Therapy Sessions of the Fictional and Famous: Lorelai Gilmore

Being famous can be very stressful, particularly if you’re a fictional character into the bargain.  Certain mental health professionals specialize in treating the fictional and famous; true, most insurance companies don’t cover this, but fortunately most of these therapists accept space bucks, Federation credits, and Monopoly money.  Primary among this elite cadre of professionals is Dr. Sidney Freedman, of M*A*S*H fame.  As he is also a fictional character, he can relate to his patients and help them feel at ease.  I, being a quasi-fictional character myself (the Little Blind Girl, or LBG, is a recurring character in Charlie Cottrell’s Hazzard novels and is based on me!) have availed myself of his services from time to time.  Don’t ask how I pay him; this isn’t that kind of blog.

Lauren_Graham,_2008_appearance_(crop)What he doesn’t know (and shh, don’t tell him) is that I planted a listening device in his office the last time I was there.  I was curious about what his other patients had to say, and let me tell you:  what I heard was astounding.  There are so many famous fictional characters whose dirty secrets I could share with you, but I think I’ll start with Cathy Coffee herself, Lorelai Gilmore.  She comes off as sweet and friendly on the surface, but believe me, there are some demons flying around in that head.  Once you hear what she has to say, you’ll never view small towns, quirky neighbors, or questionable eating habits in quite the same way.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Note for those of you who understand that this is a humor blog and I’m just kidding about all this, or at least most of it:  all of Lorelai’s responses are actual quotes from her character on the television show Gilmore Girls.  If you haven’t heard of Gilmore Girls, just turn on the TV or open up any webpage on the entire internet and the indoctrination will begin within ten minutes.  I hope you like coffee.

Without further ado, here is Lorelai Gilmore’s therapy session:

Dr. Freedman:  Hello, Lorelai.  That’s an awfully large cup of coffee you’re carrying.  Are you ready to get started?

Lorelai Gilmore:  (on the phone) I’ll be right in.

Dr. Freedman:  Who are you talking to?

Lorelai Gilmore:  My other two personalities. (Turns off phone)

Dr. Freedman:  Is that why you came to see me, because you have multiple personalities?

Lorelai Gilmore:  Voices in my head–totally normal, right?

Dr. Freedman:  How many voices do you hear in your head?

Lorelai Gilmore:  There’s only two.  That speak English.

Dr. Freedman:  And what are these voices saying?

Lorelai Gilmore:  Oh, I don’t know.  How about “Good morning, Appalachia, I got a mighty cute sister and an extra set of toes.”

Dr. Freedman:  You’ve got an inbred hillbilly in your head with you?

Lorelai Gilmore:  Well, I know how mad you get when I bring the Insane Clown Posse with me.

Dr. Freedman:  Lorelai, you know I only asked you to stop talking to the voices in your head because you said they gave you flashbacks to your alien abduction.

Lorelai Gilmore:  Okay, as long as you’ve got a sane reason from a reliable source.

Dr. Freedman:  I’d like to go back to a concern you raised in a previous session, about your inability to maintain a loving, romantic relationship.  Is that still a problem?

Lorelai Gilmore:  I love pudding.  I worship it.  I have a bowl up on the mantel at home with the Virgin Mary, a glass of wine, and a dollar bill next to it.

Dr. Freedman:  We’ve talked about this.  Your feelings toward food are not appropriate.  I want you to do the exercise I gave you, all right?  Go ahead.

Lorelai Gilmore:  (concentrating hard) I am attracted to pie, but I do not feel the need to date pie.

Dr. Freedman:  That’s good, Lorelai, we’re making progress.  Now, why don’t you try putting down your coffee cup?

Lorelai Gilmore:  If it was physically possible to make love to a hot beverage, this would be the one.

Dr. Freedman:  I can see we’re not going to make any further progress on this front.  Is there anything else you’d like to attempt during our session today?

Lorelai Gilmore:  I hear there’s a shipment of plutonium coming in on the docks.  And I thought we could dress up as nuns and you could fake a stigmata and you could put the plutonium under your habit.

Dr. Freedman:  I see.  And how will we dispose of the plutonium once we have it?

Lorelai Gilmore:  Well, one of those bench ads usually does the trick.

Dr. Freedman:  Lorelai, this is the seventh session in a row during which we’ve accomplished practically nothing.

Lorelai Gilmore:  We should commemorate it with an oil painting or a severed head or something.

Dr. Freedman:  Yet, despite your complete lack of effort, I want you to continue seeing me.

Lorelai Gilmore:  Prove it.  Drop your pants!

Dr. Freedman:  I want you to give me one more session with honest effort.  Will you do that for me?

Lorelai Gilmore:  I’ll give you two because you scare me.

Dr. Freedman:  I’m only asking for one, Lorelai, and there’s no reason to be afraid of me.  I’d like to see you again to work on healthy ways to deal with conflict.  When would be a good time to work on that?

Lorelai Gilmore:  Tomorrow, if you have time, I’m planning on despising everyone who says “Hey, how’s it going?”

Dr. Freedman:  (sighs) Please don’t make me bring out the Hello Kitty straightjacket again.  It makes me feel so silly.

I swear, every line is verbatim as it came out of the mouth of Lorelai Gilmore.  I await the Wrath Of The Fans with trepidation, a plateful of pop tarts, and an IV of caffeine.  Lorelai’s coming over later, once she fast-talks her way out of the asylum, and we’re going to decide once and for all if we’re Team Dean or Team Jess (don’t even talk to me about Team Logan), and then we’re going to go do something even more dangerous.  Have you ever heard of a Brazilian Bikini Wax??

Image credit:  Photographed by Greg Hernandez*derivative work: – Kerαunoςcopia◁galaxies – Lauren Graham, CC BY-SA 3.0,


Little Blind Girl goes to therapy


Diagnosis:  Doomed! by JD Hancock on Flickr

Despite the fact that I am an INTJ and therefore more likely to solve the problem of world hunger than talk about my feelings, I’ve tried therapy.  I made honest efforts, even though I privately thought it was all pseudo-science and guesswork and I could do just as well with a journal for, well, the price of a journal. But I acknowledge that there are, occasionally, things about which I am not entirely correct, if only by the law of large numbers.  I’m right so often that I have to be wrong every once in a while, just to keep the universe from collapsing. (Right now, my Sainted Mother is doing some collapsing of her own, from laughter.)  So, hey, maybe one of those things I was wrong about was therapy, right?  Wrong.  So, so wrong. So very, very wrong.  Just in case the world needed more evidence of why INTJs and psychology don’t mix, here is an amalgamation of Therapy Sessions I Have Had:

Well-meaning Therapist:  So, littleblindgirl, what brings you to my office?

littleblindgirl:  A car.

Well-meaning Therapist:  Sorry, I meant, why did you make an appointment to talk with me?

littleblindgirl:  Why are you sorry?

Well-meaning Therapist:  I just–I mean–I just phrased the question badly.  I’m sorry.

littleblindgirl:  I’ll forgive you if you want me to, but you shouldn’t be sorry.  You should be more clear.

Well-meaning Therapist:  Well, thank you for that.  Now–

littleblindgirl:  You’re welcome.

Well-meaning Therapist:  I beg your pardon?

littleblindgirl:  Isn’t that what one says after being thanked?

Well-meaning Therapist:  Oh–I suppose–I mean–

littleblindgirl:  Because if the rules on that have changed, I really think someone should have told me.

Well-meaning Therapist:  It’s fine, I just–

littleblindgirl:  I can’t be blamed for saying the wrong thing if I’m saying what used to be the right thing but isn’t anymore because someone changed it and didn’t tell me.

Well-meaning Therapist:  That’s very true–

littleblindgirl:  I mean, I think these societal rituals are meaningless wastes of time and they bore me to tears, but I engage in them because it makes other people slightly less awkward to be around.

Well-meaning Therapist:  (grasping desperately at something remotely resembling therapy):  Do you often feel awkward around people?

littleblindgirl:  Changing the rituals without proper notification just makes things more awkward, which defeats the purpose.

Well-meaning Therapist:  True, but back to the “awkward around others” part–

littleblindgirl:  It doesn’t make sense.

Well-meaning Therapist:  (surreptitiously clutches stress ball) What doesn’t make sense?

littleblindgirl:  (gazing severely at Well-meaning Therapist) I thought your job was to listen.  If you had been listening, you would know perfectly well what doesn’t make sense.

Well-meaning Therapist:  I was listening!  Now, I want to talk about how you feel awkward around others–

littleblindgirl:  If you’re not going to listen, I don’t understand why I should continue to pay for these sessions.  I can write in a journal if I want to express myself to something that doesn’t listen.  For that matter, I could run for political office if I wanted to express myself to something that doesn’t listen.

Well-meaning Therapist:  Stop!

littleblindgirl:  (taken aback) Stop what?

Well-meaning Therapist:  Stop talking and listen to me for a minute.  (Pauses to make sure littleblindgirl is actually listening).  Why did you make an appointment to talk with me today?

littleblindgirl:  My friend thinks I may be a robot.

Well-meaning Therapist:  Really?

littleblindgirl:  She may have meant “cyborg”.  It’s a common mistake.

Well-meaning Therapist:  Have you talked to your other friends about this?

littleblindgirl:  How could I do that?

Well-meaning Therapist:  (relieved at finally being able to talk psycho-babble)  It’s all about active communication.  You have to say what you really feel and truly listen to what the other person has to say–

littleblindgirl:  I mean, how can I talk to people who don’t exist?

Well-meaning Therapist:  (stumped)

littleblindgirl:  Isn’t that what you’re for?

Well-meaning Therapist:  You know what?  You’re right.

littleblindgirl:  Yes, I know.

Well-meaning Therapist:  (takes a deep breath, thinks about bilking insurance companies) Why don’t we talk about how that made you feel?

littleblindgirl:  How it made me feel?

Well-meaning Therapist:  Yes.  Tell me what you were feeling when your friend said you might be a robot.

littleblindgirl:  (long pause)  You want me to talk about my feelings?

Well-meaning Therapist:  Yes.  Yes, I do.  I want you to understand that you’re in a safe space and you can open your innermost self to me.  I want to know what’s going on in the heart of the little blind girl.  Tell me everything!

littleblindgirl: (longest pause yet) Are you sure there’s not just a pill I could take?

And there you have it.  One of my therapists, and I’m not kidding about this, fled the country after our first session.  Rationally speaking, I know that probably had more to do with the massive amounts of money he embezzled rather than our therapy session, but I’ve never been sure I wasn’t the trigger.  I mean, if you were facing the prospect of another therapy session with a hardcore INTJ, wouldn’t you run as fast as you could in the opposite direction?  I know I would.  And, hey, while I was right about therapy being a waste of time, that means I was wrong about being wrong about therapy being a waste of time, so the universe need not collapse.  At least, not because of me.