Wow! Grey Gardens frame by frame. I was discussing this with my therapist last night, who judging by this blog is the only person I talk to (she is). And I was saying I wanted to do a series on types of crazy mothers, like What Kind of Crazy Is Your Mom. And she helped me come up with a giagantic list — enmeshed, self-effacing, obsessive, burdoned, envious, yet get the picture. But then talk turned philosphical: what comes first the crazy mom or the crazy daughter? In GG, it seems that the mother started off crazy but is the more lucid throughout while Little Edie is totally delusional. Anyway, we decided, mother. The crazy mother comes first.
Well Susan Boyle got a makeover (or maybe just a leather jacket), but I agree that the whole Susie saga was a staged. This guy unnecesarily subjected himself to waterboarding in the name of journalism when Christopher Hitchens did it months ago; this guy wrote a song about it. I am pretty much taking all this stuff off Flavorwire, so you could just read that tomorrow instead. I found out what a book sculpture would look like (wanted to know) and wrote a post about Kindles that generated little to no discussion.
But what did I eat? Frozen yogurt that tasted like soft ice cream, none of that tart shit. It was chocolate and vanilla swirl, with sprinkles on the top and bottom, and the highlight of my day. I also ate lasagna, a wichcraft sandwich, and possibly a shrimp tempura roll. This is getting embarrassing. Maybe I should do my food diary elsewhere?
Anyway, I told my therapist how I wished our sessions could be more like In Treatment, and I’d get mad at her and scream and throw things and she’d say “can’t you see you’re in love with me?” But that brought me to Paul getting sued and I wondered, aloud, how it could be possible for shrinks to defend themselves. And she said, “notes.” And I was like, “Molly, Paul doesn’t take notes. Do any therapists take notes?” And, you know what? She fucking takes notes. She pulled out my file and showed me like 20 pages of handwritten notes that she’s kept over the last year and a half. They we’re like “adopts a neurotic affect” “Talks negatively about self.” “Hates Foster City.”
This is not a personal blog.
For Emily, Wherever the Internet May Find Her
Ha! Well here we are, April 21. Age 30. Single (and luvahing it in a sad, Sex in the City sort of way). That was a lie. But what’s not a lie is that my therapist told me I needed an outlet and my roommate told me she needed a blog. And, I said, “well I don’t know now. All those have been shut down. Maybe I’ll start a newsletter for people who don’t sit in front of the Internet all day.” But then I realized a blog, could get me noticed, make me big and famous and help me lead a righteous, more Christ-like life. Just like the last five did!
So here I will come each day, every day, except for the days I don’t and tell you what you need to know if you want to sound smart when you talk to me. It will be great. Our conversations will be great. Our eternal salvation in the highest heaven for those in the know will be the greatest. Won’t you join me?
