Its been an extremely weird week. WEEIRDDD with a capital “Weird”. I’ve really been pushing myself big time to get out and socialize and do things, namely leave the house and OTHER THINGS.
Last Wednesday, I went to my second funeral type thingie in two weeks. Well, it wasn’t exactly a funeral, but more of a wake for my former coworker’s father. I didn’t know him either, but I went to support my friend “J”. This one had a casket though. Eep! “J” was very nice when I got there. I was desperately underdressed as I soon found out. It was like a scene from “The Sopranos”. “J” is Eye-talian….very Eye-talian and everyone was dressed to the nines. Suits. Ties. Silky dresses with stilettos.
And there I was, dressed like some scraggly artist just stumbling out of their windowless, mouse-ridden garret full of unsold canvases. I think I was even wearing my terribly pretentious black knit beret. “J” seemed really happy to see me though and even introduced me to a bunch of people. Like, for instance, an earlier female coworker who felt the need to tell me about their one and only date…before he were married…of course.
I did finally walk up to the casket with “J”. There was a photo of his Dad there. I tried not to think of my close proximity with a dead guy. Fortunately we were just there for a second. “J” is much better looking than his dad. I had never seen him all dressed up in a suit a’la “Goodfellas” before. It was after the casket thing that we briefly went outside with another coworker so they could smoke. And even though I don’t like smoking, “J” looked pretty damn hot without his glasses, swaying back and forth in his gray pin stripe suit with a ciggie hanging out of his mouth. What is wrong with me? Bad Irish girl, bad.
When we went back inside, my old boss and “J”s best friend had arrived and we all decided to plunk into one of those fancy Italiano brocade couches that were around the edge of the room…four of us. To say it was a tight fit, would be an understatement. I knew I would be crushed up against “J”. And I wasn’t exactly resisting the idea. I’ve been horny as hell in the last two weeks or so. See what happens when I’m not depressed. Havoc I say! Havoc!
I have always teased “J” about being older than me. He’s 54 and I’m 50 of course. He could never say anything until I turned the magic 5.0 in February, but now I’m fair game. But can I just say 50 is the new sexy. There, I said it. Anyways….so some old Eye-talian lady came up to talk to “J” about his father. She said the patent “Sorry for your loss” and then started to just having a regular conversation with him about his life. She then looked over at me, smooshed up against the side of his leg and asked, “Oh, is this your daughter?”
I may never let him live that down….ever! Now if it seems like I’m being disrespectful of the circumstances its just because “J” was barely even acknowledging where he was or what was going on. Maybe it was his way of coping, but after I was being respectful initially, he started joking and teasing, so I went into teasing mode too. Just following your lead, buddy! Plus, if I had to think about a dead guy in a casket, I probably wouldn’t have been able to really be there for more than about 2 minutes instead of the 30 I stayed.
I finally told “J” I needed to leave, since my art class was afterwards. He offered to walk me out to my car. It really wasn’t necessary since there were two cops out in the parking lot (You know ‘dem Eye-talian funerals) directing traffic since there were two wakes going on simultaneously. But he insisted. You know how men are.
So we get outside and he grabs my hand. I’m not really much of a hand holder. I remember when I was down in New York City and my friend “G” tried to grab my hand so I wouldn’t get lost in that vortex called Time Square, I wouldn’t take it. But here I was holding “J”s hand and he’s swinging it happily. WTF? I was just telling him if he needed to talk to give me a call. You know funeral protocol. So we get to my car. I go to hug him good-bye and I guess what happened? Go ahead guess? Yeah, suddenly he kissed me. Nothing passionate. But still. And I kind of liked it. I went to my art class after that and found myself touching my lips like some fucking 14 year old. Oy! That’s all I have to say: MEN….AND Oy!
A couple of nights later I went to a small art gallery opening. The woman who owns it has shown some interest in maybe showing some of my art at her gallery in 2009. This will be like the first real gallery that I went out and pursued. Most of the rest of the places I’ve shown at have either been group shows or “we don’t have anyone so can you bring your stuff in because we’re like totally desperate” (my last show) or just plain flukes, so I’ve been timidly pursuing her. That’s how I roll!
Her gallery is a nice little place. This was a pre-opening. I didn’t realize that, but I guess that was good. Less people. Less anxiety from the Angst Queen. So I was standing around trying to look hip and not angsty and suddenly this rather interesting guy starts chatting with me. And he was certainly chatty. I didn’t even have to say anything (YAY! My favorite kind of conversation!). He was soon telling me about the divorce from his wife. He had JUST lost his job as a vice president from a large well known in-the-news corporation, but he wanted to buy a building on the street and open a restaurant. I was actually getting a really good vibe from him! I mean, he was divorced. He probably had money (despite the sudden unemployment thing). And holy shit, he was like totally chatting with wittykitty, the ultimate wallflower!
Can you fucking believe it? I couldn’t. No, I mean I really couldn’t. What’s going on here? Is Ashton Kutcher gonna jump out from behind one of the large pieces of art and tell me I’ve been punked. Because this really was just too good to be true. A nice looking 50 year old guy chatting me up! WTF!!
And then came the clincher. “And I’m helping my girlfriend “M” renovate the gallery so she can expand her business”.
Uh huh! Knew there had to be a fly in the ointment. I did hang out a while longer and talked to a couple who did photography. They were a little less frantic acting. My Dream Guy had actually been acting like he had just drunk like three cases of Red Bull. And then he and his girlfriend disappeared into the bathroom together for about 15 minutes, so lord knows what they were ingesting or sucking on in there.
She did hug and kiss me good-bye however and totally reeked of cigarette smoke. I can still smell it like 6 days later. She said she wants to come to my house to look at my art. I’ll go for it. Sure. Why not? I guess you have to schmooze with all types.
And then today. Oh today. Can I just say “Ouch” and tell you my new nickname? Frankenwitty.
I don’t know if you remember when I wrote that entry https://awittykitty.wordpress.com/2007/09/02/the-thing-on-my-chin/ You can go read it if you wish.
I’ve had a thing growing on my chin for three years now. At first it was just a smudge, a slight discoloration. I had a bunch of idiots point it out countless times, as if, I was unable to notice it somehow. Like duh! My mother was the worst offender. “witty, you have dirt on your face!” Grrr!
Anyways, it kept growing and growing and this summer it finally got a large lump under it. I finally got my doctor to get me an appointment with a dermatologist. Unfortunately, since I’m a lowly, crap-filled poor folk Medicaid Insurance holder I couldn’t get an appointment for….ARE YOU READY?
ALMOST A FUCKING YEAR.
Now does that sound right? You got this thing which is most likely CANCER growing on your face and because you have the misfortune of being poor and having an insurance that no doctor in his right mind will take because it only pays like $2 on every $100, I could possibly get cancer.
So being a total asshole (proven over and over again, here in the pages of wittykitty, insulting people left and right, losing jobs, making people in real life hate me.) I decided I wasn’t going to let this happen. Besides voting for Obama, who I hear, wants to improve our healthcare system, I demanded that my doctor do something. She STILL couldn’t get the one and ONLY doctor in town that takes my godforsaken unhealth insurance to see me despite her definitive viewpoint that my lump is probably a melanoma, so today I had to go to her office and have HER chop off a large hunk of my chin to send it in to the lab to see if its cancerous. And then maybe, just maybe the asshole downtown might get me in sooner.