My eyes hurt.

Because the movie My Girl makes me cry. It's a very well done movie. I haven't seen it in a long time, and Paul and I just watched in from our instant Netflix queue.

My brother Matt came to visit yesterday. We had a nice time. Went out for Thai food and played some xbox. Drank tea.

Today, it was freezing at work, so I got my blanket. I've had it there for a few weeks now. I was worried that someone might say something at first, but everyone seemed okay with it, till this morning. My boss came over to me to tell me that my blanket was unprofessional and if I was cold I should wear long johns.

I think they should turn the fucking heat up. But I didn't tell him that. I just smiled and nodded and folded my blanket up. And froze my fucking ass off for the rest of the day. I was really pissed. I'm still pretty pissed about it. I can see where he's coming from--like I said, I was worried about it at first. But the way he went about it wasn't cool. He was smiling in my face and pretending to be nice while actually treating me like shit and saying some pretty mean things. Ugh. Then, later, he wanted me to come to his office to "meet his sister-in-law." That's code for "come give my sister-in-law a massage, bitch," but overlaid with all kinds of fake nice. He always asks me if I have time to do a massage. I feel like it's some sort of test or trap every time he does that. I'm paid to be there to do massage. It's WHY I'M FUCKING THERE. I never don't have time. It's not an inconvenience. It's my fucking job.

While I'm ranting, I want to mention that there's exactly one person that I work with there who treats me like an actual human being. I do appreciate that at least one person does. I'm trying to get to the point where I'm okay with the fact that none of the people I work with are going to become actual friends. It's sort of a relief to stop caring about it--to just treat them like they treat me and not give a fuck what they think.

Also, it pisses me off when people ask if I had training. Of course I had fucking training. There's a fucking diploma on the fucking wall. I have over 1000 hours of training. Some days, I'd like to print out a little list of things for people to read so I don't have to answer the same stupid questions. "Yes, I went to school." "Yes, I can feel how tight your shoulders are." (How could I not?? My sense of touch works. My hands are not numb. Ugh.) "No, you're not the most tense person I've ever worked on." "Actually, most people are pretty stressed." "No, no one has actually fallen asleep in the chair." "Yes, massage is relaxing."

O_o

I know, I know. There's a lot of great things about my job. I'm done at 12:30 (but that good is, I feel, more than balanced out by bad of having to be there at 7:30) and I can sit and read if there's no one to massage. I usually get to watch Ellen. Some of the clients are nice. Sometimes people tip. I'm not quitting anytime soon. But sometimes the place drives me nuts.

Also, note to self--never give out blog info to coworkers. Don't know how the temptation would ever come up, but just in case.