NOVEMBER

STARLET'S CREEPY KEEPER!

MEGAN, the starlet, showed up for therapy today and I'm sorry to report that--despite having gone through rehab--she's doing worse than ever! It appears MEGAN'S studio-appointed AnonyNurse ( a martial arts-trained nurse with whom she spends every moment of every day) has taken complete control of MEGAN's soul. I fear AnonyNurse, with her stringy hair and Burberry hiking vest, may be demonic! And what about those muddy Uggs? Should I call a priest?

AnonyNurse sits in the corner during MEGAN's therapy, sneering at me through mirrored sunglasses. Whenever I ask MEGAN a question, AnonyNurse sucks her tooth, which means, "Check with me before you answer!"

Today I asked MEGAN how she was feeling. From the corner of the room came the sound of a bicuspid being sucked. MEGAN turned to AnonyNurse, who sent her a slight nod. MEGAN turned back to me and said, "I'm fine, I guess."

Well, the whole session proceeded that way, which was absolutely maddening. Finally I convinced AnonyNurse to show up for MEGAN's future sessions by herself. Otherwise, we'd never make any progress!

MEET MEGAN AT: MAY 2, MAY 13

SCREENWRITER STRIKES OUT

Last week, an Emmy-winning writer who gets me seats at the Emmys every year, and whom I shall call BRADLEY, came to my office in a funk. He had heard rumors that his hit show would be cancelled and was worried about the fate of the characters he had developed.

"Dr. DelVecchio," he said, "how can they expect me to abandon my characters? One of them is about to close a multi-million dollar real estate deal and another is waiting for the results of her liver biopsy."

"But they're fictitious," I said.

"Maybe so," said Bradley, "but the one who is waiting for her biopsy is such a brave little lady. She's had so many challenges in her life. I just hope she can brave this one out. I'm emotionally invested in her! And the fellow who is closing the real estate deal, well, he's a self-made man. Most people don't know it but he's had a rough life. His father was a drinker and had no interest in him when he was growing up, and eventually abandoned the family. The boy's mother had to support--"

"Speaking of which," I interrupted. "How is your family? Your kids?"

"Huh?" he said.

"Your kids," I said.

"Oh, them, " he said, absently. "Millie and Jessie."

"Janet," I reminded him. "Millie and Janet"

"Right," he said. "They're fine."

"And your boy" " I said. "There's a boy too."

"Yes, that's right. A boy."

"His name is Jack, isn't it?" I said.

"Uh, yeah" he said. "That sounds right."

"How old are they, anyway? Six? Seven?"

"I don't know. Young. I guess I should find out."

"You might consider spending time with your kids while you look for work," I said. "Your wife complains that you don't spend time with them, right? You could do fun things together, like guessing their names."

"Or I could drink myself into a coma. You don't seem to realize, my characters will be forever consigned to limbo if this show is cancelled ."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Bradley. Go be a father to those kids. You won't be out of work for very long, maybe just long enough for you to take your kids to the park or to a museum. Go spend the afternoon with them and don't come back here until you do. Stop jeopardizing your relationship with your family. Go on, get out!"

He stood up and squinted at me. "Do you mean that, Doc?" he said.

"Yes I do. As your therapist I have to take a stand."

"Well then, screw you! Goodbye forever!"

"Okay, I take it back," I said, grabbing him by the sleeve. (Why should I jeopardize my seat at the EMMYS? Sorry, Kids, you're on your own!)

THE CREME FRAICHE CURE!

Today will be my second session with the wife of a well-known, federally elected official (See Oct 26 for first session). I'm tempted to call her by the name of that actress who played Alice on the Brady Bunch, whom she looks eerily like, only I can’t remember that actress’s name, which is probably a good thing. That would be an embarrassing slip of the tongue! It would be like the time I accidentally called out an old boyfriend’s name while my husband Ostergarrd was sucking my toes.

"Hamstergarrd!” I cried. How that name bubbled up from my subconscious, I‘ll never know!

My first session with the politician’s wife, whom I shall call Alice, went extremely well. The poor dear suffers from a bad self-image, a problem compounded by a lack of social grace and a desperate need for rhinoplasty...and an uncanny resemblance to Alice from The Brady Bunch. I also detected a hint of obsessive-compulsion, schizophrenia and paranoiac ideation but she didn’t seem concerned about those, so if it’s okay with her it’s okay with me. Alice complained of being fat, which she isn’t. In fact, she spends four hours a day at the gym, three of which are on the treadmill.

“I’m such a pig!” she cried.

“Well,” I offered, “what’s your diet like?”

“I try to eat the right things,” she said.

“And what are the right things?” I asked.

“Golly,” said Alice, “the right things would be vegetables and fruits and grains, I guess.”

“Is that what you eat?” I said.

She shifted in her seat. “Do you mean are those foods part of my ideal diet? Of course!”

I was getting impatient. “I don’t care about your ideal diet. Tell me what you enjoy eating.”

“Golly,” she said, lifting her hairnet and poking at a curler, “what I really enjoy are those divine fudge pecan brownies that they serve at

THE IVY. Sometimes I go there just to order a whole plate of them with a cappuccino. I know I shouldn’t, but I do.”

“Do they serve you a bowl of crème fraiche on the side?” I asked. “You absolutely must try it that way. I order a glass of PERNOD and whip it into the cream myself, right at the table.”

“You must be kidding!” said Alice.

“It's divine. You should try it.”

“Oh my God,” Alice gasped. “It sounds incredible! I’ve got a reservation at two o’clock and I'm going to try your suggestion. Would you care to join me?”

I grabbed my purse and, on my way out of the office, told Petal to cancel my next patient.

“Oh? And what is the reason?” asked Petal, who had been painting glitter on her nails and who simply must know everything.

“Emergency therapy!” I said.

“I see, Doctor. Bring me back a brownie?”

“Don’t I always?”

REGIFT REGRETS!

Who is that tip-toeing through the briny marsh fog of manic-compulsion toward the towering precipice of eternal despair? Why, that’s Miss Oscar (three times nominated) in her Prada cork wedgies with four-inch heels and coquettish, linguini-thin ankle straps. Miss Oscar may be teetering on the brink, but she’s going in style!

To inaugurate the holiday season, Miss Oscar brought me a beautifully wrapped box which, as it turned out, contained a cheap, brushed aluminum champagne bucket. To make matters worse, it’s the same champagne bucket I gave her last year. Worse yet, as I unwrapped it and feigned surprise and delight, my receptionist Petal, who was hovering in the doorway, cried out, “Hey, Dr. DelVecchio, that’s the champagne bucket I gave you two years ago!”

bucket you gave me two years ago had a C stamped on it, no doubt

girlfriend's bat mitzvah."

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say. Apparently Petal wouldn't dream of staying at Circus Circus and had stayed at the Bellagio instead.

Petal wouldn't talk to me the rest of the afternoon and it was only after I gave her a gift certificate for a dozen cupcakes at Sprinkles that she was able to smile. Ordinarily, I give a Sprinkles certificate to a client every hundredth visit. It gives them an incentive to achieve and maintain mental health. We can all use more of that! As Petal would say, "in this world in which we live in!" How adorable!

SHRINK TO SCRIBE: "SAYONARA!"

Like so many of my clients, BRADLEY THE SIT-COM WRITER has achieved a degree of emotional stability under my guidance.

BRADLEY strode into my office today with a broad smile and sat down. “Dr. DelVecchio,” he said, ever since his show was cancelled, he's been going insane with boredom. I’ve spent hours sitting at my keypad, staring at the screen. As I was doing this last week, I smelled smoke and realized my son’s bedroom was on fire. After the firemen left, I thought about what had happened and realized he must have set the fire to get my

attention.”

“That boy’s got a theatrical flair,” I said.

“Well, I realized I’ve been neglecting my son and I decided to make amends. So I took him to the park and pushed him on the swing. I know it’s a late start, but better now than never. He’s such a smart kid and so curious. You should see the collection of animal carcasses he’s amassed. He embalms them himself and stores them under the house.”

“A natural born organizer!" I said. "Is he a Virgo?”

“Anyway, despite not working, I’m very happy. I don’t think I need to come to therapy anymore.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” I said. Patients often mistake momentary joy for genuine happiness. As a trained psychotherapist, it’s my duty to wipe away the dust clouds of delusion. I also need to make a living!

“What’s more,” said BRADLEY, “I’ve started gardening. It turns out I’m pretty good at it. Three of my neighbors have hired me to maintain their yards.”

“That’s nice,” I said. “But you won’t have time for that when you go back to work on a new sit-com. All your neuroses and insecurities will come crashing in on you once you’re in that tense environment. You'll need therapy.”

“Oh, I intend to keep coming to therapy,” BRADLEY said.

“That’s a smart decision,” I told him. But then the conversation took a left turn.

“But I’m not going back to the studio. I’m starting my own landscaping company. It’ll be tough at first but I think I can make it work. I want to spend more time with my kids. And I’d like to keep coming to therapy, if it’s alright with you.”

“Of course,” I said.

“But money will be tight, so I’m hoping you’ll work on a sliding scale.”

How marvelous! Bradley had found contentment at last! But while I’m happy to work on a sliding scale, it slides upward and not in the other direction.

“Dear boy” I said, “I’ll gladly continue your therapy, but since you seem to be so happy, why would you want to waste your money?” I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out an envelope. “You’ve done great work under my guidance during the past nine years, and now I’m proud to present you with this certificate for a dozen SPRINKLES cupcakes. Go out and live your life. Enjoy your family, begin life anew!” (Let’s see, was there anything I had left out?) Greet the new dawn! Be safe, be well, he happy!”

BRADLEY must have been overcome with emotion because he mumbled something that sounded French and then launched himself out the door. “Be well,” I called to him, “be well, be safe, be happy!”

*******************************

NOTE TO SELF: CALL BRADLEY ABOUT THE CRABGRASS; IT’S CHOKING MY DEAR LITTLE ASPODISTRA!

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Hollywood Psychotherapist Blog