The Goodbye Look

In more ways than I can possibly describe, this isn't working. It's not you, it's me.

So I'm sorry to tell you that I'm gonna stop now and maybe come back in a while as someone else.

Maybe even, if I'm lucky, as myself.

Needing Eggs

My wife and I had one too many glasses of Merlot last night (which for lightweights like us, means two apiece) and one thing led to another until . . . she fell asleep.

I didn't mind it all that much (it certainly wasn't the first time it had happened), and then when I thought about it a little more, it began to bother me that I didn't feel more bothered.

She actually woke up about an hour later, just in time to catch the beginning of Annie Hall. It's one of those movies that I have to watch whenever it's on TV, and since it was first released in the late-seventies, not a year has gone by that I haven't seen it at least once. My wife had previously seen it when she was in her early twenties and didn't remember it at all.

For my money, it really holds up well and we were laughing and crying right up until Woody delivers the immortal last line: "I guess we keep goin' through it because, uh, most of us . . . need the eggs." And as we were lying in bed together, watching the silent credits roll, it felt better than sex.

MILP Hunting

It got particularly heated in group therapy the other night. This intense Italian mom (as if there's any other type) was complaining that her pot dealer son never listens to a word she says and curses her out all of the time, and our therapist asked everyone else what they thought about that. My immediate thought was, "She's pretty hot in a familiarly crazy and super-stressed out kinda way!"

And then I spent the rest of the session checking out all of the other MILPs (mothers in lots of pain). There was a newbie sans husband sitting next to me who had a nice rack and cool glasses, and another one with ruddy skin and a few extra pounds who was not altogether bad looking. A dark-haired woman with a slight overbite was sitting on the other side of my wife and I kept trying to picture her naked, but she wouldn't stop crying.

I can't speak for anyone else, but this group is really doing me a lot of good.

Show Us Your Twits

Before I became Dr. Woo, I was Evrythingmustgo on Twitter. I grew bored with it pretty quickly (although I loved the haiku-ness of its 140 character limit), and considering that most of my followers were spam bots, it felt like an even bigger waste of time than this has been, presuming that some of you, at least, are real.

That said, I still think you might enjoy the following medley of my Twits (which is really just another way of saying that I couldn't think of anything new to write about today):

Sometimes I wonder if the imaginary voices in my head can feel my phantom chest pains.

There's always laughter right outside of my office.

My older son now wants to go to the University of Amsterdam. Weeds College is his reach school.

Dr. Ruth mistakenly called Facebook "Facelift" on The Today Show. And then she lifted up her skirt and asked, "Who vants to see my space?"

My wife asks a million questions and then gets annoyed at me when I answer each one of them.

I think my older son broke up with his girlfriend. I asked him where she was this weekend and he said, "Not here."

My younger son always seems to be happy, but the "seems" part worries me.

I'm not a big fan of anti-depressants, but I'd consider it if it came in a topical rub.

Topical rub is also a euphemism for masturbating to whoever is in the news.

My wife's been complaining about having a salty taste in her mouth, so I told her that I'm going to kick Mr. Peanut's ass.

Carnac 2.0: "A bong, a condom, a smelly bag from Wendy's." (Rips envelope) "What I found this morning on top of my older son's laptop."

Text message from my wife this morning: If u hav a chance can u pick up milk and half and half ? Thx.

My response: That was the least sexy text message I've ever received.

To which she replied: The milk is for my breast and pussy bath and the cream is for rubbing your hard cock in my hands and mouth!

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why we've been married for almost 25 years.

I'm pretty sure I have OCD. I'm pretty sure I have. I'm pretty sure I. I'm pretty sure. I'm pretty. I'm. I.

Doctor Hears a Woo

A devoted reader (I have two) recently reminded me that I've gone off message again. His basic criticism was that I'm not doing such a hot job in the wooing department, and this is coming from someone who already loves me and has done his own fair share of pulling in the ladies (and I'll see you soon, Clooney).

Desperate for inspiration, I looked up the definition of woo (it's a little known fact that many of the great poets also turned to Wikipedia), and this is what I found:

To seek the affection of with intent to romance.

Now I think I've been pretty good about seeking out affection (and by pretty good, I mean pathological), but my intent has been as shaky as my emotions and that kinda makes romance even more arduous, especially when the other devoted reader is my sister.

I hate that my life keeps getting in our way, but I'm not sure what to do about it, short of getting a new life, which was sorta the idea in the first place. We were supposed to be sharing a break from our lives, rather than the relentless heartbreak of mine.

And what about your heart? How am I gonna work my way in? Or thereabouts.

The doctor will see you now.

My Own Worst Enemy

I've been making myself crazy again (and so ends the lightening the fuck up portion of our show). I could probably use some meds of my own, but that would just make me feel better and in a nutshell (haha), that's the problem. I was telling my therapist last night that the more things have seemingly stabilized at home, the more unsettled I've been feeling and how I've become my own worst enemy.

"I go looking for trouble! I've been going through my son's room looking for shit. Weed, pipes, notes from his girlfriend, whatever," I admitted, shaking my head in half embarrassment and half disbelief. "Or I'll count his pills every night just to make sure that he's taking 'em. I'm creating anxiety out of thin air."

"It's all about control," she said, for what sounded like the millionth time. "It makes you feel that you're doing something or that you can prevent something from happening. That feeling is so familiar to you, but the thing is, you can't really do anything about this. If he's gonna get high, he's gonna get high. He's either gonna take his pills or not. You have to begin to let go."

"You know, I did the same damn thing a few years ago when my wife was having an affair," I said, shaking my head again. "I frantically searched around the house looking for . . . I don't even know what I was looking for."

"Stop counting the pills and stay out of his room!" she fake yelled at me. "You can start letting go with some of these little things. And you gotta stop making yourself crazy!"

"Maybe I should start with little meds and stop seeing you," I joked and handed her a check.

"Thanks," she said. "Maybe I'll see you next week."

Coming Home

I never know what to expect when I come home from work, so I take a deep breath. The moment I put my key in the door, the house could explode. Or it could be as quiet as the middle of the night. The first thing I look for is my older son's sneakers. If they're lying around in the front hall, it means that he's not in them somewhere else.

The next thing I look for is my wife. If she's in the kitchen, it means that she's probably not sick to her stomach. If she's upstairs in our bedroom under the covers, things can go either way. If the lights are off, that's not a good sign. As soon as I see her face, I know everything I need to know.

And if her look doesn't kill me, I'll go looking for my older son. If I hear music (and don't smell anything funky) coming from his room, it means that I probably won't get sick to my stomach. If he's wearing headphones and typing on his laptop, it's 50-50 that something's not right. If he answers my questions with one word, make it 75 percent. If he answers with one word and doesn't look at me, I know everything I need to know.

After that, I'll usually poke my head in to say hi to my younger son and it's always such a relief to see him. Then I'll go downstairs to eat some dinner and sometimes he'll come along just to keep me company.