I’m just saying, my standards are skewed.

Friend with Children: “Is the movie kid-friendly?”

Me: “I mean, *I* think so, but I also first heard Denis Leary when I was 10, and had Freddy Krueger nightmares well into my 30s because I saw that movie around age 8, so let me double check online…”

Hm… And HOW old was I when I found the VHS porn and that book about the G-spot in Mom’s room?

(Explains a lot, doesn’t it?) 🙂

Cognitive dissonance runs in the family.

My mother: “You really should watch your weight — too much salt and sugar will kill you.”
 
Also my mother: “Here’s a link to a bunch of pumpkin-flavored shit on sale at Williams Sonoma.”
 
👍🏼

“The line is your belt.”

I had lunch with my dad yesterday and tried to explain where the line is between him calling our server “honey” because he’s old and that’s what old people do, and some random middle-age fuckface calling ME “honey” on the subway because he’s a cretin.

But this morning it occurred to me — the line is your belt, Dad. You call a woman “honey” with your brain or your heart (ie, the bits ABOVE your belt)? COOL — fatherly.

You call her “honey” with your dick? NOT cool — Molester Uncle.

It’s not the word. It’s the smarm.

The rare and elusive Psychoticunt…

Father’s Day is interesting when both you and your sister are mad at your father for being a passive-aggressive dumbass and — let’s be honest — for always choosing his other family over you. Especially when you don’t feel welcome in his home right now, anyway, because his wife is a psychotic cunt. (Psychoticunt?)

What’s good, Hallmark? Where’s my cute, clever card for this?

The therapist said it’s perfectly acceptable for me to just text him, so…score.

Sorry, man, but…ya know — cats, cradle, etc. For once I gotta choose me instead of keeping peace. You’re both already pissy with me — fuck it, I might as well get a relaxing Sunday out of it.

P.S. My therapist didn’t know “Cat’s in the Cradle,” and I’m honestly stunned they don’t teach that shit in therapy school. That and “Daddy Wasn’t There.” Y’all need to re-examine your curriculum. Music education is important.

See, THIS is why I shouldn’t be alone with my thoughts.

This is kind of a lot for a Saturday morning, but I need it out of MY head, so I’ll just vomit it along to you fine people!

I’m going to talk to my therapist about this on Monday, and I’m really not looking forward to it, because I don’t even know where to start in figuring it out.

I don’t know why I can’t just TALK to guys on dating apps. Every time I try to, I freeze up, get anxious, and run away. And I don’t know if it’s because I don’t actually want to date, or that I think I’d feel overwhelmed if I added that to my life (which often already overwhelms me — thanks, Anxiety!), or if I’m scared to…get hurt? To have something actually work out?

I’ve tried thinking about it and I got nothin’. Maybe I just believe I’ll meet someone in person like I always have — online dating has never gotten me anyone worthwhile, so maybe I’m convinced it’s not worth it. I don’t go out a TON, but I go out more than I used to, so it’s not like online is the only way I’m going to meet men.

Do I just really not want to shave my legs more often?

My guess is that it’s all of the above. But if I really don’t want to or don’t think it’s worth it, then I should just delete the accounts and stop wasting everyone’s time.

Ugh. Therapy is gonna suuuuuck. She’s going to make me…feel feelings. And ahhh, fuck, I BET she asks about my dad. 🤢

All my shit is so textbook that they can’t even PUT it in textbooks because it’s too easy. You could tell a toddler my business and they’d be like, “Well, yeah, obviously…”

Feeling your feelings BLOWS.

Post-therapy-by-phone text to friends.

I might leave work early and pick up some more bonus therapy by way whiskey. And fried cheese. That’s probably what she really meant by “journaling.”