And now, we join FOC Dorothy's tirade, already in progress...
FOC Dorothy sez: "GRRRRRR! every week, I swear I'm going to catch up on all these e-mails I get and every week I never get around to it. Okay, wait. I need to think. And take some deep, cleansing breaths. Or, no, maybe I'll check out that chapter of my "Therapy For Therapists" text. Now which chapter was that? The one about coping or something? Hmmmm... Oh, well; it's no big deal. I'll just take some time and consider my options. All of them. *sigh* I guess the best way to plow through some of these e-mails is just to, um... plow through them."
Dear Dorothy:
I can't remember if we met or not, since I don't remember seeing you around Club Indigo much during this past Fall (and that's where I was, all day everyday). Look...I've got a problem -- like, lots of problems. To start with, I got my (expletive deleted) kicked by my ex-roommate, this screechy 'ho -- I mean, "girl" -- who beat me down with a telephone. Bloodied my nose. I'm scared now, because I think I've got brain damage. No, seriously. A long time ago, I was a law student; I was smart; I could dance like MC Hammer on crack (oops, sorry -- forgot to mention I was once coked-out, too, which wasn't too bright). Lately, I've become as whiny and annoying as my now-deceased roomie, Georgie, was but I can't seem to stop myself. My lovelife sucks, too. Drew and I once had a little sumpin-sumpin in the works, but now he's gettin' his swerve on with Kelly. I dated Kevin waaaay back in the day, but he's a completely different person now. It's like I don't even know him anymore. Oh, by the way...My Uncle R.J. says to tell you to just send him the dry-cleaning bill for your satin sheets. And that you can keep the Miles Davis CDs "in memory of him," whatever that means.
Rachel:
I feel your pain. No, I do. Sometimes things feel weird when one minute you're asserting yourself as a strong, intelligent young woman and the next, you're whining like a bratty three-year-old. You begin the day like Mother Teresa and end up like Alanis Morissette, shrieking histrionically. That's so annoying and I know because I've been there. Consider your strengths, though, before dwelling on your weaknesses: You quit the drugs. That was smart. You quit both those Buchanan guys. That was really smart, although I have to say Drew seems kind of nice (judging from his e-mail he sent me). But if he's into Kelly, just let it go. You can't compete with *her*. *grrrr* *ahem* Anyway, just hang in there and don't forget you've got major potential; don't feel you have to rush into anything -- take some time (lots, if you need it) for yourself and explore exploring your options. R.J. is your *uncle*? Um...Just, uh, tell him I'll, um, send him a bill when I get one. And thanks for the, um, "memories." He'll know what I mean.
Hey, Headshrinker:
Listen, I'm a busy guy and I hate you know-it-all, lamebrain shrinks, okay? So just hear me out and then don't tell anyone I actually cared about anything you said. (I mean, I don't -- but I'd like to laugh at the crap you shovel out.) It's like this: I made the $5 million dollar mistake of getting hitched (again -- like I didn't learn with my first gold-digging "wife") to this chick and I kind of like her. She gets on my nerves, but everyone does so it's cool. I mean, she's a woman; what do you expect? But I hired back my first wife to help me bully the idiots working for me at my newspaper and now, Ball And Chain Number Two is hacked off. If I had my way, I'd lock them both in a room and see which one came out, but then I'd still be stuck with one of them. Blair (wifey number one) already tossed Tea (that's my current old lady) out a window, so that's one less option. I-I-I-I...I just want the old days back -- when I could play with my daughter, Starr, talk to Bird, cuss out Briggs over the phone for his annoying journalistic "ethics" and walk around the penthouse scarfing anything edible that came to hand. Something's wrong when a man can't talk with his mouth full in his own Publisher's Office. And, oh yeah...Smart move, bitching out my "nephew" Joey and tossing his Buchanan butt into the street. Maybe you're not such an annoying chick after all.
Dear Todd:
While I find your manners lacking -- like, to the point where I think you actually have none -- I admire your candor. We "shrinks" don't often hear that, even though it's necessary in the healing process. (I'm a social worker, by the way, not a psychologist. But who's checking?) Have you ever thought of, um, sitting down with your current wife and talking to her instead of just complaining about the problems in your relationship? Better yet, have a tete-a-tete with Tea and Blair. You may have to referee at times, but in the end it's cheaper than another trip to the E/R. Sounds like you substitute snacks as a means of supressing emotional expression. Hmmmm. Let me think. Okay, it's not such a great idea but until I can index and cross-reference some of Mare's "Nuts To Sex: Nutritional Psychology For The Sex-Starved" volumes, I'll have to take my time figuring out what to tell you. So let's just wait and see what happens, okay? I think the Buchanans are trouble, too, but I'm not going to trash Joey. I'm not going to say, for instance, that I think he's an immature dope who can't get over his ditzy ex-girlfriend even when someone else with a higher I.Q. and a perkier haircut comes along. Um...I guess I just did, didn't I? *sigh*
FOC Dorothy signs off with some bon mots: "*yawwwwwwwwwn* Oh, excuse me. I'm really sleepy all of a sudden. Between having to re-wrap Roger's body cast every six hours and putting up with Javier as an, um, "bed buddy," I've been *yawwwwn* running ragged. So I'll have to see if I can't work at catching up on e-mails next week. *sigh* Thanks again for reading and...Oh, hi, Javier. Did you save some hot water for me? I'm about to put on my new "Lilith Fair Live" CD and take a bath. You ran a bubblebath for me? How sweet! What's that? You want me to find your rubber ducky? Well, okay, but you should keep up with your own stuff. Hmmmm...Let's see...Hey! Don't splash me! Now look what you've done! My shirt's all wet! Um, I can unbutton it fine by myself. Okay, I guess you can help -- just this once..."
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Posted to rec.arts.tv.soaps.abc June 17, 1998
FOC Dorothy is Mandi (mandia@earthlink.net
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