the day darth vadar did a little heavy breathing

Dear Ms. Blogenstein:

Its me Guardcat. witty is resting. She’s been all crazy the last couple of weeks (yeah, I know, when isn’t she) with several art shows, three days of cyber knife radiation, funerals, Eye-talian guys acting up, computers dying, stalker girl suddenly re-appearing, a new sudden speaking “career”  about how art is healing at various locations….Lookie….

She made me put that photo in since she looks skinny and she says she’s channeling Meryl Streep while she’s drunk leaning sideways after winning a Tony award or something, but you know witty, we never know what the hell she’s talking about especially lately since she’s been running from art show to art show, putting up her group’s show last week in a dark, dank cement gallery at the local university,  a kind of pseudo Soho kind of place with glaring florescent lighting that according to Tall Skinny Guy made it impossible for witty to take any good photos because she was too short and the light was glaring on all her artwork. I’m only a cat, but I think he was just jabbing her because he’s so jealous of her and Charlemagne, so she “accidentally” repaid the favor by putting the wrong name tag on his artwork. It really was an accident. A subconscious one.

High five, sistah!

This was one of witty’s many death oriented art things she’s been doing lately.

Anyways, the next night was her show at the more upper class snooty art gallery. She had invited “A” since it was sort of a big thing to have a painting there. As in there. (said with your pinkie up). Poor witty. She is still controlled by that guy. That night the show was to start at 5 p.m. She was still sitting around playing Facebook at 4:15 in her jammies,  and who calls on her cell phone? “A”. He wants her to meet him there at 4:45….15 minutes before the show even opens and 30 minutes from her house. Gah! So naturally she wigs out and starts throwing things in the air and brushing her hair and getting all girlie. She even wore a short black skirt with black ribbed stocking that made her legs look totally hot. “A” didn’t notice of course. And he was late.

men are so stupid. I’m so glad I’m a cat and don’t have to deal with them.

Anyways, the rest of the night, witty mainly just stood around near her painting, pretending to look at her new cell phone as if she was waiting for text messages from Johnny Depp.  She’s not sure if anyone was looking at her hot legs art work. She did circle the gallery about 50 times and ate some cheese, going, “Woo! This is fun!” Did she mention she was exhausted? Must be the cancer thing. She won’t tell anyone though…or very few people, because she doesn’t want any sympathy. But the exhaustion was pretty obvious when she got home that night.

That weekend she went back to the hoity toity gallery and spoke about how healing art is for the soul and her depression. Her aunt was weeping afterwards. It was a little embarrassing but totally affecting to her psyche, since she’s not really used to people crying about what she says.

Even though I’m a cat I did know when it was Monday two days later and that it was the beginning of radiation for witty…a thing called cyber knife. She seemed really nervous that morning. Like REALLY nervous. Like telling me to shut up nervous.

What? But I’m so fucking cute!

She left around noon. (I know how to tell time too, dammit! I must be smart if I’m writing a blog, right?) I guess she tried to call “A” repeatedly but her phone number was blocked on his private cell phone. Bummer! He had even said he’d talk to her right before the radiation too. Cell phones are stupid.

Anyways, she got zipped into this skin-tight Mary Quant-like (thanks Scott) mini skirt contraption for the radiation treatment and asked if she thought she’d be able to lay still on this long skinny table for two hours or whether she’d needed to be strapped in. witty? strapped in?

Yeah…baby.

But she eventually decided against it, you know in case there was a nuclear event or she needed to pee.  The first day she didn’t realize she had a choice of music, listening to classical music for two hours, but day two it was the Beatles while this large massive machine whooshed and pivoted over the top of her, making weird high-pitched screeches, intermingled with deep Darth Vadar like breathing…sighing…swooning….orgasmic at time. Just witty and him. Darth and Cyberknife Girl.

Who’s Cyber Knife Girl?

I think witty might have gotten a little much radiation, because by the third day she thought she was a Super Hero.  And indeed she did get a lot of it. When she was finally done on Day Three she came out of her little radiation dungeon and her Michael J. Fox doctor came running up to her smiling broadly (of course, she HAD just been asked to disrobe to total frontal nudeness in the radiation room where there were ceiling cameras rolling but I digress) and grabbed her hand and shook it vigorously saying “Congratulations!”. She asked for what, since she was about as lit as a Hanukkah candle by Day  Eight. He then told witty she  had just had 6 weeks worth of radiation in three days and she went ” Whee! WTF??? Am I going to pee neon?” Ok, she only thought  that in her head.

She also knew she didn’t want to miss her drawing class that night, you know, since she would get to see her favorite Frenchman Charlemagne. The doctor said it would be ok, since the tiredness wouldn’t really hit til the weekend.

oh witty, you so silly.

Charlemagne was merely 25 minutes late that night, you know, the night witty had TOLD him she had just been radiated into a hot mess by that dude Darth Vadar, so she was not happy when he was so late. It’s a good thing she thinks Charlemagne is cute and gives good hug, otherwise she might have hit him in the head with something that looked like 12 easals strapped together.

In the meantime, witty is now just waiting for the beginning of chemo, which will start around December 7th. She’s really scared about that, especially in the depth of winter and her time of depression. But she’s gotten pretty good at turning negatives into positives lately. Maybe she’ll just convert herself from Cyberknife Girl into  singer Sinead O’Connor and go sing on some hillside with a herd of goats.

Just as long as she doesn’t forget to come home and feed me a bowl of Friskies every so often.  Priorities, you know.

Advertisements

a note for my teacher

Dear Mrs. Blogenstein:

Please excuse wittykitty from her blog for the last 25 days. She’s been a little under the weather and yet suddenly overwhelmed by popularity, but also depressed, and yet hanging solo art shows, registering for school, acting like a poser while standing in the line at the yuppie grocery store (ha, ha, I just added that one), not to mention exhibiting an extreme addiction to home makeover shows since she got cable in June, bumping into people she’d rather not see,  exhibiting extreme road rage thereafter, eating far too much chocolate, still nursing a sore knee, taking naked photos of herself and then deleting them from her digital camera, running into her shrink and making an appointment with him after almost a year (all I have to say about that witty is OY!), spending way to much time Twittering and Facebooking, staring at her male neighbor across the complex who walks around naked in his apartment, celebrating the fact that Garden Hacker is gone, being so manic that she painted three paintings in one week, talking to strangers, joining a women’s writing group, going to nearby nearly abandoned carnival and riding on a ride called Laffland which she accidentally thought was a new diagnosis for her mental condition, drinking vast quantities of caffeine, not sleeping, plotting the murder of her next door neighbor who leaves her loud bathroom fan on for hours and hours and hours including 3 a.m. in the morning which makes witty so angry she wants to take an exacto knife and carve “redrum” into her  planter, listening to my mom’s endless stories about her new kitten who she named after witty’s deceased cat which makes her really sad, like why did she have to name it that, and who cares if her cat jumps up on top of the refrigerator 12 times a day, there are worst things happening like all the government offices witty had to go to this last week whilst dealing with the 1,020th sinusitis infection in the last six months, like wtf, no wonder she’s all grumpy and depressed all the time, sniffling AND seeing former people she was in love with and logically knowing it would be stupid to go to their house, and yet having that stupid tweaking emotional gland near the chocolate intake gland which is obviously malfunctioning saying hey, remember all the fun you had “being part of the family” and all the good massages he gave you, but then all my real life people are saying, you idiot, you’re such a fucking idiot, and I’m like back off, I just had to  buy my 300th package of M&Ms as a way to console myself, but of course I also had to go to my cousin’s wedding this weekend, which is exactly the place witty would want to go, given her state…a wedding…like whee, two people in love, two loving parents there to see their beautiful blonde daughter joined in happy matrimony and she absolutely didn’t hold anything against them, but having to sit there for four hours looking at all these happy people in the name of love just seemed to hold a giant magnifying glass up to witty’s miserably solitary life even though, my god, people have been absolutely flocking to her, but she just doesn’t see that, you know, or understand why people are trying to be her new friends and offering her help and the head of a local arts organization actually coming to her little eentsy apartment and looking at all her artwork and acting all bubbly and excited like she had just found a lost Michelangelo or in witty’s case maybe an Andy Warhol and then coming a week later and taking them to a fancy beauty salon to hang, although naturally witty forgot one, since her brain has gone on strike indefinitely its seems (which is exactly why she’s going back to school! Yay!), so then the poor lady had to come back to her eentsy apartment and pick up the missing painting and discovered another painting of Johnny Depp which totally demanded to be hung in a beauty shop full of women and gay men, so off he went, and yet the demure and extremely insecure witty is still nervously waiting for the opening but what does she expect, this woman is important and witty is just someone who dabbles and has little self esteem and thinks going to college will really help her and she even had to lie to the government agency helping her, because they kept asking and asking, like what could YOU ever do with an art degree you silly 51 year old woman with cancer and low self esteem and a funny looking chin and she then blurted out, almost like a brave person, “Well, since I’ve been mentally ill since 19 and I can suuuuure paint perty pictures, i wanna be an art therapist!! Ha! Ha! You know instead of working at McDonalds like you suggested last year, since I can’t stand the smell of rancid meat, but I do love me some snorting of pastel dust.” but the woman just looked at me like she always does, like I’m a statue of a transvestite hamster with a disco ball, you know, since she doesn’t realize that almost every single thing you look at in the universe was probably created by an artist including a stop sign. So Shut the hell up. Right?

Despite everything, including witty’s rather low mental health state at the moment, you really can’t keep her down. She did all her paperwork for college. Got all her damn shots including mumps, fercrissakes. She’s going back to her shrink for the first time in almost exactly a year. Will it be good? I’m not sure. I just think she needs someone who knows her, to say its ok.

Sincerely, Guardcat

artists, strippers, manic depressives, all in all a fun evening

Oh dear, some people get so confused when they’re talking.  I’ve been going out to lunch and walks with my former co-worker “J” for quite a while now. He’s a very nice and thoughtful guy, albeit married, but you know witty. The more married they are, the more likely I am to be going out to lunch and walks with them. Anyways, he’s been a little lost lately, so I’ve been trying to be a friend to him.   Unfortunately when I invited him to Sci-Fi Guy’s bi-yearly wacky Goth art show this last Saturday, he offered to come and pick me up, and officially deemed our trek a “date”.

Not intended, I assure you.

Ya see, I had already driven down to town once earlier that day, picking up “L” the Hippy Chick, to bring our artwork to the dive bar to hang the show. That’s always kind of fun. Okay, the first eight minutes weren’t so fun. Why? Because the Sci-Fi Guy usually has a bunch of the male artists hanging the art work while “L” and I stand around cracking jokes and looking totally glamorous. But on Saturday he said, “Hey witty, here’s some wire and a ladder. You  just need to throw the wire up over the pipe near the ceiling and try not to touch the wiring…otherwise you might get electrocuted.”

Whhaattt-t-t-?

I’m not a real big fan of being 1) electrocuted and 2) being more than about….maybe….1/16″ of  an inch off the floor. But I thought, well I’ve been being really brave these last couple of weeks, having English people sleeping at my house and skulking around in Garden Hacker’s serial killer apartment for stray plants…I can most certainly climb a silly old ladder!

WRONG!

OMG! The moment I climbed to the uppermost  step and nervously tossed the 24 gauge wire over the water pipe, I suddenly realized my stomach was all knotted up, my hands were shaking and when I looked down it looked like what James Stewart saw from the church tower in “Vertigo”.

Fortunately, I still have the capacity to act like a Defenseless Female (help squeak, help)and let men take their rightful place as the Manful Men They Are Meant To Be. because there was the guy “M”, the guy who paints massive canvases of vaginas in various configurations. I mean, everytime I meet him at these shows I always wonder if he’s somehow sizing me up. Wondering if, hmmmm, I bet she would be a good one to paint…even though he is the most incredibly quiet and thoughtful person in person. Its just his paintings that are, well, pretty explicit shall we say.

Fortunately, since I’m still fairly hot from the waist up too apparently, he stepped in…quite literally and took over the  task of hanging my artwork  which included a self portrait of me as the Malcolm McDowell character in “Clockwork Orange”. This so begs to be put on sMatch.com, don’t you think?

 

“SWF, 51,  enjoys walking and bashing fucking sods in dark tunnels, watching “Dancing with the St@r“….”

Professional Artist Guy soon appeared and I helped him with what they called “The Babe Wall”.  Needless to say, there is no “politically correct” classifications in our art show. Oh how proud the nuns at St. Raphael’s would be of me now. Like when we were all talking and someone said the word “Banging” and we all burst out laughing like a bunch of 12 year old adolescent boys.  I did chat  with a few people after the Babe Wall was done including this old woman with white hair who was a friend of “L”. She was like one of those Intuitive people who shakes your hand and knows your whole life just by doing so. I gave her and “L” a ride home afterwards. I was really tired. Turns out I was coming down with my absolute favorite illness. Sinusitis.

I don’t know if it was the massive canvases of vaginas or the huge painting of a naked Dick Cheney and Elvis with a halo made of pizza peeing on his head from the show…

 ….but when I got home I was so horny. Me horny? I know, I haven’t been horny in like 27 dog years. But I’m sure if you go back, you might find an entry or 277 of me having a date with B.O.B. (battery operated boyfriend) a few years ago. But my goodness, I got home and even though I was getting sick, I couldn’t get my clothes off fast enough. Poor Guardcat had to hide her eyes. I didn’t even bother to close the windows. Its Spring, people!!!!!!!!!!!! Even Old People get frisky!!!!!

I did finally manage to pull myself from the boudoir long enough to cook a brief dinner before “J” came to pick me up. Since our show are all about sex, monsters from outer space and general debauchery, I decided to wear a slightly naughty shirt my sister had sent me. You know the one I had vowed to never wear because it showed my cleavage. Yes. I do have cleavage…apparently slightly more than I thought. Because when I went out front to wait for “J” to pick me up, my neighbor was throwing bread crusts off her porch for the birds and yelled down, “I hope I don’t get any in your cleavage.” WTF? Ouch!  Passive aggressiveness, be thy Mistress, sistah!

Anyways, “J” finally pulled up and yes, it did feel like a date. More than any of my sMatch.com dates have felt in the last year. My bad, I know. I did let him wander around the event by himself most of the night though and rather strangely a woman he’s told me about in recent conversations, did appear rather abruptly mid-evening, making me think, that was pre-arranged. I asked him later and he said no. But I think different.

Men! Can’t hit them in the head with Buicks, can’t send them to Dick Cheney’s house for a little, well, you get the picture.

The art show was its usual naughty self. It was a smoking event which was hard on my virgin lungs. I managed to hold out until the first act which was a burlesque show with girls gyrating in bejeweled evening gowns, feather boas and then less and less clothing, ending with two girls exploring each other with a riding crop. Hiss, you would have loved that one. It was during that, that I was standing at the edge of the stage, that the Intuitive Woman I had met earlier came walking towards me. It was loud and dark and she literally fell right into my arms with her lips slowly sliding across my face.  eeep! She whispered, “I’m three sheets to the wind, honey”. So I just picked her up and sent her towards the bathroom where all the strippers were congregating. Maybe she could get lucky with one of them.

Really the strangest thing that happened this last week was at my drawing class. We have this certain male model who is also an artist. He started out as an artist with our group, but then one night modeled and has been doing both since. And lets just say he also has an ego the size of Donald Trump times 47 trillion. Sure sweetie, ITS kinda big, but not enough so that you can talk to girls who are still in high school during the break. (A no-no in our rules of models fraternizing with artists, as in “Hi! I’m blah, blah. Would you like to get kissed by a naked man”).

Anyways, so we’ll called him “Buddy-Boy” gets up on the modeling stage with his robe. Usually they just drop the robe and we start drawing. But no….Buddy Boy had a rather earth shattering announcement for all of us lonely, shuttered-up artists who might not obviously aren’t  “getting any”. He stood there rather boyishly, yet rather proudly and asked for forgiveness in advance. It seems his (cough) lower regions “were going to be rather reddish tonight”. It was a dermatological condition, and YES, DEAR GOD (okay, I just put that part in, so its not a direct quote), the condition was being dealt with by his dermatologist. None of the artists asked what it was naturally….BECAUSE WE REALLY DIDN’T FUCKING CARE. But Buddy Boy went on, grinning rather sheepishly and said, “I’ve been having a helluva lot of sex the last 7-10 days, so the constant friction has made it a little red. I didn’t want to alarm anyone.”

God….I think we just located The Very Definition of TMI.

But since he did already have our attention, now, like we were just seconds away from seeing some massive blood red beet shaped penis, about the freakin’ size of Alaska protruding from his hip or something, the tension in the room was palpable. So he dropped him robe and yes, his wee-wee was slightly pinkish on one side. OMG, call CNN! Call “Dateline”!!! Call Geraldo Rivera!!!!!! This is like a bigger story than when Lindsey Lohen walked on…on… a sidewalk yesterday!

Incidentally, this guy used to date Married Guy’s wifie in high school. ‘Nuf said!