Archive for the ‘art class’ Category

April sours bring May flowers?

May 1, 2010

April 2010 was perhaps the roughest month of my life. Ever…people! Ow! Can I get a winning lottery ticket now? Or a hug from a hunky guy wearing a Speedo. It mostly had to do with  cancer, of course. I went through 12 days of radiation which nearly burnt the lower half of my face  off. Good news….it did shrink the tumor in my chin and neck. Doesn’t mean I’m cured however, since  I will be  starting “Cancer: The Musical Part 2” with some heavy duty chemotherapy in two weeks. And it could well mean Bald witty. Can I make that look hot? Maybe. I’ve already lost almost 20 pounds this month.  I mean I’m already almost on the verge of being hot as it is.

Did I miss any school? Hell no. I’m a tough Irish chick, although  many of my co-students were shooting these semi-frightened side-ways glances at the weird chick with the bright red chin and wondering “What’s up with that?” You know how 18 years old are though.

I did try to punctuate all the doom and gloom with some occasional fun, so besides painting and drawing for school, I also participated in the  uber cool bi-yearly Goth-Dead People-Big Boobed Women’s art show. Had two paintings and a photo of me in my much more photogenic days….

I’m ready for my close up, Mr. De Melbrooks.

It was a fairly fun night, if you count the transsexual (Marny) who ran around the bar yelling and screaming and eventually ending up in the alley, face-down in her own puke. Thank goodness my friend, Sci-Fi Guy  noticed this rather Lindsey Lohanesque incident and made sure he flipped her over so she wasn’t inhaling crusty bits from her incredibly liquored up stomach.

And you think I’ve got it bad!! I actually made that  into my mantra recently.  Like I’ll see a dead possum on the middle of the road and say “See witty, it could be worse. You could be a squished possum!”  

As mentioned, I did attend school the whole month. Fortunately things are going better in that arena. My artwork isn’t necessarily the first one people look at during our class critiques anymore . But it is, indeed difficult to maintain a high level of awesomeness when you’re taking morphine to blunt the worst  pain in your life.

Squished possom. Squished possom. Squished possom.

 But like wow, have I everbeen  able to draw clouds on morphine. I felt like all I really needed was to cue up some Grace Slick music, stand on a hilltop in a halter dress with the wind blowing blowing through my hair as I watched the dancing pink rabbits do the watusi around me.

My mom has been freaking out every time I drive though. There was only one day I was driving home from her house  when suddenly I didn’t know where the hell I was. And I NEVER get lost. I’m like a human GPS instrument. As a kid, my mother would even look down at me at nearly every corner and say, “Which way?” Naturally, since I was only 5 years old, I didn’t know my left from my right, so I’d just poke my arm up and point in the apparently correct direction, since we always got home.

But yeah, that one particular day I looked through my front windshield and pretty much saw an Impressionistic version of reality and couldn’t quite place where the hell I was. It was a little unnerving. I actually think perhaps it was more the pain than the drugs.

Lets see, what else? Oh, there was “The incident” where Tall Skinny Guy totally trashed my writing ability. Can you imagine? Me? My writing ability? What? Really?

My art group is having a conference next month and I was going to write a press release for the event,you know,  since Tall Skinny Guy writes like a squirrel on Metamucil. Naturally there was a slight delay from me,  since I was dealing with a lot of junk and needed a few days to finish up my radiation treatments and do mountains of homework. He knew this. I told him both in e-mails and in person.  So what does he do a mere hour after I specifically told him this? He sends out a frantic e-mail to our board members telling them he needs someone to write a press release ASAP. Help, help!  This really ticked me off, but since I know he’s kind of a dweeb, I let it slide.

So the very next day, as promised, I finally sat down and wrote the damn press release. I used quotes from our artists. I indicated that our two day event was tied together, so yes, sign up for both classes, not just one. I did everything correct. And then I sent it to him. No response.

Then two days later I see him at the Goth art show. For some reason he has this incredibly heavy duty crush on me. I’ve never encouraged it any way, that’s for damn sure. So he plops down on the couch next to me and starts jabbering about something. A rock band was playing so I couldn’t really hear him that well. I then hear, “By the way…the press release you wrote? It would  really only appeal to little old blue haired ladies”.

WTF???  WHAT-T_T-T? I can write circles around you. I’m like Elvis the King to your cook at Denney’s. WTF??? He then added a few more offensive things like wondering aloud if it was okay to submit my homework  as my artwork for the show.   I finally just got up off the couch to go talk to “L” the Hippy chick. I didn’t tell her what he said since she’d probably go kick him in the balls.  He then later found me again  and told me he was leaving and could he walk me to my car.

In your dreams, buddy.

 So I steamed around for a couple of days and then I did the worst possible thing. I suddenly believed him. Yeah, like  maybe he’s right. Maybe it did  totally suck. And it was just about the same time I had to write an artist statement about my upcoming solo art show in May. I had the worst problem writing it. I had written another one for my last show and was trying to find it in my new computer (yes, the sale of two  paintings in April happily afforded me the ability to finally buy my own new computer. Yay! Thanks art buyer, you know who you are. 🙂

He finally wrote me a note two days later saying he was a jerk, but somehow managed to sling off yet another insult (he said my press release read like a stale newspaper article). And he then had the audacity to ask  me to write something up on our website for an event we had just had. No.fucking.way. I ignored his e-mail.

So tonight I attended a friend’s art show here in the Village. My decision to walk down there and back was possibly one of my worst ever. I now have a really bad cough right now and coughed so severely going up the hill, I almost threw up.

Anyways, Tall Skinny Guy comes  in all smiles, like there’s witty, my goddess. Oh how stunning  she looks in that red thrift store sun dress (and I did dammit!). Naturally he cornered me and started talking like crazy, something he’s usually incapable of. I guess he just started seeing a shrink (probably regarding penis envy. Just a guess though.) Unfortunately that is my favorite subject. Shrinks. I’m like the ultimate expert on shrinks, since at one point I was seeing  two of them simultaneously….you know since how in the hell could only one person  handle the 3000 feet deep swirling caldron of wittykitty angst.

So yes, I gave him a few pointers on how to handle shrinks. Like never say “You’re right. I should put an ad in Match.com”.  Stuff like that. It wasn’t until he uttered the word “sex” in some context, that I kinda recoiled in sudden horror  and walked out on the porch of the gallery to knock back a few glasses of Diet Coke with some old dude who told me that the Belgium beer tasted like codeine.

… But like Eeew! Sex. Tall Skinny Guy…. sex? does not compute, does not computer, does not compute. Eep!

Lets just say, it was just slightly more creepy than when Guardcat excitedly hauled ass over to my desk tonight with a live mouse in her mouth….the one she  dropped abruptly at my feet and it ran under the couch that I sleep on.

Bad kitty …Eep!

When finding a head in the recycling bin is the highlight of your month

March 28, 2010

What’s really embarrassing about this whole mannikin head in the recycling bin thing is the fact that after walking by it during daylight hours, I felt the need…the absolute crushing desire to drive back after dark because I really  wanted to steal the head and bring it back to a tiny apartment  where approximately 300,000 drawings and pieces of art are stored. I mean, what made me think, oh goodie, a head. I need that! I really need that…I mean I wanted it  so much so that I was willing to get in my car, drive stealthily over two blocks to the recycling bin of a second rate beauty salon after dark, only to find that some other freakishly weird person had already beat me to the stealing of a mannikin head.

Damn! Life just ain’t fair. Truly. What? You don’t believe me? Oh I’ve got stories. Stories of other freakish events. Freakish events involving hanging babies upside down with masking tape. See! I told you!  Do I have your attention now, you non-believing heathens?  It all has to do with that art teacher. She’s making me be weird. Okay, perhaps I was already 90% there. But in an attempt to please her, I have been digging deep. Digging deep into my apparent well of weirdness. You know like where Elvis and Tim Burton hang out.

Anyways, in an attempt to be liked by my art teacher, who as you might remember held me up as an example of what not to do, I have tried to do the honorable thing,  like ignore my fellow student Latasha, who talks endlessly and makes me want to grab an exacto knife and carve my census information into her forehead.

Her: “Are you Wiccan?”

Me: “No”

Her: “Well you’re showing.”

And I’m like going WTF. I’m showing? What? Where?

“You’re showing your pentacle. Its supposed to be covered.”

Oh dear, flashing your jewels again….honestly witty!

Of course I was somewhat aware of my jewelry related transgression, since I had already had a similar conversation with the Wiccan cashier at the yuppie grocery store. She asked me which coven I belonged to. And I’m like coven? Well its probably the one that allows Democrats. I mean what else could I say?

Anyways, it seems that Latasha not only knows about pentacles, but virtually every subject in the universe. Why? Because she literally never stops talking. I know that she lost her virginity at 13 with her current boyfriend. She has a baby. She has won every art contest that she has ever entered. She works in a bar. She’s met the Pope. I mean everything!

And what did she tell me at the Coke Machine down by the gallery? Oh yes, that she was  bringing a bottle of wine to our art teacher, because the teacher had mentioned being open for bribes in an early class and Latasha hadn’t finished her homework. And so she did. And it worked! The teacher took the bottle of wine.

WTF! And I’m trying to please her, how???? Good work??!!! Why didn’t I think of wine? A little Chianti with her fava beans. Sheesh!

So I have dug even deeper. Down past the evil nuns of Catholic School beating me with rulers. Down past being forced to listen to the Mitch Miller Singers as a kid. This is war!

Example #1:

Yep! We like to strap babies to walls in our art class.  Of course, quite a few kids were rather terrorized by this assignment. A babydoll entangled in ropes and masking tape and perhaps even sporting a little junior baby whip.  Oh my. This is scary. We are in community college after all. Not many expectations. You know how I know? Because the teacher brought in drawings from her “other” class, you know, the ones she teaches at the  nationally known college across town. You know, the one whose students are required to present a portfolio just to get into the class. Not like community college of course. Oh no. No expectations here. Learning bycomparison. That’s how its done it seems.

But guess what? The teacher totally liked my serial killer scarebaby drawing. Squee!  How did I find a style that suited her? I Googled her. The internet is awesome. And I got to see all her kinda creepy drawings of…well I don’t want YOU Googling her fercrissakes. Please don’t, since Googling works both ways…if you get my drift.

My next drawing was even more pleasing to her. Who knew that teddy bears stabbed with a butcher knife could elevate your level of coolness with such swiftness and decisiveness.

Example #2:

Oh witty, we always knew you had a dark side. I already have this one framed for my Goth/Big boob/serial killer art show in April!

But as I sit here this evening, perhaps a little tweaked out on pain pills, maybe its less about her and more about me than I realize. The dark stuff. I guess when you get diagnosed for the third time in 14 months with cancer, you start to feel a little picked on.  Unlike my other cancers, this one has been particularly painful. Its in my chin and neck. Will I be able to finish school? I’m not sure. I’m not a quitter that’s for damn sure.  I definitely want to continue to be able to do art, you know, since I’m finally learning how…

On my own terms. And with no bribes.

Its sorta like “Grease” except there’s no musical numbers and I’m really old

February 6, 2010

Okay, apparently people care about me sometime. Weird huh? Like what’s up with that? Stop it!  You’ll ruin my record of feeling totally ignored like some child reality star from the 70’s and than I won’t be able to whine anymore and then what will I talk about? “Glee”? Jessica Simpson?

Three weeks ago, a mere four days before registration for college would be ending, I hauled my lazy ass up off the couch…..LIKE FINALLY…..its not easy in the winter, since its at the height of my depression and I’d much rather hibernate amid the thick layers of fur dispensed by my very furry room mate Guardcat. Anyways, I drove up to the college. It was like the first time the sun had been out in like 376 days and I was like, OMG, its a sign from Yahweh. I must leave my house, although let’s be honest, I also had to detach my hands from my computer keyboard and stop looking at Facebook updates from the entire universe including people who were mean to me in high school. Why did I say yes to their friend requests? Why??? Because suddenly it was 1976 again and they were  being nice to witty and not making snotty remarks about her blue checkered polyester pantsuit she wore to Disneyland on Graduation Night.  

(Hey, I wasn’t always cool and I may not be now. Delusions still abound in this thing I call my head).

Anyways, I walked up to the registration counter at the community college thinking it would be easy like on my new favorite TV show “Community College” , but instead I hit an instant brick wall.

First they said registration had already ended. I knew that wasn’t true, because I had looked it up on their website. I did a little pouty lip thing. That made them send me to another person down the mile long counter. She was a lot nicer. She looked up my account. As you might remember I was a registered student back in September until that little fucker called Cancer decided to make his unwelcome pitstop. So I was still officially on the books, as was my funding. So Nice Girl sent me back to the Registration Nazis and what do you think? They were unhelpful again. I mean I had already gone to the art department secretary who had sort of blown me off. All I was trying to do was get  the frickin’ class numbers for a certain teacher’s class, since their names are not listed in the catalogue. But since I was so annoying, having interrupted a personal phone call, she gave me the info really fast and all I had was a post-it note to write 300 numbers on.  And then back at the Registration Nazi’s counter, I was told I would not be “allowed” to take any of those classes because they were “ADVANCED” art classes and I’d have to take like “How to draw a circle” class first.

I very rarely Diva myself up in real life, but I sort of huffed out my chin slightly and might have said something kinda snarky like, “I probably don’t really need the “How to draw a circle class” since I’m already an artist.” And then the guy behind the counter, probably thinking, “Oh, one of those…” (rhymes with itch), started typing really furiously into his computer and then announced rather triumphantly  “ALL ART CLASSES ARE FILLED, M’aam. Sorry.  Next….”

Since its winter and I’m depressed, I pretty much backed down immediately. Diva-Girl too deflated immediately and I just sort of backed away, whispering thank you. Truth is I cried all the way home in my car.  Not exactly being in cheerleader mode, I guess, I  figured, that was it.

When I went to my drawing group the following Wednesday I told JS about my adventures at the Community College. He’s the one who drove me to the cancer center and had all the car trouble and was totally even-tempered about the whole thing. Most of my friends are wing-nuts (but it an entertaining way, mostly), so its nice to have at least one go-to guy when you’re needing help. I actually wasn’t asking for help that night. I was just recounting what happened.

Anyways, the next morning the phone rings. Its JS. He says, “You’re registered for your art class on Tuesday. And I just happened to bump into WP (the art teacher I wanted) on campus and she said she will let you in her second class. No problem!”

Me: “Gulp!”

Guess I can’t use cancer to get out of this.

I was a little unnerved by what  he did, since, in a way, I had settled in my head that school was perhaps, not meant to be. That’s my depression speaking however and since depression is an idiot, not to mention pretty lazy, not liking its minions to succeed, we”ll just ignore it or better yet, let it drive off a cliff and crash like Charlie Sheen’s Mercedes.  

So I had to call the organization that is funding me and say “Surprise! I’m back! And yes, I know school starts in only 6 days, but can we get this thing rolling!” My counselor, I don’t think believed me nor wanted to make things easy, so the next week was pretty hellish and slow moving and stressful. Nothing got ok’d. I was without books or school supplies. I finally bought at least one sketch pad so I wouldn’t be doing tons of homework the night before the second week of classes.

So yeah, lets just say I’m almost old enough to be everyone’s grandmother in class. And so far no one  has recognized me as a cool, older person who they might entrust their secrets with and ask 1970’s movie trivia questions of. I’m pretty much ignored. Hey! Kinda like real life!

I’m taking two classes. A basic drawing class and then some other more  exotic class which really defies description. Our first assignment? Draw five viruses. Huh? Like Republicans? The other class just had us doing a basic still life. We also had to paint a color wheel of black fading to white.

I had done that assignment first.  Painted as asked, a kind of avant guardcat style, Watercolory. Slop. Slop. Slop color wheel that would have made Van Gogh want to chop off his other ear. Definitely. That’s just how I roll.  So as the teacher was walking around the class, she stopped and picked up my sketch pad and said, “Class…this is an example of what NOT to do.”

OMG….Mom????

 Sorry, just having a flashback to everything I ever showed my Mom growing up. I felt terrible, as in lets melt under the table. I told her I would re-do it. She said, “Yes, I know” or something equally encouraging.

(Editor’s note: At the age of 81, my mother has finally realized that when I ask her to look at my artwork, I’m not asking for her to look for its faults. Just to, hopefully see its beauty. Its been a real breakthrough).

Anyways, after that wondrous first encounter with the teacher I had pursued so relentlessly because of a previous good encounter at my art group’s conference, I suddenly felt like I wanted to go home.

Dear Brain: That is your depression speaking. It was just a stupid comment. You know you’re a good artist. Hang in there, witty. Love, witty’s angst department.

There was a brief 15 minute break between the two classes, so I ran over to the bookstore and fortunately the funding was finally ok’d for my two textbooks. My second class was the beginning drawing class. The one I supposedly couldn’t get in because I had to take something called like “How to draw a circle” first.

Ha, I say! Ha!

It was pretty obvious within seconds that I was  over qualified for the class when the same teacher had us all put our work up on a wall. This was a still life I had drawn over the weekend.

Drawing homework 1

I mean, its not a Rembrandt or anything, but it certainly wasn’t like most of the other one dimensional drawings of Nutella jars and football jerseys. And also for the first time, the teacher finally saw in me what she didn’t see in the first class…potential.

And I have to remember that too.

a very special fairy princess

January 15, 2010

So how has 2010 been treating you, so far? I’ve been having to practice writing the  2010 part. Why? Because, I still haven’t figured out how the numbers are situated yet. I keep writing 2100, in which case I’d be about 250 years old.  But look on the bright side. I could say that I survived chemotherapy!!

It sure didn’t seem like I would this past weekend. I had my second round, starting last Monday. Everything was all fine and groovy, other than the tired thing, until Friday when I started scratching. By Saturday I had a large splotchy, itchy rash all over my body and for some reason I thought Married Guy would know what to do, you know, since he touches skin all day. So I called him, since the Cancer Center was closed. Sunday the itching was so intensive I almost went to the emergency room. He finally called back on Sunday night and said one word:  Benadryl. Duh! Okay, maybe I just also needed to hear a comforting voice behind the word “Benadryl” having been locked up in my snowbound apartment all week and only talking to my mom about her cat and furniture we had in 1963.

I did go to my cancer center the next day and talked to Dr. Really-Nice Brian and his evil assistant Nurse Makes You Feel Like and Idiot Even Though You Have Cancer. Ever since I “yelled” at her back in September after she sent me to a surgeon for no reason, she’s always ready with all her super efficient answers for all my apparently fake ailments.

Like before I had my radiation and was deathly tired, pale and feverish, I asked about all the fevers I was getting. Her: “Oh, it must be menopause.” Me: “That was four years ago, bitch dear”. And then this week when I went in, she looked at me, obviously still traumatized by the memories of my severe and horrific tongue lashing from September, because everyone who knows me personally knows how totally terrifying and scary I am, right Guardcat? (she’s pointing and laughing at me).

Anyways, I go in and have to pull down my pants for Dr. Really-Nice Brian (gladly, you said you were married, right?) and Nurse Ratched to display the rash between my thighs and she says, “Oh, must have been some dry skin from winter”  and then evil smile.

WTF…Bitch?

Anyways, it WAS an allergic reaction to my chemotherapy and only 5-7% of the people taking my medication get it.

Fortunately by Wednesday, it was about 85% gone, so I was able to go back to my drawing class which I had missed the week before. Missing my class anytime is difficult , but particularly in the winter when my yearly depression descends.  So after eating a little Chinese food at the yuppie grocery store, I drove to my drawing class. I was fairly certain I was co-hosting with Charlemagne, but he hadn’t hosted last month, so I wasn’t sure.

But walking up the stairs I heard that familiar voice and it sounded way better than it usually did, I guess because I hadn’t been out socially for a while and of course, because I knew there was a hug waiting at the end of it.

It was a smaller class than usual with my least favorite model. The one who, a couple of months ago confessed his genitals might be kinda red because he was getting so much sex. Thanks, Mr. TMI.

My main problem with him, I mean besides him, is the fact that our reserve of models has fallen so dangerously low,  he is like the  substitute teacher the female staff is uncomfortable around. He’s there anyways to draw, so if a model doesn’t show up, he’ll just tear off his clothes, including his gaudy Simpsons underwear and whip it out, so to speak and we’ll be forced to sit through basically the same poses he’s done week after week after week and its like being forced to watch endless reruns of “Joanie Loves Chachie”, except naked.

And I feel bad. Because I had gotten sick of other frequent models from the past. Like the Nazi Model, who would do this particularly terrifying bending over pose, where if you were at the receiving end, pretty much looked like page 36 in “Pap Smears for Dummies”. Ick! I mean I got so sick of her I started doing really mean drawings of her, like with horns and holding pitch fork with flames coming out of her mouth. Oh dear. No wonder I was still in therapy at that point.  

Fortunately, I sat next to Charlemagne, who had his usual humorous running commentary throughout the night. Unlike any of the other hosts, he likes to run contests and give away prizes. I’m not eligible since I’m a board member which is totally unfair…do you hear me, Charlemagne?? I mean, its true he was only giving away some used  watercolor pencils, but still. How many places do you go where you can win a prize by imitating a “Celebrity” laugh?

A couple of people did give it a go, just doing boring normal people laughs and pretending to be like Fergie’s pilate instructor or something. I was just sitting there looking at Mr. TMI, feeling totally uninspired. It wasn’t until I was in the shower this morning, that I realized how I could have totally won that contest. You want a celebrity laugh?

Woody Woodpecker!!!!

And how appropriate for a male model. Of course Mr. “TMI” would think it was about him, if you had said pecker.  

Naturally during the break, after showing Charlemagne my carrot unicorn (you had to be there) , I got trapped, ensnared cornered by Zue, who still thinks we’re like BFF’s, even though I get that stricken look  everytime she walks towards me. We always have announcements at the break and when we finish the official ones,  she’ll keep going and going because she so needs to be heard. 

Like for instance, next week(!!!!) she will be demonstrating lighting for cameras to take photos of models to make paintings from. OMG, no way! Yes way, witty! So of course she felt the need to come over to me and explain what an incredibly complex and difficult this task is (holding a piece of white cardboard up to bounce the flash).

Realllllly??????

She really does corner you physically too. It makes me uncomfortable. So she’s going on and on and on about cardboard and flashes and I finally had to stop her.

“Zue, I’m a photographer. I used to work at a newspaper. We had a photo studio. I’ve been photographed in a studio. I’ve had photos published. I’ve had my photos in museums. Thanks for the information, now can I get a cup of juice, please?”

I guess since I’m so knowledgeable, I will instead be her model. But she has assured me I shall remain clothed. Oh goodie. And of course, I probably won’t really need a flash, since I’m whiter than Antarctica and would probably create an instantaneous, if not slightly erotic Aurora Borealis if she tried to use one.

Charlemagne cleared out a little early so I finished cleaning up with JS and Tall Skinny Guy. JS had asked me about school. I still haven’t signed up for classes starting in a mere two weeks. My problem? Mostly depression. Not sure how things will go with my health. So suddenly Tall Skinny Guy looks at me and says, “Well then, we’ll just give you a big party….we’ll give you a big BIG party and….and…we’ll make you a very special fairy princess!!”

I stood there for a moment, not knowing what to say. A 51-year old very special fairy princess? Well dang! That sounds pretty darn good! I mean, I think he was trying to cheer me up. Right? 

Incidently, I won a photo contest this last week in a local alternative newspaper. Some of you already know about this, but I thought I would share the photo with the rest of you. 

 365.4/6 Walking away 2010

I guess the wings in this photo  prove the fairy princess thing.

Guardcat writes another note for witty’s ambivilent blog behavior

September 13, 2009

Dear Ms. Blogenstein:

Guardcat here again. I turned my back on her for one minute and then witty skips out on her blog for yet another 26 days, cheating on you with I believe,  facebook since, well, you know, she has a very short attention span these days and prefers writing only one sentence updates instead of lengthy whine-fests, since funny can only go so far when your life  makes the movie “Titanic” look like a Seth Rogan Sex Romp (witty made me put that in there. I didn’t think it was particularly funny, but what do I know, I  sleep 23 hours a day and chase imaginary pieces of lint). So the minute I decided to take a nap, witty was off doing stuff like trying to get an inspection sticker for her rusty old pile of crap car which she bought on 6/6/06, (no mistake on what that means I tell ya), because she brought it out to this garage by a lake to this mechanic who looks like a bad-ass Billy Joel with tattoos all over his body and what do you think happened? Well, we are talking about witty and her crap car….the car failed the inspection of course, but the guy said, well, if you go drive it 50 miles maybe the emissions (garbled word) will reset itself and then I can give you the sticker, so witty got in her car and started driving around this lake, like  la la la, I’m on vacation in my piece of crap car, la la la, and then she even stopped at this old antique store with scary clown dolls and NASCAR tee-shirts and really wanted to do one of her weird self portraits amidst the antiques, looking all wacky like she does in her photos until she realized there were video cameras everywhere and all the old people up by the front door were watching her on their panel of TV cams, snickering saying things like, “Ewww, she’s weird, she must be an artist or something”, probably because witty was also crawling around on the floor looking for frames because she’s like totally obsessed with buying every single frame in New York state, you know, in case she paints a painting that size and can buy it for $1.50 in some crazy antique store with Stephen King clown dolls, but unfortunately now she has so many frames in OUR apartment, its starting to look like that TV show, “Messiest Home in America” where that gay guy and his crew makes you throw out everything including that piece of material you sucked on when you were three and then they  re-design your whole house in two days while you stay at a really nice hotel and get a massage, I mean, I really think she has an ulterior motive with this escalating frame problem, but now I actually forgot what I was talking about, oh yes, witty having to drive 50 miles to reset the emissions thingie, so she did do that and came back to the gas station where Mr. Bad Ass Billy Joel Jr. clamped his machine to witty’s little box (the most action she’ll probably evah see–heh heh) and guess what happened? Go ahead guess!  It flunked again and then again and then again and then again and then again…No, not all on the same day.. she had to drive the 20 mile round trip 5 more times trying to reset that goddamn emissions thing and nothing was happening so now her car inspection sticker has expired, so she’s trying to be invisible to the cops, which she’s really good at, since she actually thinks she’s invisible….no really….like she’ll think she’s hiding from me in the kitchen  when she should be feeding me and then I’ll bite her ankle. Heh heh.  Silly girl. Anyhoo, witty has had lots of other stuff going on, like the stalker chick showing up at her art class and wanting to hug her for no real reason other than re-enact a scene from “Fatal Attraction”  or some weird thing.  And then some guy worked on her computer and decided to switch her computer tower for another one and then pretend he didn’t, so she ended up going to the police but since the computer was a gift from her brother and she had no proof of what brand it was, not much happened, although she did feel somewhat vindicated when the cop totally tore the thieving asshole a new arse during his interrogation on the phone, since the computer he returned to witty was totally wiped clean of over 1200 photos, including those, well, you know pseudo-Playboy ones witty likes to do (Officially called Identity Theft in legaleeze). And then for the grand finale nee: witty summer ’09 wallapalooza  just when things were going especially groovy, fate decided to give witty yet another ride on the cancer merry-go-round it seems. Of course witty was momentarily horrified all excited when her hot oncologist called last week, that is until he actually started talking and she knew it wasn’t good since he usually  has his physician’s assistant call. Sure I was in sleeping on witty’s bed, but I think I heard something like: “The nodes in your lung have doubled in size since your last scan in May. I’m going to be sending you to a Thoracic Surgeon in the next few days. He’ll talk to you about what we’ll be doing” I let her rub my belly a few extra times that night, since she seemed pretty upset about everything. So witty went to meet yet another new doctor on the Tuesday after labor day and they got to watch the video scans on his computer, kinda like DEATH WII. He told witty about the node doubling in size and the two options that were available. If its minor they’ll do something called razor radiation. If its major it’ll be a full fledged surgery which would keep her in the hospital for 7-8 days and out of commission for 6-8 weeks. Yeeks! Who is gonna buy me cat food? So witty of course wrote to “A” and told him and he was very concerned and then on Wednesday, when she co-hosted with Charlemagne at her art class, he was very upset too, especially when she suggested that she put off the possible upcoming surgery because she has a bunch of art shows  in October including one in which one of her paintings just got published in a book and she really wanted to go to the opening, but Charlemagne was aghast and said he would not allow his friend to die because she wanted to go to a….now what did he say? I think it was something like “a fucking art show”, yeah, something like that. He also offered to drive witty to the hospital on Tuesday for the lung needle biopsy. She had hoped “A” could do it like last time, but he had another commitment, although strangely right after she hung up from “A”, Charlemagne called witty up  saying he was taking her to the hospital but they’d have to talk Sunday or Monday about times and directions. Naturally she was worried because he is perpetually late, so she said, “Are you sure?” and then he handed the phone to his girlfriend who is in charge of him and she said she’d make sure he’d be there, which is good because witty had sat for about 2 hours the night before looking at Married Guy’s photo in Facebook trying to get up the courage to write him a note asking for a ride to the hospital which of course would have been really stupid but what’s that saying? “Desperate times call for desperate measures“,  but then Charlemange called, probably because “A” got my subconscious ESP message that witty was considering calling Married Guy. So she is really scared and really tired, but she’s been trying to keep busy, in fact tomorrow she is going to her favorite artsy/hippie festival to cavort with like souls and then on Monday, she’ll be joining some of her art friends at the local university to draw in their art gallery….an event she was originally going to miss because, well, she was going to go back to school, but that is all off, unfortunately. With all these unknown factors, medical procedures, and possible major surgeries all falling in the first three weeks of school and possibly affecting a large postion of the semester, witty figured she better just drop out of school and NOT lose  the government funding she worked so hard to procure. That however, made her very, very, very sad. It was the first thing she had really looked forward to in many years. In fact she’s been like a five year old looking forward to the first day of kindergarten for like the last two weeks. I may have to let her scratch my belly again.

Sincerely, Guardcat.

now I remember why I’m a neurotic recluse

August 16, 2009

Greetings from the hot and steamy writing salon of awittykitty. I’m just momentarily resting on my lazy ass laurels a mere 48 hours after the opening of my one woman art show. Oh yeah, it sounds impressive all right.  Fall at my feet you mere mortals. Feed me grapes, oh naked boys who might possibly give me a lap dance in some wildly inappropriate setting like the set of “Deal or No Deal”. But the truth is, its only a bipolar woman who painted a bunch of stuff and then some lady took it to a beauty spa. The end. Ya got it?

But witty, why were you totally off the ledge with anxiety and angst for the last freaking week or 47? The truth is I had a lot happening. I just deleted about 5 paragraphs. Why? They made me sound even more neurotic and crazed than I usually am. Let’s just say its been a combo of “Fatal Attraction” and  “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” all kind of dwooshed up together with  a really bad hormonal Movie of the Week starring Meredith Baxter Birney.

Shall we start at the beginning? I guess I mentioned that some rich wife of an artist I draw with had shown some interest in my work at another art show back in May. I was a wreck when she came and picked 8 pieces at my apartment. She’s the kind of person I generally make fun in my blog. Bubbly yuppie type with a cell phone glued to her ear. And then suddenly there she was standing in my apartment. It was a strange juxtaposition. A sort Pygmalion sort of thing, ya see.

So we hung the show about a month ago at a beauty spa. It was a nice place. Not Beverly Hills glamorous, but nicer than say like Hairs-R-Us. And they even had FAUX Marble walls! I liked it. Me and “P” agreed on where and how to hang everything and got along really well. And then suddenly  I didn’t hear from her for like 10 days. I didn’t know what to think, other than the worst of course.

She finally called and said she was writing press releases for a couple of  local newspapers, as well as “an article” for the small local publication in the town where the spa was.  I sent her over some photos of my artwork. And then she sent me a copy of the article. I cringed. People who are bubbly and chatty may not necessarily be able to write I quickly realized.

I had thought I had finally gotten over that thing called “being a control freak” but evidently there were still small fragments lodged in my calm and rather adorable exterior.  So I wrote her back a note with a few suggestions about the article, you know, since I have an extensive journalism background, which I mentioned numerous times to the point of perhaps (cough) totally humiliating her.  It was my mood, people.  I’m bipolar!!!  So I re-wrote the paragraph about me, even though she said she had already sent it to the editor and sent it back. I don’t know why I cared so much. It was just for a crappy little paper  probably scanned by only about 12 people.

Incidentally, this is a painting I was working on while all this chaos was going on.  Do you think it shows the angst and loss of control I was feeling?

Yeah, I think so too.

Anyways, “P” finally set a date for my opening…Thursday, August 13th.  She was sending out info to everyone she could, including local art guilds, like the one Married Guy’s wife belongs to. Erg! She also wanted me to self-promote too.

Self promote?  Does not compute. Does not compute. Does not compute. What’s that?

She then brought some color flyers up to my art class Wednesday night. I had sent her two images of two different paintings, one of the Virgin Mary and one of Johnny Depp. Naturally I had to make a joke when I saw them next to each other on the flyer. Like, “Yeah, I heard  that Johnny Depp and the Virgin Mary have been dating  since the Teen Choice Awards….” (rim shot). 

I’m much funnier in print obviously.

She  handed the flyers out to all 20 some people in the class. I was still worrying about the reason I talked about in those 5 deleted paragraphs. I’ve had a stalker recently who has been making me even more nervous and paranoid than usual, so I had been trying to shield the time and place of my show from this person. I had just planned to ask a few people in the class because I was beside myself with worry as my info went public.

I had also invited my best friend “L” the Hippie Chick but had made a stupid mistake. Her young grandson was up visiting her and this weekend we had gone to see a free theatre production and he had been, shall we say, a bit free-spirited. As in he didn’t want to see the show, so he walked out of the theatre and left the building and I had no idea if he was out on the road getting hit by a car or what, since “L” had switched seats to sit with him in the back and then he came to sit with me and then he just left.  I was freaking out during the whole show. Do I get up and go look for him? Is he safe? Where’s “L”? She must be looking for him. I kept looking in the back, looking for her.

Anyways, I told her I didn’t want him to come to my art show since at our art class he was also constantly running and sliding on the floor and rolling around and making  noises and knocking stuff over. I just couldn’t see him at this tony beauty spa. “L” walked away from me angry Wednesday night. I started crying immediately. I think it was the combination of everything.

Zue, my second least favorite person, talked to me for about 20 minutes afterwards. She wasn’t too obnoxious. She was one of the people I didn’t want at the show, but what the hell, she earned it, listening to all my drama queen whimpering. Now she’ll probably want to be my BFF too.  

Anyways, fast forward to my art opening, since this entry is getting longer than “War and Peace”.  Had a few calls in the morning including “L” saying that she would be there without her rambunctious grandson. Although she added, he would have gotten a lot out of seeing my art. Okay, I deserve that I guess. 

I got there about 10 minutes before the opening. “P”, my “agent” was getting her hair done. She said I looked “fresh and cool.” Ha! I had just driven 15 miles in a hot-ass car with no air conditioning, but thanks. I had brought a few additional pieces, since she said I could, including the sinful “City on Fire” pictured above (which had been rejected by her for the show as too stressful- heh heh! Try living in the body of a bipolar woman during a hot spell with a stalker).

People finally started filtering in. My mom came and was very well behaved. Folks from my art class. My aunt. Even some people who had said they weren’t coming showed up. Good ones, not the stalker fortunately. “P” was flitting around, mostly promoting the salon now. That’s fine with me. Her husband came. He loaned me this book called “Postm0dern Heretics” . Basically it was about sex, art, sex,  religion…and did I mention sex with explicit photos of such things as a semi-ude guy nailing himself to a Volkswagon a ‘la the crucifixtion.. Ummm, interesting.

It soon got even weirder. I was walking around with my camera, of course. One of the male hair dressers asked if I would take his photo. I said sure, no problem. So he grabbed a manikin head used for wigs off the counter. It has a vague female face. He asked me to come into a little side room with a lounger.  So I followed him in there and he jumps onto the lounger and buries the mannikin’s head down in his crotch and says, “Take my picture….just don’t get my face in it.”

Ummmmm?!?!?!

 But I’m an idiot. I took his picture. Nothing like bonding over a little porn with a total stranger during your art show. I should have made him buy one of my damn paintings for that.

Anyways, the rest of the evening went much better. I mostly talked about art with my friends. Afterwards, me and some of the girls went next door and got some ice cream cones. Naturally after about 4 licks mine fell on the ground. I bent over and wiped off the top layer. Everyone was screaming. “No witty. Ewww!”, but I just continued to eat it. It fell on asphalt for god sakes. Its not like there were ants or dog poop or anything. Anyways, “L” the Hippie Chick disappeared for a couple of minutes and then came back with this humongous waffle cone with a huge pile of ice cream on top of it and said, “Here.” 

See, that’s what friends are really about.

By the way…Virgins are cute.  Buy them and take them home. OK? Thanks.  

 

why it feels good to be believed in

May 11, 2009

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): According to polls, more than half the population believes they are fantastic kissers. How did they get that way?
Some people say they have rehearsed extensively by smooching the
backs of their own hands or rubbing their lips up against posters of
celebrities. Whether you’ve tried these techniques or have developed
other strategies, Aquarius, I advise you to bone up on your skills. Not this week, but soon, you will be entering a prime romantic phase of your astrological cycle — a time when you will have the potential to accomplish wonders and marvels with your mouth.

really?

REALLY????????????????!?????

Let’s see, things I have done with my mouth, so far in 2009, have included:

  • Having it clamped shut after cancer surgery in January. Woo! That was exciting.
  • Having some stranger jam his tongue into it on a date in February. That was really cool! 
  • March and April has found it mostly agape while watching that hot guy on “Dancing with the Stars”. Gilles. So, I guess I better hopping if I’m gonna be getting any action in the next couple of weeks. Huh.

I did manage to leave my house this last Saturday. In the morning I went to this monster garage sale with over 100 homes and managed to lose my car for over an hour. I was like, oh, it so nice out, I’ll just walk up and down the streets of yuppiedom personified and look for some frames for my artwork and then about hour later, I’m standing in the middle of this huge housing development going where the hell is my fucking car???

True, it was probably the only one that wasn’t an SUV. And yes, it probably was the only built when Bill Clinton was still in the White House but still….where the hell was it?

 I finally had to timidly creep up to this  couple standing in their driveway talking about creme broulee or something and tell them my dilemma.

“Hi. Ummm…all of your houses realllllly look similar. I mean they all have three front windows and really nice lawns, so I haven’t been able to find my car in over an hour and I’m starting to panic a little, because I  have an art show in 6 hours. So can you maybe drive me around so I can find my car?”

Fortunately the answer was yes, so I got to ride in a bitchin’ SUV (can you imagine??? Me? In an SUV?? OMG!!! I almost started talking about the stock market and pilates!). But unfortunately, my heightened state of orgasmic euphoria was very short lived, since my damn car was only about a block  and a half up the street. I felt so stupid, but I had been walking for over an hour looking for the damn thing. I had even gotten a sunburn. And for people with recent cases of mid-stages melanoma that really isn’t a very good idea.

So I finally drove home and zonked out for about an hour because of the  sunburn and also because I’ve been pretty fatigued the last couple of weeks.

Late in the afternoon I finally got up and inexplicably started trying on a bunch of outfits. Now I’m not really much on how I look or on buying new clothes…but in the last month I’ve gone out and bought myself two new shirts, a new purse, some leather Harachies and  discovered something really amazing. I feel better when I’m wearing something new!

Uh oh! I might be morphing into some kind of  girly girl!

But I was going to an art opening at a place I had never shown before and I didn’t know anyone else showing and I had invited about 5-6 people from my art class, as well as “A” who I hadn’t seen since last July except when he took me to my surgery in January. And suddenly  I started feeling really angsty. I mean REALLY angsty, especially after my disastrous opening last September when only two people showed up.

I think most of the angst though was about “A”. Why? Because over the last couple of years, I have pretty much invited him to all my shows (except for my regular art class ones), but he never comes. He’ll go down early and then write me an e-mail and say he enjoyed my work and good luck.  But this time the phone rang at around 4:30 and it was him asking me where the place was. I knew he had the address and GPS in his car, but I was happy to hear his voice. He confirmed he was going to stop by and asked me if wearing jeans was ok. Geeze, the art gallery is run by a bunch of middle aged politically active hippies, so I think the answer was probably a yes.

By then I was really anxious, so I called “L” the Hippy Chick to make sure she’d be ready when I stopped to pick her up. I mainly just needed someone to talk to calm down.  Fortunately she was ready when I got there and I was pharmaceutically (cough) “arranged” and we made our way to the gallery.

The show actually went way better than I expected. My three paintings were along the back wall over the food, so everybody saw them. I had eight people show up for me. Eight! I couldn’t believe it! I also had so many strangers compliment my work, especially the Magic Coyote.  The gallery owner had originally only requested one piece when Anna was visiting. But when I brought the piece in, she looked at the other pieces I had sent online  and insisted that I bring them too. So I brought one traditional piece of a koi fish and then one of my weird ones from my twice a year weird Goth show, which elicited the weirdest comment of the night. Some guy was looking at it and I was trying to be the good little artist, waiting for any potential questions, like “What the fuck is this?” 

And sure enough some guy asked something almost equally demented.  He said: “Is this a design for a Persian rug?” and I said “Its whatever YOU want it to be!” (smile, smile).

“A” finally showed up around 7:30 and looked really cute in his black polo shirt, jeans and Boston Red Soxs cap. Very guy-like. One of the real reasons I wanted him to come to this particular show was because the theme of the show was mental health and how art can be healing and that has certainly the case for me. And with “A”, even though we’ve had our rough times, never, ever has he wavered on his support of my creative endeavors.  So as part of my Artist Statement I had included a story about his support and I really wanted him to see that and to show my appreciation. And I really think he was touched by it.

I also  introduced him to a few people like “L” and the woman from my old work place who had told me about the show and even bonked me in the head (metaphorically speaking) when I almost didn’t submit anything (yay apathy!). I really think ‘A”enjoyed the show though. He even asked the gallery owner if he could bring some school kids in on a field trip. 

Later after “A” left, the gallery owner had all the contributing artists speak. As in: Bleeech! Warning! Warning! Does Not Compute! Does Not Compute!  I am not a public speaker. At all. Not since that crazy sadistic nun knocked the love of Jesus and all that is good out of me with a large wooden ruler in 5th grade. Plus we had to talk about our mental health. Well, we didn’t have to.

I’ve pretty much stopped talking about it about 9 months ago. As in, I no longer walk around and identify myself as a bipolar person anymore.  I mean who needs labels? I’m just witty. I’m an artist. I’m a writer. So talking about “it” in front of a group of people was pretty difficult, except of course when they applauded at the end…and then it kind of became like a “Lifetime Movie Special” starring Patty Duke as a triumphant mom at her first art show with the music swelling, as directed by Demi Moore.

Well, except, of course,  I’m cooler because I paint robots with gunshot wounds in their heads. And they’ll definitely need somebody hotter than Patty Duke to play me I’m thinkin’….

Anyways, things started to wind down around 9 p.m., but were we ready to wind down? Hell no. “L” the Hippy Chick wanted to go to this place where they were supposedly filming this video. Another woman “C” who owns a framing shop wanted me to go out for drinks with “the girls.” I chose the girls, but “L” did have a ride and had no problem with it. So it was off to a bar. Wait…Me? At a bar? ha ha ha ha ha!

Other than my Goth art shows, I’ve only been to one bar in my entire life. In 1984. I don’t drink. Why go to a bar? But we did. And just like in the movies, all the bar guy’s heads snapped towards the door in apparent slobbery anticipation when we walked in. But just momentarily, of course, since they were obviously looking for someone born around 1988. And then for the next hour we had to yell over a bar band that was playing and try to discipher what our Spanish friend was saying. She’s the one who likes to talk about painting canvases with her naked body…a story which she once again recounted. With her thick accent, I’m never quite sure what she’s talking about but she is entertaining.

We finally left at almost midnight. Business cards and websites were exchanged (no I don’t have one), with promises of more girl’s nights out.

The best part for me? I felt really normal for probably the first time since the 1980’s.  Art opening. People showed up who said they’d  show up. No apparent angst from me DURING the event. I absolutely kicked it with the small talk. Nobody looked down at me secretly hissing “You’re mentally ill and don’t you forget it!”.  And don’t forget I was wearing my ultra glam Donald J. Pliners!!

So I guess the real question is….are the lips in my horoscope ready for someone? That, my friends, is the real question.

Letting people from England sleep in your house

April 17, 2009

 I remember the first time I met somebody from blogdom, I was a wreck. Oh dear….what would they think of me? How could I possibly live up to the much more interesting and funny awittykitty? I couldn’t obviously. I’m a writer, not an interesting person. I mean, we all look better in print, don’t we? Cuter.  Wiser. More together. Or if we’re angsty, at least hopefully, funnier in my case.
 

My first meet, of course, was the lovely BlueMeany. We realized after reading each other’s blog that we lived in the same town, so on one of her trips home from Iraq, we met at a restaurant known for hotdogs. Conversation was easier than expected and despite the twenty some year difference in age, we hit it off well enough to meet on her subsequent visits home. I mean, I’ve been to her parents house. We went to see Bob Dylan. She’s been to my art class.  We even had lunch again last week.

 I’ve met other bloggers like Kathyesque and ArtGnome and Ann from Massachusetts, all of whom are pretty much like their blogs. Kindred spirits. Some bloggers have photos, some don’t, so its always a surprise when you meet the ones who don’t. I never told you this Kathy, but when I met you and your friend at the Finger Lakes I didn’t know which one you were for about the first 20 minutes. Gah! My fault. Short attention span during intros.

 Well, on Sunday, I took this meeting people from blogs one bold step further. Not only did I meet one of my blog people. I met someone from a blog AND a foreign country and then they stayed at my apartment for 3 days. Oh my frooking god! Can you believe it? Yeah, me neither. That was quite a leap of faith for a person afraid of lint. But somehow I knew it would work. It was the lovely Annanotbob who arrived this past Sunday night and we got along so famously, we may possibly have to adopt each other or have our cats become penpals or something.

 I figure its because we’re both artsy hippie types with cats, who like Scrabble and politics and who enjoy going for walks and taking photos.

 I didn’t want to tire Anna out too much, but I did want to show off yuppieville in all its Springtime-blooming glory. Fortunately she managed to catch a nice stretch of weather (it snowed last week, but was sunny and in the 60’s this week). We walked up around our local lake, hit the trail along the Erie, went to some funky shops down in the hippy part of town, drew a nekkid model at my drawing class and even spotted a banner down at the local university frat house advertising “The Penis Monologues”.  It was a reallllllly BIG banner, but you know how guys are.

 Oh, and I’m sure the highlight ,as she has written, was meeting the ever-fluctuating supernova of effervescence Charlemagne, who definitely needed to be hit in the head  with a Buick the night of our art class. Why? Well, we can start with him arriving about 23 minutes late, as in about seven minutes before the class was due to start, leaving me in a high state of stress. How high? Well, as I was digging through my little book of phone numbers to call him and ask him where the hell he was, I accidentally called “A”s private cell phone number and got his answering machine. I didn’t even realize it was “A”s voice on the answering machine as I was snarling, “Its almost 7, WHERE ARE YOU???? ARE YOU SLEEPING????? YOU NEED TO GET DOWN HERE!!!!!!” Or something to that effect.

 And right then Charlemagne came pounding up the stairs in a mad sweat.  In the meantime, “A” called back on the guy’s cell phone I had borrowed, wondering who was calling…although I figure he probably recognized my voice and Charlemagne’s name. I didn’t talk to him though. The cell phone guy answered his own phone and told “A” he had the wrong number. Heh! Whoops.
 

But I think Anna really enjoyed the art class and I was really happy she got to meet all my art friends. They were all really fascinated with her lovely British accent. In fact, they all seemed to gather around her like she was Helen Mirren showing off her Oscar or something.

 There were some other wonky things going on during the three days, like I lost my brand new credit card and had to go to the bank and cancel it. My internet service went out and is still out. And Guardcat was like in a trance the entire three days, staring up at Anna like she was Norman Bates in “Psycho”. That was so rude, Guardcat. She loves kitties, and was so nice to you, scratching you on your chin and all.
 

I guess the biggest non-guest news since I last wrote  was that the devious and evil Garden Hacker Guy, who caused me so many problems about two years ago (stalking, slashing my tires twice, calling the police on me, etc.) got evicted from the Crazy Hilton this week.

 
Can we get a Thanka Jeeezus!?!?!
 

Oh man, hearing that news made my heart leap so high! He hadn’t been quite so obnoxious this last summer, but I had never been able to use my back porch with all the problems in the previous years and its a very pleasant porch (Anna will attest to this) and now, hopefully, I will be able to paint on it this summer, especially since I just got the news that I will have another one woman art show at the library across the street in 2010. 

Anyways, his official eviction was Wednesday, but what was weird was that I got to go into his creepy dungeon of doom apartment Tuesday morning. I heard this knock and my neighbor two doors down asked if I wanted to go get some free potted plants. I always want anything free, so I quickly got dressed and we went downstairs and I went into Garden Hacker Guy’s apartment (he’s, ummm, sorta, ummm, incapacitated –cough– right now, as in a SWAT team was last seen descending on our apartment complex last week with guns drawn. Eep!). 

Anyways, it was just as uber-serial killer creepy as imagined. All the windows had black plastic over them. Filthy carpet. Metal poles hanging by wires from the ceiling with huge plants hanging from them and potted plants all over the floor. Considering he was a garden hacker outside, the plants inside were in incredibly gorgeous shape.
 

Let’s just call this….the End of an Era and hope that no other wack-a-doo’s move in, mmm’kay?

 
I really had a blast with Anna! Thanks again for making, making new “Real Life” friends so darn easy, my dear. I may just try and do it again! Imagine!

 

(I didn’t have any photos of the two of us together….so this is Anna looking pretty in pink at our local funky clothes store)

now when is christmas?

December 22, 2008

Oh man, I am totally kicking it in the Christmas card department. I mean woo! Kick-….in’…it. Huge trucks are backing up to my apartment building. The postal service has had to hire extra people. I mean fuck that thing about a failing economy. witty’s Christmas card postal delivery-o-rama has most certainly employed at least 3000 people in the upstate area. And we still have at least 3 days left. I mean, WTF! What recession??? I know for a fact that at least 37 supersonic jets have had to fly in and 800 people have had to unload them.

OK. I’ve only gotten one card so far. Shut up! Its a really cool card. Its hand drawn by my artist friend Sci Fi Guy, with a Santa Claus flying over a cemetary with a bag full of bloody body parts in his sleigh being pulled by a skeletal reindeer with a light bulb strapped to his nose. There’s even a slight religious theme, since he’s flying over a church with zombies dancing out on the front lawn. OK, they might be getting ready to go to Mass. Or maybe getting ready to eat some altar boys or something. Because Christmas zombies really aren’t that discriminating, I hear.  

So yeah, its a banner year for Xmassss cards. The lovely PoolaGirl did send me a funny cyber card of a girl running around screaming whilst doing Christmas related tasks, which certainly seemed about right for me. I’ve been doing a lot of screaming lately too. Mostly in my car. Christmas angst its called. I’m not a big fan of Christmas and I’ve mostly steered clear of the malls this year. Although I did hit Michal’s (an art store) and Target on Saturday.

A very nice person from a local non-profit agency gave me a $20 gift card for the art store, so between our recent massive snow storms (not like yours, Las Vegas, ptooo–eee!), I managed to get out on Saturday.

I’m so damn OCD when I get a gift card, its ridiculous. I usually have to scour the entire store for like four hours in order to spend $20 and then to make matters even worse, I had nabbed a 40% off coupon on the internet and since I’m horrible with math, so I was walking around going, “Ok, 40% off $9.99 is…WHAT?!” I also wanted to buy a frame or two for some recent new paintings I just finished, but being the highly evolved individual that I am (I’m being ironic-here, heh!) , I put on my coat that morning, and forgot to bring the paintings with me. And you really can’t buy random frames without the artwork. So I just ended up buying some new pastels, a charcoal pencil and two larger canvases, so I’ll have even more unsold pieces of artwork in my apartment for Guardcat to snicker at. YAY! Always looking ahead. That’s me!

Target was much worse…people-wise. Having social anxiety and confronting  huge swells of people and shopping carts at the front door is about akin to seeing a massive 20 foot hight tsunami coming towards me and not having any place to run. So I mostly just kept my head down and thought of Johnny Depp licking chocolate off my naked body, so I wouldn’t have to look at all the mommies and daddies with their carts overflowing with gifties for their kids. Its a childhood thing, ya see.  Moving on.

My art class did have our yearly holiday themed party this last Wednesday. We’re going to be closed for the coming two weeks because they fall on Christmas and New Years Eve. Yikes! Two weeks without my art homies. That’s going to be rough!

Our Holiday-tackyuuular was pretty fun. My favorite model, a petite but fabulously interesting African American woman modeled. She had brought a Santa hat, but people wanted to draw her little tiny dreadlocks, so no Santa baby hat. Boo! Isn’t that silly?

Sci-Fi Guy came in and brought his vast collection of weird and wonderful Christmas music. Like Joe Friday arresting a guy for not believing in Santa Claus. I also put in my usual request for Adam Sandler’s “Chunukah Song”.  I love that silly thing and Sci-Fi Guy actually had both versions including the later one indicating Harrison Ford’s partial inclusion in the Jewish faith too. Me and “L” the Hippy Chick were just  gleefully snorting our way all the way through it. “L”‘s Jewish. I’m Jewish by Proxy.

About the only fly in the ointment was this jerky kid next to me singing along.  Helllllllo. You ain’t exactly Adam Sandler, asshat. I guess I should tell you about this guy. He’s been a thorn in my side for about two and a half months now. I go to my art class to relax and socialize. Its my only real place to have fun.

Well, this goofball, who’s about 23, sits in the class and blasts music through his headphones at about 4 million decibels. Its LOUD! As in, even if I’m sitting across the room, I can hear him over the top of the music we play. And unfortunately, I’ve even had the total misfortune of sitting right next to him for several weeks. I did finally ask him to turn it down because it was so disruptive. He did, but only grudgingly and then when he thought I wasn’t “looking” he turned it right back up. Well dickhead, it wasn’t about looking, it was really about hearing *Acid Voodoo Dolls Commit Suicide playing too damn fucking loud.

*I made that group up since I have never listened to a single heavy metal group in my entire life. I’m a Broadway geek and proud of it….Me suddenly breaking out into “The sun will come out tomorrow…” from “Annie”….Yo muthafucka! “Annie” rules! Yeahhhhh!!!!! (breaking a beer bottle on my head and flipping off  nearby rocker dudes).

Anyways, this kid’s music evidently was bothering other people too. We got complaints from 3-4 other people. We run our group like a business, of course.  People pay us. We like to keep them happy. I did ask him to turn down his music for two more weeks. Not much changed. He’d just turn it up again. Then  Charlemagne, with no prompting from me, got annoyed and told him not to play them, I think. At a subsequent board meeting we finally decided to ban the use of any headphones. Sure that might seem harsh, but we couldn’t just ask one person not to play them and not others.

So Charlemagne announced it. The kid was not happy. And guess who he blames? Go ahead guess. Me. So for the last 4-5 weeks, every week, at some point during the evening he will come up to me and give me lip and blame me. Or act menacing. It appears he’s a little wacky in the head. He’s even been making a point to grab the desk next to mine and look at my drawings and say things like “I really like the nipple on that one. Good definition. It looks really hard” and then lick his lips.

I am truly a freak magnet.

artist birthdays aren’t like others

November 24, 2008

What a week. I have somehow managed to avoid ever going to a funeral for  my entire 50 years, until my first one this week. Won’t go into details, except to say, I went to support my friend, but mourned for my Dad since I never got to go to his funeral and all the feelings I have pent up inside for him kind of came flowing out as people remembered a person I barely knew. It really perhaps was like letting out 3 gallons from Hoover Dam, but at least it was something and fortunately I had tissues for the inevidible waterworks.

In other news tonight, my mother called and in a very low serious voice said “witty.” Whenever she does that I always think that she’s found my blog and is about to lay a three hour guilt trip on me. Instead she had just talked to her cousin in Michigan. This cousin still owns a house here in town which belonged to her mother who died almost 20 years ago. But the house still sits just as it was left 20 years ago. Well, except like when it was broken into  4-5 times, since nobody lives there and her daughter has refused to ever let anyone in because she wanted to leave it as an utter and total shrine to her mother. 

Yes, insanity does definitely run in our family.

So anyhoo, I guess my cousin, who thinks she is about to die, has finally decided to un-shrine her mother’s house, and wants someone to  live there. Guess who? Go ahead guess? Yeah, me! I guess my mother was really talking me up, saying how responsible I was (she forgot cute, dammit) and my cousin finally said I could live there for free and I would only have to pay for the utilities. And you would think I would be sitting here saying “Yay! Whoopee! Free rent! Wahoo! I’m rich! I’m rich! A whole house for Guardcat to run around in! Two freakin’ bedrooms! I could have my own art studio! Woo hoo!”

But no. Unfortunately there are some minor problems, like:

  • A large hole in the roof in the main bedroom, alias a giant squirrel condo,  where it is probably snowing on my aunt’s bed as we speak.
  • Ummmm…..bullet holes in the bedroom window. Yeah. Some gangstah got busy this summer and shot out several of the windows on the side of the house. My cousin had someone put large plastic panels over the shot out windows, but still.  Gulp!
  • The neighborhood is the kind of neighborhood where the emphasis is on ‘hood, if you get my drift.
  • There is no water, the house smells like mold and some homeless guy was living there briefly and was pooping in the toilet with no water in it and it literally looks like a giant shit hole, plus…
  • All the porch lights are smashed out, you know, so gangstas can break in without being seen! 

So, I guess you get the general idea. The house is filled with some really decent antiques…what hasn’t been stolen….yet. And in some past years I had considered living there, that is, before the bullets started flying this last summer. I am a total whimp though. I mean I was terrified when some wacko guy with garden shears was staring up at my apartment at midnight, smoking a cigarette. Imagine, what would happen if a guy with a glock showed up on my doorstep?

And yet tonight my mom was still saying….”Oh witty, you should really move there. And then “P” would sign the house over to you and you could sell it and get a better apartment. I even told her how nice you were (huh? Poetic license I guess). And she even said she loved you. (I don’t even know her, but ok).

So that’s that. Don’t worry. I’d rather live in a cramped crappy apartment, than be hiding under a couch during a shoot out.  I’m funny that way.

And in other news, I went to my art friend JS’s 50th birthday last night. He rented the place where we have our art class and…well, we drew and painted him for his birthday! And no, he wasn’t nekkid. I did ask him what his intentions were the Wednesday before. JS has always been extremely kind to me, and I wanted to be prepared for the drawing of any potential naughty bits. (Just kidding JS).

 Initially he was going to wear this oddball hat that looked like a paint can with a disco ball on top of it. You know how artists are.  But we all voted that down, since I think that would have been a little too heavy for JS, who is very slight in build.

Afterwards he very kindly fed all of his blood sucking lazy ass artists friends catered lasagna, salad and a beautiful cake drizzled in caramel. Naturally I got stuck at a table with a rich girl artist who had snarked me a couple of weeks ago. There was also a yuppie couple who were bragging about how handsome their son down in NYC was and how he was a model and then starting naming off big name designers he had worked with. I love when yuppies try to say things with French accents and fail miserably.  You know like: Ralhhhhhhllf Saaayyynt Laurrhhhhhhayyyyyntt.

Of course I did leave the table briefly for a soda and when I came back everyone at the table was trying to outdo each other with that great ol’ party game “competitive nostril flaring”. The guy next to me said he used to pick up women at bars like that.

And then to prove it,  he sort of leaned towards me and did this guppy nostril flare thingie…right there in front of his wife.  I figure it must be because I look so damn fetching in my new Tina Fey glasses.  Yeah, thats it.

So, that’s been my week. I will be taking yet another train trip to see my best friend “G” on the road once again. I’ll be down in Schenectady on Thanksgiving and then Black Friday. Woo hoo! Is there anything to do down there? I guess I could flare my nostrils at unsuspecting passerbys and make them swoon. Although I really don’t want to ruin my nearly perfect “No Dates in 2008” record. That would be just wrong.