Monday, July 4, 2011

On The Couch With Sock Monkey — And Kiersten White


SM: Whaaaat? Where’s Big Nose?

KW: Is that a metaphor? Or are we being literal? Am I supposed to analyze the question? Or are you just supposed to analyze the answer? So, if I answer in a cosmic sense, like, “Where are any of us, really?” will that make me a better patient than if I answer in a very literal sense, like, “Buying a new package of socks to replace you should you displease me,”? Because I want to establish something right now. I don’t wear socks. Ever. So whatever psychological pull you might have on Big Nose because of subconscious associations with comfort and warmth don’t exist here.

SM: Okay, forget my regular client. You’re clearly where the Couch Dollars are at...

KW: I think we should set some boundaries. First of all, you’re my therapist, not my shrink. Heaven knows I can’t afford to lose any inches off my height. Second of all, only I am allowed to make short jokes.

SM: Fine. As long as I can play my soothing dolphin medley CD you can make as many short jokes as you like — though it would help if you didn’t insist on kneeling. Why not recline? On my couch? It’s 100% vinyl.

KW: I’m not kneeling, I’m practicing yoga. I’ve heard it is great for relaxing, so I’m determined to become THE BEST RELAXER EVER and practice in every free moment I have. Ever. So far I’m not feeling very relaxed.

SM: Despite the flip flops? Maybe we should skip the dolphins and move straight on to the Beluga...

KW: Vetoed. Bad lullaby associations. Aren’t you supposed to be asking me questions? Other than about my footwear choice? Or are you analyzing my choice of flip-flops and deciding that it indicates I’m clearly hostile to you (and all socks) and therefore an uncooperative patient so you’re just eating up the time before you can move on to some sap who adores your wooly, sweat-inducing constriction? I was right about this from the very beginning, wasn’t I. You just want patients who secretly worship you or at the very least see you as a necessity. How long have you had this raging inferiority complex?

SM: (ahem) In my own modest way I was merely seeking to address your relaxation issues without recourse to an aromatherapy massage sponge glued to a road drill. What’s wrong with whales anyhow? Were you raised by a cabal of aquatic shibboleths? As an overly worshipped simian with a raging inferiority complex who you’ve nonetheless burst in to see without an appointment, I’d be giddily intrigued to find out.

KW: I’m curious about your need to bring other animals into this session. Isn’t one enough? Do we really have to run the full scale of mammalian life? Because whale trumps monkey in pretty much every aspect other than opposable thumbs, and you don’t have a corner on the market in that one. Actually, you, being made of socks, don’t have opposable thumbs at all. Do you secretly wish you were a sock whale, instead, because then your glaring lack of prestidigitation skills would be camouflaged by your impressive girth?

SM: Whale trumps monkey? What kind of Scissors Paper Stone logic is that? If you'd ever scuba dived off the coast of Costa Rica with a dozen of your psychoanalyst monkey guru pals, you'd know what havoc a bunch of primates can wreak on even the fiercest of humpbacks — and that's on their home soil, lady. As for my lack of opposable thumbs, blame Son of Whirl. He tore one of my arms off! Anyhow — what are you here for?

KW: Scissors Paper Stone? What kind of games do you play?? Everyone knows it’s called Rock Paper Scissors. But honestly? I had no idea this was supposed to be therapy. I just wanted to show off my flip-flop tanline. If I’d known you were a package deal with the tootsie pictures, I’d never have shown up in the first place. If I want to be analyzed, I’ll just read my own books and be horrified by my massive, massive issues being played out in print for an international audience. But, since I’m here, how about a game of Rock Paper Scissors, or the updated version, Monkey Whale Parasite. Oh, I forgot—you just have the one hand. I’m off then. These sandal tanlines don’t make themselves, you know. Until next time!



For those of you who don’t already know, Kiersten White is the NYT bestselling author of the Paranormalcy book series whose hair is almost as silky smooth as the skin on her feet. Her uncannily brilliant blog, Kiersten Writes, can be found here (so be good, and follow both links).

13 comments:

SpadesHigh said...

the MOST odd, irregular, screwy, and hilariously intriguing interview ive read thus far... enjoyed every minute of it. =) it's 11pm and im quite sure ill have a stupid grin all the way through morning remembering this. thank you (not a complement)... jk. ^_^

Whirlochre said...

SpadesHigh

Welcome aboard. As long as it's a glowy kind of stupid grin and not a squinty one, I'm OK with that.

Old Kitty said...

SM! You gave as good as you got!! AND you got to see how feet should look like when they are all fresh and pedicured. Yay for you!! and hello to KW too!! Take care
x

fairyhedgehog said...

Such pretty feet!

Although I didn't know you were going to start showing nudity on your blog.

Whirlochre said...

Old Kitty

Time to start plucking my toes (ie hair from toes, not toes from feet).

Hogsy Pogsy

It's either nudity or kilts.

fairyhedgehog said...

If that's an offer then I vote for kilts!

Whirlochre said...

Have I inadvertently rigged my own secret ballot...?

Kiersten White said...

Fairyhedgehog--You know us Californians. We love to show some skin.

Whirlochre said...

Sure beats gadding about the place in anti-rain gear...

fairyhedgehog said...

Kiersten, if only we had the weather for it! Although I admit I don't have such pretty skin.

stacy said...

Sounds like you got your money's worth out of that session, Kiersten. : )

stacy said...

Commenting again so I can click on the email thing.

Analyze THAT, Sock Monkey!

Whirlochre said...

I certainly wouldn't mind a little Med-style sun, even if it meant moving to Greece and starving to death.

Meanwhile — hi, Bistacy