Monday, June 15, 2009

My Guilty Pleasure: Dr. Phil

I love Dr. Phil. I do. I think he's adorable, logical, charming, and witty. Granted, he's gone a little Jerry Springer-ish but that just signifies that the world is running out of legitimate problems. I would just love to have lunch with him, or maybe be on an Amazing Race team with him. Tonight, I was trying to find my hidden bottle of wine when my grandma yelled at me and told me I needed to come watch Dr. Phil because it was MADE for me; he had the answer to my problem on tonight! (Uh, yeah, he usually does.) I thought it was going to be about paying bills. We all know I don't pay my bills... not for lack of money, I just "hate paying bills" as Gram puts it. Ah, she knows me well.

Anyway, the title of tonight's show is "What's Wrong with Men?" The obvious problem with the men on the show was the women on the show. I mean, some people just shouldn't be together. I wish Dr. Phil would have invited me on the show. Not because I know what's wrong with men, but I know what's wrong with me--the men I pick. (See? I am soooo Dr. Phil ready!) There was like a group of bitter cougars and then a group of self-proclaimed jerks. Then there was a group of sloppy, dirty, lazy, married people that never have sex and have like 27 kids under the age of 12. Well, duh. What's wrong with men? What's wrong with people?

I bet the married couples were like, "you're crazy, stay single." And the single couples were like, "oh shit! I like my single life!" And The Fonz was like, "Heyyyy." I guess the moral of the story is: Move to Vegas and find a good pimp.

A couple of years ago, I was dating a basketball player. Don't get me wrong--I knew it was a bad idea. But I definitely liked watching him play basketball and I liked using his tickets and okay, I even liked taunting his "groupies." (Sorry, I am the first to admit that I was an immature asshole.) But the "relationship" was a complete disaster. I mean, more disastrous than usual. But I wasn't really emotionally into it, I laughed about the absurdity of it all. He was SUPER tall and SUPER hot and a complete demon. And I was 10 years older than him. I just liked crawling all over him, having him pick me up with one arm, and laughing at his (sometimes) funny jokes. And then other times, underneath his 6'6", 220 lbs, gansta facade, he revealed that he had a heart. He did. It was tiny, black and shriveled up but... we both got exactly what we wanted out of the relationship. Anyway, I digress. My point being: my sisters, so help me, bought me the Dr. Phil book, Love Smart : Find the One You Want--Fix the One You Got. Ha ha! I know, I know! I will read it one day. I sure will! It's just not that I'm really in a hurry to settle down. I want to fall in love and sometimes I trick myself into thinking that I am. But I just want someone to be quiet with. I don't want to get married. I just want to love someone and have them look at me like, hey, I love you too. Let's make out.

I don't admit it to many people, but I really, really, really am a hopeless romantic. I remember being in Jr. High under the bright Pony League baseball lights and literally having stars in my eyes... being completely, innocently in love with a boy. And all he had to do was kick off his muddy cleats, watch a movie with me and hold my 13 year-old hand to make me dizzy with happiness. Is it so wrong that I want to look across a room and feel those same pure feelings? So maybe now he's tattooed and shy but still has a smile reserved just for me. That's all. Simplicity. No analyzing. No trying to guess what's going on. No hang ups on the after life. No deep discussions about where we've been. Just holding hands and heading into the future. Is that too much to ask? I am terrified of getting too old to be capable of young love. I want to look at pictures when I'm 50 and see two young, beautiful people madly in love. I don't want a picture of me lovingly emptying "his" catheter on our second date or coffee stained smiles when we hit Walmart to get our blood pressures taken on Tuesdays.

Last weekend, my mother was in town. She was asking my daughter and me for advice on an outfit for her date. My daughter (without hesitation) said, "What? Nana can get a date and YOU can't?!" Insulting to both my mother and me, yes, but funny.

I mean, I guess I could go looking for love... but isn't true love supposed to find you? And I still need to figure out what "true love" even means. I know what it sounds like (music), I know what it feels like (first kisses), I just don't know what to do with it (spaz history). I bet Dr. Phil could give me these answers. I'm gonna go find him.


  1. " I am terrified of getting too old to be capable of young love." I couldn't have put that feeling into better words. I get that fear. My mom said some assanine thing today about having to be in your early 20's to have kids or it's too late. Well I'm in my late 20's sans kids and it was like some fucked up birthday bashing about my age and the fact that she told my sister the other day "Lauren doens't date, does she?" To which I replied "tell her that I just sleep with random guys" The kids comment was right before she proceeded to say that she pondered having a kid with my stepdad a couple of years ago, both of whom are in their 50's. Their 50's! Later in the afternoon I had a spring sighting of the ex-hole at a mutual friends house. He knows better than to speak to me, but I caught him stealing glances which just made me want to punch him in the head. Then there was early this morning, I saw a picture of my other ex with his new girlfriend and that didn't sit well either although the sight of him makes me want to vomit. Uuggh...I could go on all day but I won't. I don't even know what I'm rambling about right now, but I totally get the feeling that I want to be in that young, gushy, hopeless romantical feeling with some decent man but I don't want to deal with the baggage or the commentary. I've found that love ALWAYS comes to find me when I least expect it, but it's been so long now, I'm about to paint a fucking red X on my forehead. Maybe I can get my mother to do it with non-toxic paint so that it doesn't leech into my ever shrinking unused womb.

    Wow...that just like flew out of my fingertips. I've been holding that shit in.

  2. mom's can be mean. especially ones who were in cults :)
    just so you know, my sister just had her first baby, Maximus. she was 35... when she had him. he is the healthiest, sweetest, more adorable thing in the world. the world has changes, women have changed, you're not incapable of having babies. you have plenty of time, my friend.
    i hate ex's. no matter the reason things didn't work out, they are jack asses. i have to drink alot to make it through pictures of them with new girlfriends. (reason 457,654 i deleted facebook.)
    if you find that paint, i want in. i am pretty sure my ovaries are shriveled up (although my gyno did say i was a chicken farm i had so many eggs) but i am down to harassing the haters.
    i have a funny story about two ex's, twitter, facebook, and more that i will share in a post soon. i just don't have the words for it right now...
    keep your head up, missy. life is full. if you don't end up with a fat, lazy, dirty man, you have your health, your girl friends, your money, your life. it's the new happiness. and 30 is the new 20. jay z said so.


chew it up or spit it out: