I have to honest, when I first started seeing my therapist because of my "anger issues" I thought that she was an absolute quack. She just sat there writing in a journal as I talked about the physical altercations that I have been in, father issues, and other fucked up things about yours truly. At times I felt that she wasn't listening, so mid-sentence I would say something totally crazy like "Sometimes I enjoy horse semen on a hot summer day!" That never worked because she would look up, adjust her glasses and say, "So, tell me why you enjoy horse semen so much?" Outside of myself, there is nothing I hate more than a smart-ass. Besides that, I almost ended our sessions when she said the following: "HumanityCritic, you have anger issues, you are a germaphobe, and you have a sexual addiction that needs to be worked on." I gave a irritated smirk, walked over to her computer and typed in www.nappydiatribe.blogspot.com and said, "Any random motherfucker who comments on my blog could have told me that!! I am spending good money here, loot that could have been used for better things like beer and strippers, and that is your brilliant analysis?"
But I am sticking it out, and besides the time that she called me an asshole(that can't be good) we have been making some progress, the mere fact that I don't get that angry anymore is a sign of that. But recently she asked me something that I found utterly ridiculous, she asked me to call her whenever I felt a "moment of rage" coming on. I nodded and said I would, not really thinking that I would ever do it, but a few times recently I have had to call her up. Here are a few incidents that I want to share with you.
My neighbors, a beauty salon, and the lawn: Did I ever tell you about my neighbors to the right of me, boy do I hate those fuckers. For one thing, when they moved last year the first thing they did was put in a make shift beauty salon in their garage. Besides it being a losing investment because under the law here you can only have one client at a time if you have it in your house, but it is all the miserable bastards who go there and park in front of my house like they have lost their mind. Looking back I know I have come off as kind of prick, due to the many times I have verbally assaulted anyone who dares to park in front of my driveway. But lately, due to my therapy sessions and hopefully late maturation process that comes with turning 32, things have gone somewhat smoothly, that was until we had an issue with the grass recently.
The next door neighbor has a bad habit of cutting into my property, I don't mean a line or two either, like six lines and shit. So, in a passive aggressive way, I had some surveyors come by and put down spray paint marks and pegs showing where my property started. I figured that that should be good enough to show him what was up without cursing him the fuck out. That didn't work at all. After about 4 weeks of him doing the exact same thing, I could feel my temperature rising, and the fact that I saw him getting ready to cut his grass just lit a fire in me. So I suddenly remembered to call my therapist if I was about to explode, so I did. The telephone conversation went a little like this. Me: I'm about to have an outburst. Therapist: OK, remember what I told you, breath, control your anger. Me: OK, I'm breathing, I'm calming dow..(Looking outside at my neighbor cutting into my grass again) Goddammit him!!(puts phone in pocket and rushes outside) I had no intention to lay a finger on my neighbor, but the way I ran up on him scared the shit out of him. So I took a breath, pointed to the two chalk marks and wooden peg and said, "Do you know what that signifies??" He looked at it, smirked and said, "I don't fucking know?" I told that him that they were to show where my property started, where he then said "So?? Why do you care?" (suddenly I feel like David Banner turning into the Hulk, but this time I am HumanityCritic turning into my father) I say the following: "What are you fucking stupid? It matters because you ignorant fuckers cut your grass entirely too low, so the fact that you cut 5 lines into my yard it makes a difference! What are you 40, and you didn't know what those pegs signified?? You have the I.Q of lunch-meat, if I ever see you doing that again I'm going to take one of those pegs and shove.."(I suddenly remember the phone in my pocket where my therapist was still on the line.) I pick up the phone and say, "Did you hear all of that?, where she replied, "Yeah, umm, we have to talk".
Who you calling a bitch?: I have been friends with Randy since I was 12 years old, through thick and thin, his jail-time and my asshole-ness, we've been through it all. His mother is like a second mom to me, she has always made me a part of their family.(Even though Randy being a Bush supporter sometimes makes me want to commit sibling homicide) Anyway, I was invited to have dinner over Randy's mother's house for a great Sunday meal. As she is cooking the dinner she relays a story about a cashier at the grocery store who had called her a "stupid bitch" an hour earlier, simply because she had pointed out that the cashier had given her incorrect change. I could feel my blood pressure rising, simply because we all have mothers, aunts, whatever, that are the nicest people in the world and wouldn't hurt a fly. I'm not going to lie, some people have mothers deserving of inappropriate words thrown their way, but Randy's mom wasn't one of them. Randy looked at me and said, "HumanityCritic don't!", as I proceeded to get the description of the cashier in vivid detail.(Looking back, the way Randy's mom gave me an exact description like I was a police sketch artist, made me think that she was in approval of my future rant.) As I drive up to the store I call my therapist and tell her what's happening: Me: Yeah, I'm about to curse this chick out who called my friend's mom a bitch. Her: You are supposed to call me before you initiate the act, not during. You pretty much have made up your mind that you're going to do this huh? How mature is that? Me: Not very doc, I feel you on that.(See a woman who fit the description outside smoking a cigarette) Gotta go.
You know what, I must have a "Oh shit, he's about to beat my ass" walk about me because the girl in question looked alarmed. I asked to see her manager because of her calling customers "bitches" like she had lost her mind. She let out some obscenities my direction, to the point that the manager came out due to the noise. When I explained the situation to the manager, the girl in question was calling me all kind of "bastard's" and waving her arms like she was crazy.(I would have paid money to become a woman for one minute. But then again, if I had the power to be a woman for even one minute, I might spent that time fondling myself, not fighting, anyway) The manager, based on her actions, fired her on the spot. Then suddenly the boyfriend, who had arrived to pick her up I guess, tried to step up. My eyes lit up and I said, "Yess, someone who I can beat up" as I threw my hands up and talk shit. I must have looked crazy now that I think about it, a long haired dreadlocked dude who hadn't shaved in a week, wearing a John Carlos shirt where he was giving the black power symbol at the Olympics, because the boyfriend said, "It's cool man, I don't have a problem with you." I went back to my car and called my therapist, and in an act of defiance, or maybe she was getting some ass, she didn't answer. I sat in that parking lot and cried, because I wondered if I could ever control this, and what if my anger transfers over to how I deal with my kids?
It's just a card game: I have ruined some friendships over the years, but in this particular case I don't particularly care. I had been playing poker at my friend Jeff's house for about a month straight. It was cool because him and all of his friends loved real hip hop, and most of them couldn't play cards if their life depended on it, so leaving each game with 300 more dollars more than what I came with isn't that bad. This one night I was told by Jeff that his father would be playing, he had just gotten in town from Texas. Jeff kept warning me, "HumanityCritic, my dad is a character, so you have to take him with a grin of salt" At the time I took that as meaning that he was a "shit talker", not a full blown racist. We start playing and Jeff's father seems pretty cool, he is kind of quiet, but cool regardless. About an hour, a few drinks in him, and 200 dollars of his money in my pocket later, he started to piss me off something fierce. Besides him coming off like a complete racist, he kept saying that he would "cut me" if I walked off with his money. I told him, "You won't cut anybody, plus I gave you multiple times to win your money back. Face it, like when your welfare check doesn't come and your broke, you suck motherucker!!" As he got drunker and even more racist, I knew it was time to leave. It was weird because I took this situation to be a serious one, but Jeff and his friends laughed continuously and said, "HumanityCritic, that is just how my dad is!!" When I grabbed my money and started to leave, Jeff's dad reached in his pocket and pulled out a knife and said "Your black ass isn't going anywhere with my money!" I glanced at Jeff for some sort sign that he would control his dad but all he did was laugh. So I proceeded in kicking the old man's chair over with him in it ,grabbing the knife, and screamed "I should cut you Achilles tendon and stick a sock in your mouth!!"(I heard that in a Ludacris song and thought I would use it there, no one would know the difference)
Jeff was screaming, "HumanityCritic, don't hurt my dad!, then I said "Where was this outrage before!?" Then I did something that I shouldn't have, I took the knife and cut a clump of Jeff's fathers hair off and said, "Never pull a knife on me again" and started to walk out. When I closed the knife and threw it at Jeff to catch, he said, "Dude, did you just quote a line from Ludacris??" I didn't answer him, and thought about calling my therapist, but then again she reads my blog. What do you think doc??