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2004-09-01 @ 1:15 a.m.
where's lorraine bobbett when you need her?

Tonight I was laying on the couch watching TV. I thought I was watching “Last Comic Standing”. Turned out it was Arnold Schwarzenegger on “The National Republican Convention”.

Anyways, had a very intense appointment with “A” this morning. Last week we had decided that we would do an anger role-play this week. They are undeniably intense, but I’ve had so much anger swirling around my head lately, that I couldn’t deny needing one. We hadn’t done one since last year.

Last week we had been talking about my anger at my Filipino mail order whore stepmother. That’s been ongoing, since she convinced my Dad three years ago, at the height of his Alzheimer’s Disease, to move to the Philippines, where I never saw him again. She had moved him there in order to get him away from me, to change his will. He had a considerable estate. I was due to get half of it. But in his deeply Alzheimered state, he wasn’t aware of what was going on. Of her devious goings-on. Nor of my desperate attempts to stop the move, which I totally fucked up, by becoming too emotional (my specialty it seems). His estate, with all his various insurance policies (he had about 4 of them) and real estate holdings, was probably worth at least a half a million. I last hugged my Dad good bye and said I loved him September 8th, 2001 and never saw him again.

Filipino Mail Order Whore 1. Wittykitty 0.

But that wasn’t what we role played today. I think I kind of surprised “A” with my choice. I was nervous about doing it, but I think it was really necessary. I needed to role-play my anger at the Nanny Guy who I encountered in early July. I’ve been so pissed at him. He turned out to be such a dickhead both to me and to his kids. I hated seeing his kids being hurt emotionally and possibly in other ways. Yeah, that. And some of the stuff he had said and done to me was not acceptable.

He had totally knocked the pins out from under me. Have been feeling angry, sad and depressed since then and have never really recovered from it. For instance, I’ve never been able to make eye contact with anyone since then. I’ve been feeling more useless than usual, and I’ve been feeling really shameful. Like I did something wrong. And yet I didn’t. He did.

Like him and his brother playing a prank on me, by flashing me, when I first arrived. OK, if I was 20 something and we were at a kegger party on grad night, it would be one thing, but I was a 46 year old woman arriving at a home to take care of children. Flashing an ass, on purpose, on a security camera, which already had its built in kinky factors, for shock value, was, in a word, unacceptable.

Having the guy show me a sexy maid’s uniform in a magazine and asking me if I thought I should wear something like that for my job was...ummm...unacceptable.

Telling me in graphic detail about his wife “servicing him” twice a day while she was dying of cancer (obviously trying to impress upon me, that he was a stud who, indeed, needed sexual attention at least twice a day) was....unacceptable.

Like dude, first of all, She’s Your Wife, not some hooker you picked up down on the wharf. And dont’cha think the word “Servicing” should be reserved for hookers rather than your bride of 21 years and the mother of your children? And why the hell are you telling me this, anyways? I’m not your beer buddy or your co-worker or your shrink. I’m your nanny. I’ve only known you for an hour and a half. And why would you want to say that to anyone anyways. It makes you look like a dickhead. I mean your wife is on chemo...she’s probably puking her brains out, and you’re standing at her bedside saying, “honey, you up...honey, its Nannyguy Time!”

What an appalling human being. Hello! Did you ever think of your wife’s comfort rather than your selfish desire for a hard-on? yeah, yeah, yeah...first things first. Penises rules.

And then there was the famous laundry room “incident”. And you were such a clever boy, you were. In a house full of security cameras, you managed to stay out of view on this one. You remember that Sir G?

You came home after a heavy thunderstorm all drenched and told me that cock and bull story about rescuing some woman in a car accident, which was why your clothes were wet. Honey, they weren’t that wet. You just needed an excuse to start taking your clothes off in front of me. Now why did you do that? Especially when you could have made your merry way up to your luxury bedroom where all your chic expensive clothes were hanging?

Oh yeah, you wanted to show your sorry ass wienie to the help.

...While I was cooking macaroni and cheese for your kids. Now was that really necessary? Taking off EVERYTHING, just out of view of one of your many security cameras? I wonder if the camera caught my alarmed reaction. I tried not to be alarmed. I was just cooking macaroni and cheese after all, but here was a guy, I barely knew, taking off his fucking clothes just out of nowhere.

Later when I told Married Guy about it, he said one sentence, “He wanted to have sex with you.” Up until that point I had been talking passionately to him about the whole subject, but when he said that, I just totally stopped in my tracks, folded my arms like an irate five year old and stopped talking to him. I’m not sure why that pissed me off so bad.

Is that how guys think? If I take my clothes off, the girl will automatically want to fuck me?

Well, it didn’t work in this case.

And then you had the nerve, the next morning, to call me from your car, and tell me about your car-rescue heroics for a second time. Hon, I didn’t believe you the first time. You’re such a selfish prick the only way you would stop at an accident scene would be if the girl in the car was one of your Match.Com babes on the way to “service” you.

And then there were other small things like walking into my room without knocking...the fact that you never once said my name aloud and the joke you made that you had a lot of property and if my job didn’t work out, “they’d never find my body” (hahahahahaha...gulp).

You were certainly a charming chap though. Oh yes. And you would have certainly been a fine catch for me. I would have had a big house, an SUV, 2.5 kids, a big sexy-beast husband, who required constant sexual gratification (hey, kinda like me), but no. I threw it all away.

I guess I just don’t get along with self centered dickheads. Its just a little quirk of mine.

Now what did you call him today “A”? Crazy? I vaguely remember hearing something to that affect. Well, if he was “Crazy”, “A”, why in God’s name, did you send me there? Why?? You’re his shrink. And if anyone should know the degree of craziness of anyone, it should be you. Why would you put me in harm’s way? You knew this guy had all these sexual appetites and fetishes. It was like putting a white mouse in a glass cage with an anaconda for God sakes.

I mean, great, I made $150. Thanks, I really appreciate it. And I do, especially considering my circumstance, but I also racked up about 6 months worth of therapy off five days of living with some fuzzy haired freak with a fetish for spying on girls when they don't know it.

Ya know, I still have pictures of his kids on my digital camera. I look at them every week or so. Man, that is such a sad story. And you know what I’m talking about there. That part still really affects me too. When I told Married Guy about their situation, he thought we should call Social Services. That’s how critical he thought the situation was. But I know the kids are now being cared for intermittently by that other woman, so that is somewhat comforting, but still. Sir G. is an asswipe.

Although, on the bright side, he will be providing some future therapist with a phenomenal income when his three kids hit therapy in another ten years. That is, provided they don’t commit suicide or go to jail for shooting their father first.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty