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.

Adult Students that Cry Deserve Throat Punches

I had a student cry yesterday, after they sucked big blue donkey berries. There were some more tears today as a couple more failed, and even some happy tears. I’m saying… just no military bearing. You know, it may sound sick, but in the regular military world without the teaching, I took great pride when I made a troop cry. Not because I’m sadistic or anything… Seriously!!! I’ve just always looked at it as that I gave my troops tough love. And all the good ones have always come back to thank me for it.

It’s not the same when those troops are failing students and I’m crushing their dreams like a bully slapping the ice cream out if your hand. “No nom-nom for YOU!” It’s so frackin depressing when you know that they have had this dream to be a great somebody and it’s just gone… With a flick of my mechanical pencil. Now does that mean I feel like looking at the little buggers crying– uh, that’s a big heck no Billy-bob. (Shhh, Billy-bob is a new voice in my head. Trying to make him feel welcome). No, I feel completely out of sorts because I want to say to them what I tell my son and previous troops when they start with the waterworks: fix your face and get your punk self together.

To me, showing weakness like that doesn’t make me feel like you’re a strong person. In fact, it makes me feel like you’re looking for sympathy. And frack that! If you want to one day take my job, take my place and become the next up and coming Soldier/Sailor/Airman/Marine, you don’t show me weakness. Keep it together until you step out of my office. I mean, this is the classroom. If you’re falling to pieces here, what the frack are you gonna do in the desert sandbox when someone is shooting at you? But I can’t say all that. Or I can, but I have to word it a bit nicer, and hand them tissues. Sigh. This is one side of the teaching thing I didn’t really expect. Irritation at the weak butts.

I want a Cabbitt, and I Poop Butterflies – Deep thoughts ¯\(°_o)/¯

So this anime I’m watching (Xam’d: Lost Memories… I love NETFLIX) has frackin cabbits on it! They call them neko-gibberish-something or other, but daggone-it they are cat rabbits!

Sigh… Why didn’t God make cabbits? The funny thing is rabbits on their own are seriously evil beasts to me. Cats I love, as they have my psycho random personality.

Anyway, subject change… Unless you can get me a daggone cabbit… work is hard. Its stressing me out man!

I have a public speaking fear. And I’m a teacher. Of adults. I begged for this job. WTF is WRONG with me?!!! Seriously, if the dry mouth that takes my full lips and wraps them around me teeth, well if that doesn’t kill me at my job, then the butterfly poop will.

What in the heck you talkin’ bout D? Well this… Before every class, I start getting the nervous nellies, my hand gets shaky  and I get butterflies in my stomach. But the son of a donkey butterflies aren’t just doing back-flips and keg stands in my stomach… These bastards are trying to find a way out. So pretty much, less than an hour before teaching, I HAVE to let them fly out… My butt. The saying BG’s or Bubble Guts, is now considered Butterfly Guts to me.

And of course, I’m military, so I have discussed this with coworkers. It’s a frackin epidemic! Many instructors have to release the butterflied beasts from their cage just like me. At least I know I’m normal… Well normal in my group of abnormal people.

My son just says that it the most disgusting thing he’s heard… From me… This week.

Meh, it’s still early.

On a whole different subject, I found out that an emoticon I use for my WTF face: O_o actually apparently means drunk. I find this funny and disturbing in some ways. Especially if I think about all the Facebook and texts I’ve added that darn thing in!