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.

Unloading some family issues

One of the platitudes I resent most is, “You’ll miss your family when they’re gone.”

I have no doubt I will, and hey, thanks for making me feel like a dick, but the fact that I’ll miss them eventually doesn’t change the fact that right now, they’re being assholes. Not everyone is the Cleavers, people — some people have issues.

I’ve been in therapy for months and we’ve barely gotten into my family. Yes, it’s likely that’s where all my shit comes from*, but two things:

1. I am a grown-ass person and don’t want to blame Mommy and Daddy for my ineptitude or unlovability (I KNOW, I’m just being petulant today).

2. My issues are so textbook I feel like it’d be almost insulting to the therapist. Not even textbook, it’s fucking “Cat’s in the Cradle.” I’d explain what’s wrong and the therapist would be like, “Really? You want to pay me to fix this? Go listen to some pop music and Google some shit — you’re smart, you’ll figure it out.” (My therapist gives me an inordinate amount of credit — she’s super impressed when I take out the garbage and thinks my navel-gazing introversion is a good thing — she calls it “self-awareness,” I call it “narcissism.”)

* I have a friend who’s like me in being a complete stubborn ass about therapy, like we KNOW we need it, but UGH. Because I can’t speak for him, but “my problems aren’t real problems, I should just learn to deal.” So when I told him my therapist was a LMFT — licensed marriage and family therapist — and worried if that was really what I needed. And my FELLOW STUBBORN ASS says, “I don’t know… you have a LOT of issues with your family.” So… I guess I can take that to the bank. Or to the therapist. FUCK. I have to talk about real shit and not just “stepping out of my comfort zone” by attending a burlesque class. Tell you what — I’ll do burlesque FOR A LIVING if I don’t have to talk about my family. (<– That sentence right there? Part of my patented Prostitute Starter Set. Thankfully I’m too old to be a profitable prostitute. I CAN, however, troll the dudes on OurTime.com and give them a helluva Girlfriend Experience.)

…I’ve lost control of this post so I’m going to go get more coffee.