How bored have I been the last couple of weeks? Well, last Sunday I went up to have breakfast with my mother at Denney’s. Things are pretty tight financially at the moment, because my fabulous new governMENTAL health insurance, which I switched to (* long story).
One of the reasons I switched was because I thought it would cover my new glasses, glasses I really need because the Dollar Store glasses just aren’t working any more. But guess what? It didn’t! It only covered the $18 frames. The lenses? You know, the part you see out of? No freakin’ way. Now, does that make any sense? Sure we’ll cover those cheesy $18 pseudo-Tina Fey frames, but duuuuude, those lenses are expensive! And we gotta bail out AIG and Bear Stearns & Company for goodness sakes! So I had to cough up $155 to basically pay for my own glasses, despite the fact that I pay almost $180/a month…out of my own pocket, towards health insurance which barely covers anything. YAY Government! Oh and thanks!
And yes, I voted for Obama and his crazy ass universal health care idea. I can only hope things get better, which is part of my *long story, which may tell at a later date.
My mom was able to fit me in last Sunday, fortunately. She is now starring in a weekly Gay Elvis variety webcast. I hope I don’t have to wait til I’m 80 to be famous on the internet, you know, kibbitzing with a blue eye shadowed Edward Sciss0rhands.
After breakfast, possibly due to eating vast quantities of pork, I inexplicably headed over to the Christmas Tree Shop.
WHY? WHY? WHY?
There is absolutely nothing I should like about a place called the Christmas Tree Shop. First of all it has the word “Christmas” in it! WTF! Me the person who would prefer that they only play Christmas carols for the last 2o minutes before they close the Mall doors on Christmas Eve. But there I was, walking through the swarms of people, all with their baskets overflowing with breakable toxic crap made in China, listening to Rosemary Clooney singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”. Oh, how positively festive.
Why do people buy all that stuff? Ugh!
But because I was either suicidal or homicidal (Christmas music does that to me) I pressed further and further into the store in search of frames. Suddenly I spotted a little pink and dark green dinosaur. He was just sitting on a shelf amid Christmas crap, looking positively lonely. That’s when we went on a miniature photo shoot…also thinking of some possible captions…
Hannah Montana: “Hey Daddy, is that you up on top of my box? I ain’t gonna carry your sorry ass career forever!”
“Give me that turkey Mormon Boy, or the blonde gets it!”
No wonder dinosaurs are extinct. They just aren’t funny.
Anyhoo, I have been slowly recovering from my crunched art ego. It was still pretty raw when I went to an art show at my friend’s little art gallery last Friday night. She’s always been very kind to me in our art class and has given me numerous frames from her store. So I got all dressed up and tried to get a ‘tude going. Her gallery turned out to be way more crowded than I anticipated and I got a mini-anxiety attack with about 30 people crushed into a 20X20 space. I didn’t know anyone except her, and everyone else seemed to know everyone and they were all dressed up artsy and jaunty. So I tried to stay around the edge of the gallery, next to the artwork, which once again were some really beautiful, big huge watercolor floral prints with like $600 frames on them. Oh great.
And then just as I was standing there feeling anxious, some huge lesbian chick did like a full body chuck against me and I got a “Was it good for you” look from her. Again, I am like Level 10 catnip to lesbians. Just because I don’t have highlights in my hair, or wear gold fu-fu Pliner sandals, doesn’t mean I’m part of your tribe, She-ra. So shoo!
I did see JS from my class for a few minutes, but other than catching the eye of a rather eligible looking guy for a split second, I left after about 15 minutes. No need to tempt the panic attack gods or Shee-ra again.
The following Monday I went to the second in a series of four free writing classes I’m enrolled in down at my favorite community center. Now, I have always been confident in writing. Always. Its literally (ha, ha , pun) the only thing, you can’t knock out of me. I know I’m good at writing and have been since about sixth grade. Well, the first night of this group, I went off and started bragging about my vast, and I do mean vaaaaast dahhhling, career in writing to the small group of women gathered. They all seemed duly impressed and I felt pretty smug, like, ha, I am the queen of all that you see.
Well, a funny thing happened at the second class. We had an on-the-spot writing exercise. The teacher, who appears to be very talented too, had read something of hers and it was excellent and you know what happened? Go ahead guess! I totally buckled under the pressure and sat there totally panic stricken for most of the 20 minutes. All I wrote was: “My heart stopped. It always did. But we had an agreement. It I tell the truth, it’ll re-start.”
What the hell? I looked around and everyone was writing 2 pages, 3 page, 4 pages in long hand. And I was like totally stuck. Nothing. Nada. When it was over, I had to fess up I couldn’t write anything. The teacher assured me it was ok. But I felt like an idiot, after proclaiming such total writing superiority the week before. I cried all the way home. Again, what an idiot!
The next day I had to go to my least favorite governMENTAL offices and pay my payment and then wash the filth of that experience off me by walking across the street to our art gallery to see an Andy Warhol art exhibit.
I’m not a huge Warhol fan, but I have watched 3-4 documentaries about him and have seen some of his work in person down at MOMA. Our show had some of his early work as a fashion magazine illustrator in the 50’s. Its way different from the Campbell Soup can art he later produced. It was just cute little delicate whimsical drawings of women’s shoes in the shape of cat faces. Drawings. Simple. In pen and ink. Drawings I could do. Ideas I could up with. And its Andy Warhol!!!!
I guess it was there that I realized I don’t have to paint those huge fabulous watercolor paintings of flowers and creek rocks and fields with windmills to be considered an artist. I could draw or paint anything I wanted and still have people like my work.
So the next day I applied to another college here in town. Its about 1/3 the cost of the big, prestigious college. I also switched my grant application information over to the other school too. I’m really now sure what else I have to do, but I guess getting a degree in art may be ON again.
Thanks Andy Warhol.