Dear Dr. Ding
Dear Dr. Ding:
If you could be a tree, what kind of tree would you be?
A Reader
Dear A:
Hmmm. The last time Dr. Ding was asked this question, she was around 14 years old and hanging with her best friend’s older sister & co., being very impressed by questions like this. Later on in the evening, Dr. Ding was roundly criticized for being Catholic, which at the time I actually sort of was, just prior to The Juvenile Delinquency Years. In fact, now that I think about it, this little party was but a few short weeks prior to Dr. Ding smoking her first cigarette and ditching school. And embarking upon a masterful yet sadly short-lived career of absence slip forgery coupled with British auntie impersonation, the likes of which have never been seen again in East Central Illinois.
I’m thinking it was indeed that fateful evening that triggered my adolescent conduct disorder. Iiiiinteresting that now it has again resurfaced, just in time perhaps for a fresh spate of editorial froth-mouthing, ’tisn’t it?
Since I do not recall what my response was to my tormentors back then, I’ll refrain from giving you some smart-alecky reply. I will instead give you a smart-assed reply, which is a bird of another feather entirely.
Dr. Ding elects to be a barouquely-decorated Christmas tree, resplendent in striped velvet ribbons and loads of different-colored shiny spheres, complete with silver icicles and a hydrocephalic angel topper whose hair much resembles a 1969 version of Carole Brady. That’s the kind of tree Dr. Ding would be.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
Safe Home
Hey Mon!
Dr. Ding is back from her Western Caribbean sojourn, well ahead of Hurricane Dean, thank the Lords of Kobol.
I can’t say that I recommend Carnival Conquest. Sadly, it was full of troglodytic types who liked to be rude to service staff like waiters, stewards and barkeeps. Carnival operates off the principle that cruisers want to have constant and mind-assaultingly high levels of neural stimulation via incessant games, competitions, contests, dances, sports, events, tastings, parties, cocktail hours, lectures, group meetings, et cetera. There were throngs of people in the buffet and embarkation lines, jostling and whining.
However, despite the forced, manic revelry of the ship itself, the shore excursions were tremendously fun. We went snorkeling and snuba-ing in turquoise-blue waters and saw a sea turtle! Very cool. Lay on the beach in Cozumel and didn’t worry about SPF, drank fruity cocktails with umbrellas, and took lots of naps. At some point I went to the spa and fell asleep while ensconced, baked potato-like, in seaweed and foil, listening to dolphin sounds on a CD. Aaaah. Pure heaven!
It was also very relaxing to not have to be Dr. Ding for a week. No cell phone, no email, no caseload. No workouts, no lean protein/low carb lifestyle, no early bedtime. No commuting, no paperwork, no laundry, no errands, no time constraints. Just lots of sea air, the most excellent company of one of my oldest and dearest friends, and the open expanse of ocean and stars. We spent a lot of time just sitting on the balcony of our stateroom, staring at the waves and constellations. Most soothing. I can totally see why Dr. Ding’s predecessors used to often recommend long sea voyages!
It’s truly a sad commentary on the psyche of the average American vacationer (of which I believe there were nearly 3,000 aboard the Conquest) that we feel so compelled to stay in motion the whole time, as if sitting down and doing absolutely nothing for a few hours might cause us to miss out of something so vital that we would never forgive ourselves should we miss it! Want to have a relaxing vacation? You don’t need to spend lots of money or even travel from your home. Try the following things, just for a weekend or a few days, and you won’t have to spend another week just recovering from your so-called “vacation” afterwards:
-unplug your TV or at least declare a moratorium on news programs
-stay off the internet (yes, I know you might miss out on www.askdrding.com but you’ll catch up!)
-let your family and friends know that you’re not going to be returning phonecalls, and then turn off the ringers on both cell and home phones
-take some naps
-sleep in after staying up late
-do repetitive activities like puzzles, simple board games, knitting, woodworking, sewing, painting
-declare a moratorium on errands, chores, and non-essential tasks; consider showering or shaving only sporadically, order in or get takeout, ignore dishes/socks/dust
-putter in the garden or sift through old photographs or mementos…no goal-setting allowed!
-spend some time outdoors, preferably near water or woods or mountains
-don’t wear a watch
-read a real book, write in that journal you’ve been meaning to get back to, compose the perfect love letter, ponder an inspirational quote or two
In any event, have some non-structured, non-goal-oriented time where you can play, rest, relax, and just enjoy being in the moment. If anyone gives you static, just tell them that if it’s good enough for Dr. Ding, well then goddamnit it’s good enough for you!
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
Permit Me a Moment of Agita
The Italians in New York have a great word. Agita. It means almost the same thing as the Yiddish tsuris. Existential heartburn. A state a being so emotionally wound-up that it causes one’s eyeballs to bulge, head to throb, or pulse to race.
The object of my agita? An unknown neighbor, henceforth to be called Blonde Idiot, who was waiting in line in front of me for a package downstairs in the lobby of our building. Here’s our conversation.
Blonde Idiot (to office staff member): Uh hi. Yeah. Like I live on the 4th floor and there are like Mexicans outside working on my balcony and I’m kind of freaking out. What’s going on?
Staff Member: Oh, your balcony is leaking onto the 3rd floor balcony. We’ve got work crews up all over the complex.
Blonde Idiot: Ok, um yeah, I was like wondering why all those Mexicans were up there.
(Staff person busies herself. I step forward to sign for my package as Blonde Idiot steps aside to collect hers.)
Me: I’m curious. Was it the presence of the workers that bothered you or the fact that they were Mexican?
Blonde Idiot: Um yeah, like a little of both I guess?
Me: (Turning away to sign for packages.) Hmmm. That’s really (long pause) interesting that you don’t seem to like Mexicans in particular, don’t you think? I mean (even more dramatic pause) I wonder why you feel that way about it. Huh. It’s rather fascinating that you chose to say that the way you did.
Blonde Idiot: That’s a really cute dog there. Hi puppy! What kind of dog is she? (Repeats this 2-3 more times.)
Me: She’s a mutt. (Slams door a little on way out, suddenly wishing I’d thought to say “Mi perro es una Chicana, tu pinchi cabrona!!)
Moments later in the elevator, I hear the unmistakable click-clack of her Manolos/Choos/Louboutins racing down the hall as I very pointedly, and with a great smile spreading evilly across my face, close the elevator door ‘pon her just as she arrives.
What can I say. I was stunned that Blonde Idiot would show such a thorough lack of decorum as to allow her racism so unthinkingly to slip out, and moreover that she would try to make polite chit-chat after I had just been so deliberately psychologically invasive with her by asking her about said racist assumptions. After all…most Citified Southerers seem to prefer to keep their racism nice and tidy, stored just below a somewhat transparent layer of what is supposed to pass for politesse. Not Blondie, though. No siree. Nothing like showing your inbred but expensively groomed bumpkin ass in the lobby of a semi-swanky apartment complex! As Dave Chappelle would say “Ah, the racism they have there in the South……mmmmm …..c’est magnifique!”
I’m glad I asked Blonde Idiot “shrink”-type questions of the ilk and in the kind of tone I’d normally reserve only for my most sociopathic patients residing on the lockdown unit of their local penitentiary whilst flinging feces. I’m glad I turned my back on her when she attempted to speak again. I’m glad I uttered only the barest of responses when she attempted to engage me in conversation. And I’m fucking thrilled that my timing worked so well with the elevator door.
Normally, I’m a mild-mannered country shrink who will proudly show off my dog with almost no provocation, and will gamely engage in chatting up people in general, even if they’re total fucking inbred idiots.
Today, however, I just couldn’t. My agita was at its absolute boiling point but there were several other people in the lobby, so I felt it best to not tell Blonde Idiot I thought she was acting like a goddamned Lebensborn Nazi. Instead, I poked my eyeballs back into my face and took a couple of solid manipulative jabs at her supreme idiocy as snarkily and faux-therapeutically as I could, and got the hell out of Dodge before my eyeballs popped out again and scared the dog.
Some days it’s good to be a shrink.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
And now a moment of angelic Zen….
Dr. Ding Needs A Damn Vacation
I often get asked this question: Isn’t it true that all people who become psychologists are just trying to figure themselves out? Or: Did you go into psychology so you could figure out your own issues?
Gentle readers. My response to said questions has been, is, and will always be this: Fucking duh, and why wouldn’t I, you insanely incurious mouthbreather who probably thinks Christian fiction for women isn’t part of a global conspiracy to keep The Man in power!
(Okay, so maybe that last part was just the little conversation I’m having with Dr. Ding, Jr., the miniature but oddly articulate juvenile delinquent who lives safely inside my limbic system, along with other sorts of densely layered bon mot rejoinders like “Oh yeah? Sez you!” and “Up your nose with a rubber hose!”)
What’s so wrong with trying to figure oneself out? Doesn’t all serious daring start within (read that on an inspirational coffee mug) anyway? For the love of all that’s good, why do people think it’s so amusing that a mental health professional might want to oh, I don’t know, have some level of insight into his or her own psyche in place prior to digging around in those of others? Would you go to a dentist with green teeth and assbreath,or to a podiatrist wearing Gary Glitter-styled platform ghillies? I think not!
I’m a few days away from going on a cruise. Far far away. Good idea, don’t you think?
Aaaah.
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
Unsuccessful Aging 101
So. Along the way, Dr. Ding has picked up some good tips on how to ensure a fairly miserable old age. Here are the top five:
1. Stop moving. I mean it. Ride when you can walk. Sit when you could stand, and lie down when you could be sitting. At the first sign of aches or minor pains, slow down and baby yourself. Invest in a cushy recliner and use it every day while watching hours of TV or dozing. Give up on any leisure interests involving physical movement when you first notice you can’t do these things at 100% capacity. Sore shoulders preventing you from casting a fishing line or digging in the garden? Well, clearly it’s time to just chuck in the whole thing and start sitting on your ass. If you’re lucky, maybe your constant bitching will result in a full-blown Vicodin dependence due to your physician just trying to shut you the hell up by writing you a Rx and getting you out of his office.
2. Eat lots of stuff with hydrogenated oils in order to clog up your arteries, cause generalized inflammation throughout body and brain, and ultimately land you a lovely case of dementia or possibly cancer. Or diabetes. Or a heart attack. Or a stroke that leaves you in diapers, unable to move yet fully aware of your predicament. Poopilicious!
3. Don’t bother to repair your familial and social relationships if they’ve frayed over the years. Cut off ties altogether by being perpetually sour, obsessive, misanthropic, critical, stubborn, unforgiving, resentful, self-absorbed or otherwise emotionally stingy. This will ensure no one visits you or stays long when they do. Slowly become disinterested in other people so that your whole word telescopes down to how much your lumbago hurts, how Kids Today Are Good For Nothing, and how much you hate people different from you; this will render your company absolutely stultifyingly boring and nasty to the point where everyone will eventually abandon you, thus giving you even more stuff to howl about.
4. For the love of Christ, don’t ever do anything too mentally stimulating or challenging. Don’t read newspapers, magazines, or books. Don’t to crossword puzzles or Sudoku. Never see a movie or attend the theater. Watch lots of soap operas and trash TV instead. If you do read, read the same genres over and over and don’t indulge in any desires to branch out intellectually. Slowly begin to lose your cognitive functions altogether.
5. Nutrition, schmutrition. Drinking water is for sissies who can’t tolerate urinary tract infections! And the dark-green, choline-rich vegetables that may stave of Alzheimer’s Disease are for people who can’t handle their goddamn Cheetos. You should definitely eschew foods containing B-vitamins or fiber, thus ensuring continually depressed moods as well as the kind of chronic constipation necessitating gloved fingers up yer butt. Impacted feces, oh golly gee! Get lots of preventable diseases by eating a nutrient-poor diet, and deplete your savings entirely in the process of trying to reverse said disease with pills and surgery. Enter a nursing home prematurely. Die before your time.
Neato!
| Etsy: QueenBodacious |
- https://progresivamente.org/
- https://www.riaeduca.org/
- https://www.onbelaycounseling.com/
- https://www.bearwilliamsmusic.com/
- https://www.rajhanstilespvtltd.com/
- https://ascuri.org/
- https://www.atelp.org/
- https://fuhrmannheatingtv.com/
- https://www.nmptap.org/
- https://askdrding.com/
- https://thekingsheadhouse.com/
- https://www.karadefrias.com/
- https://www.andros-hotels.com/
- https://www.lebanonecomovement.org/
- https://ohdsichina.org/