I'm In Love With My Anger Management Counselor

There will be five more installments of "The Reason I Think The Way I Do About Things", but I'm taking a break because those take a long time to write. I'm trying to be as reasoned and philosophical in those as possible. Because I'm angry at some of the reactions I've gotten for my pro-Palin blogs. I'm mostly angry at myself for being upset by those reactions. It's confusing having a name in the comedy world and being broke. If I'm not getting paid, I could write the word "cunt" five thousand times on this blog if I wanted to and what would it matter? So I'm trying to outline the philosophical argument for libertarianism in those installments. Free market and all that goes with it.

But I needed to get a quick emotional blog out here. One where I'm not as concerned about grammar. I'm in love with my anger management counselor.

This month marks the one-year anniversary of the last time I had sex. Her name was Lisa and we had sex--about two weekends' worth of sex--in this room I was renting in the Bernal Heights neighborhood of San Francisco. It was very good sex. She was Japanese. I had never been with an Asian woman before and it was certainly worth every minute. She also brought over Japanese snacks--these spicy chips and chocolate sticks as well as lemon tea in a thermos. It was fun spending that time with her. Lisa, if you're reading this, I will be back in San Francisco on Nov. 8th and would like to have sex with you again. I'm sorry that I turned emotionally cold when it was time to leave for New York. I will be in town from the 6th of November until the 10th of November.

Now on to my anger management counselor. Her name is Sarah Meehan. (Yes, I know, another Sarah!) When I checked myself into St. Vincent's Outpatient Center, she taught this recovery class on Friday mornings. I thought she was cute right from the start. But she didn't like cursing. She would ask me things like, "What do you mean when you say 'fucking bullshit'"

"You know, 'fucking bullshit'"

After a few weeks of that class, she said that she thought I might need anger management. I disagreed. I told her anger was fun. But then out of curiosity, I asked her who taught the anger management class.

"I do."

Hmm.

One day I saw Sarah in the 42nd Street subway station. She was wearing jogging clothes and looked as if she had just got done running. She was all sweaty. I swear it was her. I said hi and she ignored me.

The next day, I saw her in recovery class. "Did you snub me yesterday?" I asked her.

"What? No, where did I snub you?"

"I saw you in the subway station."

"No, I didn't see you."

"I swear it was you."

"I don't think so."

Anyway, I took her at her word, but still put off the anger management idea for a few weeks, content to see Sarah on Friday mornings. (At this stage, I didn't know I loved her yet. I was just getting off of alcohol and drugs and I had a lot on my plate)

But then--I think it was sometime in mid-July, perhaps early August--I was arrested for assault in Union Square Park. (Would you guys like to know this story? I'll tell you in a separate entry, but only if you want)

Anyway, when I was released I was given a court date and I when I saw Sarah on the following Friday, I told her that I thought going to anger management would be a good idea just in case I needed to show anything to the judge.

Now I saw Sarah twice a week!

Our relationship started grow. One day, she wrote me a note to take down to the welfare office in Queens (would you guys like to know about my thirty-day experience with welfare? I'll tell you in a separate entry, but only if you want. Let's just say that a month of welfare was all I could handle. It takes a special determination to live off of welfare. I don't have it. After all, I'm a libertarian!)

Anyway, I looked at her signature and her office phone number underneath. Wow! I have Sarah's phone number, I thought. (Sarah wasn't my case worker. Umberto was. Normally, Umberto would write me a note, but Sarah was the only one available that day.)

I found myself looking at her name and her phone number on that piece of paper all the way out to the welfare office in Queens. In fact, I didn't even want to give it to the welfare lady. Which didn't matter, because she didn't want it anyway. Big dyke. "I don't want to see your paper! I've got a line here to deal with! 40129A Window 2!"

Fine, I thought, I'll just keep this paper.

After the hassle of welfare, I decided to just get a job. Thus, I had to change my schedule at St. Vincent's. Umberto got me some night classes.

Umberto is an Italian. Not an Italian-American, but a real live Italian. He has an accent which I can't really type out in eye dialiect--but here's what he said the day he gave me the new classes

"Okay, Monday evening, there's this class you should take. Sarah teaches that. And then Tuesday would be a good one for you also. Sarah teaches that one, too. Then you have your anger management, still. So that's with Sarah on Wednesday mornings. You can still make that one, right?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely."

"And then you still have your Friday morning class with Sarah. Can you make that one, too?"

"Oh, yeah, I'll switch my hours around that day."

I tried to show calmness. But boy was I excited. Four days of Sarah Meehan, Licensed Clinical Social Worker!

But it was not all fun. There were other people in the classes. Damn! It made me mad when they talked to Sarah and when Sarah talked to them. I wanted Sarah to be my case worker so I would have alone time with Sarah. Don't get me wrong. I like Umberto. But Umberto is no Sarah. So I only had Sarah during class and there were always other people coming between me and Sarah in class.

So I stopped going to classes. It hurt too much to share Sarah.

After disappearing for a week, I thought I would do her a favor and call her on Monday evening to tell her I would miss the Tuesday evening class.

"Sarah Meehan."

"Hi, Sarah. It's Will Franken."

"Hi."

"I just wanted to tell you that. . .I'm not going to be able to make tomorrow's class."

"Well, you should talk to Umberto about why you're not making your classes."

Wow. I didn't like her tone. She was snippy. I thought she would plead with me to come. Something like, "Will. . .please come to the class. It's not the same without you."

So when Wednesday morning came around for anger management, I had a lot to say to little miss Sarah.

"Yeah, I'm pretty fucking pissed off today. And you want to know what I'm pissed off about? I didn't like your attitude on the phone the other day. You were snippy."

"I wasn't snippy."

"Yeah, you were. You were snippy with me."

"Well, let's talk about that."

"I don't want to talk about it."

I thought she was going to take the bait and beg me to talk about it, "Please, honey, let's talk about it. I love you too much for us not to talk about this."

Instead, she said, "Okay. Let's move on. Kenny, how is your week going so far?"

Just for that, I skipped Friday's class. And the following Monday. And Tuesday.

It wasn't until the next anger management class on Wednesday that I showed up. Sarah was wearing her sexy shoes. Fuck-me pumps in an anger management class. Wow!

A new guy, a Jamaican, began by saying his name and how many days he had clean and sober. I really liked the cadence of his voice, so I laughed (which is what I do when I like something)

"What's so funny?" snapped Sarah.

"Jesus Christ, I liked his fucking cadence! What's your fucking problem?"

When it came my turn, I had a lot to say. "All right, I'm pissed at you again. First you snub me, then you're snippy, and now you're snappy. I laugh when I'm happy. His accent made me happy. I'm not too fucking happy lately. So if I can laugh, I'm going to fucking laugh, understand?"

"I'm sorry," said Sarah, "I didn't know that's why you were laughing."

Oh no, I thought. She's sorry. And I was mean to her. Poor Sarah. How could I do this to her?

I was so overcome with guilt at hurting Sarah that I stopped going to classes for two weeks. I did not want to share Sarah and I did not want to hurt her. It was better, I thought, if I did not see her at all. I also thought that if I stayed away long enough, it would be appropriate for me to call her and ask her out on a date since I wouldn't be a client anymore.

Anyway, last night I had a dream about her. I don't remember the specifics. I just remember in the dream that I asked her out and she was excited at the idea. She didn't say yes or no, but I could tell that she was getting ready to say yes. Do you know what I mean? When a girl is getting ready to say yes, that she'll go on a date with you? You can almost see the "Y" forming in her throat. I haven't experienced that feeling in a long time, even nocturnally.

So I woke up smiling. I was just happy to love her. I had no plans on actually seeing her again. Do you guys know what it's like to have a puppy-love crush? You don't actually have to do anything. . .you just enjoy thinking about them.

But check this out. I'm awake for two hours and who should call? No, not Sarah. Umberto. And he's concerned.

"William, you have not been to your classes for two weeks. I need to know if you want to terminate your schedule here at St. Vincent's."

Oh, jeez, this is it. Time to make a commitment. Can I really live without Sarah? I was kind of hoping that they'd keep me on indefinitely. Just in case I did want to drop in on a little anger management.

"Uh. . ."

"Would you like another week to think about it?"

"Uh. . ." Seriously, I was only thinking about Sarah. If anybody else was teaching these classes, I would have stopped going a long time ago.

"Would you at least be able to make your anger management class in the morning with Sarah tomorrow?"

Oh my god. He said her name. "Yes. I. will. be. there. tomorrow. Umberto."

"Good William. I will let Sarah know."

So I'm going to sleep early so I can get up in the morning and see Sarah. It's fall now. She probably will not be wearing those skimpy skirts anymore.