Archive for the ‘Guardcat’ Category

Upsy-Downsy-Upsy-Splat

May 23, 2010

I was diagnosed as bipolar about 11 years ago, but I think THEY got it all wrong. I’m not bipolar….its  my life that is bipolar. I’m just a cute little cowgirl hanging on for dear life. Literally.

This last month has been perhaps the busiest month  I’ve ever had…in both good  or evil ways. Evil mostly won. But lets review:

  • I had 12 sessions of radiation on the lower half of my face and neck, in hopes of blasting away some major melanoma cancer which made me look  like Jay Leno on steroids with a chin so large it could knock cars off the  freeway. Did I also mention I  had the absolute worst, most severe “sunburn” from the radiation which made people’s head swivel in horror as I walked by them in grocery stores. For someone who is terribly shy (except on the internet), it was humiliating. And we won’t even get into how bad the inside of my mouth was. Raw. Burned. No saliva. Some creeping gray crud growing on my teeth.  Yes, the treatment did shrink down the cancer quite a bit, but that was when I basically stopped eating.
  • The cool cancer diet! Whee! When in my life have I ever felt like not eating.  Since this has all started I have lost just about 30 pounds. Just think, 30 pounds without being humiliated by Bob and Jillian  on “The Biggest Loser” . But yes, I do look like a totally different person now and mostly just drink  protein shakes (ensure, boost) these days but only after I was  sent to a nutritionist for my bad behaviour.
  • School. This was one of the upsies. During a 5 month period of some serious ass cancer treatment, I managed to only miss two days of art classes. I must like totally be like the girl version of “Iron Man” fercrissakes. I kept up with about 90% of my homework. Did final pieces  for both of my classes. And best of all, bonded with my teacher, who I think liked my work better than I thought initially.  On the last day of my class, we had to present our finals in class. She asked me if I would feel comfortable mentioning my illness, since I’m sure the Art Glee Club was probably anxiously wondering about that freakishly weird red chinned woman. But I did  get a round of applause after my  “Art Heals” speech. I haven’t heard what my grade is yet for my 2 classes, but you know what? I don’t care. I just wanted to take the college art classes I always wanted to take when I was younger. Sort of like a bucket list item. The other final project for my second art class? My one woman art show at the library across the street. They don’t promote or hang themselves, ya know!
  • Now this was definitely a mixture of upsies and downsies, but one HUGE UPSIE!! Yay! Who knew I was even capable of one at this point? I got an e-mail from a woman I used to work with at the newspaper where I had been a graphic artist 11 years ago.  She wanted to do a story about me and my upcoming art show.  What? Really? Me? I’ll take any form of attention. Sure! So we sent up an appointment the Wednesday before school ended. This seemed awfully suspect since a certain person I had been in love with did  freelance writing at this place.  And sure enough he called and asked if the writer had called. I verified and thanked him. I also asked him to come to my art show opening. He’s never seen any of  my work. He said he was picking up his son from college down south but would “try” to make it.
  • I’ve  been coughing for over a month now. I had my first chemo treatment the day before the last day of school. But by Wednesday, I was coughing so hard I could barely catch my breath.  “911—-what is your emergency?” Yup, I ended up in the hospital for 2 1/2 days, via ambulance.  No diagnosis. It seems that when you have cancer, that is all you’re capable of having. I was all antsy in the hospital too, since Guardcat was home alone, probably watching cat porn and eating chocolate.  I also had my newspaper interview coming up the next freaking day. I also had to be photographed for the article. PLUS I was originally supposed to have my chemotherapy port put in on Friday, but then they suddenly moved it up two days. Can you say STRESS, witty?
  • So I finally got the port put in. Got sent home and had the absolute worst pain ever from my continuing cough. Some of my time line might be wrong, but I did get through the interview. I had a nice photo shoot out on my porch. Being a totally vain Aquarian I was worried about how haggard and tired and big-chinned I looked. The photo did come out the best it possibly could. Thanks Mike.
  • More coughing followed. First chemo following Monday. First 1/2 day was fine, but oy, the pain from the coughing and something in that pharmaceutical concoction I slurped up through tubes for 6 hours went terribly awry. I was incredibly weak. I could barely get up. So… “911—-what is your emergency?”. Yes, I went back to the hospital. Unlike the first time when I was just wheeled into the ER, this time I had to wait for over 5 hours in an overcrowded outer waiting room with winos, screaming babies,and  a guy who threatened to come back with a glock and kill everyone.
  • Fortunately this time, when they gave me oxygen treatments, and truly listened to my crackling lungs (even I could hear them…without a stethoscope), someone really intelligent said, “This girl has pneumonia!” And yes, it was fucking  true. Yay!  So I stayed in 3 days and got lots of treatments and snorted enough oxygen to float several SUV’s over Lindsey Lohan’s head, just to freak her out.

OMG, I totally forgot the most important thing! I knew these bullets were  out of order since I’m on a lot of drugs at the moment.

During all this pharmaceutical/medical chaos, I managed to have my most successful art show ever. On May 13th I still wasn’t feeling real terrific. I had made a half-hearted attempt to go buy a new outfit for my show (and also because none of my clothes fit anymore). I just couldn’t. Too tired, so I came home for a brief nap before my art show. Just a cat nap really. My show started at 5 p.m. Guess what time I woke up? 5:02 p.m. YIKES!!!!  I was laying on my couch in my underwear and a tee-shirt, no make up. Nothing. The You-Tube video of me running around like an insane person grabbing clothes and throwing them in the air probably would have been pretty hilarious….if it existed. Fortunately, as mentioned somewhere, my show was directly across the street, so I was practically sprinting over when I see my aunt walking towards me in great distress. She’s all like “Honey, we were so worried about you. Are you ok?” I was mainly trying to think up some clever response for being late for my own show.

Once there, the show was wonderful though. People were very nice about my lateness, saying it was fashionable to be late to your own show…..(especially if you’re a drugged up New York artist). I also had the best crowd ever (over  30 people-WOW!!). and the best part, people walking towards me with open checkbooks (I sold 5 paintings and one photograph). I’m really not kidding about being drugged up so my friend “P” served as my “agent” keeping track of my sales and handing me checks. We even had two women who wanted the same painting, but it was first come, first serve, baby.

The show finally started winding down around 7:20 and when me and my  homies gathered in the parking lot, they insisted on taking me out to  the one and only Mexican restaurant in the Village. And then who comes driving up at 7:30? Married Guy and his son. I couldn’t believe it. I haven’t seen my favorite little kidlet since he was 12. He’s 18 now. And still a cutie! So I audaciously made my friends wait and took Married Guy and kidlet on their own private tour of my show.   It felt really good to let him see how much I have progressed in the last 5 years. He seemed to like my work. But the most important thing….I was happy with my work. There is certainly a first for everything.

Me and one of my art idols Frida Kahlo at the restaurant afterwards

Plus one makes life different

August 21, 2008

I’ve lived alone for most of my adult life, save that toxic year or three with my mom in the early 90’s, and even though I’m lonely at times, I think there is a lot to be said about living alone. You can:

  • walk around nekkid
  • watch stupid TV shows like “I survived a Japanese game show” and not have to apologize to anyone for it.
  • eat trans fats freely and not be reprimanded about possible impending heart attacks.
  • not polish your redwood coffee table for 27 years and be ok with it.
  • talk to yourself…and answer yourself…and laugh at your own jokes.
  • drink directly from the diet coke bottle without disrupting any kind of bad karmic equalizing factors.
  • and most importantly you can revel and delight in the fact that you have so much cat fur floating around your apartment, you could probably manufacture at least two more adult sized cats and not have to go to the SPCA and face all those sad kitty faces. Why? Because you can make your own cats at home, silly!

My best friend just came to visit from California. The same one whose husband had condemned the entire state of New York last year as “dangerous”, you know because of all our drive by shootings, thugs, drug dealers and…well, just all that stuff. I mean, the most exciting thing that has happened in the Village in the last month was that a certain big name rocker got busted for cocaine a block from my apartment.  Was that unusual? I’ll say. It was more unusual that he was even in the Village (his band was playing at some Indian casino about 40 miles away). I mean, we’re mostly famous for REAL snow. Not the kind you put up your nose.

So anyways, my friend’s husband finally realized that my neighborhood was relatively safe (guess he didn’t know about the nationally televised drug bust. Heh…snort…snort. Inside joke. Bygones!!) and “let” my friend come back for a visit this last week. Alone. Well, kinda. I mean besides the 29,000 cell phone calls he made to her to discuss what he had for  dinner, about how their 9 cats were, about what happened when he walked out to their hot tub in the yard (nothing apparently. He survived. And no SWAT teams were called in. Thank god!!!!), and what temperature their pool water was.  

oh. my.god. Are all marriages like that? He’s a Libra. Maybe he was just lonely or their cable TV was out and only my friend could put it back in for some marriage related reason.

It was nice seeing my friend though. Her visit was somewhat expected, but I had no idea when. She had said she wanted to see my art show and I guess she realized it was only up for another week. She has free flying passes since her entire family worked in the airline industry.

It did make it a little freaky for me though. I had just taken my mom to the mall to buy a bedspread. Talk about fun. I’d say it pretty much ranked up there with my colonoscopy a few year ago.  She is still pretty slow from her surgery of course. Okay, basically she shouldn’t have been out shopping for bedspreads, I’d say. I was emotionally exhausted when I got home. 

But then I had a message from “S” on my machine saying “I’m coming to NY but only if you call me back immediately, otherwise I’m going on to my daughter’s in Vermont.” The message was 2 hours old. At 10 p.m. So I called her immediately and fortunately she hadn’t left for the airport yet. Can you imagine though having someone descend into your life with absolutely no warning? Especially someone nervous and neurotic, who only has about one human in their house about every 7 months? But we did connect and she was going to be getting in at 8:40 a.m. the next morning. Can you say “Massive House Cleaning in 2 Hours”?

I had met “S” when we had worked together 27 years ago at M@cy’s. She’s older than me and had always been a sort of surrogate mother figure I guess. Very energetic. And what I didn’t realize until this trip…very very very talkative. Maybe it’s because I don’t socialize much anymore, but I felt a little overwhelmed by it. I talked too, of course. In fact, I kinda got in a little therapy session, since I haven’t seen “A” for a while. But she talked alot about problems with her family, with a great deal of anger, which was something I had never seen before. And suddenly I flashed upon how it must feel to be a shrink. At times, it just seemed endless and emotionally draining.

I also felt a little stung by some of her criticisms or (cough) “observations about my life.” Yes, I am a delicate little flower. I admit it! But she was commenting on things like me drinking Diet Coke (soda is bad for you), me not eating vegetables and salads (that’s very unhealthy, DO YOU TAKE A MULTI-VITAMIN???), me not having a cookie sheet to bake cookies on (Oh witty, I can’t believe you’ve never baked cookies in your entire life. Well believe it. Not everyone with a vagina knows how to bake cookies), me not checking all labels for trans fats (I just learned what a trans fat is in the last 6 months, and its a little late now), me not polishing my coffee table with Pledge (hey, I live alone. Guardcat washes her butt on that table. And yes, I do wipe it down every day or so), me not having a Scrabble dictionary (and who am I playing Scrabble with. Guardcat?) and then making comments about mental illness (truly not intentional. I did jump in and mention that not ALL mentally ill people are homeless and that we can occasionally have an IQ higher than 12). I guess she did notice that I started to snap back a few times, as I am want to do (right Mom?), because she finally started to apologize.

I don’t want you to think her visit was a total disaster though.  I took her for some nice walks around the Village and out at the Canal (no pervs this time, fortunately). We looked at photos and played Scrabble, minus the official Scrabble dictionary.  We had dinner out once and then I cooked her several dinners and was totally amazed that I could. I mean WTF? I can cook? Really? I almost fainted. And here I’ve always been wishing for a guy who could cook. Maybe I just won’t tell him of my exquisite cooking prowess and then I can have him make me waffles wearing only an apron or something. 🙂   

Anyways on Monday, we finally went down to my art show, which closes next Friday. Happily, she liked one painting so much, she bought it! Yay! Although it was one of my favorites… as in, one of the ones I kept in my bedroom as part of the decor…as in, I had put an impossibly high price on it so it wouldn’t sell….but, since my butthead car decided to break down in July, I guess I had to say goodbye to…

Oh well. (weeping profusely)

The night before we had baked cookies (I’m practically like Martha -frickin-Stewart now), and something really weird happened. We had been playing Scrabble and I went out to the kitchen to get the cookies out of the oven. When I put them on top of the stove, I turned to grab a cookie off a dish on the kitchen counter behind me and there was this tiny little perfect black cricket climbing around on top of the cookies.

WTF? A cricket on TOP of the kitchen counter? How the hell did he get there? I’ve never even seen a cricket, let alone a solid black one, anywhere near my apartment. I squealed like a little girl when I saw it. “S”  thought I was scared. Frankly I don’t know what she did with it when she came to look at it, but I think it was an obscure sign of good luck.

Why? Because the next day I got another month long solo art show for September in a small art gallery in our city’s art trail.

the creepy guy on the trail and guardcat’s fall fashion debut

August 15, 2008

Talk about a full day this weekend. Okay, a full day for me, the person who generally sleeps until almost noon (except for the part where I get woken up every single frickin’ morning by my idiot neighbor Garden Hacker who thinks he’s at Starbucks and chats very loudly under my bedroom window at 7:45 a.m. to everyone going off to work). I’ll then barely climb out of bed and make a grill cheese at exactly 12:07 and watch the Noon News, already in progress. And then onto “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire” (Me! Me!! Me!!!) and all the other mindless crap shows the rest of the day, sitting on the couch like an Irish Buddha, with my remote switching back and forth between Court TV, Oprah, Phil, Ellen (though briefly, because I’m not a big fan) and then its dinner, a walk, night time television and my one brief human interaction with my Mom at midnight on the phone and then bed. 
 
Isn’t that exciting? Don’t you just want to fly in from your location and trade lives with me? Of course there are those terribly exciting adventures I have on my walks. Like the other evening at dusk. Let’s call it “The Freak Who Nearly Scared the Pee Out of Witty.”

Now I’ve been walking along the canal for almost 12 years now. It is a beautiful location with lots of nature and birds and trees and of course the canal. I always feel safe there. I’ve walked there at all different times of the day (except early morning…are you paying attention? I get up at noon…remember??), all different seasons and with all different people. 
 
This last weekend we had some big thunderstorms. The clouds were stunning. I am an avid photographer. I always have my camera with me. So when the rain stopped, I decided to run over to the canal to photograph the big thunderheads against a natural backdrop. It was around dusk.
 
So I’m walking along the trail. La, la, la. I generally walk with my head down. I know. My bad. I did happen to look up just in time to see this scrabbly looking guy walking towards me. He had long stringy hair and was also walking with his head down, thus making his face hard to see. He was about 150 feet ahead of me on the trail. Suddenly he turned sideways and appeared to be taking a leak. RIGHT THERE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING TRAIL. Like WTF? That was creepy. Naturally, I slowed down considerably since god forbid,  I should walk in, on his pee break in the middle of the fucking public nature trail.  

CREEEEEEP!!!

So he finally finished his business, I guess, since he turned and started walking towards me once again. We passed on the trail and I was glad to be past him. You know, as in Bye-bye, Mr. Pee-Right-In-Front-Of-Me-ON-the-TRAIL-You-Fucking-Perv.  So I started to walk a little faster, you know, to get AWAY from him and just hopefully enjoy the rest of my walk. 
 
I then did something I don’t normally do. I guess it was just the weird circumstances, perhaps. Because after walking about another 100 feet, I shot a glance over my shoulder, and  Pee-Boy who was still walking, suddenly and rather abruptly stopped and turned around and was now walking up behind me.
 
EeeeeeeeEEEEeee!!!
 
So I kept walking for a short time, totally aware of where he was, since I could hear the crunch of the rocks under his shoes. I then stopped and pretended to take a photo of some prehistoric turtles in the canal or some god damn thing. I don’t know. I was glued to the spot to be honest, since he was nearly upon me. Having been a victim of rape, once upon a time, I do tend to be a little hypersensitive about situations like this, especially when there are only two of us on the trail and he just seemingly peed in front of you…ya know.  So I finally just turned around and started to walk back towards HIM and the cars, just as he passed me.
See, two can play at this game. Although I felt like saying something like “Top of the evening, asshole” or “I’ve got pepper spray and you’re about 2 seconds away from getting a nostril full”, but I truly didn’t know how he’d react, especially since we were the only people on the trail.  So I once again passed him and nervously looked over my shoulder and guess what? Go ahead, guess! Yeah, Pee-Boy decided to make his THIRD directional change and was AGAIN walking up behind me.   

FUCK!!!!!!!!! 
 
So did I walk fast? Let’s just say I would have definitely won the Gold Medal for the Chubby White Girls Walking Fast event.
 
I did finally get back to the old Subaru. Once there I took two quick photos of the cars in the parking lots and their license plates. How totally “MacGiver” of me, huh?  But I was scared he’d see me doing that and try to chase me down or something, so I didn’t look back that last time. My heart was pounding too hard. I just jumped into my car and tore out of that parking lot and went the long way home. Like through Canada. 

And people wonder why I don’t leave my house much.

In other news…better news, I was cleaning out my closet when I came across a binder from a “Women in Business” seminar I had attended last Spring. It really didn’t have anything I was interested in. Its not like I’ll ever be in business or anything. But as I was looking through it briefly a little tiny white tee-shirt fell out. And then I remembered that the woman who started the “Stuff a Stuffed Toy” stores had spoken at the seminar. So I held the shirt up and said, “Oh Guardcat….”

Okay, I’m fairly certain I’ve now cemented my place in Middle Aged Crazy Cat Ladydom, by what happened next. Yes, within seconds I had Guardcat in a total head lock (she’s not a real Hold Me-Give Me a Kiss type of cat). Once I got the shirt on her….AND IT WAS A PERFECT FIT TOO!!!…I had the longest most solid, 10 MINUTE  belly laugh I’ve had in probably 10 years. Why? Because there was Guardcat walking around on the kitchen counter like some surly Sumo Wrestler. Talk about pissed.  Eventually though, she finally got used to the tee-shirt and was soon prancing around the apartment like some uber feline pilate instructor. The only problem now is that she wants me to take her to Target for a new Fall wardrobe.

Cats in Shirts....its all the rage by you.

Does this pilate shirt make my head look too big?

wanky biorhythms leave me perplexed

May 1, 2008

Here is your single’s love horoscope for Wednesday, April 30:
Your friends are all abuzz about you and some new hottie you’ve been spotted with. Let them wonder if there’s really something going on. You don’t have to kiss and tell-unless you really want to!

Wha-t-t-t?? Where??? Who??? Me??? Yeah right. I’ve been communing with my couch for over two weeks now. Other then the occasional walk and night out with the arty types, I’ve been slowly sinking between the cushions in my couch and Guardcat may soon be eating creme wittee brulee. You know….since the love between you and your cat can only take a turn for the worst, if you don’t move for a while and you suddenly look like a pile of human Friskies.
 
I’ve actually been obsessed with two things the last two weeks….lottery tickets and sleeping, with sub-headings of weird dreams and an uncontrollable obsession with numbers. Where should I start? Well, since sleeping isn’t very interesting, unless its WHO you’re sleeping with, and its certainly not the hottie in my horoscope, we’ll go directly to lottery tickets. They’ve been calling my name.

Now even though I’m poor and getting poorer as we speak, I buy a lottery ticket every time I go to the grocery store. Its an obsession. The potential for free money and financial freedom. Why not?? Unfortunately I have monumentally bad luck and couldn’t win anything higher than $1 if God/Allah and Howie Mandell dumped all the lottery ticket machines in New York on my bed.

 I mean I just can’t win. Its funny how that sorta parallels my life. The most I’ve ever won was $8. Woo! You should have seen me! I was jumping around like those idiots on “Deal or No Deal”. Although just for the record….I would only jump around on that show if I was near my honey bunny super stud Howie Mandell, not because I was going to pick the case with $1.00 in it. Ya got it?

Anyways, in the last week I’ve been having lottery tickets literally throwing themselves at me. First at the yuppie grocery store where I went to buy my $1. ticket and there it was….a $2. crossword lottery ticket just randomly laying in the tray. Eek! Was it a sign? Or was it that news show that films people in those what-will-they-do situations and then films them to see if they do the RIGHT thing? I’m always worried I won’t and then I’ll be on National Television talking to John Quiones and some nun from my Catholic school days will be sitting in some convent nursing home somewhere, shaking her head in utter shame, saying “I thought witty was better than that.”

So I took the “lost” lottery ticket over to the customer service counter, which obviously had cameras on it from ABC News too and asked if anyone had asked about a lost lottery ticket. At first they wanted me to just “leave it” in case someone came to claim it.  I wasn’t born yesterday chickie! So finally the young girl asked around and nobody had been looking for it in the last 1.5 minutes so then it was now MINE….MINE….MINE!!!!!! Woo! Hoo! Was it a winner?

What do you think?

And then the next day I went over to the Village to do my laundry and then onto my favorite ice cream place and on the way back I saw something rather interesting in the trash by the pond. TEN FREAKIN’ LOTTERY TICKETS in the FREAKIN’ GARBAGE CAN!!!!!!!!!!! THE TWO DOLLAR ONES!!! OMG!!! And they were only partially scratched off.  And they were calling to me. Really loud…”witty….witty….that economic stimulus check will barely cover all the money the government has taken away from you in food stamps this last month…scratch us…you could be a winner!!”

So there I was on the main street of our tony little Village, overflowing with SUVs and Porches, digging through a garbage can for half scratched off lottery tickets, mixed in with food wrappers and old diamond tiaras, mumbling something about Howie Mandell, I think. Talk about humiliating! Fortunately they were fairly clean, although I had to wash my hands about a hundred times before I folded my laundry back at the laundromat. But there they were…10 freakin’ lottery tickets for the taking!! I didn’t do anything with the tickets until I got home where I found one winner for $2! Woo! It paid for almost a load of laundry. Woo! Call CNN!

So why the obsession with numbers? I’m not really sure, because I’m really terrible with numbers. But I do like free things and money, so I do every little thing online to make money including surveys. Some surveys pay money. Others just offer you gifts. But this last week, one of my gifts arrived and for someone with OCD, it was like the funnest thing ever. A pedometer. It records number of steps. Like four steps from my bed to the bathroom. 8 steps to the fridge. 16 steps to the mailbox downstairs. 39 steps to the library across the street. The other day I went on a hike and recorded 5634 steps. I definitely needed a nap after that one.

 And therein lies the other problem I’ve been having lately. Excessive napping and dreaming of strange dreams. Dreaming of having job interviews in seedy places with tall dark ceilings. Standing out by a street in a see through negligee kissing Married Guy with my tongue. And then having him trying to run me down with a car. I mean WTF? What does that mean? Am I trying to resolve strange things in my subconscious? Am I having anxiety about finding a job and having it turn out badly. Or is my next relationship going to end badly, by me getting run over by an SUV? Wouldn’t that be poetic justice, getting squashed by a Dodge Caravan.

So like any overtired, angsty artist type I had to check in on my biorhythms. Why? I had just read the blog of our local newscaster (who incidently lives in my neighborhood. I see him out running). And he had cut himself shaving, punctured his shin with a stick out in his yard and fallen when he was out running….all in the same day. His decision? Check his biorhythm chart. So see, I’m not so flaky. He’s a newscaster fercrissakes! So I went to http://www.bio-chart.com/. And I’m so glad I did!

First of all I found out that I was 18,340 days old. No wonder I keep needing a nap. That’s almost as old as Larry King and his socks added together. And then I looked at the charts and graphs and most of them were under the normal line, as in bad.

It said: Your general well being is moderate. Tendency: Its getting better.
You are in very good physical shape. Instead of wasting it go for a walk or a jog.
Emotional: You can now see the light at the end of the tunnel. The time for self pity is over. There is only one more hurdle to pass.
Intellectual: You spend these days without any plan or aim. Also, your reactions leave much to be desired.

Holy crap, that’s my life exactly right now. All the couch sitting. Aimlessness. Window staring. Self pity. Oh, and thanks for pointing out that my reactions leave much to be desired, oh biorhythm goddess. See if I ever laugh at your stories about sMatch.com again.

In the end, however, I am somewhat buoyed by the light at the end of the tunnel thingie and also by the fact that I only have one more hurdle to leap. What it is? I have no idea.  But dog-gone-it there’s only one left. I just wonder if that will require me getting off the couch and relinquishing my remote control for human contact. Can you imagine how scary that could be?

love hangover

February 21, 2008

Its true I don’t have a boyfriend, but I am suffering from a love hangover this week or so since Valentine’s Day. Thanks for the all your lovely birthday greetings and wonderful gifties, everyone. You guys, rock!

I’m now officially old. I got something from AARP this last week:  “Join us. Go play shuffleboard and mainline Maalox. ” No thanks. I’m still young, especially mentally. I’m actually going in the opposite direction. As a kid I had to be the adult, because I came from a dysfunctional family. Now? Its all about acting stupid, snorting Diet Coke through my nose and checking my profile in MySpace.

I also have this crazy thing where I think everyone has a crush on me.  I mean I may not have gotten any flowers or chocolates for Valentine’s Day, but I’m quite sure a couple of you may think I’m like a total sack of catnip. Or a total sack of something…

First up? Guardcat. She was just up on my desk attempting to salaciously lick my fingers while I was typing. Is that normal? I mean, I know she’s like totally in love with me, but there was a slight possibility  there might have been a tiny smudge of margerine on my fingers from when I made a grilled cheese a little earlier. Cats are so fickle, you know.  

And then there is “J”, a guy I used to work with.  No, he never took me out on my birthday, but he did show up Valentine’s Day for a collage making class at the place I used to work. Imagine! Art classes at my old job!  Who saw that coming?

Anyhoo, I knew I wanted to go to this “class” because 1) I totally wanted to show off my art-making prowess because I’m an asshole. And 2) I also wanted to see who was “teaching”  the class.

The woman, it turns out, was someone who had painted a few paintings back in college about 30 years ago. She was pleasant enough, but had only done collages once or twice in her life, so her main direction to people was: “Just think of your dreams and glue these (magazine pictures and yarn) to your paper.”

Isn’t that sort of vague, especially for people on medication?

Anyways, within minutes I was like Edward Scissorhands on Red Bull, shredding and cutting photos from my uber-cool “Art News” I had brought from home. The music was pretty good too. Bob Dylan, the Beatles, James Taylor. You know how us old farts like those guys.

Not many people were doing much though. I began to think they really didn’t know what to do. And also many people are timid about doing art for the first time, thus the need for a facilitator who, you know, is actually helping them,  rather than, you know,  just standing there saying “Spectacular” after they glue a piece of paper to a poster board.  But “whatevah”.  That was my old employer’s decision.

Get over it witty!!

Anyways, suddenly “J” appears at my side. I didn’t even see him come in. You know…the Edward Scissorhands thing…and he starts chatting. He is a chatter, that one. I think he wished me a Happy Birthday. He had also finally called me at home the night of my birthday and left a very formal message….”Hello witty (my last name — like I wouldn’t know). This is “J” (his last name– like I wouldn’t know that either). I hope you had a good birthday today. Maybe I can take you out to lunch for your birthday sometime. See you soon. “

I guess its something easier to say than do, I’m starting to realise, since we used to go to lunch all the time when we worked together.

So anyways I was soon trying to get “J” to do some artwork with me. He’s such a chicken. I’ve been trying to get him to come to my nekkid drawing class for months now, but he’s afraid he’ll get sexually aroused if he sees a boob. Oh dear! 

I’ve been going to my class for 4 1/2 years now and have only gotten “warm” once. I think it was merely a combination of girl hormones and an extremely luscious young Adonis boy model who inexplicably started talking to me from the stage. I got all flustered and suddenly wanted to have his children. It was tres embarrassing.

Anyways, “J” didn’t want to do the art stuff at first. He said he’d have to be perfect and there would be a lot of measuring of scraps of paper involved. I told him to just “be free”. He finally starting carefully examining everything microscopically and doing highly mathematical calculations about exactly where everything would/should/could go on the paper, so I just let him do his thing. Oy! Such drama.

He finally finished it and then shyly handed it to me saying, “Happy birthday”.  It was a page from a Japanese calendar with a pasted on quote about FEAR across the top with two sets of smoochy red lips on the bottom corner.

Rrrrrrinnnnggggg! Hello? Freud? This married man just made me a collage with big red smoochy  lips and a quote about fear on it. Please advise.

I, of course, didn’t psychoanalyze anything as he was standing there waiting for me to say something. I just thanked him. I mean, what else could I do? I’ve never had a guy make me a collage with two sets of big red smoochy lips on it before.

I guess I should just be happy that he didn’t attempt to lick me, like Guardcat. Phew!  Now THAT would have been tres embarrassing.

it was only a slight flesh wound

January 3, 2008

For some reason I feel like I’m cheating on my lover. Here its 9:30 Wednesday night and I’m not at my art class. How often does that happen? Like once every three years. And there’s not even a blizzard or anything. I just laid down on my bed today about 3, because of some intense neck pain and suddenly it was 5 o’clock and “L” the Hippie Chick was calling for a ride, and strangely I was saying “No. I’m not going tonight.”

I had gone out earlier in the day and it was like Satan’s ice box out. Only about 5 degrees. I just didn’t feel like it. And this is my only social life! Damnit all! Won’t Charlemagne be surprised when his lovely assistant isn’t there helping out tonight. Maybe he’ll appreciate me a little more than he hasn’t been lately.

Because that’s my goal for 2008, bitches. Be appreciated.  And possibly be elected as queen of a small nation of handsome men who are blind and think I’m a Victoria Secret’s Model. Oh, and they’ll all have certificates in massage therapy, so I can just snap my fingers and they’ll all come running, dressed in their brushed leather togas, and rub my neck on command. Of course they’ll have to follow my voice, you know, since they’re blind and think I’m a supermodel.

So how was your New Years Eve? I tried to ignore the fact that it was New Years Eve, so there wouldn’t be that ever-present pressure to make some stupid ass list of things I’ll probably never do. Like win the Iowa caucus. I mean, I’m afraid to fly and its tomorrow, so I don’t think I’ll win. So why even put that on my list, right?

Oh, so back to New Years Eve. I had my usual physical therapy appointment Monday morning, although they are numbered, because I’m supposedly getting better. Tell that to my neck. Ha!

Anyways, my physical therapist told me the most amazing thing Monday…something no one has ever said to me in my entire life. Are you ready? She said, “You can get better.” Oh my god. All the doctors, shrinks and assorted assholes who have supposedly taken care of me my whole life have NEVER ever said that to me. I was astounded that somebody even thought that, because I have always been convinced that I will always be disabled. I mean I almost started crying. Ok, I did. Just a couple of minor tears though. I don’t think she saw them. 

She, of course, was referring to my physical condition. But I started thinking about the rest of the things that hold me back, like namely the bipolar disorder. Because having mental illness is like having a giant scarlet letter scrawled across your chest,  even though YOU personally know you’re pretty damn good at a lot of things, people continue to put you down and look at you funny. We’ll just let them be idiots and then succeed despite them! Ha!

After that I drove into town and went to my empowerment group with my old friend “J”. We went a little off format like we always do and talked about expectations for the new year. Its funny how we always want what other people have and they want what you have.  Like I want a husband, house and SUV. “J” wants to be a cool, artist type who gets to see naked people every week. Maybe we can trade off on alternating weeks or something. Anyways, I was finally able to pick up an old office chair from there, since my chair at home broke over a month ago, and I’ve been sitting in a living room chair at my computer, which had been contributing in a major way to my extremely sore neck. When we got outside I had “J” roll me down the sidewalk at a high rate of speed (at my insistence), which was fun, until we hit a pothole and I nearly became airborne. We all had a good laugh though.

And then, of course, there was New Years Eve. I virtually never go out. And I almost always cry and say “My life really sucks” at midnight. But I did really well this year. Except for the minor flesh wound that is. But first things first…

So I decided to watch “The Queen”, which despite the title, ISN’T about Richard Simmon’s rise to jazzercize super-stardom, but rather about the Queen of England. I was rather despondent when I realized I wear the same exact glasses as the Queen of England from 1997. How nerdy is that? Anyways, the movie, which was very well made, brought me up to about 11:20 p.m., at which point I turned over to the New Years Eve celebration. I sure didn’t want to watch Dick Clark, A.K.A Corpses-R-Us model #21, so I switched around until I found Lenny Kravatz on the other channel. I also hopped over to the computer and briefly chatted with “G” down in Manhattan, who announced he was in NYC watching NYC on TV.

Anyways, at about 2 minutes to midnight, I decided to gather up Guardcat, since its always nice to have someone you love to hug at midnight. So I found her zonked out under the coffee table as usual and picked her up. She’s not real big on being picked up and held. In fact on a list of Guardcat’s favorite things, its probably about #989. Plus I was under the mistaken impression that it would be really cute if I was hugging my cute little kitty at midnight and take a picture. Like, awww, how cute, awittykitty and Guardcat welcoming 2008 together.

So there I was: Trying to watch the earth-safe-green-Al Gore approved Waterford ball with its 38,000 lightbulbs. Trying to get my digital camera ready. And then trying to get my increasingly nervous cat in my grip, since the countdown was just second away…

10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2……

OWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Guardcat suddenly and inexplicably erupted into a crazy ass 20 claws of fury meltdown, just as they said “….Happy New Year!!!” and somehow managed to rip my lip open with her claw and I started bleeding. Naturally I  let her go. I also felt some warmth in my lap and momentarily thought she had peed, but she hadn’t.  And then she ran over by the computer and started hyperventilating. Fercrissakes! I was just trying to hug my cat for new years!

So she’s over there hyperventilating. And I go in the bathroom and there was blood on my lip and its starting to puff up like some Dateline collagen injection story gone wrong.  And of course there was no call from my mom. She was over celebrating with Gay Elvis and his minions.

I definitely want to be queen of my own island of handsome men who think I’m a Victoria Secret model. Definitely. Because hugging cats on New Years has just fallen off the list of fun things to do.