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!

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.

Taking Classes With the Ignorant Masses

Soooo, this week I was not in my wonderful classroom teaching new troops about how awesome their new job is, and praying that they pass. At the same time, I don’t have to deal with a whole bunch (really only a few) of cry babies that act as if they need a pacifier and back rub. Phew. This week I was in one of those fun military classes that after you finish, you can add it to your evaluation to say: Hey, I’m awesome, I can do THIS. Look I have a certificate! *waves paper around like crazy*

Anyway, this class is what I affectionately call Pee Test Class.

It’s really called something else, but it’s a week of learning about pee. How to handle pee, how to test pee for drugs, how to observe pee leaving the body, in case someone’s trying to fake you out and using purchased pee. How to package and take pee to the lab, etc. Fun times right? Riiiiiiiiiight.

Or it would be an interesting class (possibly) if it wasn’t for 2 things: the instructors and the students. See, where I teach, we have to go through an actual instructor training process. We learn skills to test, and then we are certified. Our certification is daggone serious, to the point that you can’t even be in a classroom alone until you pass. It’s serious to the point that its worth college credits, and we get reevaluated all the time, to make sure we aren’t slipping. This main instructor of Pee Testing? Not so much.

I’m not OCD, or else my house would be a lot more organized, but I do love structure. I believe in scheduling things out a certain way, I believe in having step by step instructions for any job that I need to accomplish. And there’s nothing that puts my imaginary tail in knots than a disorganized teacher that I have to listen to and take notes from to pass a class. This dude… ARGH! The first day of Pee Degree was this:

Pee Teacher: all right make sure know what this is (on the powerpoint slide) and take notes.

Students begin to copy –

Pee Teacher: *clicks forward within 5 seconds*

Me: *Throws my pencil down and holds on to table so that I don’t jump out and punch him in the throat.*

Who does that?! Pee Teacher not only gives no time for anyone to actually take notes. On top of that, he skips back and forward through the Powerpoint saying “oh, someone else will teach you about this, so I’m not going to say anything… Oh, except this.” And then again, before you are able to make any kind of note, he’s jumped onto another slide and another subject. And I wasn’t the only one severely pissed off.

And then the next day, instead of coming to class prepared, he tries to show us a program that he THOUGHT he had just downloaded. Instead, it still needed to install and also he couldn’t remember his password. Ugh.

Me being who I am, having to try to learn from someone who is jacked up makes me want to throw a hissy fit. Instead I’m just writing down notes for the end of class critique.

On top of having to try to squeeze knowledge from a coconut, we’ve got a couple of weakest links. These are admin types; the ones that didn’t score too high on the ASVAB, treat Ebonics as their native language, and think they know everything since they can type fast and stop your leave/vacation form. I can talk about these people because I was one for a couple of years until I realized “hey, I scored awesomely on the ASVAB, why am I doing this job?” Seriously, there’s 3 jobs in the military that don’t take much in the brain bucket: Infantry, Administration, and Supply. *Note: I’m not knocking everyone that does this job. I’ve met some awesome people in these fields, but honestly, they are the exception, not the standard.*

These guys/gals in this class are the loudest attention seeking heffas that I’ve seen in a while. I want to take my note taking pen and stab my eyeballs out. I want to poor acid in my ears so I don’t have to hear how they butcher the English language, not because they have a second language, but because they’re proud of talking like the brown colored crayon people who seem to ALWAYS get interviewed on the news. I even walked past and heard a chick say in all seriousness “Ain’t nobody got time for dat!” Heaven and the angels help me before something breaks in my head!

Edit:

I would like to add that the last day was very interesting… not because of the students or instructors. We went to a rehab clinic to talk to veterans in the program. It was moving enough that a non-crier like me was getting slightly moist eyes.  One man had come from Vietnam with over 10 bullet holes to a country that looked down on the war, and him. He’s battled since then a cocaine addiction. It’s such a different thing to listen to someone tell their story than to just read and take notes on how to handle someone who may be using drugs. I still believe that a drug addict makes the first choice to use, and they are at fault for that. At the same time, I can’t help but pity those that have no one to turn to, or feel that they don’t. And I don’t know what I would have done coming back from my two deployments and having friends, family, and my whole country turned against me, after they sent me over there to do a job. So I’ll stop judging those that hit bottom, because God knows my life hasn’t been perfect, and I’ve hit bottom in other ways in the past.

With all the issues of this week, I am glad for the training, and hope that I can help save a person or two.