The other day I was sitting at the stoplight at the bottom of the hill going up into the Village. I mean its not exactly like NYC letting out into Jersey. But as I looked around, I once again noticed that I was the only person who was not driving an SUV. Fortunately, I am very secure in who I am…a driver of a station wagon with 226,000 miles on it and a leaking gas tank. But who are they? The Drivers of SUVs? I mean besides dumb-ass yuppies? I don’t really know. So being the supreme (cough) wordsmith that I am, I decided to start coming up with some new titles for my fellow road friends. Maybe something cool like SUV-idians….SUV-etarians…..SUV-publicans. I mean how great would it be to have one of the words I created, under the influence of antidepressants and dark chocolate, become part of the American lexicon?
Not much has been happening lately, although I’m totally lying through my teeth. Its just that my blog has been infiltrated and I can’t really say much, although if I could make up a secret code that only you and I could understand and they couldn’t, that would be totally cool, but since 99.99% of you are total strangers, I don’t know if I could get you the secret code word list in time for my next entry, so that plan kinda sucks.
I have been having unch-lay with a an-may the last two eeks-way. Its been leasant-pay. But that’s all I’m going to say. No more miscommunications or things that can be used against me, I’ve decided, you know like the 1300 hits on my old defunct diary in last two weeks by some mysterious interloper.
I continue to live in the soap opera that is my art class however. Its the only soap opera I’m in since I don’t work, but it has all the drama of a workplace. People with crushes on people. Humor. Secret alliances. Eccentric co-workers. Nudity. Maybe that’s why I like “The Office” so much….because it reminds me of my art class.
Like last Wednesday, for instance. “L” the Hippie Chick called for a ride. I don’t mind at all. We’ve become very good friends in the last year and she’s enroute. About the only thing is….she’s almost always late. Not sure if that is an artist thing. It certainly isn’t for me. I’m anally on time. I know this week, I got there about 5 minutes early, so I didn’t blow my horn or anything. It was a pleasant evening out and I felt a little day dreamy, so I just looked around at the newly greening lawns. Fives minutes turned into 10 minutes so I beeped my horn and suddenly one of her room mates came out and said she was running late. I was a little stressed since I was co-hosting with Charlemagne, but he’s usually late too and Late+late= Potentially the same time of arrival.
So I waited about another 7-8 minutes and suddenly “L” came running out around the edge of her house with only a towel on, saying “I’m running late”. I looked over and she was smiling and then she did something that, well, heh, kinda both shocked me and made me laugh. She flashed me. Towel open. Boobs asunder. Out in her front yard. And then yelled “Do you want to draw me?” I just buried my head in my hands and waved her off. Oy!
So we finally got to our art place at like five to seven. Charlemagne was frazzled by then, having to do most of the set up himself and then “L” was saying antagonistic things to him and he was getting pissed. This was actually the second time “L” did this to me…making me intentionally late when she knew I was helping Charlemagne. And then I’m stuck in the middle, trying to be all things to all people and failing miserably.
Things finally settled down somewhat by the break where I got cornered by Tall Skinny Guy. Did I mention he has a little crush on me? I won’t go into it in detail here, because of the interloper(s), but I’ve been getting cornered by him lately and this week he even attempted to tell me a joke while eating tortilla chips and he managed to spit tortilla goobies on me two or three times. And when you’re schmooshed against a wall by a 6’4″ guy and you’re only 5’3″, what can you do except flick the moist gobs of tortilla goodness off your spring dress.
Anyways, by the end of the night I was in a dazed/horny (thanks new meds!)/semi-conscious state and I was wondering around asking anyone if they had pot. Why? I have no idea. I haven’t smoked pot since the 80’s, but it just seemed like a good idea at the time. Being amongst artists, like over half of them, had some to offer. But no, I didn’t take anyone up on it. Just say no and all that rot!
Anyways, I’m still trying to get ready for my wacky, raunchy art show next weekend. I’ve been so dead creatively lately. I need some Creativity EMTs, to come and put their paddles on my chest and give me a few thousand jolts of electricity. I did gesso over an old painting yesterday and smear it up with bland yellows and browns and grays and stuck a postcard on it with a woman lusciviously biting into a big hunk of cherry pie. I’m trying to think of some clever words to put on it like “Give piece a chance” and maybe staple a condom on it.
Oh witty, you’re so freakin’ cutting edge!
Hey, I’m just trying to keep up with all these 20 year old kids that will be submitting art at the show. I hope nobody steals the condom, you know, in case I need it.