me vs. therapy

'working for angry boss is somewhat akin to dating the alcoholic.’

‘how do you mean?’

‘well, angry boss is crazy but has this magic sorcerer-like ability to make me think that i’m crazy.’

‘explain.’

‘hmm, ok….the other afternoon, i get this email saying “angela, you never responded to my email from this morning, what is the status of such and such and why haven’t you responded!!!”.’

‘three exclamation points huh?’

‘i know. that’s oh shit territory right there.’

‘yes, it is. go on…’

‘well, i start getting heart palpitations because i’ve missed a morning email from angry boss and now i’ve let angry boss down and shit hurry up and read it and get back to angry boss and apologize profusely and should i buy angry boss a card and a stuffed teddy bear with a note that expresses how sorry i am that I failed…’

Therapist looks over at satan, rolls eyes. Looks back, says; ‘continue…’

‘so i frantically search through my inbox…nothing. then search through my junk box. nothing. my outbox. nothing. my shit-i-must-keep-to-cover-my-own-ass box. nothing. finally, i try the deleted folder…’

‘to which i’m sure you found nothing?’

‘right. so now i’m all in a tizzy because angry boss must have sent that email this morning because angry boss said angry boss sent that email this morning and why would angry boss say that if angry boss hadn’t and where the hell did my outlook stick it and why does my outlook hate me and oh my god now i’m going to get canned because i can’t even check email the right way and is that the mexican from last night coming up my esophagus?’.

Satan farts. Lights match.

Therapist says; ‘i think you get a little too worked up about some things that probably aren’t that life altering.’

‘you’ve known me for four years.’

‘yes.’

‘that is my normal.’

‘yes, but we’re working on making it your abnormal.’

‘well, that’s not working too well since i almost had a stroke over not responding to my angry bosses email that i never even actually got.’

‘yes, i’m interested in the outcome of that.’

‘angry boss never sent it to me. i got blamed for not answering an email i never got.’

‘tough life.’

‘yes. exactly like dating the alcoholic.’

‘or working for anna wintour.’

‘yeah, except wintour has loads more style.’

‘than the ex?’

‘no. than my angry boss. well, and the ex.’

‘how is the alcoholic ex?’

‘non-ex istant.’

‘incredible use of the letters ex.’

Flash smile, say; ‘there’s no interest in the alcoholic donkey now.’

Therapist says; ‘so the new donkey is working out then?’

‘she’s not a donkey, she’s a surf clam.’

Therapist stares.

Stare back.

Therapist says; ‘we’re moving away from farm animals now?’

‘yep. i figure now that i’m on the eastern seaboard which is situated so closely to the ocean that i should shed my farm roots and take on a seafaring kind of thing.’

‘it’s your party.’

‘so what should i do about my angry boss?’

‘as far as what, your obvious miscommunications and opposite business styles?’

‘yes.’

‘well, i would try and work on better understanding how angry boss conveys information and adjusting accordingly…..or winning the lottery.’

‘oh! i like the second choice!’

‘of course you do.’

‘but angry boss is crazy. how am i supposed to understand a crazy person?’

‘how did you manage dating one for six years?’

‘i ate a lot.’

‘how’d that work out for you?’

‘i got fat.’

‘that tends to happen when you eat a lot.’

‘and i drove angry.’

‘as opposed to now?’

‘now…i have a hybrid. crazy driving isn’t an option.’

‘you sold the loud red thing did you?’

‘yes, its time had come.’

‘how’s the new car?’

‘it’s ok, but i’m a little miffed that it tells me to put on my seat belt and when i should shift and it turns my lights on for me even if i don’t want them on and when i’m done driving it draws little flowers on the screen to tell me how fucking green i was.’

‘how green are you.’

‘i’m red, mostly.’

‘no surprise there.’

‘right?!’

‘our time is up. it’s been a pleasure.’

‘yeah, thanks for your advice, what little you did actually dispense.’

‘you’re welcome. keep smiling. the new you is quite a pleasure to have around.’

‘thank the surf clam.’

'so your screenname is porkchopzz and you're wondering aloud to me why no girls are emailing you?'

'yes.'

'hmm...'

'what? do you think it's because of the name?'

'perhaps not completely. what's the gist of your personality on this dating site?'

'i'm going for the funny asshole approach.'

'well, then that would explain it right there.'

'what...girls like funny.'

'yes, they do.'

'so....'

'so, they also like not-assholes.'

'yeah, i kinda wondered if that would put a damper on my chances.'

'yeah, i think it kinda has. maybe you should try being more of yourself and less of the stage angela.'

'maybe. but, that's not fun to write.'

'or, it's not fun to be completely yourself because when girls still don't email you can't hide behind the it's-because-i-acted-like-a-funny-asshole bit.'

'or, it's not fun to be completely myself because i like video games, washing cars, putting together legos and reading harry potter and girls...on average, don't.'

'well, then you aren't being yourself for the sake of finding someone and that in turn will lead you directly to failure.'

'now you're implying that being single is a failure.'

'that's not what i said.'

'yes, you did.'

'what i said was you won't find any kind of real relationship if you're not yourself from day 1.'

'what if i'm a shadow of my real self?'

'i'm not playing this game with you.'

'please?'

'no. you're deflecting and it's a waste of our time.'

'at least i'm being my real self.'

'you have a point.'

'does it make you like me more when i'm real?'

'i'm an observer. liking you is not a part of that role.'

'can we write it in the script?'

'angela.'

'ok. so, i'll adjust my profile to be more reflective of who i really am.'

'that sounds like a good start.'

'what if i just delete my profile all together?'

'that's your choice, but why would you choose to do that?'

'because the only visitors i seem to get are men.'

'is that right?'

'yes. well, and one cock-eyed girl from maine.'

'maine is a bit far.'

'yeah. that's what i thought too. they have good lobster though....'

'ok, well this has been delightful for me but our time is up.'

'dang it.'

'yes...dang.'

'i have a quick question.'

'go ahead.'

'if you're not yourself to new people for years, how do you learn to be yourself to new people again?'

'whatever you're going to say to be funny or witty or cleaver....don't.'

'really..it's that easy?'

'no. you'll suffer. but, i know you can do it.'

'awww, that's nice.'

'i like to be my real self now and again.'

'leading by example. awesome.'

'bye angela.'

'bye therapist.'

'so angela, how have you been?'

'i've been fucking hot.'

'umm, yes. it's quite warm out there as of late.'

'warm? it's not warm. it's a fucking jungle. there's fucking jaguars and macaws outside my bedroom window. the only fucking thing missing is tarzan and a fucking monkey.'

'uh-huh..so, you don't really enjoy summer?'

'oh no, i like the summer alright. but if i wanted to live in a fucking sauna, i'd move to fucking florida and plant a fucking palm tree next to my fucking alligator pond.'

'right.'

'right...what?'

'nothing, just listening to your tangent.'

'are you going to write something in your notebook?'

'if i wanted to write something about extreme temperatures triggering anger outbursts then i'd be writing while you're having one.'

'what about my repeated use of the word "fuck".'

'common coping mechanism when an individual has heat induced brain damage.'

'you're a fucking riot.'

'yes, i fucking am. ok, well besides whining about the heat what else can we discuss today?'

'i don't know. you think of something for a change.'

'ok, well why don't we touch on your non-existant dating life, that's always interesting.'

'how is it interesting if it's non-existant?'

'seeing you struggle is interesting, not the stories themselves.'

'oh. right. well, i haven't been dating.'

'is that right...i'm shocked.'

'....women.'

'ummm, bored again. great. go on....'

'i've met some dudes. dudes like me.'

'yes, you have a nice sense of humor to go along with your fake chest.'

'they like me for my mind.'

'sure they do. continue.'

'so anyway, the dates are fine but there's no spark.'

'that's quite surprising to me.'

'no it's not and quit looking at me like you're surprised because i know your condesending fake surprised look and you're doing it right now.'

'that was a big sentence.'

'it didn't have any commas in it either.'

'you never were very good with punctuation.'

'nor spelling.'

'nor men.'

'nor women.'

'wow...we could go on all day with things you're not good at.'

'we could, but that would cost me a lot of money and it might deflate my ego.'

'fat chance. hey...what's that on your arm?'

Look over at satan, satan coughs...looks the other way.

Look back at therapist, roll up sleeve. say; 'ummm, well that's my first tattoo.'

'it appears to be coordinates....'

'yes.'

'i don't have to ask where, i'm sure.'

'well, after all the time we've spent together, i should hope not.'

'very nice. for a tattoo.'

'do you have any tattoos?'

'yes.'

Stare at therapist.

Therapist stares back.

Look over at satan.

Satan stares back.

Look back at therapist, say: 'well?'

'it wouldn't be appropriate to share them with you.'

'is one of them my name?'

'no.'

'fuck.'

'nope. not that either.'

Smile.

Therapist smiles.

Say; 'thanks for making me smile.'

'you're welcome, now go home and sit next to the air conditioning and quit saying fuck so much. okay?'

'fuck yeah!'

'it's been quite some time since your last visit'.

'you sound like my gynocologist.'

'really?'

'no. she would actually say "angela, you were just here last week, go home, you're not scheduled".'

'oh, that's right, you like your gynocologist.'

'only because she's a captive audience for my stories.'

'kind of like me...'

'and she's sparklie.'

'kind of like me.'

'and she's hot.'

'kind of like me...'

Look over at Satan. Satan raises brow, shrugs.

Look back at therapist, say; 'we guess so.'

'uh-huh. so, how have you been, what with all the changes that have happened lately?'

'well, my new pad is pretty rockin'.'

'rocking is good.'

'no...not rocking...rockin', with the thingie replacing the g so it sounds hipper.'

'you're 36.'

'yeah.'

'36 is about 6 years past hip.'

'hey, i wear ed hardy belts and aeropastole stuff.'

'that doesn't make you hip it makes you a poser of hip. besides the fact that ed hardy isn't even hip.'

'i don't like the direction of this inquiry.'

'you just used inquiry inproperly.'

'can you quit riding me please?'

'like riding or ridin'. ?

'that's not funny.'

'yes, it kinda' is.'

'quit it.'

'i'm sorry, you're right. i'll stop playin' with you.'

Look off camera.

Blink.

Look back at therapist, say; 'and the job is going ok.'

'describe ok.'

'i dress up. my heels click on the marble. it sounds fancy. i have a great view. most of the day i shuffle papers. sometimes i type something or other. then i go home.'

'that was the most passionless breakdown of a workday i've ever heard.'

'worse than the garbage guy?'

'yes.'

'wow....so it's time to start that lawn mowing business?'

'are you serious or are you joking?'

'i'm serious. in fact, i've given it quite a lot of thought through the years. i think it should be a topless women lawnmowing service.

'errrr....'

'no, no...don't judge. just picture this...jingle and a jangle lawn care!'

'ummm....'

'can you imagine the price we could charge? espiecially if we put the size DD girl on the weed wacker.'

'how's your parents?'

'you don't like the idea?'

'no.'

'so...you wouldn't hire my company?'

'i think my feminst movement card would be revoked.'

'hmmm...could i put business cards in your entryway?'

'angela.'

'yes.'

'no.'

'ok.'

Stare.

Therapist stares back.

Stare.

Therapist stares back.

Say; 'it's time to go huh?'

'yes it is.'

'see ya next time.'

'goodbye.'