For over five years, I’ve been telling my shrink, Dr. Steinway, my deepest, darkest secrets, all with the understanding that what was said in his office would remain in his office. That said, I was a little shocked when I found a blog entitled “Shrinking Heads” a few days ago. The blogger goes by the pseudonym “Dr. S,” but I know exactly what that S stands for (aside for Shithead), and believe me, that motherfucker is going to be hearing from my lawyer very soon.
But since his blog has been up and running for over a year, what point is there in me trying to pretend I’m someone I’m not? As a record of my shrink’s fucked-up ways, I’ve copied and pasted one of the transcripts from his site. It’s titled Confessions of a Man/Boy.
The subject walks into my office, wearing a pair of worn-out jeans and what he must assume is a clever t-shirt (it’s not). He approaches my desk and doesn’t say a word for about ten minutes, just stares down at me. I do my best to remain calm.
DR. S: So, tell me, what it is you’re thinking about.
MAN/BOY: I don’t know, man. I had a shitty day. I don’t feel much like talking.
DR. S: OK, would you like to play a board game then? I think I have Clue.
MAN/BOY: Very funny. OK, fine, you wanna help me? Help me.
DR. S: I can’t help you. You can only help yourself.
MAN/BOY: You have got to be kidding me. Did you really just say that?
DR.S: It’s true.
MAN/BOY: It’s a tired cliché.
DR. S: Is that how you feel?
MAN/BOY: So is that.
DR. S.: So is what?
MAN/BOY: That whole is-that-how-you-feel thing. Is that the first thing they teach you in shrink school or what?
DR. S: Let’s keep the discussion on you. Unless, of course, you’d rather play that board game. I get to be Colonel Mustard.
MAN/BOY: Ah, fuck it. Let’s just get this over with.
The subject stops staring at me and has a seat on the couch. He crosses his legs like a girl.
DR. S: OK, let’s continue where we left off yesterday. I believe you were starting to talk about your latest obsession.
At this moment, the subject reaches into his bag and pulls out a bottle of Evian. There is a pitcher of iced water on the table and a clean glass, but he refuses to use it.
MAN/BOY: OK, I guess it all started back when I was in between jobs.
DR. S: Uh huh.
MAN/BOY: Sometimes, I’d spend the entire afternoon doing nothing but watching TV.
DR. S: It can be addictive.
MAN/BOY: Yeah, would you just shut up and let me tell my story?
DR. S: OK . . .
MAN/BOY: Anyhow, after a while, most of the shows on TV just got too boring. And then . . . and then I discovered . . . Nickelodeon.
DR. S: Really, now?
At this point, the subject stands up and stares at me in a threatening manner. After a few moments, he sits back down and continues:
MAN/BOY: As I was sayingggggg, I started watching Nickelodeon, and it was great. Suddenly, there were all of these new shows for me to watch. Of course, they were kind of juvenile in nature, but I started to appreciate that.
DR. S: Ahhhhh
The Man/Boy stops what he’s doing, takes out a ballpoint pen from his pocket and throws it at me, hitting me on the head. He then continues:
MAN/BOY: As I was sayingggggg . . . I started to appreciate these new shows. I guess you could say they made me feel more youthful. And that’s when the idea came to me: If these shows could make me feel youthful, what would happen if I upped the ante? So I made a trip to the local Toys backwards-R Us, and all I can say is, wow. It was amazing in there. . . . Hello? Are you even fucking listening to me?!
I nod, trying to avoid having anything else thrown at me.
MAN/BOY: Anyhow, so I grabbed a cart and just started going nuts in there, ya know? I bought all the stuff my parents wouldn’t let me have when I was younger: the Battling Tops game, the Tyco slot racing set, the Barbie’s Dream House. . . Yeah, that’s right. I said the Barbie Dreamhouse. You wanna make somethin’ of it? ’cause if you do, I will fucking cut you!
At this moment, the subject takes out a very small pocket knife and reveals the tiny blade. I shake my head to assure this psycho that I have no intentions of ridiculing him (at least not to his face, ha ha ha).
MAN/BOY: Yeah. You better not be makin’ fun of my fuckin’ Barbie’s Dream House. Anyhow, I totally filled up my cart up with all this shit and then I brought it home and pretended it was Christmas morning, which was totally weird, since I’m Jewish. After a while, I couldn’t get enough of these toys. It was like an addiction. I started going online and ordering everything I could see. I even got one of those See & Says with the different animal sounds. It’s so fuckin’ cool. You turn the dial and pull the cord to hear that creepy voice: (He tries to mimic the voice and does a very poor job of it) “The cow says, mooooo” hahahahahha . . .
The freak continues to laugh at his mildly amusing anecdote, until finally—thank the Lord—the bell on my timer rings. I tell him our 50 minutes is up, but actually, I only set it for 40 minutes. That’s about all I can stand of this guy in one day.
OK, I think you get the idea. First of all, in my defense, he made a lot of that shit up. For one thing, I was not wearing one of my clever t-shirts that day. And I never threw a ballpoint pen at his head. It barely hit his left shoulder. And finally, I don’t know where he got that bullshit about me buying a Barbie’s Dream House. It was the Barbie Totally Real House. It’s just a place for Barbie and Malibu Ken to kick it, ya know? And if you think that I’m just playing around with dolls, let me tell you, nothing childish goes on in that house, if you know what I mean. Awwww yeahhhh. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.
19 Comments