Why do I need a therapist?

OK, if you’re a regular reader of this blog chances are I don’t need to answer this question. In fact, you may have written me a lovely and thoughtful note suggesting I seek help in the past (yes, I’ve gotten those). To them I say, “You’re the one who needs help, only a crazy person would suggest that someone they don’t know should seek therapy. Which is why it is clear that YOU are the one who should be seeking therapy.”

Anyhow, I’m in the market for a therapist. Yes, every once in a while I like to sit on some random stranger’s couch and tell them about my childhood, my fears of failure, and my anxiety.

Sadly, most random strangers don’t want to hear that shit, plus they wonder how I got into their home, and why I keep begging them to take notes on what I’m saying. “This shit is important, that’s why. Now where are you’re degrees, I need to make sure you went to a reputable college.”

It appears the only people that are willing to listen to me talk ad nauseam about parenting anxiousness, and my OCD are licensed therapists who require payment, oh and you guys (my readers) who so far haven’t asked for reimbursement (thank you).

I think one of the main indicators I need therapy is how hard it is for me to find a therapist in the first place. There is a myriad of reasons I don’t want to see any of the people I’ve found.

1. Availability. There’s a rule which states that If you are available to see us, we have no interest in seeing you. Fine, I made the rule up, but I think we all can agree that it’s derived from sound logic. Look, I’ve been given multiple names of “great” therapists, but they’re all booked. Which is clearly a sign that they must be great. Like shoes, which aren’t great until someone else picks them up and wants to buy them. So now I’m on the second round of referrals, but the problem with these people is, they seem to be incredibly flexible (in terms of scheduling, I don’t know if they’re flexible in other ways, though I intend on asking during the phone interview).  Sadly, their being able to see me is a huge indicator that they’re not the caliber of therapist I need. Therefore they are OFF my list!
2. Everyone’s a hypnotist. I have an aversion to anyone who practices hypnosis (which many do these days). Look, I get it you can make me quit some horrible habit (and let’s be honest, I have plenty bad habits). Maybe you can do some regression into my childhood to see why I blame my lack of ambition on so and so or my terrifying fear of forks touching spoons on such and such, but mostly I’m pretty certain your going to use hypnotic suggestions to hornswoggle me into getting you Starbucks on the way to my appointments. And if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: “I will not be hornswoggled,” and frankly, I don’t have time to run Starbucks to your office in the morning, so you are OFF my list!
3. I know what you did last summer!!! Don’t think I didn’t look you up on Facebook and Instagram and now my retinas have been seared by visions of you and your very graying chest hair, tanning on the beach with the fam in a Speedo. A freakin’ Speedo! Did you ever think to make your FB pics private? Did you have to make that one your cover? See once I’ve seen you in a Speedo or some other too personal pic, I can never UN-see it. You are OFF my list!
4. You live too close. If I tell you about the irrational illogical fears I have and the horrific images I see when I should be happily enjoying myself at say, a beach or something, I don’t want to see you at my grocery store in the produce aisle so you can look at me as if I might be afraid of the grapes (especially considering grapes are creepy and evil and everyone knows that). So, you are OFF my list!
5. You work too far. I’m sorry, but I rarely travel beyond a 15 mile radius of my home (and that’s generous). I only have so many hours, nay minutes, before the kids get back from school and every one of them is precious (the minute, I mean), which is why I can’t spend them in a car getting to you and coming from seeing you.  That is “do work at the office” (AKA anywhere there’s WiFi) time — dry cleaning, car washing, exercising, laundry doing, manicure getting, cleaning up after animals, WWF playing, Facebook stalking… time, and it is priceless. I don’t care if you went to Harvard and cured the President of a fear of speaking in public, you must work close or you’re OFF the list!

And so, after weeks of searching I have found no one to therapize me. Which sucks because I’m really off my rocker. That said, it’s not my fault, there just isn’t anyone to choose from.

Yesterday, my bestie texted to alert me that I should stop by because there was a hot guy in her yard.  Like he was some majestic animal that had just wandered in, and I should see the glory of nature. I imagined him grazing … and flexing (there was lots of flexing).

What is it about being married over a decade that makes seeing a hot guy something worth notifying others about?

Susan: No, he’s here fixing a leak in the pool with another guy, who may or may not be hot, can’t tell.

Me: Ooh, one for each. (Yes, that was the first thing I thought because I’m sick! Also, the last time someone called me to come check out a hot guy, I was probably going through puberty and it was important to make sure their were enough hotties to do around).

Susan: Will you just come by?

Me: You’re leaving at 3 and I can’t be “hot guy” presentable before that.

(Yes, we mature women know what hot guy presentable is… it’s cute enough that you’ll got looked at like a MILF rather than a Ma’am.)

Susan: Listen, my hair air-dryed today, so I’m already at a disadvantage. I knew I shouldn’t have rushed out to get groceries so my family could eat this week. — Do you think it would be weird if I went and blew it out?

Me: No that would be totally normal, you should walk back out in short shorts, full makeup and a blow-out. This is like when Claire changed into skinny jeans and a low cut top while waiting for the hot Firemen to arrive as Phil writhed in pain.

Susan: That wouldn’t be beneath me.

Me: Please, I called the fire department last month because I felt a hot spot in my wall. Don’t think I wasn’t wearing lip-gloss and workout gear when they arrived.

Susan: Am I setting an odd example for my children by taking pictures of these men through the window?

Me: Tell them you’re documenting their progress … that makes you a vigilant consumer.

Susan: Can I bring them lemonade?

Me: Sure, you’re just being a thoughtful homeowner.

Then Susan sent pics of the two hotties and after I berated her for not getting better shots we texted stuff that would rival a couple of over-sexed (under-sexed) teens in Porky’s I, II, even Porky’s Revenge.

Shameful things that gave us too big of a chuckle. Things about springing leaks and plugging them … I think you get the picture.

HOLY SHIT!!! We’re either cliche bored housewives or 14 year old boys.  Frankly, I’m beginning to think they’re the same thing.  I mean, both use sexual innuendo in text and would be willing to take time out of the day just to stare at hotties and would say things that make a highschool girl blush. Well, a highschool girl in my day, that is.

Fuck, tomorrow I’m totally pretending to be sick before gym class!

Now, let’s analyze ladies.  1. I need to see the eyes!!! 2. Odd position for the second guy, but notice the lack of plumbers crack? 3. Why are their shirts on? 4.  Why are their pants on???

If our men only knew that our convos could put theirs to shame!

Related Posts (All in good fun, K?):

20 Things Women Would Do For Their Besties

I May Be Going Steady With the Pool Boy

Yesterday, as I dropped the carpool off at Susan’s house, she ran to the car in a flurry (and trust me, Susan doesn’t usually flurry).

Me:  What’s up, did I run over your dog?

Susan all air traffic control arms swinging.

Susan: You have to look at something.

Now the last time she said that all arm swingy it was to watch ducks having non-consensual sex (and I’m not kidding about that, it’s one of my favorite pieces).

Me: No duck sex!

Susan: What? No, it’s not even mating season, duh! You have to look at my eyes, holy shit they don’t match! Stare at them and tell me what is different.

So I stared at them like I was looking at a Highlights magazine and found the differences between the two. Continue reading →

After seeing this pic of the night, I’m thinkin’ she’s a wise wise 8 year old!

I was getting ready to go out for my birthday, a night I think we can all agree warrants a little more bling than the other 364 days of the year, when my 8-year-old daughter walked into my closet.

“Mommy, you look snazzy!”

“Snazzy, huh? That’s a good word. I feel snazzy.”

G-d, that kid is cute, I thought to myself, as I slipped on my snazzy stilettos.

“Yeah, Mom, you look like a hooker!”

Here’s where you should insert the sound effect of a record being scratched to a halt, in the middle of a beautiful ballad.

“I’m sorry, what?” Continue reading →

I recently flew an airline with “open seating.” Which basically means you get an assigned boarding number (like at a deli counter), and you must fend for yourself and your family from there.

As I walked the aisle, I quickly assessed my potential row-mates. Had they recently showered? Would they take initiative in an emergency? Are they so young that they’re in diapers? Are they so old that I may need to resuscitate them during the flight? These are important observations, and because there’s not enough time for a formal interview, they need to be assessed on the fly (pun intended).

When I finally picked my seat, the look on my new neighbor’s face was one of total disdain. What I wanted to say was, “Look at me lady, it could be worse — the woman behind me has a colicky infant and the guy behind her has something that sounds like the plague!” You did OK here.

As a nervous flyer, I’m easily annoyed about things that happen on planes (clearly). So I thought I’d “air” some of my grievances about flying.

1. Flight attendants who are too calm. There’s turbulence that’s got me in “prayer mode” and you’re serving freakin’ coffee? If you’re so calm, how do I look to you to see if I should start worrying?
2. Flight attendants who aren’t calm enough. I know you’re trained to keep your cards close. They tell you to seem unfazed, even if we’re heading for certain death. So, if I see the slightest bit of fear on your face, I may try to break down the cockpit door for more information.
3. Airplanes with ashtrays. Hasn’t the “No Smoking” on planes rule been in effect for like 30 years? If I see an ashtray on an armrest, I know this plane is old as fuck, whether the seats are reupholstered or not. Continue reading →

Said in a rest stop bathroom in front of one of those machines that has all things useful from Tylenol to wine openers…

8yo Daugher: “Mom, why do they sell candy in the bathroom?”

Me: “That’s not candy, it’s a tampon”

8yo: “What’s a tampon?”

Me: (I always said, if my kids asked a question I would do my best to answer honestly.) “It’s when insert uncomfortable conversation here how blood flows from your body … once a month etc. ”

8yo: (After cringing and informing me that she may rethink being a girl because girls “get all the sucky stuff like boobies and blood that comes out when you don’t even have a cut,” she noticed a row of rainbow colored condoms in clear packaging,) “what’s that purple balloon thing?”

Me: “Candy, now let’s go.”

(To hell with honesty!) Continue reading →

No matter how much you try to fancy it up (notice top hat ears) you still look like the guy on the right.

Me and about 200,000 other people had this brilliant idea to spend Spring Break at Walt Disney World. Sure, we could’ve done something more relaxing — like sky diving, but we chose this destination because we like lines. Love lines. Love the way that by simply roping off lines into a maze like snake shape so one could walk nearly a mile without ever leaving a room.

OK, lines make me insane, I can truly only half pay attention to anyone as I’m busily trying to assess how fast we’re moving and how much time we have left. While standing in the first line of the day, my daughter asked who played Mickey Mouse. “I don’t know. I guess Walt Disney was the first Mickey, but not anymore, he’s dead.” Maybe I should’ve thought out my response because my daughter’s reaction was to scream, O M G, MICKEY MOUSE IS DEAD??!! There are no rules in Disney about what you can and cannot say, but I’m gonna guess if there were that would literally top the chart. Holy crap. I’ve never seen so many chipper little happy faces fall into frowns and tears so quickly, as moms struggled to do damage control while intermittently giving me the stink eye.

Sadly, it went down hill from there.  I began to suffer what I call “line dementia,” that’s when crazy shit comes out of your mouth simply to fill time and to mess with your children for your personal amusement — it’s somewhat of a survival tactic.  Continue reading →

Many many things change after becoming a parent: Your outlook on life, your obsession with the application of sanitizer and sunblock, the intimacy of your marriage…

We still adore our men but our alone time has little resemblance to the hot dates we once had.  Wow, did we take those nights for granted!

Want proof?  Behold: Date Night Before Kids vs Date Night After

Before – Your nights out were dependent on no one else. You never waited around the house to see if someone would show up to watch your plants, your pets, or your furniture while you were gone.

After – Cancellation is always a strong possibility. It remains that way until the moment the actual babysitter arrives (even then it may be iffy).  At the very least you are never guaranteed to finish anything you start: dinner, a movie, a show … (Don’t check your coat.)

Before – You had time to put together the perfect outfit, blow out your hair and apply a glaze of pristine makeup, which you really didn’t need in the first place. Continue reading →

AKA The Story of One of My Most Awkward Moments EVER! …

Here in South Florida many of us have pool boys. I’m not sure what the PC term is: “pool men,” “pool attendants,” “stewardesses?” Frankly, I think “pool boy” is a compliment, as the term implies — hot, strapping, and young, like the ones in movies (I imagine that’s what they’re like out in LA). For the most part our “pool boys” are not the rippling tan cliche that’ll turn you into a Mrs. Robinson, no, Continue reading →

At a party last weekend, I got stuck with “That Mom.” You know, the mom you dread seeing at school functions, birthday parties, playdates, or park outings? So I decided to make a list of the most common types of “That Mom” I’ve come across. This way you can avoid her before she traps you!

Know it all Nicole – This mom is like Kris Jenner, but she won’t take your family to Hawaii. She will, however, advise you how to be a better mom and wife, because frankly, who doesn’t like unsolicited advice on parenting and marriage? She’ll tell you whether you should or shouldn’t vaccinate, how to get whites their whitest, and why you can never go to a drive-thru. If you want her to impart her wisdom elsewhere, bring up a blush-worthy topic like blow jobs. If she doesn’t run for the hills, hear her out — you can never know too much about blow jobs — then bring up vibrators.

PMS Pam – Continue reading →