51. In . . . I think it was 6th grade, I played the French Horn. Against my will. I wanted to play the oboe. But Miss Jackson had enough oboes, and she desperately coveted a French Horn in the band. She talked me into it. Not one blow went by that I didn’t hate the dying-elephant sound of that horn. Um…I no longer play.
52. As I’ve said here before, I curse much more online (blog, comments, email) than IRL. My IRL speech is pretty clean except for the occasional sprinkle for flavuh. In my line of work, we have to be comfortable with pretty much all forms of self-expression. Sometimes it is even appropriate to match a client’s language (I feel I must interject here, lest there be novice therapists reading, those sometimes would be few and far between and don’t try this at home without supervision). I have always been able to handle whatever language a client used, and look past it to the message being conveyed. Even those who use God’s name as a curse, which I don’t do, and which hits me pretty hard. What I was NOT able to handle, early in my career, was a man who used “the N word.” A lot. I had to get rid of him. I hope I referred him elsewhere appropriately. Truthfully, I’m not sure. I remember his face and I remember him saying that word repeatedly, and I remember knowing there was no way in hell I was going to get past that with him so I had to get rid of him. Today . . . I would probably just be upfront with a client and tell them that I found the language so objectionable it was hard for me to attend to what they were saying. And let the chips fall where they may. Back then I wasn’t self-disclosing enough to handle the situation that way.
53. Girl crush: I fell hard for Flanella Jo Washington, who commented a few times on dooce.com. I don’t know who she (or he) is, or whatever became of her, but I surely did love her.
54. The first teacher crush I remember was Mr. Queen. The music/chorus teacher in elementary school. Looking back, I realize he was gay. I’m not lying; Mr. Queen was gay. And he was drunk much of the time. I think I even knew that back then. Drunk, I recognized; gay, not so much. But he could play the piano and sing in a beautiful baritone, and bad behavior never fazed him. He’d just play and sing louder. Not a bad life strategy, I think (minus the alcohol).
55. After the very first client I had, in my very first clinical internship, I knew that I was in the right place, doing the right thing (even though I made LOTS of mistakes that first session). I have three students that I supervise now. Two of them came to see me after their first sessions and reported having that feeling. I felt incredibly happy and excited for them. It is really a blessing, a gift, to feel like you’ve found what you’re supposed to be doing. I would wish that feeling for everyone.
56. Almost a year ago, I put a photo in a post, and declined to explain its meaning. One person guessed. We were nearing the end of the mountain of paperwork required to adopt a child from China. A toddler girl. All that was left was for me to update my physical examination, get a “clean bill of health.” My kidney stone troubles started in late October, weren’t diagnosed until February, weren’t treated until March, weren’t resolved until April. I couldn’t get my doctor to sign off until all that was done. Still, we looked forward to sending our documentation away just as soon as the kidney stones were resolved. WTF began within days of my passing the last stone in April. I contacted the adoption agency and explained the situation, and that I was sure we’d figure out any day what was going on with me, and we’d have our paperwork completed and be back on track. They said the delay had been too long, and they were taking us out of the process. They said I could re-apply when my health issues had been resolved. Between kidney stones (which presented atypically — that’s why diagnosis took so long) and WTF, I’ve been unwell for nearly a year now. Even if I am cured tomorrow . . . I don’t know what the future holds. It is not likely we will begin the adoption process again, though. I don’t know for sure, but I really doubt that will happen for us now.
57. Only one blogger knows this. Until now. I am a Certified Beauty Consultant for a direct sale company . . . don’t want to say the name, but think Av*n, Merry Kay and the like (it’s not them). I buy the products and use them, make a purchase 3 or 4 times a year of the skincare stuff. A couple of years ago, the person I bought them from pointed out that if I bought the sales kit and attended a one-day Beauty University, I could save a lot of money and just buy my own stuff directly. So I did! I don’t sell it, unless someone seeks me out for it. I just buy it for me and for family gifts. Beauty U was actually fun. Playing with makeup and colors. I almost got expelled for disagreeing vehemently with the “professor” about someone’s colors. As a general principle, I believe it should be illegal for white women to wear orange. (Of course, there are exceptions.)
58. Sometimes I get very scared about this WTF disease. Sometimes I think it is the beginning of what will prove to be the end. But mostly, I think it is something that I will get through and leave behind someday. Heh. Maybe those are both the same thing?
59. The last time I renewed my driver’s license, I added 20 pounds to the weight on it. I got tired of knowing, probably since I was 16, that I actually weighed more than what my license said. So I gave myself some growing room. And so for the last . . . almost 5 years, I have weighed considerably less than what my license says. And I like that better. I’ll do it again when I renew in January. It’s not like they weigh you, or like the DMV workers are observant or anything . . . they don’t give a rat’s ass what you put on your license . . .
60. Hey, speaking of rat’s asses, we’ve had mice. In the walls. We haven’t called an exterminator, we’ve used traps. In the little space in the bedroom where there’s that tiny little “door” that goes into the pipes for the tub, etc. You know that space? That’s where they’ve been. We put two traps in there. And one time, one mouse got caught in both traps! I didn’t see it, but Jif told me about it. His little head was snapped in one, and his little tail was snapped in the other. Damn. That mouse was having a bad. day. The thought of that makes me really sad. And it makes me laugh, too. See, I’m not as nice as y’all thought.
(I realize I don’t do the “100 Things” right. Not only have I not done it in one list, but it’s not so much a list as a “100 little stories.” I think more in little stories than in lists, I guess 🙂
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