Dating and Psychology 101

Before there were movie theater complexes, there were little private movie theaters. One of these was situated on the main drag, not far near the university where my dad taught psychology. It had a bay window right out on the street where the cashier, me, sat. I was 17 and lucky to get a job, as the college kids were prefered.

One day a very cute guy bought tickets from me. Maybe I smiled at him, I don't remember, but during the movie he came out and started to talk to me and to make a long story short, invited me to go bowling. I was thrilled. He was in college, in his 20s! My friends would be so jealous.

When I casually announced it to my dad he hit the ceiling. It was as if I had announced that I'm quitting high school to become a stripper. He went on and On and ON, about it: I couldn't go, the guy was sleazy for presuming to talk to me, he was obviously a pedophile, he had a stupid major, I couldn't go, etc. etc. As my dad went on, I did the 17 year old thing: hunkered down and prepared to go out with him no matter what.

Suddenly my dad stops in mid rant and does a total U-turn: "Good grief, what am I thinking? Here I'm telling you what to do when you are a sensible, mature young woman who has shown me time and again that she can make good choices, blah blah and blah." He was so obvious. I knew he was doing the psych 101 thing on me. I knew it the minute he opened his mouth, I was disappointed that he was so transparent. I expected something better, much more subtle, from a psychologist.

Worst of all, I was caught like a fly on sticky paper, and I knew that he had check-mated me. I cancelled the date.
I have used this on my kids. It works really well.

Take Off Your Clothes So That I Can Look In Your Ear

America is a great place, but I was never fond of the medical system. You go to the doctor for an ear ache and you're told to strip and it's not because anyone's into you cause you've been dieting and look really hot despite the bloated red ear. Why can't they look in your ear while you're wearing your clothes? If they did that you'd be in and out in 5 minutes and not waste your whole frickin' day hanging out with sick people.

It's not enough for doctors that they make buickloads of money and have the title Dr., which in itself is a known aprodisiac. They want to mess with your head and make you totally insecure in case they run into you at the mall.

Over here we have socialized medicine. Everything but your teeth is totally taken care of, it's really great. Your family doctor has about four hours to process 50 people and he's making less money than your daughter the waitress, so he's not going to waste his time making you strip. He's going to look in your ear and know how to deal with you in two seconds flat. He'll either write you a prescription or send you for a lab test. He doesn't need to see your butt and mess with your head to do that.

My cubemate had nothing but good things to email me about his recent medical visit:
"Today I was at the doctor’s. She told me to take off my clothes and then she had a rummage around. It cost me one hour's parking and I never had to buy her a drink! Money well spent indeed!" (His ache was not in his ear.)

To My Loyal Readers

Dear Loyal Readers,

I know you are out there. I know because now 6 of you have sent me emails about the blog, and because nobody I know lives in Fargo and Dusseldorf when I had my feedjit utility turned on.

I'm a comment junky. I comment on almost every site that allows comments. It's like having a conversation with a total stranger by internet and you can say anything you want cause nobody knows it's you.
One of the sites I'm in and out of regularly gets hate mail from the far right and the far left all over the world. Every time I read their articles and then those comments my blood pressure races right out of my ears like more naked people racing to be photographed naked as jay birds in the town square. I'd tell you who the site is but I hate them so I'm not gonna give them a plug.

Anyway, this blog has been up and running for like almost 3 weeks and the comments have been pouring in like rockers to a Donny Osmond (google it) concert. I thought I could count on my relatives but Mr. and Msssss Too Busy To Read My Sister's Blog evidently don't have time. I know my mom would comment and think it was wonderful because she loves me but I can't let her see this. So as a public service and to help some of the commentally-challenged, here are some standard comments for you to cut and paste:

• This sucks, you suck


• I want to have your baby


• I hate your stupid blog why would you even think anyone would read this crappola or take the time to comment?


• Just say NO! to lookingforofframp


• You have put into words what I have been feeling all my life


• You are a mutant lower life form who should be eradicated from the blogosphere


• When I read this all I could think was that you have reached deep deep into my throat and played upon my heartstrings


• You are the child of satan and even he wouldn't read this crap


• I'm satan, speak for yourself

Not about the guitar, not funny

I'm learning guitar now. Someone had posted a phone number and the fact that he is a guitar teacher, so I called him up. When he knocked on the door it was such a blast from the past. He looks just like the guy that my friend was nuts over when we were 18, but better because he looks like he eats on occasion. The friend I mentioned here before, who doesn't know how to drive and doesn't pick up quickly on social clues (see current events/car impounded). I'll call her Maria.

Maria was not like my other friends. Her family had immigrated and didn't speak English, even after many years in America. Maria took care of the bills and handled the errands, and went to her brother's parent-teacher conferences, while going to school and working. Maria told me she lost her virginity at 12, to a guy who sounded almost too perfect. I still had mine.

Maria's dad hit on me, twice. The first time I was babysitting her little brother and suddenly her dad came home drunk. The second time she had to go out for a few minutes and left me playing Monopoly with another brother, and again the dad suddenly came home. Both times he argued with the brother (I didn't understand their language) and both times the brother left the room disgustedly. Then her dad tried to hit on me. He offered to buy me a watch if I would cooperate. Both times I fought him off, got out of the house, and got to a gas station to call my mom to come pick me up (no mobile phones back then). I told my mom that Maria and I had a fight.

I had to stop hanging out with Maria. I was mad at her for leaving me at her house where he could do that, and I couldn't tell her that he was doing that. And mostly because I was afraid of her dad. I wriggled out of the relationship and never saw her again.

Years later, I was doing dishes in the kitchen one night and suddenly realized that her dad had been molesting her since she was 12. That must have been why she would find reasons to leave me alone in her house. She wanted help and didn't know how to get it; maybe she thought if he did it to me I'd report him. Instead of helping her I cut her off and left her wondering why.

Sex and the Single Girl

Would you want a shop teacher who had never touched a power drill, or a driving teacher who had never driven a car? Well I would have prefered that my sex education teacher had a bit of experience. That should be a basic prerequisite. But I am convinced beyond any reasonable doubt that she was a registered virgin. The first clue was that she was a nun. The second, she was afraid to even say the word, and she sent the boys out of the classroom and locked the door so that they would not find out about it. I didn't know any more about it than she did, so it was really the blind leading the blind.
Sex education in my class consisted of a movie starring Disney characters. I'm sure that Bambi and Thumper never imagined that they'd have starring roles in a sex flick. With the help of geometrical shapes floating around and interacting with each other, Bambi and Thumper had the task of explaining to us The Secret of Life. Not that an uninformed 10 year old could have guessed that that was what the movie was about. In my case it remained a secret for several years until my sister gave me a copy of The Summer of '42. They should have just passed out that book. Or, if they wanted to stay with the cartoon character theme, Fritz the Cat would have done the trick. Literally.