Workin’ My Way Back To You, Bitches
‘Cause I’m burnin’ up inside!
I lie. I been busy. Today The Beyoncé had knee surgery. Oddly enough, clad in his glamourous white compression hose and hospital gown, gorked out on 11 different kinds of drugs and spices, eyeballs pointing in different directions, I’ve never found him more sexually attractive or debonair.
You see, the phrase “wearing an assless nursing home gown” played a pivotal role in our early courtship. The Beyoncé had written me a very witty and erudite email in the first weeks of our flirtation, describing the various merits of wearing an assless nursing home gown, chief among them being ventilation for various gases. There was also some discussion about whether or not it was nobler to stab oneself in the eyeball with a rusty kitchen knife than to suffer the slings and arrows of watching goddamn Martha Stewart stencil chola eyebrows on a capon on HGTV.
Immediately after reading this email, I decided this would be the man I’d spend the rest of my life with. You can see why, can’t you? All that talk of fart-conducive apparel and eyeball-stabbery really boiled ole Dr. Ding’s potato.
Next post: blogs you should read and sites you should visit. Followed by a good ole-fashioned Friday diatribe.
You’re welcome.
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Dear Dr. Ding
Hello Doctor I’m glad you’re some better. Diet 7-up is what I do too.
So I wondered if maybe you’d ponder on Amy Winehouse and Britney Spears and
post-modern zooming towards self-destruct. Are they the cultural dark anima
and shadow side of the lighter anima? I mean you’re right there close to
the Jung Center and all. Are they pointing out how our cultural beliefs
are so whacked? I’ve been reading Kunstler too much maybe again but
really…you’re in oil central and maybe you can wrap your brain around it
in such a way, I bet, that I’d like to hear your thoughts anyway…
I lived in Montrose some back in the 90′s and one year I actually taught
high school in Cy-Fair….talk about your Kunstlerian nightmare….
Anyway bye-bye and hope you feel better and have lots of fun in New
Orleans….
Lerel
Dear Dr. Ding
Dear Dr. Ding.
What is your opinion on the number of starlets going into rehab? I think it’s just a copout for when people get into trouble, then they can claim that their substance abuse or addiction made them do stupid things. But maybe then again being famous is hard and causes them to drink or take drugs? I was overseas for almost a year, and I came back to the U.S two months ago. and started hearing about all these young Hollywood actors and celebrities going to rehab or even jail for drugs, DUI, and all kinds of other things involving drugs and alcohol. Why is this happening?
Sign me Puzzled in Paramus
Dear Puzzled:
Dr. Ding thinks the number of starlets, celebutards, young actors, etc entering “rehab” is far too low. I mean, just look at the outfits these kids are wearing! They hire people to dress them for like $5,000 a day, and they end up looking like young Dr. Ding during her I’m-a-punker-but-I-can’t-afford-anything-but-Kmart phase in the mid-1980s. Not a pretty time. This says to me that they’re ALL on drugs, pretty heavy ones at that. Puffed sleeves are a direct result of black tar heroin. Trust.
Doing drugs is as choice (and let’s include alcohol as a drug here). Doing stupid stuff is also a choice, but it’s a lot easier to do if you’re under the influence of stuff that makes you think horizontally striped off-the-shoulder Flashdance outfits are to be worn in public. Addiction to drugs is considered a kind of mental illness, or, in some circles even a “disease,” one that affects behavior, choices, personality, values, relationships, you name it. But, to respond to your question; famous people are no more at risk for addiction than non-famous people; drug addiction is definitely an equal-opportunity phenomenon, afflicting poor and rich alike, stupid and smart, successful and unsuccessful. Oh, and also fashion victims as well as the truly stylish.
[By the way….treatment for drug addiction really isn’t “rehab”—the term “rehabilitation” implies there’s a healthy lifestyle to which once can return, whereas this is virtually never the case when dealing with addiction.]
To respond further, sometimes going to drug treatment is a copout, and sometimes it’s not. It all depends upon what one learns while there, and how open one is to the recovery process, which usually asks a person to change lots of things about the way they live their life besides the actual drug-taking.
If a celebutard takes drugs, crashes a car or five, goes to treatment, then quits drugs and decides to stop hanging out with his or her enablers, that’s a success. And let’s face it, it’s kinda boring. We seldom get to hear about the Hollywood stars who have been to drug treatment and just quietly gone about the business of remaining in recovery. Smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee with your sponsor from AA ain’t exactly riveting stuff for most of us.
But… if a celebrity enters treatment, goes through the motions, gets out early and heads right back to the same old nightclubs and hangouts, shows their literal (as opposed to metaphorical) ass a few times, then that’s a clinical failure, but it’s a raging PR success, and the public eats it up.
Dr. Ding suspects that the media focus on the various pathetic carousing-related incidents seemingly plaguing young Hollywood is probably a very convenient way of avoiding placing the national attention on things like the war in Iraq or horrid West Virginia hillbillies who like to torture people, or the coming Social Security crisis. In other words, it’s not that suddenly you’ve come home to some sort of sudden burst of stupid celebutard behavior, because famous mouth-breathers have been engaging in really stupid shit for at least a few millenia by now. It’s just that as a nation we don’t want to think about the more serious issues. So, we do things instead like interview Paris Hilton on Larry King Live as if she has an actual complete thought to share, and have nightly news coverage about talentless reality-tv fuckers whose sole claim to fame is hating their best friend or being a complete tool. Whoopee fuckin’ do.
So, Puzzled, Dr. Ding is just as befuddled as you are. We’ve somehow become a nation of enablers, helping to pay celebrities for their misdeeds and bad habits via creating a demand for continuous media consumption of their naughty, bare-bottomed drug-addled images. What this says to me is that we’re quite powerfully bored with our own lives and are turning to the twisted wreckage of what passes for a Hollywood lifestyle as a means of getting some kind of mental stimulation or entertainment. Ew. I mean, just how many crotch shots of Britney or Lindsey do we need before we finally feel something besides our own seething ennui? Exactly how many “nip slips” is enough?
That said, Dr. Ding particularly enjoys a tasty little website called Pretty On The Outside, which features creative caricatures of the rich-n-famous, so I suppose I’m just as guilty as everyone else here. I’m not advocating we never check out the gossip blogs, but I think we would benefit from a more balanced approach to the information we consume about those rascally, felonious, attention-seeking, poltroons.
Dr. Ding recommends we all get healthier, more divergent interests. Start collecting bottlecaps, for chrissakes. Research your family geneaology. Grow a bonsai tree. Take up belly dancing or karate or some kind of churchy shit, something anything that gets one occasionally away from this cultural wasteland of obsessive fascination with ill-informed, overpaid, fundamentally uninteresting fucked-up famous people doing fucked-up things.
My f-bomb limit counter has exceeded its bandwidth, so I’ll have to end this post or else I won’t be able to drop them later this week when I might need to. So, hang in there, Puzzled. Enjoy the thin-crust pizza there in Jersey, and welcome home to your highly culturally developed country.
Dude, Like It’s 4:20
Dr. Ding is feeling supremely snarky and would like to share with you the precipitant of said snarktasticness.
There is an actual online dating service called Pot Partners (I’m not putting the address on here because I don’t want to send them any traffic), designed for people who like to smoke marijuana and who are seeking other folks who a) also like to smoke or b) are tolerant of marijuana smoking in their partner.
Oh. My. Lords of Kobol.
Can you imagine what these relationships are like?
Home to many articulate, well-informed discussions about art, literature, and the state of humanity. Like dude there was this guy once who wrote a book and I think his last name was Bukowski and he was the shit, ok? Fucker was core. Could suck his own WANG bro, His Own Wang. Wow. And the way he wrote about it was ok I think that dude was seriously blazing 24-7, so creative bro. People nowadays are like so uptight and you never hear about this artistic shit anymore. They’re like all into like “working” and “achieving”, bro.
Jam-packed with fun activities and stimulating interests. Yo, Tulip, don’t bogart the blunt. You wanna go get some Chinese after this? No, you’re right, let’s just sit here and watch Magnum, P.I….that shit’s wired tight! Hey — uh did you ever figure out what we did with the remote to the TV? We don’t have a TV? Wow. That’s SO harsh.
Featuring a shared appreciation for high levels of personal hygiene. Um waaasup Trippy? Did you know your shower’s broken? I need to get some of these leaves out of my hair before we go to the Phish concert.
Great enjoyment of humor and witty remarks. That alpaca sweater you’re wearing is fug, man. Fuggy fug fug! It’s soooooo fuggy. Hey fuggers, why so fug? Fug! Fuggy fug-fug! Heehehehehe.
An appreciation of fine cuisine. I don’t feel like cooking, let’s just order pizza. No, wait bro. I see you’ve got taquitos in the freezer, so let’s totally eat those. Awesome.
Yes, one can certainly see how getting two lonely, baked-out loadies together for a relationship must lead to soul-searing romantic passion and long-term, deeply meaningful and spiritually-uplifting partnerships. Dr. Ding assumes that the sex however would mostly consist of some initial groping, followed by lackluster thrusting, interrupted by a very long nap and/or bouts of senseless giggling. How intimate! Yes, two potheads are so obviously better than one. Fucking sign my snarky ass up.
Another Intrusive Moment from Dr. Ding
Dr. Ding would like to get to know her readership a bit better. Although not in any way verified by anything resembling in the barest shred of empirical research, Dr. Ding thinks you can tell a lot about a person by why sorts of non-alcoholic beverages they drink. For instance, I worked with another psychologist years ago who favored store-brand fruit-flavored sodas, but he only drank one per day. Diagnosis: Arrested sexual development combined with distinct cheapskate tendencies.
Dr. Ding herself is a soda junkie, currently favoring Diet Pepsi, Coke Zero, and Diet Dr. Pepper during the day, Diet Mountain Dew during long road trips, and Diet 7-Up in the evenings. I also enjoy diet orange soda when I’m feeling nostalgic, and diet rootbeer in bottles. The new Diet Pepsi “Jazz” flavors are pretty good, but easy to burn out on. Diagnostic impression: Personality Disorder with an underlying lack of nicotine, resulting in a substitution of other psychostimulants. Hey, at least I’m aware of my neuroses even if I choose to do nothing about them.
If you like Birch Beer, you may be secretly Pennsylvania Dutch. If you like Graf’s 50/50 you are probably a closet Luxembourger-American. If you favor Vernor’s Ginger Ale there is no fucking hope for your sorry-ass palate whatsoever because that stuff tastes like the death of dreams, plus old cough syrup.
Dr. Ding’s favorite soda of all time? Tab, the All-Occasion Beverage Unfortunately, it’s very hard to find, so I don’t drink it nearly as often as I’d like to. Diagnosis: Stuck in the 1970s with a penchant for old “Rhoda” reruns; most likely a chronic condition with poor prognosis.
Take my little poll. Come, my pretties, enter the Gingerbread House wonderful world of psychology.
Loading ...Not-So-Exquisite Self Care, pt. 1
Darling Readers:
Dr. Ding had a major vein “procedure” today in her right lower extremity. For those of you not conversant with medicobabble, that’s my right leg. And let me just say, I now 100% understand why people find Xanax so goddamned addictive. As I lay in the treatment room with cool ski-type goggles, getting somewhat (7 on a 0-10 scale) painfully zotzed by a laser inserted into a teeny-weeny tube into the saphenous vein, I certainly felt the discomfort but I just didn’t care. I even giggled once or twice. The doc said at the end “You did really well with this!” to which I replied, “Hey, you weren’t too bad yourself” and kinda (gasp) winked. I think. It was hard to tell at that point.
Xanax is a relatively newfangled anxiolytic drug of the benzodiazepine class used to treat acute anxiety. It’s the Valium of the 1990s onward. It can be highly addictive if used improperly, and apparently it makes Dr. Ding extra-festive, which is sort of like having Carmen Miranda wear like 6 more bunches of grapes on her hat. A Little Much.
In old folks, I’ve found Xanax to often be disinhibiting, which means that its use sometimes results in bingo-game smooching, toplessness, sudden QVC cubic zirconia orders, and temper tantrums over the wrong brand of Pull-Ups. Luckily I’m only in my late 30s! Today I got a major dose of enlightenment of what drives those discombobluated behaviors in the elderly, as well as benzo addiction in general, first hand and up-close.
Woooo eeeeee! Momma likes her medicine.
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