I’m transferring all of my old posts from my new blog over here to my original blog. One new post a day.
The following was written October 17, 2012
I had to move my blog to get away from the Angry Mob of Melanie Haters, so here I am at therapistmonkey. And I assure you that it’s pronounced The Rapist Monkey. And not Therapist Monkey. Although, I am a licensed professional therapist of applying lotion to people’s backsides. But still, The Rapist Monkey has more zing.
I’m waiting for my first victim of the day to arrive.
This is day 39 of Groupon and I did the math last night. It took me an hour to figure out. I need to give 606 massages in the next 142 days. So far I did 135, leaving me with 471 to go. That’s not including my full-priced paying clients who are also scheduling appointments.
So, I’m screwed. At least it’s not the 800 massages I originally thought, but 606 is still too many.
Can I do it?
I woke up with an aching back today. Never in my life have I ever woken up with an aching anything. It’s from not having a desk in here. I’m hunched over my laptop typing this shit.
It’s so weird writing in my blog and not getting any hits. I keep looking up at my stat counter and seeing that I’ve gotten 4 per hour in the last 48 hours. It’s lonesome here by myself.
Starting over sucks. Damn those no good Angry Mob Melanie Haters! Don’t they have anything better to do than sit around and powwow over my latest entries?
L – “Melanie wrote shit about me for having loud sex with her ex-boyfriend while she was in the next room? That bitch! I’m a mother and a professional! She shouldn’t write at the expense of others.”
L – “Thanks for telling me about what she wrote, you’re a true friend.”
H – “And you also.”
(Taken from my imaginary conversation they had about me.)
People are crazy – crazy! Not only are they crazy, but delusional and complete idiots.
Anyway on a lighter note, my mother cooked up some awesome fish stew yesterday. I came home from work and her and my dad were both hard at work preparing the stew in the kitchen. My Dad proclaimed proudly that he caught the huge shark/fish himself. He says it’s a shark.
Mom – “Look what we’re making! You’re going to love it!”
Me – “Am I? What is it?”
Mom – “It’s healthy. It’s shark.”
Me – “Shark? Really?”
Mom – “It’s almost done. You can eat shark raw can’t you?”
Me – “Sure.”
Dad – “I don’t know…”
I went over to the stairway to check my mail.
Mom – “Okay it’s done.”
So I helped myself to two heaping helpings of semi raw shark meat. I eat sushi all the time, I have a stomach of steel, but 20 minutes later I had to run to the bathroom. I felt it coming on before hand.
Me – “Oh no, this doesn’t feel like it’s going to be pretty. Oh no. Oh Geez.”
And when I got up this morning, after eating breakfast, the same thing happened.
Me – “Oh no, oh God. Again? Why? I ate eggs! EGGS!”
I’m not placing the blame on the shark. Rumor has it that it takes a full 24 hours to experience symptoms of food poisoning (according to the book Waiter Rant), so I don’t know….
And guess what I’m going to do when I get home tonight? Eat the rest of the shark stew. You know it baby. Hey, I have to eat stuff high in microbes and bacteria in order to toughen my immunity when I visit foreign lands. Amy eats only plain, well cooked simple foods and she nearly died from vomiting in Nepal.
Speaking of Amy, her and Dave had it out the other day. She lost her temper and started calling him names outside on the patio at some bar.
Me – “Okay Amy come on, let’s go.”
I said it in a happy way, like talking to a pet.
Amy – “You’re a fucking loser Dave that’s what you are. A FUCKING LOSER!”
Me – “Hey Amy, come on get in. Let’s get out of here.”
As I open my car door.
It was a scene. An awkward scene. But the girl cares about me no doubt. If my brother were there, he would’ve applauded her. The little girl’s got spunk.
She was upset that Dave told her to wait inside while him and I had a private conversation outside. She was there alone.
Me – “What do I do Amy? If you were me, what would you do?”
Amy – “I don’t know. I’m not you. Do whatever you want.”
I asked over and over repeatedly asking her what I should do. I didn’t want to leave her in there alone. Finally I said,
Me – “Okay, give me five minutes. I’ll only be gone for 5 minutes.”
I held up my hand holding out five digits and gave her a smile.
Me – “I’ll even leave my beer here.”
Dave wanted to speak to me about my blog. That’s when I first learned he read it. I felt guilty for hurting him, but he said he’ll still be my friend.
But afterword, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I didn’t care if he forgave me or not. Amy got in my head and everything she says is true about him.
Dave is a scumbag. A dirty, dirty scumbag. And I love him still goddammit.
Dave – “Katie may have her problems, but she has a good heart.”
In reference to an emotionally troubled woman he bangs on the side.
I’m certainly not going to miss L, or any of the others. It’s only Dave I will miss. He’s just so freaking fun and nonjudgmental. He’s nonjudgmental because his standards are so low! And my brain doesn’t have to work that hard when I’m with him.
But I really don’t need any of the other assholes. It’s like I had a breakthrough.
That’s why this happened to me. It had to happen. Bad people are weighted energy holding me down. It’s no wonder I’ve been immobile for this long. They kept me there in that low place of reality tv and doing nothing. Not being creative, imaginative or curious about anything. They owned me and they knew it. Constantly grabbing at me, then pushing me away. Having their fun. Taking everything out on me.
Everything has a turning point. A point of no looking back, having no return. It can either crush a person or evolve them. I’m picking the high road and evolving. Well, first it crushed me, but there’s a turning point to that as well.
I have one follower. She was a follower of my old blog, so I’m a little confused on how she found me again. I want this blog buried in with all the others. How did she find me again so quickly? I hope it’s not as easy for the Angry Mob of Melanie Haters.