If you visit your local 
y exes agree; the majority of them have tried to coerce me into couple’s therapy even though I consult my psychic advisor. They feel I need “real therapy” to resolve my “commitment issues.” Unfortunately for these ex-significant others, the only “real” therapy my family believes in is “scream therapy”; we scream at one another until we’re absolved from frustration and anger. Usually scream therapy is adequate in remedying any familial problems and is always preferable to shelling out $200 an hour while laying on a stranger’s couch. Appropriately, I refused therapy even after I ended my engagement. Instead, I paid $2.00 a minute while munching on Cheetoes to consult my psychic advisor and took great comfort in the fact that she simply encouraged me “to find balance.” No mental exercises, self-evaluation or confrontation. Find balance; find happiness! In light of this, I’m as confident in psychics if not more so than therapists. Knowing this, my current boyfriend, whom I will refer to as “my Jew” didn’t even bother broaching the topic of therapy when our relationship hit a few road bumps and finally a pothole.
The "Air" network asked me to compete on the 1st season of their new reality show “Divas” in November 2008.
“This contract is completely one-sided. In fact, it is so ridiculous that I doubt it would even hold up in court. There are certain liberties you can’t sign away, which they are asking you to do,” he calmly informed me.
“It’s about being a diva and becoming Hollywood's Next It Girl… it will be fun,” I rolled my eyes.
“I thought I was dating a Libertarian, not a diva or Hollywood girl! Listen to yourself,” he pleaded, “You have no idea what it’s really about. Only an idiot would agree to this.” Normalcy does not make for good TV. Apparently the contract is the first step to ensure reality stars are categorically idiotic and anything but normal.
“Well, I have a lot of student loans that I would like to pay off,” I explained.
“I love you and will pay off your debt for you if you don’t go!” he begged.
A rational adult would have taken my Jew’s advice. I’ve been accused of being a lot of things, but never a “rational adult.”
My Jew did his best to remain impartial but found it increasingly difficult. In fact, the strength of his opinions increased exponentially with his blood alcohol content. Usually private and polite, my Jew began shooting whiskey on the weekends and complaining to his friends, his family and strangers that I was “abandoning him for a 2nd rate reality show.” I do not communicate or take constructive criticism well, nor do I listen to directives. I live my life accordingly; I am my own boss, am usually single and was happiest while living alone with my dog. Accordingly, instead of participating in a mature discussion, I responded with “scream therapy.”
The tension between Jew and I hit its breaking point after attending an Oasis concert with 4 of my Jew’s former frat brothers. Following the concert we paid a visit to their old house. My Jew and his friends gravitated to the bar and I put on my anthropologist hat and entered one of the messy bedrooms in search of some reading material (college boys have the most ridiculous smut). While sifting through Playboys and National Geographics I overheard Paul say my name. In response, I crept up the stairs as silently as I could in 4 inch stilettos and stopped just short of the door.
“Just dump her now. She’s not coming back after the show. Dude, seriously,” Paul said.
“I really like this one. I don’t know….” Jew replied.
“Jew! Seriously. We’ve been chasing girls like her since freshman year of college. We’re in our 30s now. They are nothing but trouble. We’re too old to deal with this shit. Get. Rid. Of. Her.”
Hearing a complete and utter stranger tell my boyfriend to dump me sent me into an Emily Rose rage. I started shaking with anger, lost my balance and fell down two of the stairs. “Shit!!!!” I screamed, grabbing at the railing.
“Oh God, she just heard everything we just said,” someone more concerned with privacy than my possibly sprained ankle whispered.
No pain, no gain. I took off my heels, kicked open the door and started screaming at Paul, Jim, Josh, Chris AND Jew. I hurled the magazines in their direction along with my shoes. I missed everyone but knocked over a lamp.
“Stop!” The Jew dragged me and my foaming, vulgar mouth outside. “Why don’t you call someone to pick you up? You’re being irrational,” he slurred, also drunk.
“WHAT?! ME?! I DON’T EVEN HAVE MY PHONE!!!” I screamed.
Silence.
“Then come back inside and try to behave.”
“
“No,” he replied. “I think that’s a bad idea. It’s
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Give it to me now!!” I screamed.
He wound up like Justin Verlander and hurled his
The phone appeared intact so I ran over, scooped it up and started dialing one of my brothers. “Ha! It still works!”
Jew snatched it out of my hands and threw it into a snow bank. He pushed me back when I tried to run after the
“You’re wasted. You better hope for your own sake that you don’t blackout tonight… because I’m sure my version of what happened is a whole hell of a lot worse than your version!” I crawled into the SUV and slammed the door.
Jew did blackout and couldn’t piece together the events the next morning at breakfast. After a half hour of awkward silence Jew asked me to fill him in. “What happened to my phone?”
“Well, let’s see… you were trash talking me with your friends and threw it at my head when I confronted you. I tried to pick it up to give it back to you but you pushed me out of the way and threw it at a tree, then stomped on it for approximately 3 minutes.”
“Oh my God. I am so sorry, sweetie. I don’t remember any of that. Oh my God. Oh my God. I am so sorry!”
“Yeah, well actions speak louder than words. I don’t even want to hear it.” I bit into my garden omelet.
Not wanting to invest anymore time in a dead-end relationship, I consulted my psychic advisor the next morning. She immediately picked up on my anxiety. “Something is going on with your stomach. You’re in a lot of pain.”
I was; my fight with Jew had my stomach in knots.
“You’re in love with someone but you’re going away on a trip. It’s causing trouble.”
Damn, she was good. “Yeah.”
“You might not want to go. You’re going to have to deal with terrible drama. You’re not inherently a bad person but are going to have to deal with these types. Also, you think you’re going for one reason but are going to be surprised when you get to your destination. You really love your boyfriend and should take how this is affecting him into consideration.”
“Thanks. I could have done with some more ‘find balance to find happiness.’” I hung up and resolved to trade my psychic for a fortune cookie.
Unaware of my psychic consultation, Jew called me after work the next day. “Honey, I am so sorry about what happened over the weekend. Can you be downstairs and ready in 5 minutes? I’m going to pick you up. I have a surprise for you.”
“
“Where are we going?” I asked, climbing into the SUV.
“It’s a surprise. Not telling,” Jew said.
I stared out the window. Touch Couture, the
Instead, we pulled up to a professional building. “Umm… what is this?”
“I told you, it’s a surprise.” Jew grabbed my hand and led me through the corridor to an office marked “Greg Schneider, PhD.”
We walked in and a handsome man wearing a Mr. Rodgers vest and corduroys introduced himself. “Hello. My name is Greg and I’m going to be your therapist.”
After writing-off my psychic, embracing therapy, and completing the reality show, I am still dating Jew and am an advocate for grouping mental health professionals and psychics under “Counseling and Mental Health.” Jew and I worked through our problems while Greg refereed. Jew paid only $100 and Greg advised him to let me film the reality show because if he didn’t support me I “would resent him [Jew] and we would ultimately breakup.” Greg addressed the rational and practical aspects of my situation, while the psychic addressed the emotional aspects. Greg was correct; forbidding me to compete on the reality show was not the solution. However, the psychic was also correct; choosing to do the reality show hurt my relationship with Jew and we would have been better off as a couple if I hadn’t gone. The therapist dealt with my response to Jew, while the psychic considered Jew’s response to me. Unfortunately, what might be right for me as an individual might be wrong for my relationship with a loved one since how we choose to live our lives affects those around us. Subsequently, I didn’t make the right decision, nor did I make the wrong decision. I simply made a decision and now must live with the consequences. In the future, I plan on taking a more holistic approach to decision-making by integrating the practical and emotional advice, rather than completely embracing a single vantage.
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