why being a bag lady was Actually my choice

I’ve sort of been recovering all week from my two day art seminar with my art group this week at the local university. Its something I really look forward to each year, because its the closest thing to a university art class taught by actual art professors I’ll ever get to take and its free, because I volunteer a lot of hours over the year to get to do it. My last task today is to write thank you notes to all the artists for doing the event. Should I slip my phone number in for the cute ones?

I was really wiped out by the whole thing though. Being on disability and usually just laying around on the couch watching “Divorce Court” every day, having to suddenly wake up at 7 a.m. (WTF?? People really get up that early?), drive somewhere by 8 a.m., be somewhat charming, try to know the answers to all the questions people asked like the presenter who asked “Where is my nude model?” when I thought she was teaching a class about drawing eyes. Oy. Just how prepared can you be for these questions?

And then Charlemagne and I did a secret “student salvage”, which is truly only something starving artists do. We went up into this large room where there was a bunch of canvases left behind by the departed art students. One sign said something to the effect: “Do not take anything out of this room” and the second sign said, “Everything will be thrown away after May 15th”. This was May 16th. What a dilemma, especially for someone who feels guilty if I buy one and get one free, since I know someone probably suffered for that. Anyways, I felt really nervous doing this, especially in this era of security cameras recording everything everywhere. But I did take a couple of small canvases, some unused large sketch pads and a plastic palette.

“Bless me father for I have sinned. I have taken art supplies left behind by rich kids at a well known, high profile university. What? What’s that? Say three “Hail Marys” and paint a painting of Jesus? Ok”

But now my life is pretty much back to normal. Eating too much chocolate. Feeling sorry for myself. Playing with my pussy. What? Guardcat has been so bad lately. I have two severe cat-inflicted wounds from our bedroom romps. One involves a long, sore scratch up the middle of my right foot. Like ow, it really hurts. And the other was during our “What’s under the sheet, it may be a dachshund” game, where Guardcat’s nail got hooked in my finger through the sheet and then it started bleeding profusely.  And you just never know how the aftermath of these things are going to play out. Rabies. Death. Witty suddenly acting like a Siamese, coughing up furballs.  Its hard to say.

I know you’re probably saying, oh dear, witty has finally become one of these crazy cat ladies. Well, obviously you’re not the only one who thinks that.

On Tuesday I was doing my laundry and made a decision to run over to the grocery store in a little strip mall nearby. I only had to walk across a parking lot to get there so it was no biggie. So I went in and bought a bag of Indiana Jones M&Ms, because I totally like to support the movie industry when I buy chocolate products and then four cans of cat food. I had all this stuff in a hand basket since it was a little unwieldy. A purse, four cans of cat food and M&Ms. So I go to pay for them and the young clerk finishes ringing up the stuff and then looks at me and says, “Do you want this stuff in a bag?”

Like what the hell? No! I totally want to walk through this trendy area parking lot, where cute single men might be lurking, desperately trying to juggle four cans of cat food and my bag of Indiana Jones M&Ms and not look like the total Crazy Cat Lady loser, you twat!

But instead, I just quietly nodded my head yes….I do indeed need a bag for my groceries.  grumblegrumbleTWATgrumble.

http://Crankygirl.wordpress.com has asked me to do a meme and since the pinnacle of excitement for me this week was that story about cat food cans, here is a meme, which you are welcomed to purloin for your blog if you like.

1) What was I doing 10 years ago?

Since I can barely remember two minutes ago (thanks pharmaceutical companies of America), I’d have to think. I believe I was still working as a graphic artist for a Catholic newspaper full time. The first five years were great. The last two…not so great. Horrible in fact. My mental health was getting worse and we kept having almost complete staff turnovers every year and the last two years were the worst. I had started out friends with everyone and ended up friends with no one. I believe it might have also been the year I met Married Guy. My friend had given me a gift certificate for a massage (the best gift a person can ever give another person) and I met this sardonic Irish guy with piercing blue eyes and even though I resisted for over a year, he did everything he could to draw me in. This, by the way, was BEFORE he was married.

2. What are 5 things on my to-do list for today (not in any particular order):

  • I have to write thank you notes to all our presenters at our Art Conference
  • There is a grotesque smear of blood on my bathroom floor, which can only means one thing….Guardcat killed another mouse. I just have to find it. She kills them, but doesn’t eat them. She just hides them until they start to stink.
  • Get dressed. Ha ha ha. That isn’t always an automatic for me these days.
  • Wash my hair. I dyed it last night and even though it said Dark brown with golden highlights I look like Elvis freakin’ Presley today (i.e., black hair. Ahhhh!)
  • Go to a birthday party at my Mom’s friend’s house. I also am supposed to be looking for photos to bring from my mom’s life. This friend is having a huge 80th birthday party for my mom next week and wants pictures of her. I haven’t even started looking for them yet. eek!

3) Snacks I enjoy:

  • Dark Chocolate non-pereils
  • Almost anything else chocolate (right Charlemagne? He almost always has chocolate on him. Not on him personally, like dripping down his abs or anything. Although that would be nice. But readily available.)
  • Yogurt
  • Grapes.

4) Things I would do if I were a billionaire:

  • Go back to school and study painting. I really really want to do that. I may even try to do that without being a billionaire.
  • Buy a house with a garden and studio space.
  • Open some kind of arts center for people with mental illness. Many very famous artists suffered from mental illness. I think we need to nurture that in the mental health community.

5) Places I have lived:

  • Miami, Fla. (where I was born)
  • San Rafael, Calif. , Sebastopol, Calif., Petaluma, Calif.
  • Salem, Oregon
  • Lets just say New York state and leave it at that.

 

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5 Responses to “why being a bag lady was Actually my choice”

  1. crankygirl Says:

    Thanks for doing it. Now I want to go eat M and M’s. Yum. Good luck finding the photos of your mother.

  2. Xat Says:

    Last Friday night I was at a wedding reception. A lovely girl, passing out cake, asked if I wanted the poppy seed or the chocolate. I said, “I’m PMSing. Better give me the chocolate….” Then I laughed. Happily, she did too. *phew* Ahh, the sorority o’ choco.

    Congratulations on a job well done with the seminar. In Xatonia, if there’s a sign that says all of something will be thrown out by a certain date and it’s after a certain date, then it is totally, absolutely, completely fair game. It’s like trickle-down economics that actually works. >)

  3. GoingLoopy Says:

    I agree. If people left their stuff, and there was a deadline for its removal, you were just….assisting in deadline compliance. Seriously, no guilt over a few art supplies.

    And mmm. Chocolate.

  4. DanjerusKurves Says:

    I often feel that without a certain degree of mental illness — a/k/a “tortured soul” that we creative types would lack much of our talent. That’s MY excuse anyway.

  5. boXx Says:

    I had my art work stolen before from a university class. It was a large sculptural piece and I needed to get the truck rather than my car to transport it. When I came back it was gone. I suppose someone admired it and needed it more than me. (sigh)

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