Drink and drive!!!!!??"
"Just pull yourself together and meet me in the car."
All the sarcasm and irreverence without the irritation of having to actually talk to me.
According to my therapist, I am just fine. But I completely disagree and work very hard convincing him otherwise.
"I don't know why you keep coming back, we really don't have much to talk about."
“You haven't met my mother. Trust me, I'm fucked."
Each session starts out the same: he asks me how my week has been, and I tell him I have a HUGE dilemma on my hands. The most recent: my bitch neighbor and how she judges me for my overweight dog. Corgis have portion control problems. So do I; we enable each other. In return for my nosy neighbor’s cunty behavior, I've spread the rumor that she's a serial killer and could the neighborhood watch group please patrol her side of the block more diligently.
"Is it normal that I feel this amount of anger towards her?"
"I'm not here to tell you what's normal and what's not normal."
"Well what the fuck good are you then!!!?"
He proceeds with some psycho babble bullshit as I lay on his couch popping skittles. He is very jolly, with thinning blond hair and always smells a little bit like a burrito. He falls out of character often; throwing his head back in laughter as he holds his belly. He has, I am certain, some of the best laughs of his life -buckled over, writhing in hysterics at my sad expense. I then watch as he attempts to collect himself and put his listening face back together.
During one of our first meetings we were obligated to have one of those conversations I'm sure psychologists role-play in Grad School when we realized we'd attended the same university, frequent the same dive bars, and have a few friends in common.
"I think we should talk about what would happen if we ever ran into one another outside of our sessions; I will take queues from you and respect your confidentiality first and foremost"
"Oh I can't wait for you to meet my friends!!!!"
He puts up with me but has asked politely that I stop Facebook friend requesting him. He has recommended countless other professionals that he's sure I would like, but I keep insisting I just couldn't bare having to start all over with someone new, that I'd miss him desperately and why are you trying to get rid of me you know I have abandonment issues. I get great satisfaction from the very obvious inequality in our likeness for one another: I adore him. He, professionally loathes me. I fantasize about the after-session unwinding he does while he struggles to document our session notes: She refuses to listen and I believe has a strong inclination towards delusions of grandeur.Her stories are very unsettling. She has beautiful hair.
He’ll be really excited next week when share that I’m in love with him. I have my outfit all picked out. The sweat will spill from his round little face and I will get to watch as he adjusts and re-adjusts in his doctor chair trying to quickly pull from his mental health archives how to deal with this crazy bitch. All while keeping a face of non-judgment.
I ran this little idea past Beth, my best friend and social worker.
"Erin, please don't do that. It's a really bad idea, and borders on unethical."
I laughed a lot. She did not.
I sit up to refill on skittles: "What did you and your wife do this weekend?"
"Erin you know these questions make me uncomfortable, let’s talk about you instead. Tell me about your weekend."
"Well, I had another dream about you..."
There was a story featured on the news last week about an Oregon woman’s recent trip to the oral surgeon. She went in for a standard procedure, received general anesthesia and woke up with a very heavy, very foreign Scottish accent.
Her husband was quoted saying he’s having a hard time understanding his wife of thirty years, and that the last few weeks have been “very difficult”.
I pressed pause, shouted to Exchange Student that there was an emergency and could he please come right away; rewound and played the segment back for him.
“What a load of COCK!” he shouted. Only he was referring to the husband’s inability to understand his wife’s accent, NOT that this woman went to sleep sounding like an American and woke up sounding like Shrek.
I know exactly what that husband is going through. I can’t understand a damn word Exchange Student says. Never have. We’ve been married two years and it’s only getting worse.
"Don’t be ridiculous Erin, you can understand me just fine, stop exploiting me!”
“Come again?”
With a foreigner for a husband and no translator in house, you have a recipe for lots of misunderstandings: Directions, voicemails, marriage proposals….
How about when he orders out for Chinese? These are LITERALLY the greatest moments of my life. He is in a pure state of frustration, close to tears, as he attempts over and over to order General Tso chicken and some dumplings. I put it on speaker phone so I can laugh hands-free. Only after three tried and failed attempts will I put him.. and Dong, out of their mutual misery.Never mind eating in, dinners out are an extra treat:
“Can you behave yourself tonight, ‘cause I’m not in the mood for that shit you pull.”
“What?”
Obligatory eye roll. Which I love. And it’s a good thing, ‘cause I get it a lot. He then buckles down for a long night of what he assumes will consist primarily of me forcing him to do all sorts of things he doesn’t want to. He’s bracing himself... annoyed IN ADVANCE. “Calm down Paddy, I’m not feeling that annoying tonight anyway.”
Strike one: I’m talking to the table next to me. He quickly realizes I've made instant besties with my fellow food snobs and he will now be required to participate otherwise risk looking like a mail order husband. Begrudgingly, he joins the conversation giving me the "I fucking knew it" look.
Don’t feel bad for him. He knew exactly what he was getting into. His cold, dark Irish charm is only endearing until about date #3. From there it loses out big time to obnoxious, louder, funnier, super slut Yank.
While I'm now eating off my new friend’s plate, he has in a matter of moments, become the most popular patron in the restaurant. Our new friends are planning the next couples sleep over and the restaurant owner is giving him a handy while spoon feeding him mashed potatoes. And for the rest of the evening I watch from the corner as the crowd, sitting cross-legged at his feet, listens to Exchange Student a he sips Guinness and tells tales from the old country.
I've lived in Minnesota almost my entire life; I have four and half friends. The half includes my financial adviser who gets paid to talk to me.
“This is horseshit! I’ll be at the strip club."
Let’s get this part over with – The Royal Wedding was fine. Just fine. Nothing more and nothing less. Kate, I think you're probably pretty great, but you’re definitely not spicy enough for me.
Pippa seems more likely to take body shots. But you and your thinning prince will make a lovely couple and have babies hanging out of you in no time. That’s really all the time I want to spend on it. You're beautiful and well behaved; therefore you give me nothing to talk about. Done.
While the rest of the world was wondering what the fuck Princess Beatrice was wearing on her head, Donald Trump was taking a nap. As he should be. Being a moron is exhausting.
Donny, it's so cute to watch you play dress up and compete for a presidential nomination.And you know what? Every other badly qualified candidate is very grateful. Thanks for making at least one choice in our upcoming campaign season super duper easy.
Also, are you mad that Osama took your spot light? Will you be demanding to see his birth certificate? I hope so. Do it, come on! It's so fun.
How many news anchors this week do you think mistaken Obama for Osama?I'm guessing a lot. Pay attention people!!! They're both dark so I know it gets confusing.
With all the pics of Osama flooding the airwaves lately, I had to wonder what this man did for his skin? It was perfect, flawless! He was also in really incredible shape, so lean. Pilates must have kept him fit. That and murder.
In other news: Minnesota has received national attention twice this week. America's Next Best Restaurant’s winner Soul Daddy is now open in the Mall of America. Sort of uneventful. And since I haven't been to the mall since 2009, it doesn't matter to me.
But the most noteworthy appearance was that of local musician Tim Mahoney on The Voice, as one my readers accurately predicted last week.
Tim your face is so much rounder than I remember. Is that from the prescribed penicillin you're taking? For the.. ..oh, this embarrassing... for the herpes you've Napalm-ed all over the Twin Cities? I can't say that? Cause he's a hometown hero? Welp.
I remember you were hotpants in college. Who DIDN'T spend their exam week at Spring Jam drinking their way to the Sally’s stage? Every skank in waiting did. Any chance to catch the eye of Tim. Oh sad Mid-westerners, with our made up rock stars. What did I think? I'd seduce him with my irresistible tuna hotdish?
mm. I'll let you sit with that one for a sec...
Last thoughts.
Cameron Diaz. Could you stop being famous for twenty minutes? Thanks. Your such a shitty actress it actually hurts my feelings.
She was quoted in the British Independent this week stating she does not believe in the institution of marriage. I wish single people could come up with a better excuse for bringing their landlord to Red Carpet events.
And finally, freebie of the day:
Angelina Jolie is rumored to be producing a new movie about the life of Winston Churchill in which she will: Play. Winston. Herself. Okay GOOD! The sooner you can end your career and get back home the better. You have ninety kids who've never met you before.