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?

wg

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.

wg

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.)

wg

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.

wg

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.

in other news

Meet my foster buddy, Mr. Al. The rescue named him that but I've been calling him a variety of names - Mr. Nanners (short for Bananas Foster) and PJ (short for Puck Jr).

He's a great little doggy. He has separation anxiety that destroyed my blinds, but that can be fixed over time. He does great on the leash and loves the cat. He loves people and kids, too. Also, he is an awesome navigator in the car and loves Petsmart. Such a sweetie little hound dog.

Part of me wants to keep him but part of me knows I don't have the time for a dog as a single person. It really limits my social activities and if I don't have a social life, I resort to sitting on the couch watching endless hours of vapid television programming.

I guess I don't need to worry, though, because they think he might have an adoptive family who wants to meet him this weekend! I'll be sad to see him go but it is for the best.

wg

moments like these

I don't like being vulnerable. I actually kind-of hate it. Mostly because I would, in my previous life as a depressed person, make myself so vulnerable to people that they had no option but to hurt me. So basically, I was hurting myself.

I hurt myself again.

You know, MLL and I weren't doing the right thing. We were using each other because we hated being alone. But I had feelings for him and I didn't share them. I was afraid of being in a relationship with him because I've never truly felt that "this is the person I want to be with" feeling from him. Did I feel comfortable? Yes. Excited? Yes. Attracted? Yes. Happy? Yes.

Assured? No.

It was just something I couldn't put my finger on, but the best way to describe it is I didn't feel the need to be with him. If we went a week or two without talking, it didn't bother me. Same for him. We wanted to want each other but we didn't.

And now he is dating someone else and I told him to get out of my life. He can't be my best friend anymore. And that's truly what he's been for the past few months. My friend, my comfort, my rescuer. Emphasis on the "my".

The thought of him with someone else is slowly draining out any spark I had lately. It's like banging my head against a wall when it comes to dating. I still manage to get hurt and rejected when I'm not even dating someone.

I should've seen it coming. Even being close with him but not dating him left me vulnerable. I thought I was doing the right thing by hanging on to him with only one hand instead of two.

But as I sit here, typing, with tears on the brims of my lashes for the eight hundred millionth time, I can't help but admit I am empty, lonely, and utterly exhausted.

wg