fifty two chances to be awesome

I turned fifty two last week. Its such a dull number. I mean there’s no movies named after it like -“Ten” or musicals  like “Nine” or even TV shows like ’24’.  And its not even like 50, which was one big fucking deal. I had three birthday parties that year and I’m not even popular.

Nope, it was just boring little 52. Yawn. What? You want us to notice you? You better at least lift your shirt or something.  Okay, I was pretty damn popular on Facebook. I think I had close to 40 birthday greetings. They didn’t know about the boring number part though. I just pretended it was something fabulous like 46, which is what my neighbor guessed I was. Of course I do live at the Crazy Hilton and she might have just needed a medication adjustment. I also had some nice gifties from my awesome diaryland buddies (yes, diaryland still exists…I think)…the sexy cast of “Nine” all rolled into one… Ms. HissandTell, my secret penpal AnnaNotBob, the hilarious Poolagirl, who shares my birthday and the lovely Bluey from Canada.

Life has been crazy if not stressful lately though. The birthday thing included my yearly birthday party at my aunt’s house. She makes pretty little cakes and my mom sits and talks about herself endlessly.  Hey! Sorta like the last 52 years. She forgets that I’m the guest of honor. I usually eventually wander into my aunt’s living room and play Broadway musicals on the piano, you know, briefly living out that fantasy I had of being in show business many years ago. My first few jobs were actually  in the theatre field…playing the piano for musical productions. The last one was playing the piano in a whorehouse…for a show of course (heh!)  and getting fired. Can you imagine? Me getting fired from a whorehouse! It was a travesty!

But I got my revenge, dearies! I became a theatre critic for newspapers. Ha ha ha! Off with their heads. Slash, slash, slash! If there was one thing I learned from my mother was how to criticize people!  🙂

After cake and some Broadway musicals, it was off to see “A”. I haven’t seen him as my therapist for a really long time. I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, you see. Cancer. School. Mothers. Did I mention Cancer? Oh, and 300 days in a row of snow and gray skies which tend to cause depression. We had a good session though. I didn’t make “A” guess my age or anything. He wasn’t overtly medicated like the lady at my apartment complex. And I didn’t want him guessing 57 or something.

Anyways, last Friday was my actual birthday. It was pretty low-key. I had freaked out “A” when I told him I had a massage scheduled the next day. He immediately thought I had hired Married Guy. Would I do that? Well, almost. I’m not perfect, ya know. I’m wittykitty. I had written Married Guy a lengthy emotional e-mail the weekend before and nearly hit “send”. What can I say? When I was sitting here feeling lonely, thinking about how good his hands used to feel on my ass, I guess you can say, I experienced a 45 minute lapse of nearly regrettable behavior.

Fortunately there were no blizzards the next day (sending love and kisses  down to Washington DC for taking all our BIG blizzards this year. Thanks, guys!!!), so I drove over to my cute little Eye-talian masseuse. This was our second session. He talked a little more this time and he’s definitely from Jersey. It was so nice getting a no strings attached massage from an Eye-talian.

 The rest of my birthday was pretty uneventful. Didn’t I just mention how boring 52 is? Are you listening?

School has been limping along. Evidently I have something called Chemotherapy-Brain, which is making it difficult for me to remember much of anything, which is like totally perfect for going back to school. Yay!  I’ve yet to do any of my homework correctly yet. Every week I either forget some sketchpad with my homework in it or I can’t comprehend what I’m reading  in one of my textbooks or I paint something completely wrong.

Our first assignment was to paint a “virus”. I might have mentioned this. Anyways, the day we were supposed to pin them all up on the wall to critique them I almost fainted. Everyone’s work was in black, white and gray. Mine? Mine looked like some freaking multi-colored Mardi Gras cat vomit. After the first week’s comment from the teacher about how my work was not something  anyone wanted to copy,  I really didn’t want to put it up. I mean really. But there it was…looking like Liberace in the middle of a bunch of nuns. Eeep!

The teacher just looked at it and said, “You’ll have to do it over, but don’t destroy it.”  Which I think in Teacher Talk, at least this Teacher, might have possibly been a vague compliment. And like duh! Like I would destroy any of my artwork. I like my Mardi Gras cat vomit virus. Wouldn’t you want that on a birthday card? Maybe by my 53rd birthday, it will be.