Onions and salt-water taffy

Onions are potentially the foulest vegetable on the planet.

When they aren't evoking tears with their pungeant, searing smells, they are ruining the taste of perfectly good food by virtue of mere contact with their acrid flesh. My sister and I used to battle over whose side of the table the onions would sit closer to.

Salt-water taffy, by contrast, is exquistely scrumptious.

I love their chewiness and multitudes of flavours.
My sister figured out that I had a crush on the Duke before I had even realized it because I bought him a bag of salt-water taffy.

So, the scene has been set...
Onions = bad
Salt-water taffy = good

With that in mind, I would like to throw a big, smelly onion at the following things:

Phone Stalkers
A few months ago, I posted about a mysterious late night phone call. This experience actually repeated itself about a week or two ago. This time, I woke up with a start (again), heart slamming against my chest, thinking that there was no way I would get another late night hang up. I was wrong, I realized, after hearing a click against my ear after several panicked hellos. As before, this call was from a private number.

Late this morning, another call and hang up from a private number (after listening to me say hello several times). I get to thinking that, though those previously described incidences were the only nighttime experiences, I actually think I've gotten a few such daytime calls over the past few months, and my cell phone has also recorded a significant number of calls with no messages left from a private number. In fact, I don't know if a single call from a private line over the past four months has ever resulted in a single word being said to me or my voicemail. whereas I don't think I've ever got a single wrong number on my cell phone (I no longer have a landline).

This realization irked me a little bit, especially since I live by myself and have an occasional tendency for pessimism. I decided to call my cell phone provider to see if they could tell me the identity of the last caller, figuring this might help ease any worries I'm having . They claim they can't, but I should call the police, who could probably get this information. I contemplate for a moment, then decide to call a police advice line to find out if there is anything I can do. The woman on the phone tells me of an option for tracing calls on landlines, which then are delivered to the police if more than three calls happen and I call then to tell them so.
It doesn't work with my cell phone provider. She says they should have some way to trace calls-- so now I'm waiting to hear back if such a mechanism does secretely exists. It seems a bit odd that there is no mechanism to trace the identity of a potentially harassing caller.

I've surmised a little about the identity, if this really is the same caller. I consider that it may be a former client-- but the problem is they should not have access to my unlisted cellphone number, suggesting it would be someone I know. The only other villain I could think of is some drink guy who stole my friend's phone six months ago and then tried to booty call some of her friends with numbers from her phone book.

EDIT: Two more calls at 12:30am. I'm starting to get a little freaked out.

Psychiatrists
Ah, yes, the eternal psychiatrist vs. psychologist debate.

...as several of my readers query "But aren't they the same thing?"

I try not to be black and white on the whole issue of psychiatric meds. While they are undoubtedly overprescribed, a great deal of this is attributable to overzealous G.P.'s, and these medications also have helped people get the courage to get the therapy they really need.

But it would be really wonderful if you, psychiatrist, might express a little faith in your clients, and not attempt to degrade progress made in client's external psychotherapy by sweeping statements about how they can never hope to live without medication, or how every potential bump in the road is a steep precipe trecherously close to a full relapse, that can only be prevented by increased dosages and new add-ons.

Ever heard of the notion of self-efficacy? You know, helping your clients to believe they are strong, effective people who can work towards improvements?

If you don't believe in them as anything but a dehumanized victim of their "chemical imbalances", how are they supposed to think of themselves as above that?

Old Crushes on Facebook
Two of my most passionate crushes of my early teens added me on Facebook last week. One I had remained in intermittent contact with since the fateful night at the local pool when he decided to "go out" with a friend of mine and I went home and bawled my eyes out to Mariah Carey singing "I can't live if living is without you", and thus knew him as just another person for many years afterwards.
The other disappeared from my life, and thus remained a frozen at 17 and a little magical in my mind. He was the older boy who my 13 year old self had found hopelessly funny and dreamy. He'd once thrown me into a lake with all my clothes on, and we'd tangoed across a bridge.
And, now? He's not ugly, or doing ridiculous things with his life. He's just, well, mediocre.
And I'm a little sad to find that out.

***

But, wait... this post isn't entirely negative!
So I'm handing out some tasty salt-water taffy to the following....

My skin
Despite being of as Western European in origin as they get, I somehow inherited skin that looks deceptively exotic at times.
I joke around that people play pick an ethnicity with me at times, especially during the summer, as people have asked me if I am Italian, Russian (I actually have a great Russian alter-ego, as a side note), Spanish, part-Asian or First Nations.
This is highlighted nicely in the summer by the fact that two afternoons at the beach (one being overcast), people are commenting on how nice and tanned I am. Woo!

Six Feet Under

Damn, it's a good show! I'm seriously crushed I only have a season and a half left.

Freud's case studies
I don't care how crazy some of his interpretations are-- these things read like brilliant mysteries being solved!

The Duke's return
Shut up.
I miss him.

Austin in a week!
Yee-haw!
A Canadian in Texas has got to make for good comedy, right?