April sours bring May flowers?

April 2010 was perhaps the roughest month of my life. Ever…people! Ow! Can I get a winning lottery ticket now? Or a hug from a hunky guy wearing a Speedo. It mostly had to do with  cancer, of course. I went through 12 days of radiation which nearly burnt the lower half of my face  off. Good news….it did shrink the tumor in my chin and neck. Doesn’t mean I’m cured however, since  I will be  starting “Cancer: The Musical Part 2” with some heavy duty chemotherapy in two weeks. And it could well mean Bald witty. Can I make that look hot? Maybe. I’ve already lost almost 20 pounds this month.  I mean I’m already almost on the verge of being hot as it is.

Did I miss any school? Hell no. I’m a tough Irish chick, although  many of my co-students were shooting these semi-frightened side-ways glances at the weird chick with the bright red chin and wondering “What’s up with that?” You know how 18 years old are though.

I did try to punctuate all the doom and gloom with some occasional fun, so besides painting and drawing for school, I also participated in the  uber cool bi-yearly Goth-Dead People-Big Boobed Women’s art show. Had two paintings and a photo of me in my much more photogenic days….

I’m ready for my close up, Mr. De Melbrooks.

It was a fairly fun night, if you count the transsexual (Marny) who ran around the bar yelling and screaming and eventually ending up in the alley, face-down in her own puke. Thank goodness my friend, Sci-Fi Guy  noticed this rather Lindsey Lohanesque incident and made sure he flipped her over so she wasn’t inhaling crusty bits from her incredibly liquored up stomach.

And you think I’ve got it bad!! I actually made that  into my mantra recently.  Like I’ll see a dead possum on the middle of the road and say “See witty, it could be worse. You could be a squished possum!”  

As mentioned, I did attend school the whole month. Fortunately things are going better in that arena. My artwork isn’t necessarily the first one people look at during our class critiques anymore . But it is, indeed difficult to maintain a high level of awesomeness when you’re taking morphine to blunt the worst  pain in your life.

Squished possom. Squished possom. Squished possom.

 But like wow, have I everbeen  able to draw clouds on morphine. I felt like all I really needed was to cue up some Grace Slick music, stand on a hilltop in a halter dress with the wind blowing blowing through my hair as I watched the dancing pink rabbits do the watusi around me.

My mom has been freaking out every time I drive though. There was only one day I was driving home from her house  when suddenly I didn’t know where the hell I was. And I NEVER get lost. I’m like a human GPS instrument. As a kid, my mother would even look down at me at nearly every corner and say, “Which way?” Naturally, since I was only 5 years old, I didn’t know my left from my right, so I’d just poke my arm up and point in the apparently correct direction, since we always got home.

But yeah, that one particular day I looked through my front windshield and pretty much saw an Impressionistic version of reality and couldn’t quite place where the hell I was. It was a little unnerving. I actually think perhaps it was more the pain than the drugs.

Lets see, what else? Oh, there was “The incident” where Tall Skinny Guy totally trashed my writing ability. Can you imagine? Me? My writing ability? What? Really?

My art group is having a conference next month and I was going to write a press release for the event,you know,  since Tall Skinny Guy writes like a squirrel on Metamucil. Naturally there was a slight delay from me,  since I was dealing with a lot of junk and needed a few days to finish up my radiation treatments and do mountains of homework. He knew this. I told him both in e-mails and in person.  So what does he do a mere hour after I specifically told him this? He sends out a frantic e-mail to our board members telling them he needs someone to write a press release ASAP. Help, help!  This really ticked me off, but since I know he’s kind of a dweeb, I let it slide.

So the very next day, as promised, I finally sat down and wrote the damn press release. I used quotes from our artists. I indicated that our two day event was tied together, so yes, sign up for both classes, not just one. I did everything correct. And then I sent it to him. No response.

Then two days later I see him at the Goth art show. For some reason he has this incredibly heavy duty crush on me. I’ve never encouraged it any way, that’s for damn sure. So he plops down on the couch next to me and starts jabbering about something. A rock band was playing so I couldn’t really hear him that well. I then hear, “By the way…the press release you wrote? It would  really only appeal to little old blue haired ladies”.

WTF???  WHAT-T_T-T? I can write circles around you. I’m like Elvis the King to your cook at Denney’s. WTF??? He then added a few more offensive things like wondering aloud if it was okay to submit my homework  as my artwork for the show.   I finally just got up off the couch to go talk to “L” the Hippy chick. I didn’t tell her what he said since she’d probably go kick him in the balls.  He then later found me again  and told me he was leaving and could he walk me to my car.

In your dreams, buddy.

 So I steamed around for a couple of days and then I did the worst possible thing. I suddenly believed him. Yeah, like  maybe he’s right. Maybe it did  totally suck. And it was just about the same time I had to write an artist statement about my upcoming solo art show in May. I had the worst problem writing it. I had written another one for my last show and was trying to find it in my new computer (yes, the sale of two  paintings in April happily afforded me the ability to finally buy my own new computer. Yay! Thanks art buyer, you know who you are. 🙂

He finally wrote me a note two days later saying he was a jerk, but somehow managed to sling off yet another insult (he said my press release read like a stale newspaper article). And he then had the audacity to ask  me to write something up on our website for an event we had just had. No.fucking.way. I ignored his e-mail.

So tonight I attended a friend’s art show here in the Village. My decision to walk down there and back was possibly one of my worst ever. I now have a really bad cough right now and coughed so severely going up the hill, I almost threw up.

Anyways, Tall Skinny Guy comes  in all smiles, like there’s witty, my goddess. Oh how stunning  she looks in that red thrift store sun dress (and I did dammit!). Naturally he cornered me and started talking like crazy, something he’s usually incapable of. I guess he just started seeing a shrink (probably regarding penis envy. Just a guess though.) Unfortunately that is my favorite subject. Shrinks. I’m like the ultimate expert on shrinks, since at one point I was seeing  two of them simultaneously….you know since how in the hell could only one person  handle the 3000 feet deep swirling caldron of wittykitty angst.

So yes, I gave him a few pointers on how to handle shrinks. Like never say “You’re right. I should put an ad in Match.com”.  Stuff like that. It wasn’t until he uttered the word “sex” in some context, that I kinda recoiled in sudden horror  and walked out on the porch of the gallery to knock back a few glasses of Diet Coke with some old dude who told me that the Belgium beer tasted like codeine.

… But like Eeew! Sex. Tall Skinny Guy…. sex? does not compute, does not computer, does not compute. Eep!

Lets just say, it was just slightly more creepy than when Guardcat excitedly hauled ass over to my desk tonight with a live mouse in her mouth….the one she  dropped abruptly at my feet and it ran under the couch that I sleep on.

Bad kitty …Eep!