More from my VP's Office

While I was sitting at my desk I heard him to say to one of my (male) co-workers, "Turn around. Look at your butt. You and your butt."

Things my VP has said to me:

"You know how women are…"

"Mr. (Blank) is too nice, we're trying to make him more like Amy."

"You know what they're like at that age." This was said to my colleague, who is my age.

It's a {Bleeping} Valuable Thing - the week so far

what a week....

Embarrassing

I started to read the complaint. It's juicy Romance Novel addictive. And horrifying. And embarrassing. And bleeping insane.

Hot

I have a big time crush on Patrick Fitzgerald. It started after the Scooter Libby trial when I saw him at the taping of Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me. And after his press conference Tuesday it grew even bigger. He's all kinds of hot when he's steaming mad and full of righteous indignation. And you know, making the world a better place.

Just Straight Up Creepy

Caught this on Dr. Phil yesterday. And all I could do was think, ick. That is NOT a baby. That is a doll. There's this thing called reborning. They are dolls that are made to look like real babies. A woman on the show has two nurseries, one for the girl dolls and one for the boy dolls. It's just creepy.

The Happiest Depressed Person You Know

That was a how a friend described me when I told I told her I was going to start therapy. But as my Happy Doctor put it, I've had a complicated life and there's a lot going on. Apparently I'm so crazy, I need to meet with him twice a week.

It's a strange experience talking about yourself for an hour and not have the other person reciprocate, well not really reciprocate so much as just ask you more questions about yourself. And I wonder, on the bus on the way to my appointment, what could I possibly talk about for fifty minutes? But then I'm sitting on his couch and he sits across from me looking at me, not saying anything and then the words come.

I joked with another friend that of course he wants to see me twice a week because I've got juicy soap opera stuff to tell, what with multiple divorces in my family, a former spy father (I'd like to add here, that I was referred to this doctor by a family member who is also seeing him, which I think helps in my credibility as actually having a father who is retired from the CIA, not just another delusional crazy person), an alcoholic sister and a recently widowed best friend. It feels like the Days-of-Our-One-Life-to-Live instead of therapy as he tries to keep track of which sibling of mine is from which of my parent's marriages. And even when I say, "I don't know how to handle..." whatever this or that, he never answers my questions, just agrees with my confusion. It's a bit frustrating that he never tells me what to do ... but, this is what I've learned so far from our sessions...

at a young (according to my happy doctor at a way too young) age I took on feelings of responsibility for the happiness of people in my life and felt torn by divided loyalties. I try to take care of everyone around me before I take care of myself because one, I feel responsible for everyone else's happiness and two then I don't have to or can avoid taking care of myself.

And what I realized today, in talking both about my sister ... and relaying a conversation I had with my best friend's brother, that we can't make them happy (my sister or my best friend) that only they can make themselves happy and that the only that I can do, the only thing that is my responsibility and within my power is to let her( my sister and my best friend) know that I'm there for her. It was a bit of a freeing moment when I realized that.

That was this weeks revelation.

So, on that note, I'm the happiest depressed person you know...

Speaking of hugging...

I had friends over on Friday night. We drank hot wassail and ate snacks. It was the first time I had seen most of them in three weeks. They hug. Real hugs. The squeeze tight and hold on kind. It was good to see them again and to remember that I do like Chicago, and that I do have some great friends here.

I'm sitting in a coffee shop connected to free wi fi. When I first sat down my computer wasn't connecting. It makes me feel powerless. I have the ip address, but low connectivity. My computer struggles to repair it and tells me over and over again it can't. I'm feeling melancholic today. I wonder, is it a metaphor for my mood?

A women walks around, asking everyone if they have internet problems. I realize, it's not just me. It's everyone. Sometimes I’m too metaphoric for my own good.

A good friend and fellow writing MFA'er once commented that for such a cheery person there is an unspoken sadness in my writing. I think I'm pretty happy. I don't know why my writing tends to be pretty sad. Maybe if my laptop didn't have connectivity issues, I'd write happier stories.

Dave Matthews is playing on the juke box. I can say without irony that I love Dave Matthews. I've loved Dave Matthews since I was twenty one. I saw him play at fraternity parties. Under The Table and Dreaming reminds of my college boyfriend and our tortured messed up love affair, and basically just being young and drunk and in college. I'm happy for his success, but I miss the old Dave Matthews. The play in tiny bars in the south Dave Matthews.

I love my new coffee shop. They are now playing the Cure. It's as if they are playing music from my IPod.