|Wanda Maximoff (daddysredwitch) wrote in oh_marvelousnet,|
@ 2009-10-01 19:26:00
|Current music:||Don't Cry Out- Shiny Toy Guns|
|Entry tags:||character: wanda maximoff, internet: blog|
Forced Blog Entry Number One
The Devil Woman (that's what I'm calling you, Dr. Lamar) suggested I start this blog (what a ridiculous word, blog) to write out my thoughts (as though I'd tell you anymore here than I would in our sessions, Devil Woman). Well I haven't got any thoughts at the moment, or rather, nothing that would inspire material for that book I know you're probably just itching to pen, D.M. (more expedient then writing out "Devil Woman"). You're hoping for lovely little tidbits about my horrid childhood and deranged father. You want to analyze issues I don't have: Daddy-Issues and Mummy-Issues and Want-to-Fuck-My-Brother-Issues. Sorry, but you're not getting that from me. No Elektra-complex or unhealthy obsessions here.
Unless you count shoes, and judging by the scuffed up heels you were wearing in our last session, I somehow doubt that's an obsession you share. There are not enough Gucci suits in the world to make you look powerful or professional if you aren't rocking the right shoes. Also, while we're on the subject of your fashion sense (or lack there of, I'm fairly certain those scuffed heels were blue and your suit was black) that shade of lipstick does not work with your complexion. Your eyeshadow makes you look like a hooker. Keeping that top button of your blouse open is not fooling anyone.
Obviously, as a woman in the workplace bumping up against the glass ceiling, you are suffering from self-confidence issues. Belittling your patients does not inflate your ego quite enough so you think that maybe you can get ahead by seducing the menfolk around the office. If you want to impress, maybe get a pair of fuck-me pumps and then throw yourself at your boss in a supply closet where he will not so much make love to you as awkwardly paw at you as he groans like a wounded animal until it's over and you're left unsatisfied and feeling horrible about yourself and he goes home to the pretty wife on Valium and the 2.5 children and the sports car he bought when he started balding and went through that midlife crisis. Then you can go home to your well furnished and expensive uptown apartment and cry yourself to sleep as you consider your inadequacies and wonder why no one has ever loved you. Amazing what a good pair of shoes can do.
Any of this ring a bell? Do I sound like I'm full of it? Now you know what it's like to listen to you.
Aren't there any deranged psychopaths on death row you can go and pester for material? Contrary to popular belief I am perfectly sane. You're just out to make money. I don't like you.
Anyway, Food Network Cake Challenge is about to start. I am finished here.