Why I Am A Sucker For Reverse Psychology (a.k.a. Don't Piss Off a British Chick or a Voodoo Priestess)

Update:  I wrote this post in the wee hours of late Sunday night/early Monday morning.  However you want to define it.  LilyOnTheLam.com was originally conceived as a food and travel blog, so most of the posts have at least a few pictures.  And usually those pictures are of food or wayward orang utan or panda (see my Orang Utan post and Panda post).  However when I go spinning off on a tangent about my ridiculous drama-filled whack-a-doo childhood or "fell for the wrong guy AGAIN" dating horror stories there usually is not a picture accompaniment.  (And seriously folks, if I did have pictures that were suitable complements to these types of stories I doubt I'd be posting them.  The lady has to have some shame and discretion!  I think I left some of that somewhere around here!)  


But I do feel bad that these types of posts do not get a colorful thumbnail picture announcing the "theme" of the blog post.  And let's be frank, I can only post just so many pictures of cats on my blog.  (That maximum number by the way is 9 billion and 2 cat pictures ... I think I'm at 9 billion and 1 so far, so at least I'm not over my limit.)  The following post is about my wayward youth in Los Angeles and how my libido helped me lose a childhood friend.  Now what picture would be a suitable illustration for that kind of blog post?  Hmmm ... thinking, thinking, thinking on a Monday morning makes my head hurt!


OH!  I KNOW!  What kind of picture best illustrates a blog post about how my libido helped put the death knell on a friendship?  A picture of JESUS, of course!  

Or more accurately a picture of a Jesus notebook.  I do fancy myself a writer after all.  What could be more holy than writing in a Jesus notebook?  

Especially a notebook that says "Looking Good for Jesus - Be Worthy, Be Noticed."  Ohhh I already feel the Holy Spirit moving me ... moving me to be noticed!  (And as if I could look any better than the ravishing, internationally known diva I am!)

This gorgeous Jesus Christ notebook was purchased at Pearl River Mart in NYC (one of my FAVE stores).  So if you want to look good for Jesus, get yourself over to Pearl River.  But finishing reading this blog post first, get your priorities straight!  Puh-lease!


Now currently my Jesus Notebook is blank.  However I do plan to fill it with all sorts of plans and "deep thoughts" about my goal to become a Cult Leader.  (Yes, you heard it here first!  OK actually the little voices in my head telling me to "Kill-Kill..." ... ahem, er ... "LOOK FABULOUS!" were the first to hear this news.)  Some people are unaware that Clearwater, Florida is the East Coast home of Scientology.  Well I plan on making Tampa, Florida, the global headquarters for LIL-OLOGY (Trademark pending, all rights reserved).  A legion of followers in Sanrio Hello Kitty t-shirts and afro puff hairstyles.  (I don't care that you don't have an afro!  I don't have one either!  We'll glue them on if we have to!) ... oh I can see it now ...  the beauty, the beauty!


Oh hello there ... sorry ... was lost in thought ... what?  You are tired of hearing about my plans to be a cult leader?  OK OK ... on to my blog post entitled "Why I Am A Sucker for Reverse Psychology (a.k.a. Don't Piss Off A British Chick or a Voodoo Priestess.)  Enjoy! 


Every now and again, my past jabs at me like a ghostly hand in the dark.  Sometimes that hand is a delicate caress, other times it's a straight-on choke hold.  As I am a believer in "everything happens for a reason" (evidenced in my Ukrainian blog post), I may not understand why the past chooses to pop up when it does.  However I have learned the hard way, that I must stop and listen to it.    

Sunday night, I received some news about a former childhood friend who I haven't talked with since the year 2000.  Let's call him "Mr. Joan Collins."  (Yes, he's a man.  But a gay man and trust me, Joan Collins is both a childhood reference that he would appreciate and understand.)  Growing up, Mr. Joan Collins and I were terrifyingly close.  We both arose from impoverished childhoods ... we were considered low-income trash but we thought we could rise above it by acting haughty and draping ourselves with what we thought was "fabulousness."  I find that the more people you can co-opt into buying the charade that you are fabulous, the stronger the defense mechanism shield becomes.  Mr. Joan Collins and I bonded over our shared love of writing, soap operas and a dream that one day we'd get out of Minnesota.  We spent our days oppressed by schoolyard bullies and our nights writing spec scripts for nonexistent soap operas.  


I still remember the name of one of my soap opera heroines ... "Carolina Salinger."  If I had a dog, his/her name would be Carolina Salinger.  Unfortunately, I have cats and they are too biatchy to have soap star names!  My cat Finnerty is named after actress Kathy Najimy's husband, Dan Finnerty of "The Dan Band."  That damn cat has not sang "I Am Woman" even once to me - and I rescued him from a shelter!  Perhaps, this is why Finnerty has his own section of posts on my blog under the category "Why My Cat is an A**hole."  (For those of you who have NO IDEA what I am talking about, check out Dan Finnerty on this YouTube video.)   


Mr. Joan Collins and I inspired each other to write in ways that only hopeless dreamers can.  I distinctly remember one time I set out to write the dirtiest novella known to man or woman.  Which is quite a feat when you are thirteen years old and have no torrid love affair experience to draw upon.  But Mr. Joan Collins didn't mock me.  He grabbed his pom poms and cheered me on.  If I wanted to write the dirtiest book EVER ... he was going to support my endeavor, with no questions or doubt!  God bless you, Mr. Joan Collins.


Instead of hitting the street to whore it up for some real life "artistic" experience, I chose a different route for reference material.  The dictionary.  Yep.  Big old red Webster's.  I still remember writing the now classic line "and he licked her vulva with delight."  Um yeah ... dirty?  Not really.  Sexy?  Hell no.  Hysterical for me to think a dictionary could sub for human experience?  Absolutely.  


Like any Lifetime TV movie, circumstances occurred that caused this lovely childhood friendship to fall to jagged pieces like a crystal vase slipping from a drunk woman's hands.  Like any soap opera worth its salt, all good things must come to an awkward, drama-filled, clown car insane end.  

Now like in most relationships, the demise of our childhood friendship cannot be boiled down into black and white, one person at sole fault terms.  There was wrong-doing on both parts and then of course, the bitchiness that comes from two very intelligent but socially and emotionally stunted youths.  The friendship ended a very long time ago, so it intrigued me that news of Mr. Joan Collins would appear at my doorstep now.  Perhaps the universe is telling me to work harder at maintaining healthy relationships with close friends who are currently in my life.  Or perhaps the universe just wanted me to get off my arse and write a new blog post ...

Who's to say?

For now, I am going to go with the latter - blog post topic fodder ... as thinking about Mr. Joan Collins makes me think of my part in the dissolution of our friendship and of course the DRAMA that came with it.

But in my defense, I am just going to say this ...

"If you tell me not to f**k your friend, reverse psychology is going to make me want to f**k your friend. You brought it upon yourself, Mr. Joan Collins!"

OK ... that's not all I am going to say, but wasn't that a tantalizing lead in?  

By the way, my friend's mother-in-law reads my blog posts ... LS, you may want to skip this one.  Oh wait - that could be reverse psychology teasing ... sigh ... OK read this one, don't read this one ... just don't look at me weird afterward.  (Bwahahhaha - as if my previous 100+ posts haven't scared you and scarred you already!)

If you're a regular reader of Lily On The Lam, you'll know that I had spent a few years as a wayward youth in Los Angeles.  (Read about it in my "A Space in My Heart for (Kevin) Spacey and Charo - Part One" blog post.)  However I neglected to write about why I chose to hitch my star to the lady "El-lay."  I had finished graduate school and had no idea what I wanted to do with my life.  I was pretty sure I was not going to become an internationally famous rock star, so how was I going to parlay my midwestern roots into big city dreams?

Mr. Joan Collins and his best friend Jazz Boy (read about "Jazz Boy" in my prior blog post) had decided they were going to move to Los Angeles and become writers.  My dreams of writing for my career had died somewhere between English lit classes in undergrad, but I still thought moving to Los Angeles for a year or two could be a fun adventure.  And after all, I was looking to postpone "adulthood" for awhile.  What better place than Los Angeles?  

We knew the Truman Capote quote "It's a scientific fact that if you stay in California you lose one point of your IQ every year" and we quickly discovered it was more like ten IQ points per year.  The sun and the smog made us giddy and stupid, but we were young and living in Los Angeles.

Dragging my sister Squidge along to Los Angeles for a week, I was off to meet Mr. Joan Collins and Jazz Boy.  We were going to go apartment hunting.  Mr. Joan Collins had a bigger budget than Jazz Boy and I, due to the proceeds of an insurance settlement.  The three of us had decided we needed our own individual apartments.  It made sense at the time.  However by the time Squidge and I arrived, Mr. Joan Collins and Jazz Boy had already found apartments in Hollywood.  Not wanting to disrupt the flow, I concentrated my apartment search only on Hollywood.  Looking back, I would have done better in Venice Beach.  But then I'd have a million less partying stories ...

I knocked on the West Hollywood hotel room that Mr. Joan Collins and Jazz Boy were sharing.  Mr. Joan Collins was gay.  Jazz Boy was straight.  The door opened and I was staring at the epitome of "my type."

Side Note:  As a churlish youth, there were two types of men I was attracted to - and my relationships in my 20's and into my 30's were solely one of the two types.  There was the tall (6'1" - 6'4"), olive-skinned, dark-haired, lanky, lean muscular man type.  An homage to the first boy who kickstarted me into puberty with one brooding look back in the summer after 6th grade.  This gentleman is now a not so lanky, but still lovely attorney in Minnesota.  He knows he's the archetype for 1/2 of over a decade's worth of relationships and is quite flattered by it.  

The second physical type was short, angry, artistic blond with goatee.  Now I say "short" but what I really mean is 5'7" - 5'11" and no, that's not short, I know.  But it's shorter than the other type.  Don't send me hate mail, Napoleons!  Anyway this second type was an homage to a certain drug-addled hipster in college who I spent way too much time and energy on, but who also helped me straighten out some of my emotional sh*t.  He has no clue he is the second archetype of my 20's love life; if he did he'd have a huge ego rush.  (Insert eye roll here!)  

Back to our LA Story ... it was morning, the West Hollywood hotel room door opened and there was the epitome of "my type" - a 5'10"-ish (memory's fuzzy), angry, artistic blond with goatee.  My jaw dropped to the ground.  Mr. Joan Collins had been telling me about his best friend Jazz Boy ... I hadn't realized that Jazz Boy was straight and deliciously brooding.  We stared at each other with this mutual sexual interest.  I'd like to metaphor that up a bit, but seriously that's what it was.  It wasn't love at first sight.  It was a kin to lust at first sight ... but more accurately, it was just this mutual knowledge without any words that at some time, in some place, somewhere - Jazz Boy and I were going to be getting naked.  It was a certainty.

Mr. Joan Collins popped out of the bathroom and introduced me to Jazz Boy.  We basically grunted at each other uncomfortably.  Jazz Boy went to take a shower.  As soon as the bathroom door closed, Mr. Joan Collins wagged a finger in my face and said "I told Jazz Boy this before you arrived and I'm telling you now - you and Jazz Boy are NOT allowed to hook up!"

Whaaaaat?  Didn't Mr. Joan Collins know that he might as well have just thrown rose petals on the bed, ordered up a jumbo bottle of tequila and a box of condoms?  Telling two wayward youths that they're not allowed to get it on was just throwing jet fuel on the fire pit.  

Now I may have honored Mr. Joan Collins' finger-wagging if he had told me BEFORE I met Jazz Boy.  If he had said it before Jazz Boy and I exchanged "The Look."  (The "We're so getting sweaty, naked and things are going to be bruised and sore in the morning" look.)  Seriously, a girl can't be expected to crank the libido back down after "The Look" has occurred.

Hindsight is definitely 20-20 in this story.  What I did not know was that Mr. Joan Collins had had a raging gay man crush on straight man Jazz Boy for years, so by hooking up with Jazz Boy I was doing something that Mr. Joan Collins had yearned to do but knew he could never do.  Had I understood that this was the reason behind the ardent finger-wagging, I may have taken pause because hurting Mr. Joan Collins was never my intention.  We had grown up together.  He was like my little brother.  But I was young, stupid and very attracted to Jazz Boy.  I wasn't thinking about Mr. Joan Collins and his feelings.  I was only thinking with my anatomy.

About a week and a half after I moved to Los Angeles, Jazz Boy and I fulfilled the fervent promise of "The Look."  It was good in the physicality of it, but there was no emotional component.  Jazz Boy had his own raging crush on someone from his college years.  But sadly for Mr. Joan Collins, Jazz Boy's crush was on one of their female classmates.  Jazz Boy had told me that Mr. Joan Collins had also adamantly proclaimed that Jazz Boy was not allowed to hook up with me.  I asked Jazz Boy if he knew why - he hemmed and hawed but finally strung together that maybe it was because Mr. Joan Collins thought of him as a surrogate boyfriend.  Uh oh.  I now understood.  But it was too late.  I had already plucked the proverbial fruit ... and then I had done dirty, dirty things with it.  (OK maybe not so dirty, but hey it makes the story juicier!)

When I was in college, one of my dorm mates had a New Yorker cartoon on her wall.  It was entitled something like "What Love Is."  It was a picture of a circle of people each chasing after the person in front of them saying "I Love You!"  That cartoon has burned into my brain as I have seen it being relived many times over the years.  Mr. Joan Collins had a mad, raging crush on Jazz Boy.  And Jazz Boy had an equally passionate crush on someone else.  So much passion and energy but all a waste on people who didn't love them back.  And even worse for me- no one was chasing me shouting "I love you" in this scenario!  Jazz Boy and I indulged our physicality a few times over the course of 6 weeks and then it fizzled out as I went to find someone who cared for me and Jazz Boy continued to stoke the fires of his four year and counting unrequited college classmate crush.  From the start, we had agreed not to tell Mr. Joan Collins.  We rationalized that it was none of his business.  But inside we knew that he would be hurt if he knew.

Almost a year and a half later, the brief physical interlude with Jazz Boy was a distant, faded memory.  I chalked up the events to being a mixture of Cosmopolitan cocktail-fueled loneliness, wanting to have a boyfriend in a new city and also just plain old "gotta have you" chemistry.  But whatever the reasons for the start, it was long dead over.  After Jazz Boy, I had spent almost a year chasing, dating and obsessing over a Romanian god - 6'3", olive skin, muscles for days, chiseled jaw ... he still remains one of the hottest men I have ever dated.  (Also one of the most immature men too-- but that's not as enviable!)  

One night, the British Nanny "EL" (read more about her in my prior blog post here) was for some drunken reason pissed at me.  She was a party girl, so perhaps she mixed alcohol and drugs and came out angry and paranoid.  For whatever reason, she ran into Mr. Joan Collins at a club and decided to exact some revenge on me.  She told him that Jazz Boy and I had been having a "secret affair" for a year and a half and that we were purposely keeping Mr. Joan Collins in the dark about it because we knew he wouldn't be able to handle it.

Secret affair?  One and a half years long?  Oh EL, when you want to screw someone, you really know how to do it.  Mr. Joan Collins - still madly in love with Jazz Boy - asked Jazz Boy about it.  Jazz Boy claimed total ignorance.  "No ... oh no ... nothing had EVER happened between us," he swore up and down to Mr. Joan Collins.  Now since Mr. Joan Collins was hopelessly in love, he lapped up Jazz Boy's lies like they were gospel.  However after two weeks or so, the little voice of doubt was knocking louder and louder.

Side Note:  Do you think maybe perhaps Jazz Boy could have called me and told me about this exchange?  If you're going to lie, maybe fill me in on the lie too?  Ohhhh but noooo .... Not only was my type "short, angry, artistic blonds with goatees" but also cowards with wavering definitions of honesty and no respect for giving a girl a heads up!  I was woefully in the dark about EL's amplified sabotage and Jazz Boy's adamant denial.

After two weeks of doubt knocking at his skull, Mr. Joan Collins decided to check out my side of the story.  He told me what EL had said - secret affair, 1 1/2 years long, keeping Mr. JC in the dark ... I was horrified.  I freaked out and said "NOOOO!  No!  That didn't happen!"  Which Mr. Joan Collins was happy and reassured to hear since it was in line with what Jazz Boy had said.  Oh but if I had only stopped talking then.  Sigh.

"It was only a couple times - just sex and it was a year and a half ago.  No secret affair!  We weren't dating - it was sooo long ago!  There was nothing to tell you.  It just happened over the course of like 6 weeks and then fizzled out."  OK now THAT, Mr. Joan Collins was NOT happy to hear about.  Why, oh why, did I have to confess all?  

Mr. Joan Collins told me that Jazz Boy had denied everything when confronted two weeks ago.  I was left fish-mouthed mute.  Ugh.  Two weeks ago?  F*cker!  Coward!  Why didn't Jazz Boy tell me??? At heart, I am an honest person - but British Nanny EL was such a head case that I would have been willing to adopt Jazz Boy's lie and just claim she was a drunken idiot.  But since Jazz Boy didn't give me a heads up, the truth tumbled out of me with a wave of hot shame and sheepishness.  Mr. Joan Collins ended his questioning.  He didn't want to hear more details about how I had sexually sullied his unrequited crush.

My friendship with Mr. Joan Collins didn't end with one event, but a slow unraveling over the course of two years.  However, this was definitely one of the larger straws that eventually led to the camel's back of our friendship breaking in Mr. Joan Collins' eyes.  At the end of our friendship, Mr. Joan Collins told me I was a "bad person." 

Side Note:  Did I happen to mention that Mr. JC had decided that Jazz Boy was telling the truth and that I was lying about sleeping with him?  Evidently Mr. Joan Collins chose denial to keep his friendship and lust/unrequited crush going for Jazz Boy versus face the truth that I, his childhood friend, had complete carnal knowledge of his crush.  And I guess denial works, because they are still friends to this day and Mr. Joan Collins and I are not friends.  I'm sorry Mr. JC, I did have sex with your friend.  Several times.  You're gay.  He's straight.  He's never going to love you in a physical way.  I'm sorry I hurt you.  But in your heart of hearts, do you really truly believe I lied about sleeping with him?  Wake up!      

Anyway, back to the final straw ... Mr. JC said that I was a bad person, but if I was willing to work on myself and change many, many things about myself (his emphasis and repetition on "many"), he would remain my friend.  He said it in a tone like a family member pulling tough love to get you to go to rehab.  

I said "Um... no, that's OK."  

Mr. Joan Collins looked at me startled.  "What?"  He asked incredulously, certain his ears had failed him.  

"No, that's OK.  If I am a bad person, then there's no reason for you to be friends with me."  I said flatly, devoid of any emotion or sarcasm.  

Mr. Joan Collins stammered "No, no - I'll still be friends with you - if you change yourself ... A LOT."  

"No ... thank you for that offer," I said to him.  "But really, what's the point?  If I am such a bad person, you shouldn't want to be friends with me."  

Evidently Mr. Joan Collins hadn't expected that I would walk away from the friendship.  But here's the deal - you've known me my entire childhood.  You've known your crush for less than 4 years.  But I'm the bad person and the liar?  And I should change A LOT ... change many, many things - to have the honor of your friendship?  Nah.  I'll just stay as a bad person then.  (By the way, a similar theme played out over a decade later with a former friend I refer to by the name "Fake" in my Midnight Radio blog post.  Ugh, what a horrific repetition!)

I had hoped Mr. Joan Collins would one day come to his senses and realize that several of the reasons he was upset with me had roots in his low self-esteem and unrequited crush on Jazz Boy (and also on a crush he had on a gay friend of mine - story for another time).  But that day never came.  

So Sunday night - a dozen years later- when I heard what Mr. Joan Collins was up to career-wise, it reminded me of that final friendship severing conversation ... if I had known then what I know now, I would never have had sex with Jazz Boy.  It wasn't worth hurting Mr. Joan Collins.  But I would NOT have changed my reaction to Mr. Joan Collins' offer to still be my friend if I made a lot of changes to myself.  That, I do not regret at all and would not change.

However, I will say overall it still makes me sad to think about the way it all went down.  

When I was younger, I was worried that Mr. Joan Collins would end up as a crazed meth head given the crowd he was running around with in Los Angeles.  I am glad to know now that he's still out there, alive and trying in his spare time to write.  

My stepfather was recently in Savannah, Georgia.  So one night while my mother and step-father were visiting me in Florida, we watched the movie "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" which is set in Savannah.  My stepfather had never seen the movie.  It had been years since I had seen it.  (In fact, I met actor Kevin Spacey who stars in the movie the same year it was released.  Click here for more info.)  In the movie, Kevin Spacey's character shoots Jude Law's character.  Minerva - a voodoo priestess (played by the wonderful Irma P. Hall) tells Kevin Spacey's character to beg for forgiveness from Jude Law's character's spirit every day.  His spirit is unhappy and continues to try to get to Kevin Spacey's character from beyond the grave.  Kevin Spacey's character mocks this - he will NOT ask the slain ghost for forgiveness!  I won't ruin the end of the movie for you, in case you have not seen it (or read the book).  But I will say that perhaps Kevin Spacey should have asked for forgiveness at least once.

I feel like the ghosts of my past are rising up before me.  I could mock them and stay stubborn and resolute.  But I was a younger, less mature kid when I lived in Los Angeles.  So I will look at the ghost of my LA past in the eye and I will say "I'm sorry Mr. Joan Collins, that I slept with your unrequited crush.  Had I known how much he meant to you, I would have walked away.  I hope you are happy and content in your life."  

Life is short.  I subscribe to "The Daily Love" on Twitter (@TheDailyLove).  On Sunday, "The Daily Love" tweeted: "Forgive yourself, forgive everyone else. Hate and anger are the weights that hold you down. Let them go."  (You can also find the Daily Love at: http://www.thedailylove.com/)  In the spirit of "The Daily Love," I apologize for my part in the demise of my friendship to Mr. Joan Collins, but I also forgive myself for it too.  I was a young, dumb kid with no intention of hurting a friend.  

I wonder if Mr. Joan Collins regrets his actions that ended our friendship?  I'd like to think he does, on some level.  But if he doesn't, well then that would just re-affirm that ending it was the right decision.    

I hope the ghosts of my past can accept this offering and move along to the next spirit plane.  Otherwise I am going to have to find a voodoo priestess to help me out ...