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!”

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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.

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Everyone is Racist in the Comment Section

I get most of my news online nowadays. Watching the local news stations irritate me because I just constantly pick out their bad story writing and articulation. So I read the news. Safer that way, until you get to the comment section that is.

The comment section, whether it’s YouTube or Washington Post, is a smorgasbord of all that is wrong with the world. Say for instance there is a story about a black person who was killed. You will find at least 1 comment with the word n*gger, and someone saying the death was deserved. There will possibly be also a reference to fried chicken and watermelon. It’s like a caricature of something, but I’m not sure what. I mean, I feel blacker than usual and like to get some fried chicken every now and again, but daggone it my favorite meat is a medium cooked steak from the frackin Capital Grill. Pricey, but it melts in your mouth like butter…mmmmm (fat girl drooool).

Ahem. What the frack was I saying? Oh yes (wipes drool). It’s not just black people though that are a target. It’s every color of the fricking rainbow. I don’t ever hear it said out loud, but I swear, when just reading the news comments every day I see the words “honky, chink, wetback, monkey” etc, etc, all over the comments of these posts. And everyone hates every other race. And we should all go back to whatever country our ancestors are from.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pause.

Have I discussed this before? About how you couldn’t pay me to live in Africa? Look, here’s the deal, my mutt ancestry is most likely about 40 percent african, 40 percent middle eastern, 20 percent hispanic, and 5 percent asian (shut up about the math. A writer doesn’t need to know math. Unless they write math books. Or for science and all that). So either you want me to go and do a whirlwind tour for the rest of my life, or you want to send me to the places where I got the most of my genetics from. Hell to the NO. There is no way I’m going to end up in an African village with my giggles hanging down to my knees and no weave to keep my hair braided (dear God that was so superficial that I had to slap myself).

And have the lips of my precious bits chopped off. Nuh uh. No. You can’t make me. And as for the Middle east. I have been there enough in a military capacity that I NEVER EVER would visit for fun. Let alone live.

So, anyway, in the comments, yeah, I can’t go back to where you think I should call home. And sorry, not all of this race or that race is the reason for the downfall of civilization. It is the ignorance that have been allowed to keep having children and were given the internet. I totally believe in selective breeding. Bring me my Aldous Huxley baby making future, because anything must be better than the Idiocracy future right around the corner (not really, but you get the point).

Seriously, the thing that rattles me the most about these racists comments all over the nets is… You walk around and have no idea if the dude serving you Chili’s thinks all black people are animals that should be put down. And that he just spit in your food. It scares me dude. I wish for the days when I didn’t have to see everyone’s opinion, even though I scroll down like a torture junky, just ready to see what they wrote.

It’s painful. And I mean, pain should only be given one place… “Consensual” in the bedroom 😉
No, seriously though, I’ve lost many internet friends because of this. During the election specifically. I don’t care who you vote for or what your political leanings may be, but when you start calling the president a monkey, yes, I’m going to believe you think all brown crayon people are. And yes, I have to delete. Because I can’t trust you not to lynch my “blass”. Just the same if you start spouting a whole bunch of black power/white devil mess. Really? You’re just trying to get your blass killed, but you are not taking me down with you.

Aldous Huxley with a touch of 1984 or Idiocracy? Please baby Jesus, I’d like my dystopian future to at least be smart.

Don’t Feed Me BS… It Tastes Funny or Taking the Interwebs Seriously

So… After my Monster Teen(* patent pending*) made his YouTube Harlem Shake video, I actually started looking up some others. Didn’t impress me, but maybe that’s because it’s not my egg up there. I wasn’t into planking, because that’s just some special moment helmet and cape stuff to me. I liked Gangnam Style because I was over in Asia when it happened, and had been there for so many years that I couldn’t help but immerse myself somewhat in their culture.

But back to what people are already saying is played out. You know, one of the first things I asked my M.T. was if he knew what the real Harlem shake was. “Yeah, but this is just a fun thing that people are doing.”

Bam! Out of the mouths of babes, or monstrous teenagers.

But some people, my brown crayon color people, are completely upset! It’s a mockery, it’s peach crayon people stealing what makes us, us! As on the YouTube video interviews of the people of actual Harlem say: the Harlem shake is a way of life!” It’s *gasp* racist!

For serious?

Are we for serious here?

One comment I read in an online discussion about Harlem Shakemggedon says it best:

“The Black American Legacy is anger with no resolution. That needs to change.”

Let me clear something up real quick before I go on. I am proud to be black. I like my skin, I like my big lips, I love all the things I can do with my hair, I love my smooth voice, I love that my genetics keep me looking young (or as a white coworker likes to say “Black don’t crack!”). I love the way my Ma taught me to cook, and I love my badonk, no matter how “ignant” it may be right now after I gained a couple of pounds. I was raised to be open and understanding of all cultures, while loving my own.

But a dance doesn’t define me. My people’s history is in my genetic chain, but learning that knowledge and then putting down great works here on this planet until I die defines me. If a dance only created 10-30 years ago in your city (the accounts change with different articles) is the only thing you know of your history, along with a story of Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, and MLK that you learned in school during Black History Month… Well I pity you.

In fact, I hear Ursula from the Little Mermaid singing the words “Poooor Unfortunate Soullllls!” (which by the way is the same thing that plays in my head when I see ugly babies).

You want to know who you are? Pick up a daggone book. I remember falling in love with 2 books in Elementary school: Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, and Elie Wiesel’s Night. Which opened my mind to the plights of my past ancestry and another’s (yes, I read them in Elementary. The nerd is very strong in this one). You want something rooted in your ancient people? There are SO MANY great books on Egyptian/Ethiopian/Kush mythology. You want to know your people? Turn around and speak with the Nigerian braiding your hair that still has family in the “motherland” and watch those awesome Nollywood movies just because they’re awesome. Instead of heading out to the club on Saturday and nursing your headache on Sunday as you are in your finery at church, why not visit one of the many museums that populate the nation that showcase black history, artistry and culture? Or… Just continue to complain about someone stealing your dance, which is somehow a derision of an Ethiopian shoulder dance, while you continue to bump songs about the strip club, and post videos of Lil Boomquisha twerkin at 2 years old. My God.

I’ve seen videos of the Ethiopian shoulder dance. Beautiful, joyful, and steeped in ARTISTRY.

The “original” Harlem Shake, well, I ALWAYS assumed it was thought up after seeing some local crackheads shaking from needing a fix. That’s why seeing my teen in the video have what looks like convulsions in the background… I just said “Meh, close enough.”

My son is going to grow up rich in the history of the people who share his color of skin, along with those who don’t. What is your child going to grow up like, when you tell him/her that their culture was a dance that’s looks like a broken crackhead?

Pooooooooor unfortunate soul!