Massage School

I just now, not 30 mins ago, finished the last of my required hours for the first semester of massage training. The first semester gets one ready/qualified to practice massage in the state of Texas.
When I first moved here to Austin, back in 1980, "massage" and "prostitution" were practically the same thing-- there were "parlours" everywhere--it was like an explosion of convenience store "doxy-ology", really, it was quite embarassing, they were EVERYWHERE, and if you knew anyone that worked at one, it was common knowledge that the busiest time of year was when the state legislature was in session. After much effort on the part of theraputic massage practitioners, the state put some effort into changing all that. I haven't seen a neighborhood den o'dodgy practice in years.
During my years in the inpatient psych gig (almost behind me now) several people assumed I was a massage therapist. Some just by the look of me, others by my touch. I would disabuse them of the notion, and then forget all about it. Well, friends, during a particularly gruesome tidal wave of crisis(just after the start of the war) I found myself wondering "what ELSE might I do for a living?" I knew it would have to be of benefit to people (I'm just a big old liberal humanist lifer), but it had to be something safer/less risky/not toxically stressful. That was when I remembered how folks had assumed I was a MT. Lightbulb over my head time! I started planning on the spot--found the website for the school, contacted admissions, applied for aide--everything happened so easily that it almost frightened me. That was more than 6 months ago.
Now I'm on the verge of internship-- we do 40 sessions with the public, taking histories, keeping records, and collecting payment(goes to the school, not us). Upon completion, we recieve our temp permits, good untill we test with the state for our official registration.
For my office, I'm thinking "Northern African" decor-wise. I want to offer a real get away feel for my stressed out clients. If you find yourself in Texas, drop in for my "blogger's special"--free therapy for visiting bloggers--extra attention to shoulders/arms/hands.
If you've never enjoyed a professional massage, PLEASE find a practitoner in your area. You deserve it, and as a primate,hardwired to need it. ok, enuff allreddy.

I got a nasty valentine's day surprize

It was a big scary trojan horse with worms and virus--iccky! Particularly for a reformed Luddite type . It REALLY sucked, but with 4 different programs and some manual digging around, I've managed to get things back to a workable state. I'm still working out how to get rid of this sodding hijacker program, but I think the firewall will sort out its shennanigans. Bloody hackers! If you want to grow up to be the Joker, at least be as suave as Ceasar Romero, or cool like Jack, or at least invest in the purple suit, for fuck's sake. I recommend a course of hydrotherapy--high pressure ice water colonic irrigation 3 time a day. Or more, maybe. PUFF PUFF PANT PANT.....ok, ok, I know.........grrrrrr..........bastards..............anyway, I have learned to stay recent with protection, and I'll be unsubscribing to most of my yahoo groups--suspected source of e-mail infection. Sorry to vent here, but you know, new to the computer world, not yet blase' about these things.
Thanks to my bloggerific role models for the advice on photos--I'll be taking that on as soon as I'm certain I've sorted this virtual infection out.
Check out "Steal this Blog" for a bit of ranting in a different charcter.
Love to all (who don't create/send nasty surprizes)

a humble request

Could someone please explain to the former Luddite how to upload a photo to the profile page?

We're expanding

I started a second blog-- don't know what came over me--have a peek, it's called "Steal this Blog" and you can link thru my profile or here http://taarzaanssecond.blogspot.com/
Don't forget to check in on Delta and Gatochy. M has offered a valentine for the eye and intellect and some fun caption opportunities. http://gatochy.blogspot.com/

Theraputic non-disclosure: habit, not life sentence

You know, all these years in psychiatric has been a bit like being a spy. Can't talk about work, what you do is confidential--all great for a sense of mystery, but merry hell on the conversation skills. That and the sort of conversations I've found myself in at work haven't been exactly, strictly, fundamentaly--reality based. My world, and please hold the door for me on the way out of it.I'm going to be a massage therapist in just a bit--should be ready to start a practice in June.It's going to be a completely different reality, working wise. That's been the point,really.Ramble, ramble, grumble whenge--anyway, I'm here today to practice my very rusty skills in the self disclosure department. The very thought is making me hyperventilate. Cool! Not much scares me. I'm not bragging or trying to sound badass. I'm whining, really. All these years of front line containing aggressive behavior in others has left me deficient in the sane survival type fear that smart people rely on to keep them out of trouble. I've gotten entrained to move TOWARD the angry threatening person. That's a habit I won't miss. I'm looking forward to becoming the mellowest boring old hippy I ever rolled my eyes at. My current persona has been described as "Jeeves as a bar bouncer". Gets wearing, being so polite and firm, keeping perfect diction in a crisis. Give me a pair of sandals, some herbal tea and call me "moonbeam". My life expectancy is going up. Ok--time for fun facts to know and blackmail Taarzaan with:

1. 1. Taarzaan's first language? Czech!
2. 2. Seriously? Yes!
3. 3. How? Why? You were born on the east coast of Texas--WTF? I started talking way ahead of schedule. The babysitter spent the most time with me at that age. While the family thought I was babbling, I was really trying to talk to them. We still have communication problems.
4. 4. A non-head bashing childhood memory? Our house was on a tarantula migration route. For a week each year our back wall was a spider hostel--they would all settle in around sunset, standing 2-3 deep. Ma kept the blinds drawn.
5. 5.Name a few different professions, you job hopping jack of FA, you. Ok, it's embarassing--I've been working steadily since early adolescence. I've been, in order-- a teacher's aide, an usher, a car hop, a commercial copy writer(radio),a cook, a kitchen manager,a DJ (radio again) a delivery driver, a lab assistant, a landscaper,a nurse's aide, a photographer,a courier, a safe ride provider, a bartender, and a few other very short term or possibly shady things I don't talk about, they were years ago and there are no witnesses and it wasn't me, I was home sick, you can ask me ma.
6. 6. Jeez Louise! What's wrong with you? I get bored. When it's time to go, there's nothing for it but to bugger off. No use pretending otherwise.
7. 7. So, what makes you think THIS new venture is going to be any different? Good question, and a fair one, I'll admit. With the MT gig, I have to take a number of "continuing education units". That means I have to continue to learn things--new modalities--and they will be business expenses. How can I not keep myself happy--FORCED to learn new things--and claiming them as tax deductions? Colour me ready to learn-- best defense against boredom!
   

The Absolute Secret Answer to Everything

Hah! Made you look! Heeheeheeheeheehee...........




Tonight's mood--puckish...........I admit to being a shamefully lazy scholar. Sometimes get little details--names, dates, facts--a bit wrong. So feel free to correct any factual inaccuracies you may find here--you great swot!
Seems to me the "eureka" spot in the brain is awfully close to the "B-b-b-b-b-b!!" bits.
I come by this via direct observation of a small group--psychiatric patients in an unnamed facility, circa 1989--2005, and a story I've long loved. That's where the poor scholarship is most likely to pop up.
A gent I knew from cooperative housing lost his marbles one night from a combination of LSD and math. He was tripping his face off, trying to find the "secret equasion that explains everything". Poor chap seemed on the verge of finding it, when it all went pear shaped. Cost him a bit of time in a place I later ended up in myself--as staff.
Over the course of my days there, I would--from time to time--encounter an individual who reminded me of my old friend--usually male, highly intelligent, left brain dominant types good at math--all mad as fish, all convinced they were verging on discovering a world changing secret.
Ok, so ready for the story? Here goes-- Samuel Taylor Coleridge was loaded on laudenum one night, when he had an epiphany. Suddenly, he understood EVERYTHING. It all came together, it all added up, the secret to the universe was his. He struggled to his writing desk, dipped a pen, scribbled his insight, and fell unconscious on the floor. When he came to the next day, he recalled his experience, and rushed to read what he'd written. "There seems to be a strange odour in the room".