Monthly Archives: June 2010

Analyze This Foot Up Your Ass

I went to the new shrink last night. The first thing that I noticed was she was wearing shoes that she could barely walk in. Then when I got to her office, I noticed a huge sign on the wall that said “It’s time for some SOLE searching” with a picture of a giant high-heeled shoe. And then, in the chair: “If the shoe fits, buy it in every color!” was literally embroidered on a pillow.

As I type this, I am barefoot. Clearly she is not my people.

The problem for me regarding a new shrink is, and I hate to sound like an asshole here, they tend to underestimate me and I feel like they’re talking down to me when they try to give me advice.


The first full-time shrink that I tried out last year told me that I was, without a doubt, the most self-realized person she had ever met. I appreciated the compliment, but that’s when I realized that I wouldn’t get anywhere just talking to her about feeling helpless. I had to actually go do something. So I quit seeing her, and put all my energy towards throwing a big ass concert to help my mom.

Therese, the one I liked so much, met me when I was at my most depressed and anxious. She’s the one who pointed me towards the Ten Twisted Forms of Thinking and totally changed my life. She watched me lose 40 pounds. Quit smoking. Handle my dad’s heart surgery. Then one leg. Then the other. She watched me finally turn heartbreak into a positive motivator, and fall in love again. She would say, “I know you can get through this, because I’ve seen you handle worse. And you usually solve the problem yourself just by talking it out. So just come here and vent. Okay?”

So when I say out loud, “I’m not really bothered by the no-legs thing anymore,” she knows that I mean it. That at this point, I’ve got an expert handle on things that would permanently traumatize other people.

This lady? Was immediately convinced I was repressing things with my dad, that it was the root of all my problems. She drew a (I’m sorry, there is no other word and I mean this in its most literal definition) retarded little diagram about visualizing my feelings, something that I learned in 9th grade Intro to Psychology.

“Look,” I told her. “I’m not repressing anything. I get sad about it, and I realize how important it is to allow myself to be sad. I don’t hold it in, even when I’m in public. By this point, all I need is 30 seconds of tears with my back turned to the room. Once it’s out, I feel fine again.”

She pointed out that I didn’t even cry when I witnessed the doctor tell my parents that they had to take the second leg. Um, THAT is repression, she said.

“My family has survived blindness, unemployment, amputated toes, heart surgeries, and by that point, one leg. It sucks for a while, yes. You have to adjust every part of your day. But you get used to it, and within a year, it’s normal again. You take it step by step. But it’s just one more thing to learn and deal with, is all. Sure, I mourned. I cried privately. I got sad, and I let myself be sad. But the last thing they needed to do in that moment was comfort me. And getting hung up and angry and depressed does nothing. It’s jumping into the process that helps.” I left out the part where if she “um”ed at me again, my “sole searching” would involve kicking her in the face.

I have this ongoing fear that Justin will be in a car accident. I told her about this, and mentioned that while it might be related to my dad, it’s really related to two people I know who lost their husbands to car accidents in the last year. She “um”ed that it was obviously related to my dad’s sickness, the unresolved fear of him dying, daddy issues, and my own fear of death.

“UM, I watched my friend cry about losing her husband, and now that I’m in love and I’ve met the person I’m going to marry, I can imagine how it feels and it terrifies me. And I’ve dealt with my dad’s inevitable death. We thought he was going to die on Christmas. We talked to the counselors about end of life decisions. Then one day he was sitting up and joking around again. And I mean, he’s been “dying” my whole life. I’ve had every single day to prepare myself. But that’s not something you can ever fully deal with until it happens, and now that I’ve realized that, I’ve stopped worrying about it. You just have to get yourself to a place where you can be confident that you can handle it. You develop a back-up personality that can whisper in your ear, ‘It will suck, but then you will be fine.’ And you know what? I will miss him, but at least he won’t be in pain anymore, or stuck in his bed, completely helpless. And my mom won’t have to work her life away. And so when I miss him, I know I’ll need to focus on those two things. THAT is how you prepare for death. So when I’m worried about Justin, I don’t picture that stuff. I just picture my friend crying about her husband, and I don’t know how to get rid of that feeling. So, that’s what I need your help with.”

She complimented me on my “techniques” with a chirp, the way I imagine she compliments her girlfriends on their peeptoe pumps. Then she wanted to talk to me about my job. Man, it’s 5 o’clock. I don’t wanna think about work.

I mean, all I want to deal with right now is living with two cranky septuagenarians that have every damn right to be cranky, and learning to relax and just enjoy the first healthy, mature relationship I’ve ever had.

I guess my main problem – and I think this is valid, because while I’m annoyed that people underestimate me, I shouldn’t expect them to know how well-adjusted I am – is that she tried to sum up the source of all my problems and give me advice within 30 minutes of meeting me. And whether she blamed my dad’s disease or my job or a childhood trauma or whatever, it would still be insulting, because that’s not what you’re supposed to do. You’re supposed to listen.

Maybe I should just stick to handling it like a dude. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna throw on some unfashionable thrift-store Reeboks and go talk to my hedge trimmer about this.

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Everybody Look At Me

On Sunday, the movers brought my big desk over to Justin’s. We had to move the couch out of the way so they could get it to the back of the loft.

And then we accidentally discovered the greatest thing in the world for a Lazy Sunday – a Couch Boat!

Everything is better in a Couch Boat.* Eating lunch, sippin lemon-lime ice water, snuggling, playing with Chancey, watching the end of The Wire Season 2 … even the part about Frank was less traumatic, all thanks to the Couch Boat. Dude, I didn’t care about my poofy eye when I was in the Couch Boat! (Still poofy, btw.)

Justin and I have decided to make the Couch Boat a lazy day tradition. A TV tray has already been rescued from the Charity Pile in my basement because it’s the perfect Couch Boat accessory. I have the feeling that when we buy new couches, the deciding factor will be whether or not we can turn them into a Couch Boat. I mean, Couch Boat is a member of our family now. I love you, Couch Boat.

*Every time I read this sentence, it sounds like Charles Barkley at the Cheesecake Factory to me. Girl, that’s a menu.

http://www.hulu.com/embed/CLdokDxaaIGXYypDcyLrrg

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Digging It Out

There’s nothing worse than feeling anxious and deciding to call your shrink, and then learning that she went back to teaching and doesn’t work there anymore.

Well okay – if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my shrink, it’s that there are worse things. But it still sucks. I liked her so much, and one visit every 6 months was all I needed to stay on track. I’ll miss her.

It’s stressful being around my parents every day and seeing exactly what they have to go through all of the time. It’s starting to wear on me a bit (hence, the shrink), but for the most part I’m diving into all of the physical labor and that keeps me sane. I’m handling this like a dude.

I’ve already put in 6 hours of work and I’ve only been there for 2 days. I’m confident that I can do all of this in half of the time that I have. And while I’m sure I could call in a few friends and knock out some of these projects in a day, I feel like it’s important for me to do most of this on my own.

Every since my dad got really sick and I started helping them a lot, people always remark that I’m such a good daughter. But the truth is, I was a really shitty daughter for a very long time. I wasn’t the worst and I was probably a typical teen, but I was sleep deprived, cranky and anxious, and I took that out on them daily. I was also messy and destructive and hung out with creeps. I spent a lot of their money. I got bad grades. I got in trouble a lot and now that I’m an adult, I can see how that reflected poorly on them and caused a lot of embarassment.

So how cool is it that I can go back to their house – not as a failure, but as a favor – and try to rectify that? Clean up the mess I made, one trashcan at a time. Make up for 15 years of crappy yardwork in four months. Put up with their stress and their bad moods and be the patient, forgiving one for once. Do their dishes. Fold their laundry. Run their errands. It doesn’t make me feel like a good daughter, it makes me feel like I’m being the daughter they deserved all along. So for me, the sweat and the bruises and the muscle aches are just a part of it. And I love every second.

However, I’m going to smell a little bit like basement for the next four months. It’s gross. I know. I’m sorry.

Justin wants to go see Toy Story 3 tomorrow night. However, in the next few weeks I’ll be throwing away all of my basement-smelling stuffed animals – plus I am PMSing – and from what I’ve heard about the movie, the combination of the three would make me a suicide risk.

Either way, you’ll probably be hearing more about my stuffed animals soon. Ugh. I take back what I said about the shrink; this part is the worst. I should probably get it over with sooner than later.

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Filed under Sam I Am

Home Semi-Sweet Home

So yesterday I moved and then weeded the entire side of the garage in 95° heat; what did you do? It’s the first day of summer and my first full day back home. The Summer of Obligational Love has officially begun.
~~~*~~~

Saturday night, Justin came over after his Frontyard gig. It was around midnight and I had just finished off a few beers and an entertainment center*. We had both skipped dinner and were exhausted, so we decided to order Elicia’s pizza and eat it outside.

It took a few slices before we realized that this was almost exactly what we were doing when he asked me to be his girlfriend – we had taken a break from painting my room to eat some Elicia’s in the backyard. Also, we realized it was 11 months since we watched The Room and he asked me on a date. So it felt like a very appropriate way to end my South City adventure.

~~~*~~~

My dad wanted a radio for Father’s Day and I visited four stores trying to find one. Finally, Justin suggested the Radio Shack next to my house, duh. However, even Radio Shack is running out of radios; they only had one model that included speakers, an AC adapter and an earphone jack. AAANNNDDD it cost me $80 (on sale from $99). It’s a super dope Shortwave radio and my dad is worth it, but still. I was expecting them to cost $10 at this point, not be nearly extinct.

I was so taken aback that I went to the store to buy an angry beer and a King of the Hill. As I huffed past the rack full of gift cards, I bumped into it and caused gift cards to sploosh everywhere. This was the same day that my giant umbrella turned inside out and I had to shove the whole thing in my car during a midwest hurricane. Not my finest moment.

~~~*~~~

Not going to lie, moving back in with my parents is 75% awesome. (The other 25% belongs to my mother, who acts incredulous about absolutely everything I do. Everything.) There’s something so weird about living in the exact room where I spent high school and college, with half of the same furniture. My basement pad is so huge and cool and cozy. If there was a working toilet in the basement, I might consider staying forever.

I picked a great month for No Facebook; my parents’ computer is upstairs and, combined with the fact that I was never on Facebook when I lived at home last time, I’ve reverted back to whatever entertained me back then and I no longer have that constant itch to go online. My entertainment consists of a few books and my DVDs. Currently I’m re-watching Freaks and Geeks, though I’m debating making July TV-Free.

*The entries I linked to will probably be better when blog-city fixes whatever broke my pictures (it took about a week to fix last time around).

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Filed under Sam I Am, The Year Without

All I Need

Okay, Pepe le Pepper.

Let’s do this.

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Almost Done!

Oh, just drunk and kicking apart this gigantic furniture; whatchoo doin tonight?

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Jealous

Janet texted me and said that Tommy Wiseau called her beautiful and held her hands.(!!!)

Extremely happy for Janet, but a little 😦 . And fed up with thees worrruuullld.

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Filed under Almost Famous