61. I have a (little bitty) celeb crush on Apolo Anton Ohno. I have since the 2002 Olympics. He’s just a baby, but still… I now see him twice a week on Dancing with the Stars. Yes, I admit it, I watch. Hey, y’all vote for him and keep him on there for me!
Oh, and while I’m talking about TV, I love Friday Night Lights. If you haven’t watched it, it’s not just about football. In fact, it’s more about everything else than it is about football. If you like the show, I think this will crack you up. If you don’t watch the show . . . I’m not sure . . .
62. I love to look at those color swatch books from the paint stores. The big, fat kind that you don’t really get to take home unless you’re a contractor or something, but that I occasionally get my hands on somehow. Probably because a relative stole it. Or maybe not. Anyhow, I love to do that, even when I have nothing to paint.
63. In second grade (or was it first?) I stole Marcia Whitlock’s triangle scarf. There’s probably a better name for it than that, but it was a fabric triangle with strings attached, that you could tie under your chin or under your hair. They were fashionable back then. It was white pique fabric, with white rickrack. And of course I could never wear it, because the only place I wanted to wear it was to school. I was (rick)racked with guilt, and I eventually threw it away. I’m sorry, Marcia.
64. Being a “yankee” in a southern mountain high school, I was a bit of an unknown commodity, at least when I first got there. I would openly skip school to spend the day with my boyfriend, by telling the guidance counselor I was leaving for an appointment with my psychiatrist. He didn’t dare question that. Even though, as far as I know, there wasn’t a psychiatrist within 50 miles of the place. (But then, maybe that’s why he thought it would take all day.) I would also sometimes skip gym class by telling the teacher (who was the guidance counselor’s son) that I was still getting acclimated to the new culture. I was horrid! And I cracked myself up.
65. I guess I’m remembering this now because of #64, but there was this guy I dated when I first moved there, I was a freshman, he was a senior, and he said to me, the first time I was alone with him, “I’m just gonna ask you straight out: how do you feel about two people f*#king?” CAN YOU IMAGINE? I said, “I think it’s great.” He became very happy. Then I said, “As long as neither of the two people is. . . you know . . . ME.” And that was the end of that. Twerp.
66. One would hope, wouldn’t one, that mental health professionals would be more mentally healthy than other folk? Or at least AS mentally healthy? It ain’t necessarily so. I once had a therapist who went nuts. Just nuts. With me in the room. And I left, worried about him. But who could I call? Who would believe the patient saying that the shrink had gone nuts? To his credit, when I talked to him again, he offered to pay for both me and him to go to a third party shrink, to try to repair the damage to our relationship. I did that a few times, and it was helpful. And that was that, with that shrink. Be careful out there, friends.
67. Speaking of being careful . . . and maybe you all know this, and I just need to say it to myself, but be careful online, too. I have been really, really hurt by people I’ve met on this blog, to whom I got close and they were not at all who they claimed to be. (For instance, as Nilbo recently pointed out on Circus Kelli’s blog, I am, in fact,
“a morbidly obese 57 year old former mental patient named Eugene who sits all day in his sweats and a torn Empire Strikes Back t-shirt, brushing the greasy hair out of his eyes as he trolls chat rooms looking for victims. He sits in his parents’ basement on his computer and tries to get young girls to meet him.
His Mom used to scream at him to “Get a job, Eugene! Get a goddamned job!” but she doesn’t say much any more. Sometimes there’s a gurgle of gases and a whiff of quicklime from the barrel in the corner, but that’s about it…”
I’m just sayin’ . . . )
68. I’m working with a speech therapist to try to manage my throat and tongue symptoms from WTF well enough to get back to work, on some level. It’s the speech thing that mostly interferes with my work plans. I saw recently someone said (and I don’t even know who it was or what the context was, but it jumped out at me), “Do what you do best for as long as you possibly can.” I’m a really good therapist. There might not be one other G-rated thing that I would say I’m really good at, but by gosh, I am good at that. And I really want to get back to it.
69. You know you’re really sick when you ask your husband to go shoe shopping with you. Because you just aren’t sure you can pull the boxes out, or get up from the little bench. Even though his presence means you probably won’t buy the really impractical kinds that you love, and probably not multiple pairs, either.
70. When Alec Baldwin was recently in the news for leaving that horrendous voicemail message for his kid, I was very critical of him. But, truth be told, I wouldn’t want my worst parenting moments recorded and put on TV. 😦 I hope that was his worst.
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