Wednesday, June 30, 2010

what if

I feel like writing a book titled A Decade of Doing It, which would chronicle my ten years of hilarious sexual exploits. Stories to include: The Half-Point, The Hotel Concierge, The Bridesmaid and the Groomsman, The Time I Saw Jesus, and The Boy Who Wanted Waffles. How many people would read it? And would I have to let my dad know about it?


Thursday, June 24, 2010

eLL oh eLL

I don't always open up to people, which is weird, considering I write this blog. People come here to read about my love life, my therapy sessions, my headaches at work, my friendship drama, and things my pets do. Weird how I will share things with strangers, not others.

Well, some of you are strangers. Some of you are not. Some of you I see on a daily basis, some of you a monthly basis. Some of you, only once every few years when I am lucky.

For those who don't know me, one thing I can tell you about myself is this: I love to make people laugh. I like to be the giggle inducer, the snort producer, the guffaw enabler.

And so, I try to do that with my life. Whether the event in my life be happy/sappy/crappy, it's my goal to somehow make you smile with the stories I tell. I like to imagine you LOL'ing whilst you read. It makes my life seem less happy/sappy/crappy.

I'll leave you with this:

Me: Daddy, what do you think 'LOL' means?
Daddy: Lots of Love.
Me: No, it doesn't.
Daddy: Why not? L - O - L , Lots Of Love. Makes sense!
Me: Yeah, but that's not what it means. It means, Laughing Out Loud.
Daddy: Oh. I see.
Me: So, remember that text you sent me about grandma being back in the hospital? That's not really a message you should end with "LOL".
Daddy: No. It isn't. (Pause.) Can I ask you something?
Me: Shoot.
Daddy: What does 'LMAO' mean?
Me: Laughing My Ass Off. Wait - why?
Daddy: I don't think you want to know.


Sunday, June 20, 2010

tales from therapy

Therapist: Thinking is your brain's way of trying to process emotions.

Me: My brain doesn't process. It only replays images in my head over and over again to scrutinize. No actual processing takes place. Just irrational, non-stop analyzing.

Therapist: So I'm guessing you don't use thinking as a relaxation technique.

Me: (Snort. Eye roll.)

Therapist: Well, we need to change your way of thinking.

Me: Good luck. Many Republicans have come before you with similar intent, and failed.

Therapist: I was thinking more along the lines of "emotional observation."

Me: What the fudge is that?

Therapist: Instead of saying, "Why did this person leave me" or "What did I do wrong", you should try just making a simple observation about your feelings.

Me: I feel this is awkward.

Therapist: Ok, now we are getting somewhere. So next time you think, "Why did MLL give up on our relationship", you should stop and say to yourself, "I feel disappointed. I did not see that coming."

Me: Whoa.

Therapist: Yes. If you can just label your emotion from the get-go, you won't drive yourself crazy with the questioning. The questioning leads to over-analyzing, which isn't helpful. Just label it from the start.

Me: I feel speechless.

Therapist: Much better. Except, we've got thirty more minutes, so you might think up something else to discuss.

Me: I feel pressured. I already told you about my ex-boyfriends and my dead mom. What else do you want?

Therapist: (Sigh. Eye Roll.)


Monday, June 7, 2010

guilty pleasure

Everyone has a guilty pleasure. It's not something you let yourself have all the time, but something that's so worth it once you give in.

My list includes cereal with ice cold milk, trashy reality television, adolescent fiction novels and therapy.

Yes, therapy.

What is better than one whole hour of getting to talk about yourself to a stranger who is forced to listen? It's awesum.

Much like today's session:

Therapist: I hear you saying you don't trust men.

Me: Um, obviously. They lie. They have no follow-through. They can't apologize. They are cowards.

Therapist: How did you arrive at these conclusions?

Me: My past. Check your notes, dude, it's all over the place.

Therapist: You need to stop setting expectations for men. Understand that they are wimps when it comes to emotional conflicts. They tend to run away from these responsibilities. You need to give them permission to come forward with their feelings even if it will hurt you.

Me: Did you just tell me to give a man permission to be an asshole?

Therapist: You just told me that them lying to you and doing things behind your back made them assholes. Do you want them to be honest, or be deceitful?

Me: Are those really my only options? (Pause.) This is going to take longer than I thought.


Thursday, June 3, 2010

in which my parents adopt the dog

I took the dog to a town near my parent's house over the long weekend to meet a potential family. They didn't want him. Losers. So, I brought him to my parents house, knowing full well my stepmother has been wanting a dog and my dad, who says he is opposed, will always give her whatever she wants.

By the time I found the dog being fed pretzels while curled up next to my dad on the couch watching a Yankees game, I knew I'd found him a good home.

Welcome to the family, AL.