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.


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!


I Pity the Fool That Makes Me Look the Fool

The other day I had a no good, horrible, very bad day.

Except my hair looked better


It didn’t start off well. I went to bed late (reading Beautiful Creatures right now). I woke up late for the gym. I left the gym late, took too long to get ready for work, and was late there too. So, of course it’s the day where people keep asking me if I’m okay.

But it wasn’t until after lunch that it went from just having a pissy face to being truly off. Why?

Because my so-called peers can’t handle their ish.

There’s nothing like trying to do a job that someone else used to handle, and them not giving the information you need to complete it. Especially if someone like dimensionthe5th is about to test her students online and nothing works and she looks like a dummy because the previous a hole of the 9th power that usually handles the test only told me step 1.

There are many more steps than step 1 -_-

I hate looking stupid, not organized, or just plain incompetent in front of my students. But that’s what happened. And knowing my super paranoid self, they probably didn’t notice and just assumed this was the way things went. OR, at the end of the class they’re going to give lots of comments in the end of course feedback saying that dimensionthe5th is a hot mess. And I might commit a felony against another teacher.

I am not OCD. You should see what my car gets up to, junkwise. But I am very much a by-the-book person when it comes to a job I must complete. And yes, it must be step by step by daggone step. I’m talking about, if you are teaching someone how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, you better first list all ingredients, including plate. And the you’d better start with “Take 2 slices of bread and lay them on plate.” Yes I am that anal.

And the other day all I had was Step Frackin 1.

Because having complete directions is so important to me, I go one track mind and cannot breathe, cannot function until I fix what I see as a problem. My whole afternoon was lost, while I worked on writing out instructions and trying to breathe deep and let murderous thoughts go. I could breathe a sigh of relief by the end of the work day, but the anger is still there. Because it’s not the first time it’s happened. With the same crappy person.

But I can’t kill him. So, whenever it comes into my mind again, I just have to send my evil brain waves towards him. I hope he gets gout in his crotch or something. Karma.

You think that’s too harsh? Frack you too. Grotch be upon you also. Grrrr, argh.



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!


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.

I’m not sure about this reality… May be rejected in 3…2…1

This is a whiny post…warning, whiny levels set up to 11!

Things are looking slightly sideways to me. I mean that figuratively, although it was quite literal maybe 2 days ago. So I got good but bad news. My CT scan on my chest was normal.

Yay! Except…

My X-rays are normal, my MRI is normal, but my back hurts so bad I was just stuck on the couch when I was trying to get up to go potty. I’m taking a mix of percocet, flerxeril, and motrin 800 (the military’s favorite candy. They really should sponsor military commercials). That mix is just so I can function at about 75 percent. So I don’t try to roll up in a ball to block out life, scream in pain because my back didn’t like the contortion and is now spazzing and doing the macarena in my skin ( I wish it would do a less energetic dance, like a simple two-step, sheesh). This SHITtake mushroom is not just in my head! So what is it? Doc doesn’t know, I don’t know. But I keep shuffling on.

It’s making it very hard to want to anything, and like I mentioned before, I’m adding on pounds like a fatty in a Krispy Kreme. Right now I’m “curvy” but this could EASILY turn into a BBW situation. I don’t want that. The military doesn’t want that either. Especially since they’re on their “cut down the military” kick. I’m in a teaching position right now, but what if fate somehow threw a deployment my way again? I can’t carry my own weight with my back, let alone Kevlar plates.

The only thing it probably IS helping is my teaching nervousness. Seriously, I’m so high in there that I’m surprised I get all of my words out. But I’m kind of in there, floating, and not really caring as much, an my teaching becomes smoother…well, except for dry mouth. Maybe everyone should be high while teaching? Hmmm, maybe not. I know I am the rare breed that can actually function and drive and teach while drugged up.

So… Its back to physical therapy, and making an appointment with the acupuncturist. And maybe chiropractor. I’m not above a voodoo doctor right about now. Dang it, I’ve got an anime convention to attend this weekend, and I’ve got to be able to pose for the camera!

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!