Daily Archives: January 9, 2006


Ok, time to break a pseud resolution. My workday was book ended in the morning and the evening by the same Persian CUNT. Where are the psychopaths and why are they throwing the wrong people in front of subways?
That’s all I have to say on that matter. And I’ll throw in an apology for the female reader(s) that loathe that word.

I was able to escape the pit of employment by going to the post office. See, they raised the price of stamps and it’s always good to have 2 cent stamps around. You never know when you’ll need a 2 cent stamp ya see.

This morning Bill stayed home, and he wished I could’ve stayed home with him. Then chatted with Juan for a minute as I was getting ready for work this morning and he wished I could’ve stayed home so we could hang out. It would’ve been nice to stay with Bill and later hang with Juan. I hate waking up and it’s still dark out.

So I ambled to work, listening to the Who. Perhaps it was the wrong choice, because for all their bombast and power chords they can be a touch morose. Won’t Get Fooled Again, indeed. In hindsight, yes they were the wrong choice. Too many choices on the Ipod sometimes. I’m bound to occasionally make the wrong one.

Bill stayed home and tidied up the apartment somewhat. Then we made plans to meet after work and stroll down to the village for our very first couples counseling session. He was right on time, and depressed. We had missed opportunities last night, and he couldn’t let up on himself despite my telling him that it was alright.

And it really was, I wasn’t just telling him that. I’ve been there for him and he wasn’t, He’s been there for me and I wasn’t. Shit happens, let’s face it. We have a lifetime of being there for each other and there’s bound to be more times when we’re not. The law of averages.

So we walked, Bill sad, me trying to be encouraging. And considering the day that I had, it wasn’t easy. We strolled and sat in Union Square, didn’t want to be too early and have to sit with people who seemed more far gone than us. Had a slice of pizza before we took the elevator to the gallows.

Had to get on line at the center. Many people depressed these days. If not depressed, then something else was bothering them. I didn’t want to know. In fact, I felt that Bill and I had been making good progress on our own, perhaps we didn’t need this. Bill was apprehensive. I was getting skeptical. I did the therapy thing in the 80’s for a few weeks. It didn’t work for me. Might work for others, but one size doesn’t fit all.

So we sign in, pay our money, and told to wait for Barbara. Turns out it was Carol. Carol Howell ♪.

A counselor with a first and last name that rhymes sort of. A good sign?

We follow Carol Howell ♪ to our designated room and I have the realization that if everyone was wearing towels, we might as well be at the East Side Club. Same set up, minus towels and strolling horny through the halls. All that was missing was various guys showing states of arousal or waiting on their bellies for anal penetration.

Carol Howel l♪ had a similar speech pattern to Lois DiLivio, a dear friend of mine. She sounded like Lois would in about fifteen years, only more of a mumbler. Lois speaks clearly. But that was all, similar speech patterns. Carol Howell ♪ was a bit scatter brained it seemed.

She tried to find the notes on Bill and myself, but couldn’t seem to find them. She had read it at some point, but wasn’t able to pin point who was who. She was able to guess that Bill was an informal version of William, and that Bill was comfortable, being called Bill. I mentioned that it’s hard to loosen up the name John, but she proved me wrong, by stating that someone in her life, named John, prefers J. And then there’s Jack too. So she proved me wrong. I should’ve checked the diploma on the wall but instead focused on a poster for a David Hockney exhibition at the Met in 1988.

I started the session off, telling her what’s been going on in the past year or so, and where we’re at now, my unease at the open relationship thing. It has the benefit that if Bill wants something that I can’t give or do well, he can go somewhere else and I can do the same thing.

Bill had his turn and then I spoke and then Carol Howell ♪ asked a question. She made us aware of the time passing previously and then Bill answered her, saying ‘ma’am’ and she wasn’t too keen on that. ‘Call me Carol’ said Carol Howell ♪.

Bill mentioned that he was raised basically by Puerto Rican women and how he was taught to address them with respect. I thought that this might be going off the track and tried to steer the conversation back to the question. Carol didn’t seem to like that. I said it was because of the time we had remaining and wanted to stay on the topic. I told Carol Howell ♪ that I was basically mimicking her notice of the time remaining.

I mentioned that Bill and I had this idea of going to the East Side Club together, but if we accidentally bumped into each other while going separately I would leave. She didn’t understand. I tried to explain that the sex club was set up with guys walking around in towels and I didn’t want to stumble onto Bill there.

It seemed that she wasn’t getting me. Bill knew what I was talking about and tried to elaborate, but I was getting frustrated. Frustrated enough to get up and show her how guys walk around the East Side Club. This seemed to frighten her, like I was going to hit her. Not my style, at all.

But she didn’t know that, and as Bill pointed out later, perhaps she was hit by a patient before. For me it was downhill from then on in. One minute we’re talking about Bill’s anger issues, and next thing you know, she’s calling me angry. I said I wasn’t angry, only frustrated.

The longest hour ended. And she escorted Bill and me halfway down the hall. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. To me it was a fiasco. I figured Bill would’ve felt likewise. Nope. Bill got a lot out of it and looks forward to the next session, which will be in two weeks, after Carol Howell ♪ gets back from her vacation next week.

I thought it was funny, Bill was resistant to the idea of therapy, of paying someone to listen to your problems, while I was pushing the fact that it’s good to have an objective ear, someone who has no ties to us. Now, on the street, he’s all for it, and I’m thinking that it’s bullshit.

I said that it was maybe my punk rock Do It Yourself ethos, that we’ve been talking a lot lately, really upfront with our emotions. Maybe we didn’t need this. Maybe we do. Time will tell I suppose.

I don’t feel angry though.