I triple-booked myself yesterday after work, and two of those bookings were for therapy, which is not at all sad. On my way to Ned's and my therapy, it dawned on me that it was Wednesday, and then I had to rack my brain, or is it wrack my brain? I slept almost not at all, NED, last night. Honestly, we need to be hosed off.
I needed to think hard, we'll just say, so I don't have to Google "Is it wrack or rack?". Had I had therapy the week before? I see her every other week. I had to text my therapist, which is also not at all sad. You see other people texting and you assume they're sexting a mistress or making some kind of fascinating business deal, and I'm texting my neuroses to an LA therapist. "Have I forgotten you? Is it today? Oh, god, I think I forgot you!" At least I didn't text-speak with her. "Srsly? I frgt? Sry! ; )"
Out of all the emoticons, the winky smiley face offends me the most deeply. Winking in general offends me. Fuck off. Open your eye, you sleazy dick.
Anyway, yes. I had scheduled two sessions with two different therapists, and the third thing I booked was drinks with some friends, and maybe I should have just given up on mental health and gotten tanked.
So yeah, besides all that, I did not sleep well at all. I mean, I got to bed late as it was, and then I did the thing where I kept waking up. I blame hormones. How many of them hormones you been takin', honey? And on my holiday! Geez! You'd think I'd have drifted off, happy after a day of fooling no one. Well. Ned.
I called my mother to fool her, and told her this whole shocking scenario involving Ned and an engagement ring, and she listened to the whole thing. "I just wanted to hear what you'd come up with this year."
Then we came up with horrific things we could tell other family members, and I assigned her the task of contacting them because, you know, allegedly I was working. My mother contacted my Uncle Leo, and he not only didn't fall for her trick, he then told her he was going to a drag party and could he borrow her bra, AND SHE FELL FOR IT.
So. Score for Uncle Leo.
I also called Marvin to tell him I was holding Winston, who'd miraculously returned, and just the way he said hello, I knew he was already on to me.
So after a day of failure and telling everyone on God's green earth I'd meet up with them at 5:30 last night, Ned and I headed to dinner at a new place that our therapist recommended. One can only hope her fixing-your-crazy skillz exceed her restaurant recommendations.
First of all, it was kind of basic. Huge TV screens showing sports and so on. It was kind of an upscale Applebee's. In the therapist's defense, she'd only driven past there, probably on her way to a conference: I Therapy June and Other Impossible Tasks.
How many of you are or have been in therapy? Pretty much everyone, right? I mean, the only people I know who haven't gone are so far in denial ("I'm FINE! Sure, I'm cheating on my husband and have 72 drinks a day, but FINE!") or scarily stable, so I'm curious.
Anyway, we had a waitress who not only did The Thing, she did The Thing harder than anyone's ever done it to us.
"Hey! How you folks doin' tonight? This your first time here at Basic Bitches Have a Girl's Night? Great! GREAT! heh! Nice to see you folks! I'm Gemma, and I'll be serving you tonight. Lemme tell you about our drink specials..."
Dude. She must have told us about 49 different drinks we could get, and the whole time I'm thinking, I just want a Coke. Just get me a Coke. Say, you got a special on Coke? Cause I'm in.
"And we got a whole buncha appetizers. I'm partial to the fried pickles, myself..."
Jesus. As soon as she left, I said to Ned, "She's gonna do the--"
"I know," said Ned. "She's gonna do the thing a LOT."
You know, do the people who train servers understand people go out to dinner to catch up with someone, have time to talk? They don't want to report on "how's everything tasting" or hear which beers the server likes. The other day the server put a beer in front of Ned and had an orgasm about how particularly good that beer was. He waxed on for 45 miutes. Makin' love to his tonic and gin.
I am so tired of this whole thing I could spit. Just come up, ask for our drink order, bring it, ask if we're ready, bring our food. Check back once with not how is everything tasting, which somehow disgusts me, but just how is everything.
This yahoo not only pushed dessert, but she brought out three fossilized pieces of the kind of dessert they had. Ned and I have gotten dessert precisely twice in the history of our relationship and both times we were high as kites. Okay, we weren't but it's rare. We'd already said no to dessert but she brought out plastic cake anyway.
"That waitress is the first lesbian I wouldn't bang," said Ned, getting the check.
We weren't even able to say, Hey, how was your day till we got home. I am not kidding you. So when we did, I told him I was researching something online for work and came across a dosha test, to see what dosha I am.
"What on earth is a dosha? Isn't that what women use to clean their vaginas?" Ned asked me. "What were you, vinegar and oil?"
"Okay, FIRST of all, it's vinegar and WATER, Ned," I told him. "And second of all, turns out I'm bi-dosha."
"I'll bet you are," said Ned, warming to the idea. What's with men constantly wanting you to make out with every woman in sight (or your Indian body type)? Do you have a strong yearning to see your man on top of another man? Me, either. So why is it the other way? Do we blame the porn industry? I blame the porn industry. But there must have been a DEMAND for girl on girl to WARRANT the porn industry making 47,000 lesbian films a year. Should we blame Howard Stern?
Anyway, dosha defines the type of body and personality you have, and based on that, you find out what food you should eat and so on as part of Indian medicine. I've had fried chicken three times this week. It's perfect for bi-doshas. Are you bi-dosha curious?
"Well, I took a test today to see which god or goddess I am," said Ned. Years ago, I sent him a test on beliefnet to see what religion he was, and apparently beliefnet has been hounding him ever since. In case you're bi-dosha curious, Ned was a humanist. I was a reform Jew.
"I answered that quiz to the best of my ability, and you'll never guess what I was." I figured he'd be the god of crankiness or the goddess of salad or something.
"I was Eros, the god of love and marriage," he said.
"The god of love and WHAT?" I asked. "Maybe you're like the drug dealer who doesn't take drugs." Now I want to know what I'm the god or goddess of.
Is there a god of April Fool's Day? There so should be.