Tag Archives: Health

Oh Groupon..

Down a dark deserted hallway

There’s a small windowless room

Where Melanie the Masseuse lies encased in her tomb

Century’s passed since she last uttered a word

Era’s gone by and she has not stirred

She lies there dreaming of a life that once was

Memories are sharp

Digging around with their claws

Being cryogenically frozen in space and time

Her lips and skin blue

Hair matted down like glue

She lays there awake

Her mind never off

She see’s only the darkness behind

an old linen cloth 

The hallway outside brightens and buzzes

The flourescent lights turning on

Her ears perk up

She hushes

“What’s going on?  What’s happening out there?”

Rolling down her cheek is a lonesome frightful tear.

Someone rambles in

her chambers where she lies within

“Hello?  Is someone there?”

Her chin

Quiverin’

“It’s just me your next client.  Do not be alarmed, I’m compliant.

Your clients await you, they’re filing in by the masses.

So get up my dear friend, 

Get up and massage 400 asses.”

I’m waiting for my next client.  It’s 11:09.  She’s late.  Damn.  I hate calling people.  I’ll wait until 11:15, than I’ll call her.

I wrote that ode in the 20 minutes I’ve been sitting here waiting.

Tick tock

Tick tock

Sonuva…

It’s a dark rainy day here on October 12th

It’s payday from Groupon

Now aint that just swell – th

I like getting money instead of waiting in the dark

Being frozen in time, eating up minutes like a shark

Ahhh What am I saying?

Shit where is this lady.

It’s not a lady, it’s a man and I got his voice mail.  This is not good.  I need to be fully booked everyday 6 days a week cause you know why?  You want to know why?  Because I’m pretty much screwed in the ass otherwise.

I’m not just massaging 400 asses – it’s a lot more than that.  A shit ton more.

Groupon wanted to sell a package deal – buy 3 massages for $100.  I get $17.50 a massage plus tip, so I said sure sounds great.

Besides, most people will opt for the one hour.  Buying 3 sessions to get a rub down by someone you don’t know is highly unlikely.  Well, Groupon took it upon themselves to “sell out” of the 60 and 90 minute massage options.  How can you sell out of massages?

I found this out from two of my clients.

“Really?  I had no idea they did that.  How would I sell out of massages?”

So last night I looked online and saw how many of the package deals I sold.  I want to cry.  I want to cry, weep, wither and die.  I want to stick Groupon with a sharp pointy stick in their eye.

I sold 200 of the buy 3 deal.  200!  200 X 3 = well, you do the math.  I have to give 800 massages within the next 5 months.  Break that down day by day that’s 5 clients a day if I work 7 days a week.  5 clients a day, and then I’m getting repeat full priced clients on top of that.

I’m fuuuuuuucked.  Fucked.  Hence the poem.  I am so freaking out right now.  I’m calling Groupon, screw it.  I’m calling them right now.

Damn I’m on hold.  It’s 11:39.  Let’s see how long it takes for them to pick up.

I feel like I’m going to shit my pants.

I desperately need a desk in here.  My back doesn’t hurt after a day a massaging, it only hurts when I type in my blog.  I’m hunched over with the Mac in my lap.  Ouch.  A tv tray is no desk.  It’s not tall enough.

11:42

What song is this?  Is it supposed to keep me calm?  It’s not working.

11:48.  I just got off the phone with them.   The private sale in now turned off – thank the lord Jesus.  I only had 24 more to sell before reaching 400, but 24 x 3 = Well, you do the math.  I’m bad at it.

I’ll be okay.  Everything will be okay.  I’m making money, this is a good thing.  It’s what I wanted.  And selling on Groupon requires a huge price in advertising, so I’ll be able to deduct my losses as a business expense – I won’t have to pay much at all for taxes next year.

Instead of getting an accountant to deal with everything, I’m learning how to do it all myself.  I studied the different options, weighed the pro’s and con’s and opted for a sole proprietorship.  It’s versatile and also allows for health insurance deductions.   I won’t have to pay a dime in health insurance.  The massage association offers a plan to insured practitioners, so that’s on my to-do list.

Think about it, why pay an accountant when I can take that money and donate it to charity instead and in the process teach myself the in’s and out’s of the tax world.

I bought Turbo Tax software for sole proprietorship from Amazon for $8.  Laziness is the bane of all human existence.  I’m trying to do the opposite.

Damn I need a desk.  Shit yo.

I’m going to read a little and lay on my back on my Spoonk mat.

spoonk mat

Click on the image if you want one.

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Filed under humor, journal, Massage therapy, Odes, rant

Time to whip my butt into shape!

Yoga Class at a Gym Category:Gyms_and_Health_Clubs

Yoga Class at a Gym Category:Gyms_and_Health_Clubs (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Micky is on the phone talking over invincible air raids.  I’m sitting here on my bench in the office.

I’m starting to get to that comfortable feeling again.  You know what I’m talking about?  It’s the feeling you get when you like your job, you’re making good money and you have absolutely zero things to stress about.  I spent the majority of my life being in this feeling.  This is where I belong – yes, really.  It’s where I belong….

I talked before about me being like a coin; one side is all daffodils and daisy’s but on the other is prickly cacti.  Why do I have to choose a side?  I don’t want to choose to be happy or good anymore, I don’t want to choose to be anything.  I’m just going to Be and see what happens.  I’ll be the serrated edges of a quarter instead.  Jagged and jaded but not fooling herself or nobody.

This is where I’m most content.  This is where I feel like myself.  The problem is, I lose all my professionalism and clients become friends I never met.  But they seem to like this!  At first people act all old and adult, but then they loosen up a bit and I see how they were in high school – they act young again.

I haven’t been doing anything lately accept work.  Camping was the last time I did anything.  It was fun, I had a blast.  I smoked pot and drank myself 6 beers by the fire.  I slept like a baby.

I signed myself up for birkram yoga.  I start on Monday.  Amy went for the first time last week and said it was hard.  Very VERY hot.  I’m going to tough it out.  Doing hot yoga was part of my awakening – I saw how much our bodies are connected to our spirits, and was shown how important yoga is for keeping that connection healthy.  I don’t know how or why, but yoga especially.  And it should be easy dragging myself there every week if Amy’s counting on me to be there.

I have to start exercising for the Camino.  I’m also going to start a running program in the morning before work which means that I have to go to bed early.  No more late night video games or watching one show after the other on Netflix, and absolutely no – and I mean NO Billy O’s.

I’m going to try out the 5K Runner app on the iPhone.  While you’re listening to music, a voice cuts in to tell you when to walk or run.  It may sound silly, but for anyone who ever tried running, it’s a huge lifesaver to be told when it’s okay to slow down for a bit.  It’s a pain having to time everything yourself.

And I quit smoking again.  I love to smoke, I really do, but I don’t need it anymore.  My stress is long gone and I’m relatively happy these days.

I’m just really tired.  It might be from the leftover Chinese food I had for breakfast, or the turkey sandwich for lunch.

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Eating grass and doing drugs

Soleil Moon Frye as Punky

Soleil Moon Frye as Punky (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I don’t understand me sometimes. I like the ocean, but hate the beach. I love flowers, but hate planting them. It’s like I always find at least one thing to spoil any special interests or passions that spring up.

But if I delve into these spoilers, I learn a little more about the girl behind the curtain. The girl who intertwines the delicate thread-bare webs of reason (aka my wacky brain).

I don’t like the beach because I hate mobs of people. They make me feel exposed, vulnerable and claustrophobic. Why? I don’t know. I’ll save that one for later. Oh and plus I think it’s ridiculous to lay out in the sun all day to fry your skin into “radiance”. To me it’s as senseless as watching people feed slot machines cash for hours on end. Senseless!

Think about it, you’re frying your skin in hopes of looking younger and healthier. When in reality you’re actually searing your flesh to look older and ruined. Same when you sit in front of the one-armed bandit at a casino – you give up your money in hopes of getting more, but you always end up with less in the end. Do only greedy people go to the beach? No, no I’m mixing stuff up again.

But hey, what the hell do I know? I don’t judge anyone anyway. I have my own defects to deny.

But just take a look at this truck driver. I’m sure he can tell you a little about UV rays.

truck driver sun damage

And the evil talking slot machine from the Twilight zone will teach you some hard knock lessons. (I can’t believe I found a picture of it!)

Okay, so where was I? Oh yeah, flowers. I hate planting flowers because of the manual labor involved, the patience, the planning and know-how to plant something that will surely die in the end. I don’t want to plant something only to watch it die. There’s no permanence, so what’s the point? And besides, there’s enough beauty in the world already. I’ll BE the flower, I don’t have to plant one.

Buddhist monks in Tibet do this thing where they kneel on the ground hunched over for hours at a time for several days to create what is known as a sand maṇḍala. They create something so intricately beautiful and meaningful using patience and steady hands, only for it to be destroyed. In fact, the sole purpose in creating a sand maṇḍala is to teach the monks about the cycles of life and that everything material is only transitory in nature.

It reminds me of my Grammy’s old jar of pickled tomatoes from 24 years ago. This is one doctrinal belief that my mind can not adhere to.

To me, anything that has no permanence, is not worth my time or effort. But even if it was promising, I still have to deal with my commitment issues. I hate to blame my parents for my commitment issues, but hell yeah, it’s all their fault.

I am deeply flawed and deeply human. At my worst, I turn the spotlight on myself when dealing with my issues with permanence. I say things like, “I’m not worth the trouble, I don’t do anything meaningful or lasting. I’m not good for anything at all, really.”

But that’s only when I’m at my worst, and I haven’t felt that way in a while, well, not since Nepal anyway.

I wish I got to see one of these sand mandalas in Nepal, but there weren’t any around. It’s more of a Tibet thing.

If you look hard enough, spoilers can show you your fears. Mine being the cycle of life. Living only to die kinda takes the wind out of my bagpipes.

Wow I totally lost the point of what I originally wanted to write. The tips of my fingers are vomiting letters uncontrollably.

Okay, what I really wanted to say is that, I don’t get me. I have this sudden urge to plant grass. I may not like planting flowers, but grass is okay. Grass is replaceable without any attachment issues happening. And I love dirt, the smell of it, the texture, the dirtiness. And I love seeds. Hard little nuggets of life that just need watering.

So, my new project that I’m working on is planting wheatgrass in my bedroom. I bought a long flat planter, and all the stuff I need.

At heart, I’m a granola hippie girl. It’s in my roots. I like natural, organic stuff – even if it tastes dreadful, I love it. And now the granola in me is urging me to eat grass. This may stem from my staying out of the sun, I really don’t know, but I at least want to try it. Believe it or not, wheatgrass is actually really healthy and fibrous. It’s easy to grow in low-light and doesn’t need much watering. It’s the perfect project for the slouch that I am. And a good snack to nipple on when I don’t feel like walking upstairs to ransack my parents kitchen cabinets.

I’m growing the grass in the money corner of my baqua (anything green and growing symbolizes prosperity). Once the grass is ready to harvest, I’m going to juice it and take one ounce daily.

I don’t try to be healthy, but sometimes I do these things that make me sound like a health nut. Truth is, I just like eating stuff that I grow myself, even if the only thing I can manage to grow is grass.

I hung out with my little granola friend, Christian, the other day. He called me up out of the blue and we went out for a few beers. He has dreads now and wears twine around his ankles – he pulls some of these twine anklets up above his calves just for the heck of it. It looks ridiculous, but cool at the same time. Cool, yet uncool. It’s so my style. So Punky Brewster.

I don’t really have a style. My summer outfit this year consists of mens white T-shirts (bought in bulk at Wal-Mart), and my friend Stacy’s hand-me-down plaid pants. I have so many white T-shirts and those pants are always the first pair I see hanging in my closet everyday, so there you go. Everyday, same outfit. No fuss.

Christian smokes like a chimney, but he’s healthy in the same way I am. It’s oddly bizarre how similar we are. He was smoking his cigarettes and told me he bought them cheap at a place that rolls their own with chemically untreated tobacco – no preservatives, just plain old tobacco – the building block of America.

So today I drove over to that tobacco shop and bought 200 cigarettes for $44. I’m healthy and frugal.

Anyway, in other news…

I’ve been contacting advertisers to help me grow my business. I’m doing everything in poor-girl fashion, meaning free. Whatever the advertisers offer for free, I take it. It’s practically a full time job trying to advertise. It eats up so much time. Phone interviews, in-person interviews, how to work their website tutorials – I mean jeeze, come on now. I hate talking to rep’s over the phone. I’d rather see them in person. I’d rather give a free one hour massage than chat with a rep for 15 minutes about how to market my business.

The phone is my nemesis and I hate talking on it. People call me in the afternoon to wake me up. I feel like I have to brush my teeth before I talk to them. Maybe it’s a confidence issue. I’m more tactile than vocal. More visual than listening. The recipe for a dumbass? Perhaps.

Speaking of dumbasses, I’m going to Columbia next month to do drugs with a bunch of people who put the ‘strange’ in strangers and I have absolutely no money and nobody to call if shit hits the fan.

I’m going to be reading this post when I’m an old lady and wonder how the hell I managed to survive so long.

I’m going to eat grass and do drugs! Eating grass and doing drugs is in my near future.

You know, come to think of it, I would totally eat flowers too. I would grow flowers only so I can eat them. I don’t have to watch something die as long as I can kill it first.

Amen and Gods peed

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Filed under journal, Massage therapy, random thoughts, Self help

Starbucks Shananigan’s

My two-hour massage cancelled on me and so here I am at Starbucks.  I’m still as crabby today as I was yesterday.  I need sleep.  I want to burrow my body into a little nook and hide somewhere.

There are two very bubbly girls sitting across from me.  How are people able to do that?  Be bubbly?  Now they’re laughing hysterically.  Good for them.  I’m happy for them.

Last night Joel and I met two interesting, desperate poor souls.  One was so skinny that he looked like he was on drugs (I actually picked him up and spun him around), and the other was a short, chubby girl with spina bifida who kept flirting with me and by the end of the night blatantly came out and asked me for my number.  But she kept saying the skinny guy was her fiancé and they were madly in love, so as usual, I had no idea what was happening.

They didn’t have a car, no money, and they lived in a hotel room next to the T & A truck stop.  They seemed nice enough, but I kept checking to see if my wallet was still lodged in my pocket.

I didn’t give her my number.

“Oh, well, I come here all the time.  You’ll see me here a lot.”

I mean, even if I was a lesbian, she’s totally not in my league.

Wow, I’m totally sitting here zoning out and looking out the window.  I’m watching the barista’s take the trash out to the dumpster and thinking how much I hated jobs where I had to take out the trash.  I hate jobs.  Period.

The two bubbly girls in front of me are actually partaking in a job interview for Starbucks.  The over-the-top friendly manager just got up off her chair and left the newly minted employee to read something on a laptop.

I hated job interviews.  I knew I would get hired, but hated applying for a job that I knew would suck.  I knew it would suck because they all do.

I need to sleep.  I’m such a miserable jerk today.  I can’t shake it.

Okay, here’s my new plan.

1)  Hike the Himalaya’s.

2)  Come back home and save $2000 for an aromatherapy oxygen bar machine.

3)  Start my own business.

4)  Take a few college classes.

5)  By the summer of 2013, go backpacking through Europe.  I don’t care if I go it alone –  it would probably be great if I was alone.  It will finally be the time alone that I craved for so long.

Okay, so there’s my plan.  Does it sound enticing?  Does it sound like it’s doable?

One can dream, can’t they?  Of course this all depends on if I survive the Anapurna Circuit.

Now the manager is telling the new girl about her Starbucks story.  It sounds like it’s mandatory for all managers to tell their story.

“I graduated college?  I went to the university of Vermont?  I didn’t know what I wanted to do until my fifth year and by then I didn’t take the right courses for my degree?”

She’s laughing and being bubbly.  How does she do it?  Whats her secret?

An old man is sliding out of his car and limping into Starbucks.  What a cute old man.  Is he capable of being bubbly?

Old man – “I was in the Vietnam war?  My wife has spina bifida?  I have two titanium hips and a plastic rotator cuff?”

I can picture Betty White being bubbly, and maybe that Jessica Tandy, but other than those two, I can’t think of any.  Especially not an old man war vet.

He’s limping back to his car with his coffee, smiling at us as he walks by.  He makes me smile back at him.  Everyone has their own silent happy tune.  Some are just louder than others.

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My funny resignation letter and dealing with a bitch and a man-baby

I’m officially sick of my job.  Not the actual act of massaging, no.  But sick of the place itself.  You want to know where I work?  Fine, I’ll tell you!  Massage Envy Ct phone number……..I won’t give you the phone number, but it’s easy enough to find.

Where should I start?  I’ll start at the very beginning.  The beginning of my misery and the downfall of the little clinic I loved so dear.  This all started with the hiring of a 56-year-old phony, bullshitting – busybody, Christina.

I wrote about her before.  She’s the woman who got upset at me for not wanting to do massage exchanges with her (you can read about that here).  She asked me if it’s because I don’t like people touching me.  Pffffff, the nerve.

I didn’t like her then, and I STILL don’t!  And I tried to like her.  I honestly have tried, but I swear this woman hates me.  And when I tell my coworkers how much she hates me, they say no, “She’s like that to everyone.”

The way she talks to her clients is so shrill and fake, anyone with a vague insight into the human psyche can see it.

She’s bouncy.  You know what I mean?  She goes to greet a client in the tranquillity room with about five or six clients silently waiting in there and she bounces on the couch next to her client and says:  “So are you ready?!  Are you ready to get your massage?!”  And she’s sitting/bouncing on the couch at the same time.  My coworker did an impression of her doing it, you have to see it to fully understand.

She likes to lecture people and “teach” them.  She like’s to greet new clients by saying, “Hi I’m Christina.  I’m the lead therapist and I only been working here since June, tee hee hee.”  Again, my coworker was doing an impression.  Funny as hell.  “But nobody wanted the position!  That’s the only reason she got it!”  My coworkers get just as worked up over her as I do.

I was offered the role of lead therapist and I knew that if I didn’t accept, I would have to put up with Christina hovering over me and bossing me around.  I knew (and I mean ESP knew) that my decision to turn down the role of top banana would cause me to quit.  I just knew it – I know things like that.  I also knew I didn’t want to stay there forever, or deal with Jeff on a regular basis.  So I said no thanks.

Have I describe Christina well enough?  Can you picture her yet?  She is ceaselessly annoying, talks over others non-stop for hours on end.  And since she’s the lead therapist, it’s her job to get all of us subordinates to adhere to her strict policy of up-selling.  “SELL SELL SELL!”  Her  glistening chin protruding and her eyes bulge.  “I sold my first enhancement of the day tee hee hee.”

I’m not so swift to listen to her lecture’s.  I either leave the room while she’s talking, or zone out and play on my phone.  Our “enhancements” mean that for an extra $12 you can get two hot wet towels applied to your back, or for an extra $10, you can get 12 drops of essential oil mixed into our regular all-purpose lotion.  That’s what it is spoken plainly and candidly, but the way the franchise hypes it up, even the therapist’s buy into it!  When I mention it to my clients, I can and usually do sell it if I want to, but it’s a rip-off and I won’t adhere to ripping people off.

Christina wants to write us a sales pitch and have us memorize it so we can give the spiel to our clients.  “Isn’t that a lovely idea?  Tee hee hee.”  Just writing her laugh is annoying!

Okay, so anyway, I don’t want to make this post too long, so I’ll try to make it quick.

Last week I gave a massage to a man-baby.  What I mean by man-baby is that this fully grown man had the body of a baby.  I shit-you-not!  Yes he was obese, but as I said before, I don’t think twice about obese clients.  There are as many of them as there are people of “average” weight.  To me, a body is a body, but a baby-man-body is something I take notice of!

It was as if he never stepped outside a uterus before.  Or he was being intravenously fed by tube’s from The Matrix and was recently ejected out of the chute and into the real world with the first thing on his list, to get a massage.

He wanted deep tissue.  Okay, no problem.  I can do that.  I pressed the palms of my hands into his back.  I pressed down and then down some more and then down, down, down…….”What the fuck’s going on?  No resistance?  Where’s his muscle’s?  Where’s his bones?”  He was as squishy as a freshly baked doughnut.  Not so much squishy, as he was soft.  Squishy has resistance.  He was as soft as…..a fucking baby!  I don’t know how else to describe it.  He was certainly unlike anything I’ve ever seen or massaged before.  Unreal, really.

The way I like to give (and get) deep tissue massage is that I massage very hard, only the muscles that are of a rock hard density.  This apparently wasn’t going to happen for this guy.  He was built like a snowman.

And his personality even sounded like a baby.  Sort of a bratty, “baby wants his binkie” or “baby did a doodie in his pants” kind of baby.  He was the largest, softest man-child I have ever laid hands on and it gave me the willies’ when I sunk my elbow down into his guts.  Gleh…..

I’m not usually this shallow and mean spirited, but this guy was a strange one.  For the whole massage I was thinking, “how the hell am I supposed to massage him?  How?”

About a week later my boss, Linda, told me that baby-man filled out an email follow-up questionnaire and emailed it back to the franchise.

Me – “Oh Jesus.”

Linda – “It’s okay, not a big deal.  He just said that he wished you used more pressure, but he was too afraid to ask.”

Too afraid to ask?  F*cking baby.

And that was it.  “No bid deal” she says.  So I brushed it off.  It was my first negative feedback I received in two years.

But it didn’t end there.  Christina heard about what happened and it was her way in.  She found a chink in my otherwise impenetrable armor, and dug he claws.

She set up a training session with me.  I saw it on my schedule when I walked into work yesterday.  I point to the screen and say “What the hell is this?”

“It’s a practical with me!  Tee hee hee.”

Me – “For what?”

Christina – “We’re just going to go over some protocol’s, draping procedure’s and that sort of thing.  Don’t worry, I’m easy.  Here, you can even look over what I’ll be grading you on.”

She hands me a chart with questions each having a scale from 1 to 5 beside each question.

What the fuck is this?

Me – “Is this from that one guy who complained about me last week?”

Christina – “Yes, Jeff take’s all complaints very seriously.”

Me – “So I get one complaint in two years and I have to take a practical exam?”

Christina – “I’m sure you had other complaints besides that one.”

Me – “Have I?  How would I find that out?”

Christina – “They tell you verbally about each complaint and send you an email copy of the clients questionnaire they filled out.”

Me – “I’ve never gotten any email sent to me and Linda only told me about that one guy.”

Christina – “……..Jeff’s reinforcing his policy’s.”

She giggle’s and takes a bite out of her wrap.  That’s the other thing, she is always eating.  She claims she’s on a  diet but I always see her stuffing her face.  And she brings into work this really gross, homemade funky, gunky drink in a mason jar.  She leaves it out sitting on the break room table all day and you can see the chunks in it separating and rising to form a jelly like crust on the surface.

“What the fuck is this?”  Is an expression that runs repeatedly in my head through out the day.

That was the conversation practically word for word.  Still burned into memory.  By the time we started my practical, it was already 17 minutes into the massage, she wanted full body and the rip-off enhancement they call “Deep Heat Muscle Therapy.”

I wanted to throw up my hands and say fuck it I’m out, but I had clients and I was sort of stuck.  I gave her the massage, she talked the entire time – loud talk “tee hee hee” talk.  I undraped one of her legs and tuck the sheet under her thigh as I normally do, and she says that’s the wrong way.

“Massage Envy’s policy is the diaper drape.”

She raises her leg in the air (she was face up at this point) way higher than necessary that it made me uncomfortable and I wondered what the hell she was doing with her leg up so high.  She pulled the sheet up so it was snug against her crotch.

“Te he, that’s better.”

This woman, goddammit, I seen the way she drapes and this is NOT it.  When we have couple’s massages together, she uncovers the entire side of the body – from feet to head.  One butt cheek perfectly exposed.  Is that Massage Envy draping?  No!  It’s “I want to glide my hands up and down your naked body” kind of draping.

Damn, I didn’t want to make this a long post…..shit.

To wrap it up, she expressed to Linda, my boss, that I need extra training according to the grades she gave me on the chart.  I was so infuriated beyond words, beyond my breaking point.  I had a shit-fit and started telling everyone what was happening.  I told them about the one guy that complained last week, and how it led up to this.

Coworker – “She  does it to everyone, sweetie.  Don’t worry, we’re all on your side.”

I couldn’t be subdued.  I was hot, I was sweating.  My coworkers patted me on the back, gave me hugs.  But by the end of the night, I decided I wanted out.  It’s quitting time for this lotion slinger.

To top the night off, I had to give a couple’s massage with Christina.  This couple, husband and wife, love me enough to move around their schedule in order to stay on mine.  The husband requested me this time.  The wife didn’t request Christina, she just ended up with her.

After their massage, they got dressed and met us in the hallway to chat and drink the complimentary cup of water.

Wife – “We won’t be seeing you next month because we’re going away.”

I asked them where they were going and told them I won’t be around either because I’m going on a month long vacation.

Husband – “Oh really?  Where?”

During this time, Christina was trying to talk over us, but the wife and I tuned her out – even the Husband tuned her out.  It was awesome!

Me – “Nepal.”

Wife – “Oh my God I knew that!  How did I already know that?!”

Her mouth hangs open and she stares at me.

Me – “I’m not sure, I only found out a few weeks ago.  I haven’t seen you since then.”

Wife – “I’m very intuitive, but that’s just plain weird.  I can’t believe I knew that!”

The husband chuckled.  Christina finally gave up trying to talk over people.

Me – “Do you sense the trip will be okay?”

Wife – “Yes!  It will be great!  You will have a wonderful time.”

She was being so sincere.  I could tell she was stunned by her telepathy and the way she looked at me made us share a sudden bond.  People like Christina will never experience that.

Christina is not a bad person, she really isn’t.  She like’s to cut people down, blow herself up, lie – any idiot can see that.  She has mental issue’s.  Even a client once called Christina “crazy” after getting a massage from her.  But just because she has text-book psychosis’, doesn’t make her bad a bad person.

But anyway, I’m quitting.  I spent two years working there anyway and I never stay at a job for longer than two years.   I either leave out of boredom or annoyance.  This time it’s a little of both.

Oh and Christina also told me that Jeff, the owner, was going to fire me!  But he didn’t because Christina told him not to because it wouldn’t be fair.  HA!  She’s such a scammer!  Everything is so phony about her.

When I got home, I wrote my letter of resignation:

 

At first I was trained
I was certified
Kept thinking I could never work
without Envy by my side
But I spent these past few hours
thinking how you did me wrong
I grew strong
I learned how to carry on!
and so I quit
from the Envy

I walked out of Christina’s lecture
left that look upon her face

I should have changed my stupid job
I should have wrote a new CV
If I had known for just one second
I would be quitting Massage Envy!
Go now go
I’m out the door
Just turn around now
’cause you’re not working anymore

Weren’t YOU the one who tempted me with free CEU’s?
You think I’d crumble
You think I’d give in for nickel and dimes?
Oh no, not I
I will resign
as long as I know how to rub
I know I will be fine
I’ve got all my life to live
I’ve got both my hands to give
and I’ll resign

It took all the strength I had not to disappear
kept trying hard to mend the pieces of my broken career
and so I spent oh so many minutes just feeling sorry for myself
I used to try
Now I hold my hands up high!

And now you see
Somebody new
I’m not that chained up little person
filling in gumballs just for you 
(has to do with selling enhancements)
and so you hoped I may conform or
just expect me to leave quietly
now I’m saving all my knowledge
for someone else who’s paying me,
……..more money!!!!!

– I Will Resign!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Um, okay, I thought about it and I’m not actually going to use that as my resignation letter.

So I wrote this instead;

Dear Linda,

I regret to inform you that I must part ways with Massage Envy.  It was a very easy decision, although a sad one.  I will write out a listed documentation of the reasons for my leaving.  Hopefully you will see things from my point of view.

  • I have recently been told by the head therapist that the only reason I’m still working there is because Jeff thought it would be unfair to fire me without a proper warning.  This was a shock to me.  I felt very threatened, and still do.
  • What I find to be unfair is not receiving any information about client complaints.  In the past two years, I have been told of one complaint, and that was last week.  Since then I have corrected the problem from occurring again.  Only yesterday did I find out that there were many other complaints.  I had no knowledge of them and therefore I’m left with little chance of correcting my mistakes and growing as a therapist.
  • I feel that the new added pressure to sell has gone beyond my comfort level.  If a client says no the first time, I let them be.  It is also hard for me to sell something that I find to be overpriced and overhyped (12 drops of oil for $10?  Two hot towels for $12?).  I also heard from the lead therapist that we are going to start utilizing a prepared sales pitch to give each client before every massage about the add-on’s.  The massage is only 50 minutes, and now their time will be cut even shorter by listening to a very poor sales pitch from a desperate, scared therapist.
  • I do not feel safe and secure in my job anymore.
  • I’m starting to doubt my abilities and my choice of career.
  • I’m losing sleep and feel stressed.
  • I hear complaints from other therapist’s.  Our turnover rate is increasing which is going to decrease clients.  I know of several therapists who are trying to make their way out.  Several already left with having similar complaints as mine.
  • I’m getting paid $16 dollars an hour, which is what I agreed to.  But under the new pressures and circumstances, the dollar amount is exceedingly low.
  • There are no benefits for working at Massage Envy.  Even for someone who’s been there for two years still has no job security or job growth.  And as of late, no appreciation.
  • I am no longer my happy, joyful self.
  • I am a gifted, dynamic, intuitive, loving person who feels that Massage Envy can no longer meet my level of requirement.  I have only one level, and that is enjoyment of my job.

I have already a job in my hometown that pays double for what Massage Envy pays.  The owner says that I am more than welcome to work as much as I like and pick my own hours.  My plan is to start my own business when I arrive back home after trekking the Himalayas for a month. 

Letting go of something I once loved, brings about more love and expansion. 

That is why I must let you go.

Peace out cub scout,

Melanie

Is that harsh? Am I an asshole or am I an asshole?  Fuck, who care’s.  Seriously though, I really do have another job.  The only thing I don’t like about my other job is that I have to sit and answer phones, do laundry for free.  But if I can get at least 10 clients a week there, I’ll be making the same amount of money that I do at Envy, plus I don’t have to drive all the way to Glastonbury.

I told my parents all about Christina and my mom said that she knew people just like her, “That woman’s a bitch.  Don’t listen to her.”  Thanks mom!  It’s times like these that I’m thankful I still live at home.  They don’t ask for rent, they stick up for me and call my nemesis’ bitches for me.  I love them!

I could do without all the whistle’s and my dad pointing at me telling me I’m going to get raped and murdered and nobody will be there to help me in Nepal.  But I tell ya, when it comes down to it, I choose them over a husband and kid’s.  For now anyway….While I can.

And now your moment of zen:

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Filed under humor, journal, Massage therapy, rant

Melanie the crappy masseuse

I’m sitting at the coffee place in Barnes & Noble because Starbucks is packed.

After I bought my latte I said to the barista; “Why don’t they put out a tip cup for you guys?” And she said they are allowed to take tips but can’t put the cup out as a lost prevention type of thing.  She says this as she handed me back my penny.  Do I leave her the penny?  Do I fish out a dollar?  Giving her a dollar would be humiliating, wouldn’t it? But a penny would be worse.  So I left nothing at all which makes me feel like a cheap superior bastard hoarding wad’s of cash.

Why do I ask stupid questions I already know the answer to?  My question was pointing out how trite it is for Barnes & Noble not to allow them a tip cup.  I was envisioning the tip cup at Starbucks overflowing with quarters and bills – I felt bad.  I wanted this barista to know I was on her side.  If there was a petition, I would sign it.

I’m only working three hours today.  My life is hard I tell ya….

One of my clients is a two hour.  He requested me and we talk and talk the whole time.  It’s practically not even work.  That’s the habit I’ve been getting myself into lately – not paying attention to what my hands are doing.  I’m so used to talking to most of my clients that I’m focusing on their stories and not how well I massage their lat’s.  It’s developed into a habit.  I now suck at massage.

All I want to do is talk to people.  I don’t care about how well I massage them – I just like to talk.  Massage is obviously not my calling but I have to stick it out for now.

All my co-workers LOVE their job.  Only two of them want out and they’re going into nursing – but they’re still in the manual labor job of helping others.

I want to help people, but with my brain instead of hard manual labor.  My hands are delicate damn it!

I can’t say I hate my job, though.  Considering the alternatives for an uneducated gal, massage is pretty kick-ass.

I am not happy with this post.  No, not happy at all.  It sucks.

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Filed under All about me, Massage therapy

My e cigarette update

I’m going on day seven of not smoking and it’s a walk in the park.  I have no desire what-so-ever to buy a $10 pack of smokes and fill my lungs with crap.  All due to my electronic cigarette!  It’s my number one new addiction.  It’s just as addicting as a cig, possibly even more so since I can do it anytime, anywhere without guilt.  And I love, love, LOVE it!  I wasn’t even trying to quit smoking, that’s the crazy part.

My first big project after I become a certified chemist is to develop a new line of electronic cigarette vapor.  The liquid I want to create will have wholesome herbs and holistic ingredients and vitamins like ginseng or acai berry juice.  I can also create a new form of medicinal drugs for people on pain meds, or antidepressants.

I once worked with a guy – a young guy in his twenties who told me he has to take a crazy number of pain pills just to get through the day.  He was in an accident that almost killed him – his spine is all torn up and his femur was split in two, protruding out of his skin when they found him.  And now, because of all the pills, he has stomach problems on top of all his other ailments.  The pills ate away his stomach lining.

Vaping a pain med, you would need less of it because the drug gets absorbed quickly through  the mouth, lungs and brain, bypassing the middle man completely and effecting you quicker.

So there you have it, my brilliant idea.

You want to know my worst brilliant idea today?  Getting a tatoo of the world on the heel of my foot so I can tell people that I’m “heeling” the world.

Why do I tell you these things?

I should go to bed.  One of my absolute bestest friends in the world is flying in from Minnesota (me and a few other’s chipped in and bought her a ticket).  We are spending the weekend at my family’s cottage in Rhode Island.

You know the funny thing is that scientists are most likely working on such vaping liquids as we speak.  Whenever I have a great idea, I find it on the market six months later.  I’m tuned in to the ever evolving, ever flowing consciousness of the world.

Now if only I can get people to latch on to my “heel” the wold idea…..

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Filed under random thoughts

Rock Star ass

T minus two days I leave for South Korea. 

I’m at Cheshire Coffee drinking a latte and feeling like a rock star.  That’s going to be my new thing, feeling like a rock star.

I think I lost some weight these past few months.  I don’t eat while I’m at work.  I don’t eat anything from 1pm to 10 at night four days out of the week and it’s starting to show.  I slipped on my skinny jeans and threw on a cute top and scoped myself out in the mirror.  Yeah, I’m hot.  Well, maybe not hot, but skinny at least.

While I was downstairs checking out my ass, my mother was upstairs yelling at Crazy Aunt about using her credit card and charging it up to the max.

My aunt has no job.  All she does all day is run around waiting on Robert.  When Robert wants to take a 17 hour shower, he has to go to a hotel.  My aunt has been charging hotel visits on my mom’s visa and also charging for a rental car.

My mom is pissed, really pissed.  She’s been asking for her card back for three weeks and my aunt ignores her.  She say’s “okay,” like she’s going to give it to her, but she never does.

I just spilled my coffee on the floor, but I caught the cup thanks to my cat-like reflexes, so I have plenty left to drink.

I promised Dave I would go to happy tuesday with him.  He’s on his way now, I guess I should go.

Here’s a quick re-cap of what I’ve been up to:

On Friday I worked until 9pm, came home and watched the last two episodes of True Blood that we got in the mail (season two).  I went to bed really late, maybe around three am.  Then woke up at 6:30 am to massage six people, came home and crashed for an hour.  Holly called and woke me up.

Holly – Wake up we’re going to Murphy’s.

Me – But I’m soooooo tired.

Holly – I knew you were going to do this!

She sounded very upset.

Me – Do what?

Holly – Flake out.

Me – ……..ugh

Holly – Get ready, we’ll pick you up.

Me – Okay

I went to Murphy and Scarlette’s with Holly, Kristina, Tara and Dave.  I was double fisting most of the night, got extremely drunk and made out with Dave (whom has a girlfriend) for like an hour and a half on the dance floor – I barely recall this, but I know it happened, and I’m pretty sure he instigated it.

I went home after the bar closed, ate a hamburger and watched the first episode of Drop dead diva (on netflix of course) and fell asleep.  I woke the next day at 10 am to go to work to massage for four hours of brutal manual muscle therapy.  One of which was a two hour massage to a guy I massaged before and have a crush on.  He reminds me of a chubby Clark Kent, and I think he was acting cute with me in a coy, flirty way.

I went home after work and slept. 

For my birthday yesterday, I went out to eat with Holly, Kristina and Dan to Namaste, an indian restaurant.  Indian is my new favorite food – sorry sushi.

Boo this post sucks, but I gotta jet.

Soon I will write something very profound.  More profound than my skills at making instant coffee.  More profound than making out like a teenager at a bar with a guy who’s seeing someone else.  I will be profound if it’s the last thing I do damn it!

I gotta pee.

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Filed under journal, My OCD cousin who wants to kill me

Lost post

Massage in Frankfurt, Germany

Image via Wikipedia

I found this unpublished post in my draft folder.  I wrote it last week:

It’s midnight and I’m laying in bed reading “The Road Less Traveled.”  No, I am not done reading it yet.  I know it’s been a while since I started it, but I’m really letting it sink in.  And I read slow. 

I’m super tired – I could sleep right now.   I just put 10 ear drops in my left ear because something awful is cooking up inside there, but you don’t need to know about that.  Just be aware that I have little green men pounding on my eardrum and I’m not exactly sure what they’re capable of.

This book is really something.  It’s telling me things that I already knew, I just forgot I knew – or things that were too cloudy to see properly because there’s too much debris floating around in my head (thanks to the little green men).

Okay, I know how this is going to sound, but I’m just going to say it – I send out loving energy to my clients when I massage them.  Despite the times when I find it unbearable to give a massage, as long as I keep the intention of pure, genuine love for the client, the massage turns into something spectacular every single time.  My body moves without me telling it where to move.

“The Road Less Traveled” says that all therapy must be backed with love in order for it to be successful – ALL therapy.  He broadens the term ‘therapy’ to include small stuff like friendly, honest conversation.  I love mostly everyone, so this isn’t much of a stretch. 

When I meet a client who looks like no one touched them in a really long time, someone who can be overlooked, taken for granted – when I massage these people, even just the slightest touch can bring a huge smile to their face that they have no hope at concealing – and at the end of the massage, they start laughing.  They start laughing for no apparent reason other than they’re happy.  They’re happy because for just that one brief hour, a complete stranger was able to love and appreciate them. 

It’s truly amazing – and it brings me awe when I witness it.  Okay, so maybe I do secretly love my job, that doesn’t make me married to it.  But I am learning from it, and it’s broadening my heart. 

I can make people fall asleep.  I can make most people fall asleep just by sending out the intention.  On days when I’m exhausted and can’t exert my full-fledging love, I give what I call the “sleeper” massage.  This massage has a 90% success rate of putting people to sleep.  They fall asleep within minutes, sometime seconds after I decide to put them to sleep.  It’s really amazing.

Sometimes I mix the two modes of intention, starting with love in the beginning, then I put them to sleep, then I wrap it up with more warmth and love while I massage their neck and head.  The tips are great when I do this.

I don’t send out these intentions when I massage friends – I’m not sure why that is.  Maybe they know that I love them already.  And I don’t feel like sending out more love if I don’t have to.  Truthfully, it can be tiring.

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The Road Less Traveled

Cover of "The Road Less Traveled"

Cover of The Road Less Traveled

I’m laying in bed quite comfortably and trying to read The Road Less Traveled.  I bought it at a tag sale a few months back for 50 cents and I still can’t get past the first page without spacing out in deep thought.

On the first page, the author, M. Scott Peck, mentions the first of the Four Noble Truths – “Life is Suffering”.  It is the first truth that Buddha taught.  He said that once this first truth is accepted, life would be less difficult.

I spaced out after reading that.  I already knew about Buddha’s Four Noble Truths, but can never seem to remember them.

According to Silvia Browne, she also tells us that life is meant to be difficult.  We come here in hopes of growing spiritually by confronting challenges.

I was challenged twice today by my clients.  One of them being that Russian lady, and the other was my last client of the day – a black guy who wanted a deep tissue sports massage to his legs only.  Sports massage involves a lot of heavy lifting on my part and deep muscle manipulation.  I have to pick up his heavy legs, manuever them around and stretch them – it’s an unpleasant arduous task with little rewards.

I read his client in-take form.  The last therapist who worked on him wrote that he complained a lot and would not let her do her job.    I thought he sounded like a prick, but I shrugged my shoulders and went to get him out of the tranquility room.  He tells me what he wants, and I flippantly say, “Okay you got it.”

I’m a hard person to rattle.  I confront most challenges with not exactly confidence, but a commitment to do my job well, and if they don’t like it, tough shit. 

I grudgingly accept these difficult clients and think of them more like a nuisance rather than a divine challenge bestowed upon me by Buddha’s first Noble Truth.  I’ve  been doing this job for quite some time now, afterall.

Oh no I think I’m rambling.  It’s 1:30 in the morning and I haven’t slept in more than 24 hours.  I’m not supposed to be writing because it gives me insomnia, but oh well.

Anyway, this man, knowing full-well that he was going to be stretched out, thought it a good time to leave off his knickers.  He’s the second black guy of all time to let his cheeks hit the sheets.  Stretching someone’s leg out in all direction with nothing but a sheet covering the trouser snake, well, it’s a daunting task to say the least.

But I remained unrattled.  I was more perturbed than challenged.  I draped him the exact same way I draped the Russian, only this time I turned the lights down really low as a precaution in case anything popped out.

Seriously, what are people thinking when they do things?  What am I thinking when I write things?

Oh yeah my point is that after massaging difficult clients, my regular massage (the massage that I give everyone) is extraordinarily easy to give.  But I digress.  I digress because I’m freakin’ tired and digressing is a term used by sophisticated people (such as myself) who think that whatever they’re saying is gold and they’re so sorry to have to displease everyone by shutting up.

I’ll attempt to read page two of this book tomorrow.

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Filed under journal, Massage therapy, random thoughts