Monday, October 8, 2012

Fill'er Up

I remember the days when coffee was fifty-cents and gas was a dollar.  Nowadays, you have to take out a major microloan to get either in Los Angeles.

It’s not just high prices that make me hate getting gas.  Ever since I saw that report on the news about people mysteriously blowing up when they opened their gas tanks, I’ve avoided re-fueling until my tank is bone dry.  They say if you tap your keys on the metal of your car before opening the tank, you somehow protect against spontaneous combustion.  Call me crazy, but my fears aren’t sufficiently calmed by the notion that the only thing standing between me and great balls of fire is a game of pattycake with my car and my keys.  So, imagine my surprise when this weekend’s trip to the gas station left me grinning rather than groaning.  Well…there was a bit of groaning too!

Last week, I said goodbye to a patient – we’ll call him the “Yes Man”.  When he first came to me, he really wanted to fall in love, but had fallen flat on his face so many times that he could no longer “get it up”.  He came to me to help him refuel his sexual engine.  I helped him realize that the ghosts of his dating past were scaring off his dating future, and if he wanted to raise his dead wood, he was going to have to exorcise his negative energy.  I encouraged him to cultivate a spirit of openness.  Let love know it was welcomed to come in and stay awhile.  If he wanted to get back his mojo and make a woman scream yes, yes, yes, he’d have to practice saying yes too – energetically, that is.  Any woman he encountered could be a yes, if energetically he was saying yes to every woman he encountered.  That meant, the pudgy policewoman directing rush hour traffic had to be a yes!  The cougar who was too long in the tooth to be wearing a skirt so short?  Had to be a yes! The happy hour hottie that was one shot short of being a hot mess?  Had to be a yes!  All this got me thinking, could I be energetically saying no to my yes, yes, yes?

So, I decided to put my fire-starter fears on the back burner in favor of igniting positive energy with every man I encountered at the gas station.  It didn’t take much to get my juices flowing faster than the fuel into my gas-guzzler.  Just a minor mental shift from, ‘F-this’ to, ‘F-me’, and suddenly the dreaded gas station became my own personal pleasure palace where any man I saw could end my quest for climax, if every man I saw could.  Could the old guy at pump six satisfy my sexual desire?  Yes! Could the socks and sandals square at pump nine make my toes curl?  Yes!  Could the pants-sagging, doo-rag dude on seven make me feel like I was in heaven?  Hell yes!

My tank was full and I had gotten myself a bit overheated with all that positive energy.  I went inside the station to get a drink and when I walked up to the counter to pay, Doo-rag was already in line.  As a rule, I don’t do dudes with doo-rags.  But I had to acknowledge that none of the dudes I had done had yet to do me right.  So…

He must have felt me checking him out as he came up next in the checkout line because he asked for a box of Hot Tamales and a pack of condoms.  XL.  I paid for my soda, and walked outta there as quickly as my quivering loins could.  As much as I want to find the big-O in the next 362 days, I don’t take home strange men from gas stations.

But apparently, I do let them take me.  Behind the gas station.  In the back of their ’67 Chevy.  The adrenaline rush alone might have been enough to finally get me to Graceland.  Doo-rag gave a whole new meaning to the phrase pain at the pump, and though his high-performance vehicle was well worth the price of petrol, did I get my yes, yes, yes?  In the immortal words of Ms. Winehouse – no, no, no.

What would I have said had a patient of mine done what I’d done?  There’s no judgment on my couch.  No rules.  Only experiences.  After all, aren’t they the best teachers?  I took the walk of no-shame back to my SUV, wondering what lesson I had learned?  I was always a straight-A student – even calculus was a cinch.  But this equation wasn’t making sense because, although Doo-rag had definitely filled me up, I drove away from the gas station feeling completely empty.

Dr. Lainey Toussaint
(I'm not a doctor, but soon to play one on TV)

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