Its the one where I yell at the cat too

Lets see, what has been going on? I had my last art show of the year on Wednesday and watched in great amusement as I happened upon a slightly, umm, “happy” Professional Art Guy down on his knees in the reception area of our venue high five-ing a small Buddha statue.

Of course I wasn’t much better. I later responded to a call for “Babes” (huh?) when Professional Artist Guy was shooting a bunch of pictures. It was only then that we broke out into song, singing “Hey Big Spender” and nearly showing our boobs that I realized how totally wrong it was.

Incidentally, he has promised the photos won’t show up on the Internet. But then again this was the guy high five-ing Buddha, so I’m not sure how reliable that promise is going to be.

I also inexplicably invited a married man to the opening. Why? I dunno. I guess I was tired of going to all these openings alone, so I asked my old co-worker “J” from my last job and surprisingly, he showed up. He immediately started talking about foot massage (something I find, ahem, rather arousing) and asked if the size of the penis on one of the paintings was real, because it was absolutely humongous and I think “J” was suddenly feeling somewhat inadequate nervous, so I assured him it had been exaggerated for effect. And why was I having this conversation with him again?

Oh…I was on massive amounts of pain pills. Heh.

But I did kiss some men. No not “J”, but Professional Artist Guy and Sci Fi Guy. (Yes, I do kiss and tell, just for future reference). And I listened to a story from a woman who wrote a poem about recovering from tonsillitis, and then made a collage about it.  And what about that model/county court judge who showed up bare foot even though it was lightly snowing out.

artshowfeet.jpg

You totally rock! Especially your toe ring!

But then after my art show it was back to reality. Back to those boring  normal people. I had my first appointment with a physical therapist for my sciatic nerve problem Tuesday. She seems nice. The first appointment was pretty good. We discussed what hurt. “Like every fucking molecule in my entire fucking body.” Okay, I cleaned it up a little bit.

Today’s appointment? Not quite as fun. Lots of bending witty into the shape of a pretzel or until she screamed in pain- kind of thing. By time I got out of there at noon, I was in way more pain then when I started and thought I was going to throw up.

I realize that its going to hurt more before it gets better. I have to do a lot of exercises and attempt to correct 49 years of really bad posture. One of my worst problems is the way I sit at my computer. Try sideways with my feet in my desk drawer. Yeah, pretty weird, huh? So now I have to attempt to sit straight. Feet on the ground. My back against the back of my chair. WTF? You mean, normal?

The afternoon after the PT (a.k.a. Pain Armageddon) was just about as enjoyable. I stopped to renew my pain medication and for like the 4000th time the pharmacy clerk spelled my name wrong…. right after I spelled it aloud for her. And in a bizarre twist of fate, there is another person with my first and last name who not only goes to my pharmacy, but also goes to my personal physician. So every frickin’ time I go to do anything in either place, our records are always confused, even though my last name is spelled different by one letter….THE ONE I SPELL ALOUD FOR EVERYONE IN THE ENTIRE FUCKING UNIVERSE.

But who’s counting.

Anyways, first the pharmacy clerk said there was no renewal on the medication, even though I knew there was. And then she said I had already picked it up…making it sound like I was some fuckin’ junkie. And then suddenly she couldn’t even find my name. And then she finds the “other” witty’s address and gets frightfully confused. For fuck sakes woman, don’t they have a job for you cleaning the grease traps at McDonald’s or something?

She finally called another guy over, who immediately pulled up my information in like a nanosecond. And okay, MAYBE I mentioned that I had spelled out my last name (for baby Einstein over there).  And then maybe she suddenly piped up with, “No you didn’t.” Well, I lost it.

ROAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You just don’t poke a menopausel women in severe pain. It wasn’t pretty. I apologized to the guy. But not to whiney-ass. Do your job, bitch.

I finally got home about 2:30. I was just turning on my computer when Guardcat comes over and is staring up at me. “Hi Guardcat…..hi!” And then suddenly I hear that telltale sound of cat puke and me yelling “Wait-t-t-t-t-t!!!!!!!!”.

Note to self: “Don’t make any sudden moves when the cat is about to puke.”

Because Guardcat got so freaked out, she suddenly started running while puking and left a 6 foot long Picasso-esque slash of partially digested Friskies from my desk to the fireplace.

…And how was your day? 🙂

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5 Responses to “Its the one where I yell at the cat too”

  1. Joe Says:

    If guard cat puked on the rug and you let it dry, it’d probably bring a great windfall at your next show. The trick is to come up with a catchy name. It wouldn’t hurt to have a heartfelt explanation of the work’s meaning ready just in case someone asked.

  2. artgnome Says:

    heh heh, Guardcat, the epitome of performance art.

    I hope they get that back pain under control soon. prayers for your relief.

  3. geekbetty Says:

    one: hell yeah for kissing !!!!!!!!!!!

    two: I’m glad that you started the pt. I hope it starts helping soon.

    three: ewwwwwwww. My daughter does the running and puking thing.

  4. scotvalkyrie Says:

    The scene at the pharmacy: another nail in the coffin of Custom R. Service. GAH!

  5. karmacat Says:

    There is someone in my mother’s town with the same name, except my mother’s first name is with a C, and her evil twin is with a K. They go to the same supermarket, same video store, and same pharmacy (yes, there have been prescription screw-ups). And the reason my mother knows her evil twin goes to all these places is because she has seen notes posted at the registers not to accept checks from K***** E*****. Yup. So anyone in town who knows my mother but doesn’t know that her name is spelled with the less common C, thinks she is passing bad checks all over the place. Greeaaaaat.

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