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Monthly Archive for July, 2009

Page 2 of 3

I want to break up with Igor: Yeast and irritation are rising

It started with a dream. I dreamt that I had brought a huge grocery cart full of groceries from Whole Foods with me to therapy. The contents of the cart had to be worth over $1000. At the top of the cart were three baguettes. When, in the dream, Igor saw the baguettes he said, “Why did you get those? They will make you eat fast.” Him saying that kind of bugged me and I wanted to explain to him that I eat slow but I knew he was taking info from a past session and so there was no point in trying to explain it to him. But, I was upset that he was misreading something fundamental about my temperament.

Then in the dream Igor and I were sitting on an ottoman. I grabbed the back of his hair because I wanted to feel how thick his hair was. I wanted to feel his substance. I was afraid he would interpret this action as erotic and it wasn’t.

So, I tell Igor the dream last Thursday. He asks for my interpretations. I tell him that I think it means I am bringing something valuable, nutritive and wholesome with me to therapy. This is a lot of groceries and they are really expensive. I think it means I bring a lot of good things with me to therapy. “It’s not like I bring a big trailer load of dirt or trash. I am bringing fancy groceries.”

“And, what about the baguettes? What kind are they?”Igor asked greedily.

“The French kind. You know the long and thin ones. The kind you can only get in France. ” This image seemed loaded with symbolic potential. Igor was blinded by the bread and ignored what they might mean to me.

“Well, I wouldn’t be telling you not to buy those or warn you not to eat them quickly. I love those. I would eat those fast. French bread is the best and with jamon…..mmmmm. I love the jamon.” He said it with far away eyes. His face indicating that he was no longer with my dream but dreaming of far away French bread.

I found myself thinking, ‘where the hell is he going with this?’

“Did I tell you that I have a sister who lives in France?” Igor asked.

“Uh, no.” Again I wondered what the clinical value of this information was.

“Yeah, she lived in L.A. and didn’t like it. She hated L.A. and she moved to Paris and got married and she adopted a child and she is very happy. She loves Paris and would never come back to L.A.”

“Nice.” I said. But in truth it felt anything but nice. He knows how I am hurting about baby and living in L.A. He know how much I love Paris. It felt sadistic. I shut down and didn’t want to talk about the dream anymore or even Paris. I felt as if he was trying to make me depressed. If he has been paying attention to my body language or my affect he would have seen how the story of his sister affected me. He didn’t.

He spent the rest of the session asking questions about what He-weasel does for a living and then he wanted me to explain the difference between north and south New Jersey. I answered his questions and was simultaneously pissed that I was paying $200 to talk about He-weasel’s job.

Almost immediately upon hearing that we might have been moving to NJ, which sadly we aren’t, Igor asked me what would happen to us( meaning me and Igor). That was his first reaction. Let me tell you that there were MANY clinical issues to explore when the possibility of us moving away from L.A. arose but he wasn’t interested in any of them. He wanted to know if he was still going to get his $800 for me. I left the session feeling hurt, angry and pissed( and then I went to see Away We Go).

Since the session I have had several dreams in which I feel that I am being attacked by something from the outside( attacking masculines) who don’t get me and who misunderstand me and don’t listen to what I am saying. In one dream I was in a high rise building and I heard a lot of outside noise and I went out on the patio and I saw a bulldozer that was supposed to be picking up debris and instead I knew it was going to destroy me. I flipped it the bird and went inside. Hmmmm…..I wonder what that could be about.

I really want to break up with Igor.

Why it seems that yesterday there was a conspiracy of kindness and goodness and things that made me glad

1. All of the incredible comments I got on my last blog post . I am so very grateful for all of your kindness, support and encouragement. If you knew how much good you did for me you might ask me to pay you instead of Igor. Thank you is just not big enough.

2. It was the 18th anniversary of when He-weasel proposed to me. I am so glad I said yes. He is the best thing that ever happened to me.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8FT5QF4JZUA]

3. I am a winner! I never win. But, I did. It seems my luck has changed. Soon I will have fantastically young and gorgeous skin. Thank you, Fashion Herald! Thank you, Dr. Perricone and Sephora! I thank you and my skin thanks you.

4. I had coffee and pastries at Porto’s Bakery in Glendale. Just Cuban pastries would have been enough to lift my spirits—but I got to share them with Tara of Doll Cannot Fly. When Tara and I meet we enter a time warp in which we make six hours seem like two. We cannot explain how we manage to shrink time so please direct your physics questions about time and space to another blog. And, no, it was not the guava and cheese pastry that makes time disappear even though we did make the tropical treat disappear with relative ease.

5. A certain gorgeous blogger wrote me a small email that had a big impact. I can’t tell you what she said but suffice it to say that an email with just fourteen words can mean so much. I will treasure it like a piece of her 14K jewelry.

6. I got a letter in the mail from a dear friend that I miss very much.

7. Another postal surprise was the early arrival of a book I have been waiting for “The Shortest Distance Between You and a Published Book” by Susan Page. Now I have something I can’t wait to read. I LOVE that feeling.

8. Lily, my dog-ughter, has become a master at puppy pirouettes(video of performances to follow very soon). I am so very proud. How did I turn my puppy into a prima ballerina? Well, she will do almost anything for turkey or aged Gouda cheese. Note to burglars: She will not let you in and show you my jewelry for any amount of Gouda cheese( aged or otherwise).

9. I didn’t have nightmares last night. It was the first night in a week that I haven’t had one. For some bazaar reason heat makes me have nightmares. To prevent nightmares we are now sleeping with the air conditioner set to a chilly 69 degrees. Brrrrrr!!!

10. I told He-weasel I was looking for the new and Town and Country magazine because Jenna Lyons, the creative director of J Crew, is featured in it. I was unable to find a copy. It seems that there isn’t a big call for Town and Country out here in Valencia. Unbeknownst to me my darling He-weasel went to three stores to find a copy for me. My heroic He-weasel’s hunt was a success.

Dave Eggers kidnapped me








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According to the noted Swiss psychologist, C.G. Jung, said, dreams are real, as real as real life. If that is true it means it really happened. Dave Eggers really did kidnap me. Only, I won’t be pressing charges and their was no ransom demands. I wish I had more to tell you about the dream. The dream was very light on content. It was pretty much a voice over that said, “Dave Eggers kidnapped you.”I woke up feeling simultaneously excited and a little concerned.

I told Igor and shockingly he didn’t know who Dave Eggers is.
“Are you kidding me?” I was dumbfounded that he didn’t know one of the greatest writers of my generation.
“No”, Igor weakly defended.
“Dave Eggers is one of my favorite writers and he wrote AHBWOSG. You have read it, haven’t you?”
“No,” Igor said with no tone of embarrassment.
I felt a strong impulse to after the session to go and buy him the book that is the Gen X equivalent to “The Catcher in the Rye” and ask him what the hell he is reading anyways. I planned to buy him the book and bring it in next week until I realized it would become a huge transference issue that we would have to talk about forever. “Why do you want me to read it? How did your parents not know what you valued? Would you feel more loved if I read this book?” Blah-blah-blah-blah…. I decided it wasn’t worth it to endure that line of questioning. Why can’t a gift just be a gift and not a loaded symbolic gesture?

“Tell me more about Eggers”. Igor asked.
“He is a brilliant writer from Lake Forest.” I then shared all that we have in common. I also shared a new bit of synchronicity, “Dave is also a Pisces and our birthdays are just two days apart.” I said as a way proving unequivocally how much alike we are.
“Hmmmm….. So do you like him? Igor asked.
He said it in a way that was so loaded that it couldn’t drive because it might get a D.U.I.
“No, it isn’t him. I don’t like him. I have no interest in him. It is his writing that I like. And, I like that we have so much in common. But, him as a person…I am not as interested. I guess that because of all that we have in common that maybe it gives me hope that I will write my own “Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius”.

Igor did the Igor posture. Eyes shut and his hands stroking his brows as if they contained some magical insight powder that was released only upon repeated contact. If he was a cartoon there would have been steam coming out of his head so as to indicate how hard his brain was working.
“This hope that you will be like Dave Eggers, it impinges you. It takes you and you are not free. It grabs a hold of you and then you can’t move.”

His interpretation was not at all what I had been hoping for. As soon as he came up with that it I felt a depression coming on as undeniable as hiccups and it got worse when he immediately changed the subject and asked if I was still planning on going back to work in the fall.
I read his subject change to mean that I should quit writing and focus on my work. I was too upset by my reading to ask if that is what he was really saying.

A week later I went to see the film, Away We Go , written by Dave Eggers. I didn’t know much about the movie before I went. I had read a few bad reviews that didn’t talk a lot about the story but instead were baffled that Sam Mendes could make such a movie. I saw the movie and to be honest with you I have no idea if it was a good movie or a bad movie. I just don’t know. It is not for me to assess it as a creative work but rather to share with you how it affected me.

What I know is that it was not a movie I should have seen alone and without an Ativan in my purse. It is a movie about a happy young couple with child who are trying to find a home for their soon to be baby. Perfect movie for me, huh?And, I went to see it in a pretty vulnerable state. For the last week I have had two cases of ruptured ovarian cysts and I can tell you they hurt like a mother. Any *female* issue always brings up my unresolved issues about our intractable childlessness.

“Away We Go” is a sort of “On the Road” on hormones, a light hearted Kerouac for those shopping for cradles. The happy couple travel the country and try to find home in Tuscon, Arizona; Madison, Wisconsin; Montreal; and Miami, Florida. It was when they got to Montreal and met up with college friends who had just gone through their fifth miscarriage that I went into a hormonal/PTSD/and mild histerical outburst. I sat alone in the Westwood Pavilion director’s lounge theater and sobbed until I shook. The 50-something man in the seat in front of me did his best to ignore the crazy lady behind him. By the time they were in Florida and lying on a trampoline and making vows of what kind of parents they would be that I thought I might need an ambulance to get out of there as I thought my heart was going to break and if it did I was sure I wouldn’t be able to walk to my car with a broken heart. Heart and feet must be connected somehow.

Spoiler alert: In the movie the couple finds a perfect home for their soon to arrive baby and it is in watching that scene that I realized I may never find home—as home for me has always included a baby. When I had that realization is when my heart did break( it turns out you can walk with a broken heart, good to know). I sat alone in the theater after everyone left and I sat there and cried and grieved something I have grieved before. I said the mantra that goes with this grief, “it’s not fair.” When the usher came in to clean out the empty theater I took a quick look at myself in my compact and saw that I resembled a swollen raccoon and that dark glasses were in order. I walked out of the theater and to the car in darkness, feeling everyone could tell I had been crying and that I was an unfertile and bitter woman and if there was a god he must hate me and I must have done awful things to be denied this basic biological function that my body was designed for.

For 48 hours last week we thought He-weasel might be transferred to North New Jersey. I had made connections with Realtors and friends from NJ to seek thei
r advice. Thanks to Realtor.com I had already found a 100 year old house in Bernardsville that I really liked and could imagine us living in. I started to imagine the kind of life we would live there. But, at the end of “Away We Go”, when I saw the happy couple in their happy ending, I realized that we would likely be the only couple in Bernardsville without kids. People move to places like Bernardsville and Lake Bluff because they have kids—and we don’t.

Friday night I found out the job in New Jersey had been filled and so we would not be moving anyways. I was sad, sure. But, I wasn’t as sad as I would have been if I hadn’t seen “Away We Go”. Dave Eggers movie had kidnapped my hope that I will ever find a home. I hope he sends a ransom note soon. I’d settle for an offer to publish a piece in McSweeney’s.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4mpLvUY8TUE]

Mi nombre no es Roofy

I have happy/sad/happy/sad news. Roofy, nay, Pepe, is back with his family. His family went to the pound yesterday and saw the picture of Roofy. They called my mother in law and wisely my mother in law grilled the people who claimed to be his family. She asked if he was fixed or not and for any distinguishing markings. She asked for his name and then went and called him by the name they call him, Pepe. Roofy came running. It seemed that they were indeed his family and that his name really was Pepe.

An hour later the family came and claimed their pooch. My mother in law gave them orders to get micro-chipped and fixed. They promised to do both. Then they took Roofy away.

I am of course happy for the five year old boy who had been grieving the loss of Pepe for days. That said, I am so sad for Lily, my mother in law and me. My M.I.L fell hard for Roofy, as one would do with such an adorable dog. I know she misses him. When we go back to visit my in laws,Lily, He-weasel and I will miss him too. I miss him already.

Bye, Roofy. Adios, Pepe.

Picture of Roofy(Pepe)Lily, and my hand was taken at my in-laws house by my F.I.L.

Today’s post is only for the Lily lovers

Monday we go back to regular scheduled non-doggy posting( I have posted three dog posts in the last week—that is a whole lot of doggy). I assure you that I will go back to regular programming next week with more “Thursday’s with Igor”, Things that don’t suck about L.A., Writing in Valencia and some news on the house front.
But, today I am feeling a little bit crap and so I am taking the day off. Lily is filling in for me. She, unlike her mother, does not enjoy writing and so she instead is posting some of her favorite pictures of herself for your viewing pleasure.

She also wanted me to tell you that Roofy is still at the in-laws. No one has called about him. We are still crossing paws that the in-laws will keep Roofy. They have bought Roofy a bed, a collar, a leash and toys. This bodes well for the Roofster.

Lily hopes you all have a lovely weekend filled with treats, scratches behind the ear, belly rubs and long walks.

Lily enjoying a bagel

Lily watching “Bolt”



Lily at the beach

6-10 of 365

(365 Things that don’t suck about L.A.)

6. The Smoke House
I met a friend for lunch last week at this historic Burbank eatery. The Smoke House opened up in 1946, which is ancient according to L.A. standards. It is right across the street from the Warner Brothers Studio and blocks away from the Universal Studios lot. This place is the definition of old school. Really and truly I felt like I was in Madmen when I walked in. I expected Don Draper, Roger Sterling and Pete Campbell to walk in and order martinis and bloody rare steaks.

We sat in a vinyl red boot, a booth that big butts of fame have likely warmed. I bet Frank Sinatra, Cary Grant, Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, Errol Flynn, Judy Garland, and Katherine Hepburn have at one time or another sat where I was sitting. The service was so good that made us wonder if the waiter thought we were celebrities. A photo girl came to our table and took our photo; I was for that moment imagining what it must be like to be Miley Cyrus. It was a nice change from restaurants where waitresses tell you their names and call groups of two or more, “guys”.

At the table behind us where a bunch of old school Hollywood types guzzling martinis like Gatorade and slurping down oysters as if they had after lunch plans to meet their mistresses. I overheard one of the old school men ask the waiter for oyster crackers. Something about the oyster cracker request cracked me up. And, then there was a 60-something guy at a table across from us who ordered a steak sandwich and a scotch who gave me the eye.

We didn’t have the Smoke House’s famous Garlic cheese bread as I was there with a vegan friend who had a plate of steamed vegetables. FYI: This is not a place for vegans. As I am not a vegan I had the steak, blue cheese and arugula salad. If I had been there with my He-weasel I would have ordered the cheese bread and a martini or two. My salad was good, not great but good. But, quite frankly, I think that the ambiance makes up for any of the food’s mediocrity.

I read that is a favorite place of George Clooney. And, I can so see him here. Sadly, I did not see him when I was there. But, I will be back and hopefully then I will see George and if not the cheese bread will make the trip worthwhile.

For visitors to L.A. let me tell you that if you want to see celebrities I would come to the Smoke House for lunch or dinner and skip the Hard Rock Cafe. Celebrities do not ever go to the Hard Rock Cafe.

7. Cheap nail salons
I am not sure why but I do think Southern California is the nail salon capitol of the world and because of that you can get a mani and pedi for $30. In any five block radius in L.A. I bet you would find at least six nail salons. In Chicago I paid $50 for a pedicure alone and it was not like the pedicure was so much better than the one in L.A., actually there were no fancy spa chairs in Chicago. It is true that I never use the massage chair because to me it feels like being hit by a sack of lemons, but I could use it if I wanted to.

Living in L.A. for so long has made me permanently cheap about manis and pedis. Every time I went for a mani/pedi in Chicago I griped internally that I had to tip almost as much as I had to pay for a manicure in L.A. I never took into consideration that housing was cheaper or that because my feet were in boots seven months out of the year I needed less frequent pedicures so amortized the Chicago pedicure was cheaper. No, my mind doesn’t work like that and I am bad at math.

I go to Nina. I like Nina because I can 80% of the time understand her English and she is funny and is really fast. What I don’t like about her is hearing how much she is making in real estate and in the stock market. Don’t get me wrong, I am very happy Nina is doing so well. I only wish I was doing as well as my nail gal. Maybe I could get her to give some tips. Get it? Tips! Mwah-ha-ha!!!

8. Incredible orange skied sunsets that can only exist in places with lots of smog

9. L.A. International Airport
While my two favorite airports in the world are O’Hare in Chicago and Charles de Gaulle in Paris, for location alone. I do like LA airport, especially the departure level, as it reminds me that I can get out of here. I am not stuck. This is not the Hotel California. And, I do sort of like the 60′s space age architecture that is the landmark Encounters Theme Restaurant. The interior is very Austin Power’s meets the Jetsons.

10. L.A. area public bathrooms almost always have toilet seat protectors
I do usually squat but there are times when a gal wants to sit. In L.A. I can, if I chose, cover the public toilet seat with five seat covers. In Chicago I never-ever-ever saw a seat cover. I am not sure if it is illegal there or what. But, in Chicago squatting is the only option.

Photo of LA sunset comes from here.
Photo of LAX Encounters Theme restaurant comes from here.

About Me

My name is Tracey, aka La Belette Rouge. I am a psychotherapist and the author of Freudian Sip @ Psychology Today. I blog about psychology, my therapy, dreams, writing, meaning making, home, longing, loss, infertility and other things that delight or inspire me. I try to make deep and elusive psychodynamic concepts accessible and funny. For more information, click here .

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