Archive for the ‘poverty sucks’ Category

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.”


 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.  


the british guy in the park

August 2, 2009

It all started with this tree to be honest….

British Men Like Trees by you.

I had just spent the last couple of hours with my mother.  I had dreaded the day. She was bringing back a cat, aka the Scourge from Hell, she had adopted from the humane society back in June. I had had to listen to the daily horror stories of broken dishes and lamps and bites to the head and how she was jumping on top of the refrigerator knocking things over as well as constantly running between her feet as she walked. Now my mom is 81 and not very stable as it is and I was literally waiting for the “witty (sob, sob), I just fell and broke my hip” call. As it was, she had already wrenched her back trying to avoid stepping on the cat in her bedroom a couple of weeks ago. So this last week, she finally wisely decided to take the cat back. Oh the guilt! But I told her, perhaps a little too snappishly, that this one was just too active for someone of her age.

So I brought Guardcat’s cat cage over to her house since the cardboard one they had given her back in June had only contained “Psycho”  for only about 1 minute and then she had escaped, as in she had jumped up on the dash board and was running around the vehicle at about 250 mph  in traffic. Its truly amazing my mom didn’t crash her car.

So the day was rough. My mom was crying…that is until we went to the humane society and she was able to play with about 45 cats in two large rooms for about an hour and a half. She kept saying she wanted “pretty cats” instead of  the “compatible” cats. Isn’t that what dudes say, Mom? Anyways, she eventually went home empty handed, but hopefully she’ll come to her senses and get one of the older cats who will sit and watch “American Idol” with her.

Anyways, after all the emotional turmoil in the afternoon with my mom and jumping over cats of every size and shape at the humane society (and yes, of course I totally love cats and played with lots of them), I really needed to take some time to regroup.

I’ve been very very very stressed out about losing my disability recently. “A”, after one appointment after a year on Tuesday, said I’m all better mentally evidently and said if asked by the government, he will tell them accordingly. If I lose my disability, I will also lose my health insurance and when you have cancer, or  at least the possibility of it and have to go get $3300 x-rays every 3 months (along with a myriad of other appointments), the thought of losing your insurance is pretty fucking  scary. So I’ve been crying ever since he sent me an e-mail to that effect Wednesday afternoon. Thanks “A”.  

So I went to our nearby lake for a walk. It was really busy because it was a beautiful summer day. Naturally I had my camera with me. Its like permanently attached to my hand, kinda like you yuppies and your cell phones.

Anyways, I saw this tree (see above). Recently when I was in my nekkid drawing class I had been bored drawing this certain model who was standing there with her arms raised above her head. Sometimes witty is naughty. She’ll do things like draw horns or spikes on models or write something like “I wonder if I have a spine” down the back of a male model. Anyways, with this particular model I had drawn her arms raised upwards and then started adding branches growing out of her body, kinda like a naked model tree!

And I wasn’t even stoned!

I actually liked the idea so much I’ve been thinking of doing a painting. Anyways this tree looked a lot like that particular drawing. The shape was almost identical. So I was standing there shooting the photo when suddenly I hear this male voice with an English accent say, “Why are you photographing a tree?” It startled me 1) because, as you know if you’ve read me for a while, I think that I’m invisible, so when somebody acknowledges that I’m there, I’m usually pretty startled 2) He was way closer than I realized, as in standing right next to me.  3) What a strange question to ask. I’m just photographing a tree.

And before I knew it, this tall British guy, who I had actually seen sitting on a bench when I sat down just five minutes earlier,  was standing RIGHT THERE and he was incredibly verbose, telling me he was a writer, and then breaking out into this  lengthy hilarious “Roses are read, violets are green…” poem about a shopkeeper breaking dishes and cats jumping over taxis. Who knows. He even managed to interject the word “genitalia” in there, although I can’t remember in what context. I was just standing there with my camera nervously clutched in my hand, looking at him, wondering what part I was playing in  all this. He then  wanted to guess what astrology sign I was and actually nailed it. Aquarius. WTF! I said I thought he was probably a Gemini because he talked so much. He said I was close He was on the cusp of Gemini and Cancer. He asked what I did. My stock answer now is “artist”. I don’t actually make my living at it, but its my vocation. And he asked about that. How can you make a living at art?

Pretty cheeky there, Brit Boy! How do you know I’m not like some famous woman tree photographer or Picasso’s great step-grand niece.

He was talking so fast and fluidly and leaping from subject to subject, I was having a bit of a problem keeping up. There was a brief jaunt into psychotherapy. My quote: “Therapists are paid friends”. He didn’t agree. He wondered how hard it would be to find an illustrator for his children’s book.  Are you trying to pick me up, dude? I mean, professionally? And then we were talking about biorhythms. I wondered aloud why mine were always below the line instead of  above the line. He didn’t know.  And then he asked me what I was doing with my life.

Yikes? Do I even know? True I just got a letter which has given me a full grant for 2 classes a semester through Spring of 2010 towards my long awaited Bachelor’s degree in art. But instead I chose to remain mysterious. I told him I was walking. Just walking. I think he was perplexed. Or maybe that I was really deep or something. Or was possibly that I was just avoiding the real question since I didn’t know who the hell this British Guy was or why  he was asking me all these probing questions.

He then asked me to sit down. The blissful, we-just-met-and-this-is-going-well did slow down noticeably when we sat. In fact, there was like a full moment of silence. I could feel the breeze blowing off the lake through my hair. Fortunately he finally started chatting again about the boats out in the lake. I told him I liked kayaking. He said his kids “liked to fucking jet ski since it was better than talking to each other. ”

I then noticed he started patting the pocket in his shirt intermittently. I knew what that meant. Pat, pat, pat. We chatted a little more. Pat, pat, pat. And then he said, “Do you smoke?” and I said, “No.” and he said, “I better go.” A whole relationship played out in a matter of 15 minutes. The blush of first love. Intense interest in what each other has to say. Sitting down, as familiarity takes hold, talking like an old married couple. And then the one thing we always knew we never had in common, suddenly hits our “relationship” like a meteor and it was over!

He never even asked me my name.

In other news, I had some guy with a blue painted face come up to me at an art’s festival last weekend. He asked if I wanted to come paint a man in this certain art gallery. I know the gallery. The woman who runs it had actually expressed some interest in my work last November and was going to come to my house to look at my work but then I got the cancer and we never connected. Naturally I said yes. I always want to paint men. 🙂

So I went up to the gallery. Little did I know that I was going to…well you’ll see…

365.3/125 Man-paint Bokah 

actually paint a man.  See, if the damn British Guy had played his cards right….

2008, don’t make me look back, ok?

January 2, 2009

I copied this from Annanotbob since its New Years Day and I’m sitting here alone as usual. I’ll be perhaps sprinkling in some of the artwork that I sold this year. I think I sold 6-7 paintings and 1 photo. I didn’t have a chance to photograph everything. Meh.

What did you do in 2008 that you’ve never done before? I had my first solo art show this summer at a small trendy bakery downtown. I had a year to prepare for it, which I really needed since I didn’t really have the money to frame 18 paintings all at once. Even though I only had about 5-6 people show up for the opening and some who didn’t (which incidentally, really pissed me off…and you know who you are), I was very pleased with the experience and eventually ended up selling either 6-7 paintings including:

sold august 2008

sold august 2008

Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I don’t make resolutions.

Did anyone close to you give birth? I have someone close to me?

Did anyone close to you die? Well despite going to two funerals in the last month….No.

What countries did you visit? The United States. It was really cool. Everybody was losing their houses, corporate CEOs were stealing money from their own companies,  factories were closing. I’m definitely going back next year!!! 🙂

What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008? More money. The return of good health. And perhaps  just a smidge of emotional intimacy with someone who I don’t have to open a can of catfood for.

What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? December 30, 2008. I found out I am in the middle stages of melanoma skin cancer on my chin and I have to go for a battery of x-rays next week. Brain x-ray, chest x-ray, some kind of a bone scan, pet-scan (I wonder if Guardcat knows about this??) and some procedure where they inject dye into my lymph glands to see if the cancer has spread.  And then yes, there will be a surgery shortly, like probably within two weeks. Happy new year!

What’s your biggest achievement of the year? Having the first solo art shows and actually selling stuff! Woo! Also getting out more socially at art openings. I’ve been slowly picking away at my social anxiety by going out to these. I still don’t talk much, but at least I’m going.

What was your biggest failure? Not being able to deal with some really intensive anger that has built up.

Did you suffer illness or injury? See above.

What’s the best thing you bought? I can’t really buy anything “fun”, but my Aunt did take me on a mini shopping spree this summer and let me pick out some new clothes at Macy’s. Its the first time I’ve had new clothes (other than underwear) in probably about 10 years. That was saa–weeeet!

Whose behavior merited celebration? Probably my friend “G” who bought me tickets to come visit him while he was on the road. He’s a very thoughtful and generous friend and I don’t think he realizes how much I enjoyed getting away and being able to see him. Thanks “G”. Love ya!

Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? George Bush. The people who ran the hateful 2008 presidential campaigns. People running large corporations and pocketing money that doesn’t belong to them. The government healthcare system.

Where did most of your money go? Rent and car repairs

What did you get really, really excited about? Selling as many paintings and drawings and photos as I did this summer. I almost…I said ALMOST, felt confident enough to call  myself an artist this year. I felt like I fit in somewhere. I haven’t felt that way since high school! 

What song will always remind you of 2008? Sadly, I don’t listen to the radio at all, so I have no clue what songs came out this year except perhaps that Britney Spears thing where she’s wielding whips or she’s naked or something. That could be any of her videos, I suppose.

Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder? Richer or poorer? Thinner or fatter? Well, up until my diagnosis yesterday I know I’ve been happier on a more regular basis. I would have been richer with the sales of my paintings if my car hadn’t had so many problems this summer. And my weight is really about the same.

What do you wish you’d done more of? Meeting up with “G”, since every town is a different adventure for someone who has no adventures. I wish I would have painted more. Had more job interviews. Made more money (I just worked briefly in early Jan. 2008). And tried kissing more reliable SINGLE men. I really need a break through moment in that department. I mean reaaaally. My next entry will be about some major action on over the holidays. No I didn’t sign up, but I’ve been getting winked at majorly and somebody is writing me incessantly, but I can’t see them because I’m not a memba! Boo hoo! He’s probably a serial killer anyways.

What do you wish you’d done less of? Feeling inadequate. Being angry. Eating too much chocolate. Pouting. Did I mention being angry? I really need help on that one. Eeep!

How did you spend Christmas? At my aunt’s house as usual with the normal side of the family. I truly ate vast quantities of sugar foods on Christmas. Its a wonder I didn’t fall into a snowbank in a diebetic coma.

Did you fall in love in 2008? Love? Nope. 2008 was totally void of any love stuff. I have been getting more attention from men since I’ve been wearing my new pseudo-Tina Fey/Hot Librarian glasses.  Maybe I can just SEE them swooning now. 🙂

What was your favorite TV program? I actually have two favorites: “The Office” and “Thirty Rock”. I’m also anxiously awaiting the return of “Scrubs” since I like shows where people just randomly break into musical numbers for no reason.

Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? Hate’s a pretty strong word, but I am really irritated with someone at the moment, but I really think its because I’m irritated with a lot of stuff, and he’s a good scapegoat.

What did you want and get? Since I have really crappy poor people’s health insurance that literally put my health at risk, I decided I wasn’t going to let that happen. I sought out better insurance. I demanded that my regular physician do something, which turned out to be the biopsy. I had hoped I could get in sooner with the dermatologist who made me wait almost 8 months. I guess it didn’t work, because my doctor’s office had to find the plastic surgeon who has moved a lot faster because that’s how treating cancer  is supposed to be dealt with. You know…with fucking urgency.

What did you want and not get? Ya got an hour?

What was your favorite film of this year? I only saw 3 movies this year, ” Zohan”, “Four Christmases” and “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button”. I wasn’t really nuts for any of them. “Benjamin Button” was the best made, but my god, it was so frickin’ long!

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I turned 50 and went and saw the shrinkster that day. I had a lengthy paragraph about what happened, but I deleted it. All I have to say is don’t promise people who don’t have much, things that you have no intention of deliveringMoving on…

What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying Having a better and more reliable support system. I literally have had none since summer, except for the 3 hours a week at my art class. But they are the best. I love my art friends. They are very funny and loving. Even when they insist on getting naked in front of you. Funny how I’ve never felt the need to reciprocate.

How would you describe your personal fashion concept for 2008? Black artist unitard with a large gaudy diamond tiara.

What kept you sane? Making art.

What celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Not sure what you mean by fancy? You mean date? If you just mean admire, I’d have to say Tina Fey. This really was her year. She made neurotic and fun, chic. She made writers, cool. And her Sarah Palin impression was one of the funniest things ever on SNL.

What political issue stirred you the most? All the nasty backbiting in the Presidential campaign.

Who did you miss? My Dad, always.

Who was the best new person you met? Did I meet anyone new? Not in real life. But I have been enjoying my internet friendies Xat and Anna, who both purchased art from me this summer. That was nice enough, but I’ve also enjoyed chatting with them since, as well.

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008 Don’t trust men who make promises.  And I’ll leave it at that.

Here are just a couple more of my paintings that sold this summer.

sold July 2008

blue heron (sold 9/08) by you.

sold july 2008

Sold August 2008

sold October 2008


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.

how andy warhol brought me back from the edge

November 17, 2008

How bored have I been the last couple of weeks? Well, last Sunday I went up to have breakfast with my mother at Denney’s. Things are pretty tight financially at the moment, because my fabulous new governMENTAL health insurance, which I switched to (* long story).  

One of the reasons I switched was because I thought it would cover my new glasses, glasses I really need because the Dollar Store glasses just aren’t working any more. But guess what?  It didn’t! It only covered the $18 frames. The lenses? You know, the part you see out of? No freakin’ way. Now, does that make any sense? Sure we’ll cover those cheesy $18 pseudo-Tina Fey frames, but duuuuude, those lenses are expensive! And we gotta bail out AIG and Bear Stearns & Company for goodness sakes! So I had to cough up $155 to basically pay for my own glasses, despite the fact that I pay almost $180/a month…out of my own pocket, towards health insurance which barely covers anything. YAY Government! Oh and thanks!

And yes, I voted for Obama and his crazy ass universal health care idea. I can only hope things get better, which is part of my *long story, which may tell at a later date.

My mom was able to fit me in last Sunday, fortunately. She is now starring in a weekly Gay Elvis variety webcast. I hope I don’t have to wait til I’m 80 to be famous on the internet, you know, kibbitzing with a blue eye shadowed Edward Sciss0rhands.

After breakfast, possibly due to eating vast quantities of pork, I inexplicably headed over to the Christmas Tree Shop.


There is absolutely nothing I should like about a place called the Christmas Tree Shop. First of all it has the word “Christmas” in it! WTF! Me the person who would prefer that they only play Christmas carols for the last 2o minutes before they close the Mall doors on Christmas Eve. But there I was, walking through the swarms of people, all with their baskets overflowing with breakable toxic crap made in China, listening to Rosemary Clooney singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little  Christmas”. Oh, how positively festive.

Why do people buy all that stuff? Ugh!

But because I was either suicidal or homicidal (Christmas music does that to me) I pressed further and further into the store in search of frames. Suddenly I spotted a little pink and dark green dinosaur. He was just sitting on a shelf amid Christmas crap, looking positively lonely. That’s when we went on a miniature photo shoot…also thinking of some possible captions…

dinosaur meets hanna montana by you.

Hannah Montana: “Hey Daddy, is that you up on top of my box? I ain’t gonna carry your sorry ass career forever!” 

dinosaur eats Mormon dolls

“Give me that turkey Mormon Boy, or the blonde gets it!”

No wonder dinosaurs are extinct. They just aren’t funny.

Anyhoo, I have been slowly recovering from my crunched art ego. It was still pretty raw when I went to an art show at my friend’s little art gallery last Friday night. She’s always been very kind to me in our art class and has given me numerous frames from her store. So I got all dressed up and tried to get a ‘tude going. Her gallery turned out to be way more crowded than I anticipated and I got a mini-anxiety attack with about 30 people crushed into a 20X20 space. I didn’t know anyone except her, and everyone else seemed to know everyone and they were all dressed up artsy and jaunty. So I tried to stay around the edge of the gallery, next to the artwork, which once again were some really beautiful, big huge watercolor floral prints with like $600 frames on them. Oh great.

And then just as I was standing there feeling anxious, some huge lesbian chick did like a full body chuck against me and I got a “Was it good for you” look from her. Again, I am like Level 10 catnip to lesbians. Just because I don’t have highlights in my hair, or wear gold fu-fu Pliner sandals, doesn’t mean I’m part of your tribe, She-ra.  So shoo!

I did see JS from my class for a few minutes, but other than catching the eye of a rather eligible looking guy for a split second, I left after about 15 minutes. No need to tempt the panic attack gods or Shee-ra again.

The following Monday I went to the second in a series of four free writing classes I’m enrolled in down at my favorite community center. Now, I have always been confident in writing. Always. Its literally (ha, ha , pun) the only thing, you can’t knock out of me. I know I’m good at writing and have been since about sixth grade. Well, the first night of this group, I went off and started bragging about my vast, and I do mean vaaaaast dahhhling, career in writing to the small group of women gathered. They all seemed duly impressed and I felt pretty smug, like, ha, I am the queen of all that you see.

Well, a funny thing happened at the second class. We had an on-the-spot writing exercise. The teacher, who appears to be very talented too, had read something of hers and it was excellent and you know what happened? Go ahead guess! I totally buckled under the pressure and sat there totally panic stricken for most of the 20 minutes. All I wrote was: “My heart stopped. It always did. But we had an agreement. It I tell the truth, it’ll re-start.”

What the hell? I looked around and everyone was writing 2 pages, 3 page, 4 pages in long hand. And I was like totally stuck. Nothing. Nada. When it was over, I had to fess up I couldn’t write anything. The teacher assured me it was ok. But I felt like an idiot, after proclaiming such total writing superiority the week before. I cried all the way home. Again, what an idiot!

The next day I had to go to my least favorite governMENTAL offices and pay my payment and then wash the filth of that experience off me by walking across the street to our art gallery to see an Andy Warhol art exhibit.

I’m not a huge Warhol fan, but I have watched 3-4 documentaries about him and have seen some of his work in person down at MOMA.  Our show had some of his early work as a fashion magazine illustrator in the 50’s. Its way different from the Campbell Soup can art he later produced. It was just cute little delicate whimsical drawings of women’s shoes in the shape of cat faces. Drawings. Simple. In pen and ink. Drawings I could do.  Ideas I could up with. And its Andy Warhol!!!!

I guess it was there that I realized I don’t have to paint those huge fabulous watercolor paintings of flowers and creek rocks and fields with windmills to be considered an artist. I could draw or paint anything I wanted and still have people like my work.  

So the next day I applied to another college here in town. Its about 1/3 the cost of the big, prestigious college. I also switched my grant application information over to the other school too. I’m really now sure what else I have to do, but I guess getting a degree in art may be ON again.

Thanks Andy Warhol.

before the crash

November 3, 2008

This was definitely the calm before the storm, as I took the train to see my best friend “G” last week. I love riding in trains. I find them very relaxing and a great place to draw those rather quivery New Yorker style pen and ink drawings of nearby people. Granted they aren’t as interesting as people on buses, since trains cost $40 and buses cost $1. And also I’m not nearly as afraid that there will be gun-play or that some old creepy dude will want to  show me his willy or propose marriage (yes, its happened….the marriage part, not the willy, thank goodness). No. Trains appear to be relatively safe and my trip was very relaxing despite having a severe case of sinusitis.

When I got to Rochester there was only one public phone (three were torn out of the wall) and some crazy homeless type woman was slobbering all over it, and I was afraid to ask her to hurry the hell up, so I just went out front and hailed a cab. Oh how totally cosmopolitan of me.


I only did that because I had Map-quested the hotel and knew it was only about a mile from the train station. It was great to see my hunky, adorable best friend “G”. He immediately showed me that we were mere steps away from a very sad looking covered swimming pool outside the hotel room. Woot! But since it was only about 52 degrees out, we chose to walk around downtown. Being a New Yawker now, I wanted to show “G” how totally meteorologically macho I was, so I went without my coat and nearly froze my ass off from the frigid winds blasting through downtown. Our close personal friend Pigpen went with us, but he was smart. He stayed snuggled in my friend’s coat pocket.

After a quick bite to eat we went over to a big old theatre where my friend’s show was. He’s traveling with a Broadway musical and I got to see a free show. And also touch Broadway musical props and costumes when people weren’t looking. And meet actors and chihuahua wranglers. And draw pictures of stage managers, which is what my friend is. I enjoyed the show and my friend bought me a shirt from the show, which I’m now using as a night shirt, being just slightly taller than Mini-Me and all. We talked well into the night when we got back to the hotel, snarfing down pizza after midnight and watching end-to-end “Daily Show”s with my boyfriend Jon Stewart since I don’t have cable.

It was great seeing him though. It gets lonely on the road, hotel room after hotel room, so hopefully he enjoyed our visit as much as I did. I had been worried about snoring really loud because of my bodacious sinus infection, but he kindly said I didn’t….even though I’m fairly certain that I did. Thanks “G’, you’re a real gentleman!

And once again seeing “G” reminded me what friendship and intimacy are all about and re-activated the need in me to be with someone….you know, besides the cat. (Sorry Guardcat).

The next day I met up with fellow D’lander, ArtGnome, who was a very gracious hostess bringing me to both her art studio and out to a yummy Mexican restaurant.  It was nice talking to a like spirit. Thanks, my dear.

But then it was back to reality. When I hit the train station at home there were torrential rains. I was feeling really lousy because of my sinus infection as I was driving home along flooded streets. Guardcat was certainly happy to see me, but I conked out immediately for several hours and woke up in the dark. Alone. Again.

This was all at the tail end of a really really busy couple of months. A time that I felt had been one of the best in recent years. Two solo art shows. Four group shows. The sale of seven paintings. Me coming out of my shell verbally and not desperately grasping for every “A” appointment I could get. And even better, I had really been kicking ass all summer, walking 10-12 miles a week. I had also, of course, recently made the decision to go back to school and ACTUALLY TAKEN THE STEPS TO DO IT. OMG….the Queen of Apathy actually rises from the dead to do something besides eat M&Ms!! Call CNN!!

And then came my appointment at the University last Thursday….

I had been perusing the university website and all the grant websites and everything looked really good. I felt that I could go back to school to study painting for almost nothing, despite the fact that I was going to a very prestigious university with internationally known artists teaching the classes. I was so psyched!

And then I talked to the financial advisor, who evidently had only had about a half hour’s sleep the night before, since she kept yawning, rubbing her eyes and acting like she was about ready to drop off the entire time we were talking. Hey chick, ya want a Red Bull? I’ll get’cha one, you know, just so you can kinda pay attention here.

I had done everything correctly except apply for the FAFSA application online. So she put me at a desk in some cubical next to some people who were laughing and joking. It was really distracting. The guy standing next to me was actually giving me the “Hey, you’re cute” hairy eyeball and kept making jokes and then looking at me as if waiting for some kind of response. And I was thinking, dude, my entire future is tied up in this application so could you please shut the fuck up?? Plus the application had a bunch of numbers to punch in, so I was really confused, being of art brain and all. 

I finally finished it though and Sleepy Girl came and printed out my application and did some math on a piece of paper. To make a long story short, I don’t qualify for this certain grant because I’m not part of a family unit with kids. If I had gotten that grant, my education would have been close to free. I would have only had a very tiny loan. Now,  instead, the cost of taking two classes is close to $1900. And I’d have to pay it off in 6 months once I stopped going to school. Yeah, right. I don’t even have enough money for cable TV. How could I pay over $300 a month on a school loan?

So I came very close to tears in her office. I felt like everything that I had accomplished in the last six months…the rebuilding of my very fragile ego, the jettisoning people who make me feel bad, the proving to myself that I COULD do things and that I wasn’t just some useless financial drain on the government, all shattered. I sobbed all the way home in the car.

And this weekend was even worse. There’s someone in my life I don’t care for. She sent me a note. I sent one back. She sent one back with a tiny bit of snark….a little jab at me. Normally it wouldn’t bother me. But I just started weeping. Then I started Googling her and found her website with all her beautiful artwork. And then that inexplicably lead to Married Guy’s wifie’s website with all her beautiful artwork (which sells for in the thousands). Both women are married, have money, nice houses, art degrees (from the university I want to go to),  nice art studios in their homes and can do art freely (i.e., afford to buy art supplies, etc.) Me? I don’t have any of that. Am I resentful? Yes.

I guess I just don’t understand why this woman who has everything would want to do a drive-by snarking in an e-mail? You have everything, woman. Why kick somebody when they’re down? But then again, Married Guy’s wifie was the same way. I think she always felt threatened by me for some silly reason, and would try to show off by spewing obscure art names at me while I looked at her blankly. Back then I didn’t know them, but now I would totally kick her skinny little ass.

Obscure Spanish Artists from the 1920’s for $600 please, Alex. 

So I don’t know what to do. I skipped an invitation to a Le@ther Ball party this weekend by a new hip gallery owner I’ve been in contact with. I had sent her the address of my Deviantart website and she said she was interested but now since I feel like a piece of poop on a wino’s shoe, I haven’t been back in contact with her.

Yay me and might I add….vintage witty.  Welcome back.

goth show yields unexpected results

October 6, 2008

I had the first of my four art shows in October last night. It was the Goth/Zombie/Big Boobed Women/Robots one at a local bar, you know, the one that I totally fit into….Not. But when you’re an artist, you never feel like you fit in anywhere and feel appropriately angsty and then go anyways.

I picked up “L” the Hippie Chick about 1 and we brought our stuff downtown. I am now totally paranoid about parking on our city streets  because I have gotten two parking tickets in the last month, after never getting one for the last 18 years.

I am fighting the first one since it was a freak of nature. I had put the parking receipt on my dashboard…like I was supposed to. And while my friend and I were in a bakery, evidently a gust of wind from an open window, swooshed the tag across the dashboard and it was now face down. The damn car windows were open. The doors were unlocked. The meter maid could have easily just flipped over ticket to see that everything was in order, but no. A $25 ticket! So I’ve been fighting it, including photos from several angles, witness statements from my friend, a weather report from the National Weather Service telling about wind gusts up to 25 mph that afternoon and even an e-mail from Wayne the Weather Guy at our local TV station regarding the weather conditions that day. A little OCD?

Ya think?

Anyways, so we got to the Pub and it was most of the usual suspects except for some young girl who was uber excited to be wielding an electric drill and making sexual innuendo jokes, which I have to admit were pretty damn funny. Naturally all the guys were guffawing. There was also another woman, who I didn’t know, who told me I would be meeting her “alter ego” that night. Ummm, ok.

I hung around most of the afternoon, listening to 1980’s punk rock music and watching people bring in art. My favorite little Goth Twin and her sister came in. It was nice to see her. She’s down in Brooklyn now going to art school in NYC and is really blossoming creatively.  I felt pretty tired and achy though. Have been under the weather most of the week, fighting off some kind of mad cow disease thing. I finally left about 4 and came home and crashed with Guardcat on my bed. I was totally exhausted.      

At around 6 I kind of half-heartedly made dinner. I was starting to have doubts whether I had enough stamina or energy to drive back to town to an art show which 1) had really loud music, 2) had humans who might expect me to talk to them and 3) had heavy cigarette and cigar smoke, since it was billed as a Smoker event. Smoking is against the law in public venues in NY, but for this event, they let it slide.

Finally at the last moment though, I pulled on my tightest jeans, lowest cut sweater and put on some very dark blue eye shadow, something I normally never wear, but since I had dark circles under my eyes, why not balance it out, right?

 Naturally I had to circle the damn place about 59 times. Its really busy downtown on Saturday night. Plus I was still fearful that some rogue meter maid might be lurking about, ready to write me a parking ticket because the Moon was in Scorpio or something.


It was still pretty empty when I got there, but I talked to a few people and scoped out a safe spot on one of the 2 small couches.  “L” and her friend “E” finally arrived so at least I didn’t feel like a total social outcast. And even though I didn’t know her and she had far too much bronze colored eye shadow and lipstick on, suddenly I was pouring out the whole Married Guy saga to her. Ack. Not sure why that happened.

No therapy appointments since July, witty? Maybeeeeeeeeee.

The place finally started to get crowded around 9. You know, like with the woman who had told me I would be meeting her alter ego and then appeared looking like a Goth Martian. And of course, lots of guys with mohawks and skull shirts. And geeky nerds, who were actually cool because of their geeky nerdiness. I, of course, just sat on the couch, looking at the Z0mbie Surviver’s Guide, hoping to survive the cigarette smoke.

The music finally started at 10, I think. I could barely see the stage for all the smoke. It was thick. I was sitting next to this kid with this really fierce mohawk, piercings and camoflauge pants who was smoking. To look at him you might be a little scared. He looked like a total bad ass. But he was insanely polite. He apologized for the smoking several times, made sure he wasn’t blocking my view of the stage, and even asked how I was doing. That was better than my last date!!

I only stayed for the first act however, since I nearly went into a panic attack because I couldn’t breathe with all the cigarette smoke. The singer was really good though. He had songs about The Jerry Springer Show and whether Jesus has a guitar and the funniest one, “P0rn” (“P0rn is good, p0rn is great, p0rn doesn’t even make you wait.”) He even sent one song out to all the people with restless leg syndrome and everyone on our couch leaned back and started madly shaking our legs in the air.

Oy. I’m too old for this. But it was funny.

 I did wait until the guy’s set was over before I went to get my purse. I then went back to say good-bye to “L” and her friend. “E” had been looking at the photo books from past Goth Art show events and had spotted my painting from last Spring. It was the one with a female devil sitting in her easy chair watching George Bush on TV with a nuclear explosion happening outside the window. She loved it and asked me if it was for sale and how much. As usual, I kind of fumbled. Ummm, ehhh, umm. And then she said she was going down to Virginia and would be back in November and we could talk then.

Strangely, that is not even a painting I ever saw anybody wanting. I painted it solely for the Goth Show. But ok.

Anyways, once I said my goodbyes, I attempted to push my way through the crowd towards the door and fresh air, hallelujah jesus! But suddenly I had someone tell me that someone was interested in my zombie photo. The Sci Fi Guy had originally told me that when I came in but I just sort of sluffed it off, like oh sure, yeah, ha ha ha!  He had been really busy, so I didn’t get who it was and whether he was even still there. But then there was that second person telling me.

So suddenly Sci Fi Guy appears with this big huge, hulking guy with a sleeveless torn punk rock shirt and blonde scruffy hair, about 50. No. But he was absolutely effusive about my photo, saying it was the best piece in the show and he should know since he’s from L.A. (ha!). And that he was convinced that it was Patti Smith, a punk rocker from the 70’s, but how would I know since I was too young to remember. Ha! I guess the smoke was thick in there! So I finally just gave him the bad news that no, it wasn’t Patti Smith, but just me and some Photoshop. But fortunately that didn’t seem to impede his interest in the photo.

He then started asking that now dreaded question….”How much do you want for that?” By then a friend from MySpace was standing there watching this all unfold. I had told her about the photo at the Hippie Festival two weeks ago and she had wanted to see it. So she decided to step in and be my agent and said “$200 and I get 50% commission!” and laughed. I blanched. $200! Yikes! No, no! So I blurted out the far more reasonable $20…$25. He looked at me funny, like don’t go higher, you said $20, and then pulled out a $20 bill and gave it to me and bought the photo.

WTF?? Am I being punked? Is Ashton Kutcher gonna come out from behind the door, laughing his ass off? So I just stuffed the twenty into my pant pocket and took him over to Sci Fi Guy and told him that the piece had been sold, so he wouldn’t think the guy was ripping it off. I then shook his hand and he asked if I had any other work anywhere.

I told him about my current show at the little community gallery (who is still advertising the last show which has now been closed over a month! Grrrr!). I then gave him one of my business cards and just hope he’s not a serial killer since it has my address on it.

Driving home I was like totally high from that ridiculous $20 sale. I was actually laughing in my car at every stoplight…like sucka! I don’t do that for all my art sales. Just the ones that I run off my ink jet printer and put in a Dollar Store frame.      

P.S. My job interview went really well. Whether I get hired remains to be seen.

P.S.S. I suppose you want to see the Zombie photo, huh? Its really strange….but then again, consider the source. A person who is slowly discovering that they are an artist and that its ok to be weird.

New photo?

jibberish…plus I got some new shoes!!

September 29, 2008

Ha ha ha! Wasn’t that John McCain something Friday night in the debates? Wow! And with so little time to prepare, with him being so busy saving the country from that crushing financial disaster that wasn’t there 8 years ago when George Bush took office. You remember, when we had over a trillion dollars in reserve. I especially enjoyed all those vaguely unrelated anecdotal stories he’d tell, you know, when Lehrer would ask him a question, and he’d try to avoid an actual answer. Or he’d toss out that carefully orchestrated phrase at Obama repeatedly…what was it? Oh yes….”He still doesn’t understand.” He’s probably just used to saying that from talking to VP running mate/pitbull Sarah Pallin.

Anyways, its yet another big night at wittykitty manor. My best friend is now on the road touring in a Broadway musical and sent me a big box of hotel booty. That is to say, a bunch of tiny free bottles of shampoo, conditioners, miniature soaps and two towels. And since I’m already about two steps past OCD and have a very small apartment, I have set up an assembly line of emptying all the tiny bottles into my larger existing bottles and I’m kinda feeling a bit like Willy Wonka overlooking the Oompa Loompas. I mean if you could see how small my apartment is, although please don’t, because I would like totally freak out if you suddenly came to my door and said, “Hi, I finally found you, wittykitty, because I’m extremely clever with the internet”, I might smile wanly, but underneath I would be like totally freaking out, since no one ever comes to my apartment, because I’m like a total hermit and someday they’ll probably find me with boxes piled to the ceiling filled with nude drawings, boxes of staples and photos of Joel Grey.

I have been getting out some since my crapola art opening last week. I went to my favorite yearly Hippie de Festivale last weekend and had a lot of fun. Our art group had a booth and I was pressed into action from a dead sleep. The woman with our tent got sick, so one minute I was thoughtfully snoring  sleeping on a Sunday morning, undoubtedly dreaming of either winning the lottery so I can buy a new car and art supplies, since they’re getting incredibly low or standing on a cliff overlooking the ocean, holding hands with a guy with dark curly hair.

But then suddenly the phone rang and suddenly I was in charge of bringing our tent down to the artsy/hippyfest in like 15 minutes.  Little “L” brought the tent over and gave me a jar of peaches for my stupendous effort. I don’t like peaches, but I took them anyways. I then had to race down to town, barely dressed with little make up. I was going to model that day and wanted to look nice, but ended up looking pretty pale and tired looking.

I did have some really cute Let’s Save-the-Whales/I have a Volvo/I’m voting for Obama kind of guy startle me at my car by offering to carry the tent up to the corner for me. I kept trying to check for a ring, but he was walking too fast and disappeared before I was able to catch up. Drat!

Mid-week Big Blondie of art gallery fame sent me yet another e-mail requesting my artist statement for the fifth time for a newsletter. You know what? I didn’t send it. You know why? I think she probably has four other copies somewhere in her computer, plus its hanging at the show…as in 3 feet from the office where the newsletter is being produced. Plus their website still has the graphic from the last art show which has now been gone for over three weeks. Am I perturbed? Yeah, just slightly. No more cooperation from me. I just leave it there til October 18th and then it comes home to my tiny apartment. The End.

I did have some people from my art class look at it this last Wednesday night. Professional Art Guy walked through. There were no compliments which was okay, but he did tell me that my prices were too low and that if people see that, they won’t think my work is of any value. I’ve heard that before and yes, point taken. Bad self, esteem! bad! But yes, I get it. I also had another woman, who  does nice work, say that my work reminded her of Edvard Munch, the painter of the famous painting “The Scream”. She said everything was very creative and whimsical, which felt really good and helped smooth over some of the crappy stuff that has happened since the show opened.

Anyways, after class, my friend who owns a framing shop walked me out to my car. Ever since that creepy guy was waiting to ask me out to “Riverdance” in a pitch dark parking lot last year, I always have someone walk me out. Plus my brother is getting rid of a bunch of framing stuff, so I had some of it to show her.

Fortunately no freaks ‘o nature were waiting to pounce, so we chatted for a few minutes. Anyways, the whole point of this paragraph is that she told me that her friend, who owns the best art gallery in town, is hiring two part time positions. He asked her if she knew anyone and I’m not sure if I heard her correctly but I think she mentioned me. So she said I should go talk to him. That was the same gallery where I sold my very first painting 3 years ago at a group show. Its a really nice place, as in the nicest art gallery in town.

So the next morning I updated my resume and also jazzed it up a bit since the woman at the government agency last month told me it looked “boring”. Man, if a government worker thinks something looks boring, it must really be hideous! Unfortunately in my haste I also included a rather glaring typo on the bottom which I didn’t notice until I was driving home afterwards on an extra copy I had made. OY! I’m such an idiot!

Anyways, I went to the art gallery and talked to the owner who I’ve met on several occasions. I tried to be carefree and thoughtful, but that it like the total opposite of my real personality. Well, I am thoughtful, but never carefree. NEVER. I also met with his assistant, who might be the one I’m replacing. She’s like super bubbly (I’m not), has a great memory (she always remembered my name and the name of my artwork FOR LIKE 2 YEARS after that first art show. I can’t even remember something I Googled like 23 seconds ago). And I outweigh her by like 100 pounds. So he made an appointment for a job interview the next Tuesday, as in tomorrow.

Needless to say, I am a wreck about the interview. I haven’t had a job interview in over a year. My last one was that one for the framing job at the art store. You don’t know how to measure stuff? Bye now! For some people who really want something…they’re spurred on by that passion. For me, I feel like the odds are insurmountable. Again with the pessimism. I know. Can’t help it.

Last week when I had the opening to my art show, which I instinctively knew was going to tank, I called my mom right before I left and told her I needed a little pep talk. Here’s how it went:

witty: “Mom, I really need a pep talk. I’m really nervous about my art show opening.”

mom: “Well, I probably shouldn’t bring this up now.”

witty: “What?”

mom: “Well, there is one of your paintings I don’t really like.”

witty: (getting a twinge of anger at myself for calling her for the nearly impossible task of saying something positive to her daughter in a time of need). Which one? Is it this one? (explaining)”

mom: “No.”

witty: “This one? (explaining)

mom: “No. And I really don’t understand that one either.”

Finally after going through about 4-5 of my paintings I finally said, “The Mona Lisa one?”

mom: “Yes. I just don’t like that one. Its weird. I don’t like the eyes on it.”

witty: “That is one of the best paintings I’ve done yet. I’ve gotten nothing but compliments on it. I even have a buyer for it (hi Anna!).”

mom: “I KNEW you’d get defensive!! You always get defensive if I say anything about your work.”

So this was my pre-art show pep talk from my mom. YAY!  And then, of course, this also led into a conversation about her extensive “art” career”. She’s painted 5 paintings in her whole life and talks about them at length anytime I mention my work….you know the 25-30 paintings I’ve done. The probably  1000+ drawings I have stored in bins. Plus the various other things I’ve done creatively like photography (I’ve had my photos in a museum, newspapers and a national magazine), over 275 published articles, etc.

But what it all boils down to is…who’s more important.

So I have this really important job interview tomorrow. Sure, its only a very P/T job. But oh the benefits. Yes, it would be good to make money, but the real benefit for me would be to be in a creative environment. Force myself to be more sociable. Maybe meet some really hot artist guys. And most importantly, just have a reason for being. You know,  instead of just sitting around doing nothing. I mean I have been pushing myself a bit to do these recent art shows, but then inbetween, I pretty much just lay around on the couch, doing the “My Life Sucks” thing.

And this has to stop.

Oh, and about the shoes. I really needed some “job interview” shoes so I went to the thrift store down the street from me. I’m not a very girly girl. I wouldn’t know something fashionable if it bonked me in the head, but I found a nice pair of black shoes for $8. They’re flats and look like silk. Anyways, when I got home, I was all silly-acting with Guardcat. “Look at mommy’s shoeeees! Look at mommy’s shoeeees!” And they had a designer’s name inside. I do live in a major yuppie enclave, after all. So I Googled my $8. shoes. On the designer’s website they were selling for $235! Ha! And they were brand new. Maybe having fabulous tootsie will make me feel confident tomorrow. Fingers crossed!

duuuude, you’re blocking my art show

September 19, 2008

This was the scene in front of my art show opening last night. Utter chaos. Lines of people way out into the street. People on cell phones calling their friends to come down and see witty’s cool paintings. People destroying stuff. Kids in mohawks chanting something.

Ha ha ha. Okay, it was really just people waiting for a frickin’ punk rock concert down on the first level of the community center. Evidently they had run a promo saying the concert started at six, but it really started at eight and then there was pandamonium bordering on a minor “lets trash this place because we’re the Fuck-You Generation and we don’t have any video games to occupy ourselves while we calmly wait for the doors to get unlocked” situation.

We eventually tossed them this ugly sculpture that some artist had never picked up from another show. I yelled out over the noisy throng, “This is art. Look at it. Enjoy it. Destroy it.” I’m not really sure what made me say that last thing. Was I a little angry? Maybe. Was I ready to join their tribe? Sure, why not! Because it was kind of thrilling when some girl immediately broke free from the crowd and jumped on the damn thing and broke off the ball and started kicking it….something I’ve been wanting to do with that sculpture for months.  

Did I mention that up until that point I had no idea that the doors were locked to the place where my art show reception was taking place and I was sitting there all alone feeling like an abject failure with absolutely no one showing up? “L” the Hippy Chick had come right when I got there at 5:15. She could only stay a couple of minutes since she was on her way somewhere.

And I had also had a conversation with a woman running a yoga class in the room next to the gallery with explicit directions bordering on militant, that I could not send anyone through her room to use the restroom and disturb their “Quiet Time”. She only had one person in her class and was playing really loud Anya music, which, of course, had me digging my nails into my leg, since I hate Anya, you know, ever since my Married Guy massage days.

But I should probably start at the beginning. The Hanging of the Art Show. I did add in a few new paintings and had a lot of trouble coming up with good frames. When my car broke last week, I was actually on my way to have a friend either help or give me advice, since she owns a framing shop and has been very generous with her time and an occasional free frame. But then all that stupid car stuff happened and nothing ever got done- frame-wise and I cried alot. But bygones!

I finally got everything to the gallery though and it being in a community center, I had to deal with some woman teaching a Spanish class in where I was going to be hanging my art. Fortunately she was nice about it, but evidently the Center was going to be losing some money on her “rent”. NOT.MY.FAULT. Big Blondie (the woman whose been my liaison with the gallery and asking me to write Third Person essays, etc.) was a little late. But she has a real job, of course. Now, please don’t think I dislike this person. Or ANYONE I MAKE FUN OF…I don’t. Right Charlemagne, my favorite ol’ Frenchman? I mean she’s a very nice young woman. It’s just that I’m a grumpy old woman. OK?

And for some reason after I unpacked everything and it was just laying on the floor, I suddenly felt totally intimidated. This woman is over 6 ft. tall and very very energetic and outgoing and I was just standing there feeling somewhat terrified to say anything. And while it only took about an hour to put my show up at the bakery with “J” back in July, it took three freaking hours here. Ugh! And unfortunately I don’t think it looks that good.

She’s evidently has put up many shows and knows certain rules like they have to be at 5 ft. height and can only be at odd numbers on walls. My work, unfortunately, is all different sizes and shapes and frame colors. There is absolutely nothing uniform about my work, so applying a formula to it, may not necessarily work. And to me it doesn’t. It sorta looks like a thrift store.

Fortunately or unfortunately, during all this, depending on how you look at it, she was very very bubbly about how great my work was. Yes, its nice to get strokes to your ego and Lord knows my ego could use a few thousand, but after a while of “Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, this one is so awwwwwwwwwwwwesommmmmmme!!!!!”, it started to lose its potency. Plus now that we’re starting to get to know each other a little better, we’ll be sitting there talking quietly about something and suddenly she’ll yell “Duuuuude!!!” and scare the living shit out of me. Like last night when she said it really loud, and I jumped and then turned towards the door thinking “J” had finally gotten there. But no, he hadn’t. I was, in fact, Dude…and was Dude for the rest of the evening, and possibly will be Dude forever. Dude “witty” McGiver.

She’s also interested in writing me a grant for an art project. I had mentioned I did this thing where I shot a self portrait of myself every day for a year. I mean artists ARE narcissists after all, so why not? But now that I’ve mentioned this, she totally wants me to do a show of all the self portraits.

Even the nekkid pictures? Eek.

So I sat for almost an hour in the gallery waiting for the crowds AND the masses to come. I had brought food and some CDs to play. Although I was now afraid that the Yoga Teacher might come over and dispense bad karma on me if I played Billie Holiday any louder than Anya.

By then, I was feeling rather depressed, and went down the elevator to see the huge crowd of rocker kids and two people I knew. JS from my art class and another person I know from the community. When I opened the door, they told me they had been locked out for a while. So they came up and stayed briefly, since JS was out Art Trail hopping with his wife, I believe. 

I also started getting people coming up in the elevator for the “Talk to the Lawyer” thing that usually happens on Thursday night. And Jesus, the reaction from one guy when I said the lawyer thing was cancelled. Oy! He flipped out! He was swearing, stomping around, saying he had gotten off work early to see the lawyer and why wasn’t he there. Again NOT.MY.PROBLEM. Although I was sitting there in my head going, you better not knock that painting off the wall, dear sir, otherwise you might really need a lawyer. Fortunately, there are security cameras in both rooms but I’m sure it would look like I was attacking him, rather than he was attacking my art.

Just don’t call it “fun”, buddy.

Zue finally stopped in. I try so hard to like her. She was fairly well behaved at the gallery and didn’t try to sell Big Blondie any real estate, so that was good. She also insisted on taking some photos and had her hands all over me. Hands around my shoulder and neck, trying to do funny photos with my art. Thanks.

The “show” finally ended at 8 p.m. and not a single person from the Art Trail thingie had come through. Not one. I had even had my name listed in our main newspaper on Sunday. I was somewhat thrilled being called a multimedia artist, although to be honest, I was more even thrilled to learn that my name was included for the first time on the promo poster for the Sci-Fi/Monster/Big Boobed Woman Art show coming up October 4th. My name on the “****” poster! Woo! They’re like collector items. Now that’s something I’m proud of.

Me…waiting for somebody…anybody  to arrive….Look at those chips! Yum!