with a man who exploits it. He sees a woman who could easily be taken advantage of, and does not. He shows her instead what a relationship should be like, not full of verbal abuse and “love” only when drunk enough to show emotion.

We had a conversation while I visited for the holidays:

“Your Dude seems very affectionate. “
“Weird right? I’m not that good with PDA.”
“I know. It’s nice when someone openly shows that they care, and it’s not because they’re drunk.”

We’d slowly learned to show love to each other as mother and daughter over the years, but both hadn’t really learned until recently to let down our guard and be loved by a man. I think the shock of that just makes my emotions a mess. I hadn’t looked at it deeply. That I was learning for the first time possibly to truly put my hand in another’s just because. That I wasn’t looking at relationships around me and subconsciously wishing for something that was missing.

It’s something I never want to lose.