now I remember why I’m a neurotic recluse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, I think so too.

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

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

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

I’m much funnier in print obviously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ummmmm?!?!?!

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

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

See, that’s what friends are really about.

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

 

the british guy in the park

It all started with this tree to be honest….

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.”

Just.like.that. 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…

 

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

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

Our Lady of the Boo-Boo Knee

Its been a busy couple of weeks. This new “having a lot of people in your life” thing is truly a mixed bag. I’ve been trying to act all cool about it and letting people talk TO ME, rather than me acting all needy and pleading for attention. Nope! That wittykitty is gone. You make one mistake, like calling me on the phone and acting nasty. Let’s just say, this goddess ain’t for kicking anymore.

But with all this talking to people has come the rather unwieldy responsibility of having to actually listen to them. And grit your teeth when they’re acting weird (and when you’re friends with a bunch of artists, that’ll probably happen pretty quickly). And then there are even times when you have to nod your head in wide eyed wonder like when “L” the hippie chick’s friend told me  she wanted to hook me up with a “37 year old 4th level manic depressive professional bowler”.  Now I’m manic depressive too but I’ve never heard of a fourth level one. I didn’t even know we had levels.  “Hi, I’m Bob a Professional Bowler.  I’m a Fourth Level Manic Depressive. I can levitate, write poetry and throw strikes. Oh, and I’m Pisces.”

Heh, that’s me running in the opposite direction, by the way.

Last week was Charlemagne’s big bi-yearly art show in The Factory. This time instead of lugging a bunch of heavy paintings down to the ‘Hood, I decided to just bring nine of my self portraits. I’ve been doing these Selfies for about 2 1/2 years now and this was the first time I ever really  had then printed out professionally and took them somewhere. There was some interest, although most people didn’t realize 1) they were all me or 2) that they all were the same people.  One of my friends was even stunned to learn that I had…BLUE EYES! OMG! Really??? You’re fucking kidding!  Jesus, people, do you even look at me when we’re talking?

(stop looking at my boobs, BTW!)

Anyways this was the photo that also startled my old date mate  from a couple summers ago, Handyman.  Remember him? He came over all smiley, with a kind of  “I bet she’s gonna date me again” look.  I was indifferent. Meh. The last time I saw him was when he went on a date with another woman WHILE we were on our actual date. Yeah, THAT guy.  So he was looking at all the photos and he was particularly taken with the one above and I said, “I bet you didn’t realize I was so hot, did you?” He grinned all goofy like men do when they suddenly  realize you have boobs.  And then for the rest of the evening  he kept returning to my booth, chatting with me, telling me really pertinent stuff  like that he was still single and his daughter was going to camp, so he had a lot of free time.

And you’re telling me this why?

Anyways, this last Tuesday I had my yearly physical. I’ve had some not so great  news in recent weeks. And my Tuesday appointment wasn’t much better,  turning up various infections and needing antibiotics. I guess my body just can’t fight things anymore.

Once I was sprung from the doctor’s at around 1:00, I went up to my Spanish friend’s house for some more kayaking. I really shouldn’t have since I was feeling really tired, but when haven’t I  felt tired. 

Once “E” dropped off her teen-aged sons in town, we went over to her cabin. The lake looked a little rough. You could see white caps across the top of the water.  I was a little apprehensive, but I’ve been trying to be a hard-ass lately and do absolutely everything I can each day, so off we went. Naturally we were paddling against the waves, which were smacking against the front of the boat.  “E”s a little bossy so she was yelling out directions in Spanish I think. Or maybe I was just not hearing anything since the wind was blowing so hard.

Or maybe I was just starting to feel a little fearful.  I mean I wasn’t totally afraid since we were fairly close to the shore, but I was starting to feel a little anxiety as each subsequent wave slammed the front of the boat and sloshed up over the top.  

I finally started asking “E” if we could possibly turn around and go back. By then I had stopped paddling because I felt so tired. She didn’t want to at first. She kept telling me it would be calmer around this certain  jut of land. I then told her I wanted to row back to shore to get off the boat. She said no but finally agreed to get the kayak to a nearby pier. I said I wanted to go to the shore. She said no again and rowed us to this large pier.  Naturally the boat started slamming into the pier. She then started yelling at me to stand up and just step up onto the pier. But how could I….the boat was unstable, as in one moment we’d be flush with the pier and then the  next I could only see a wide chasm of water.

But then suddenly, perhaps as part of my new fangled Bad-Ass persona  (and perhaps just a smattering of fear too), I decided to do  step thing. What happened next was not pretty.

I don’t know if you have ever seen that reality television show “Wipe Out”, where contestants have to go through elaborate obstacle courses designed to inflict horrific bodily harm, but when I jumped stepped onto the pier, I landed on my left knee  really hard.  The pain was excruciating.  “E” immediately started yelling at me, telling me I should have stepped up on the pier faster. I really can’t do anything fast with my fibro, especially with the waves affecting the stability of the damn boat. I  immediately looked down, since my knee was stinging really bad, and there was a huge bloody gash on it.  She yelled up to me to walk back to her cabin and she would just paddle back.  I secretly wondered if I could even walk since blood was starting to well up. 

Back at her cabin she again started yelling at me once again for not getting out of the kayak fast enough. So I guess that’ll always be my main memory for the month of June 2009: Kayak Exit Failure. Grade: F. My bad.

We continued to sit on some lawn furniture for about another 45 minutes chatting. My knee was stinging like hell. I really should have been more assertive like OWWWW, I’M BLEEDING, I NEED A BAND-AIDE. But I’m still new in this new friend phase and was unable to say “WTF!”, like I could have said to Charlemagne. We finally went into  her cabin and she casually got out a first aide kit from like 1972 and I found a tiny package that said: antibiotic, so I gooped it on my knee.

She drove us back to her main house, telling me about every 7 minutes how I had incorrectly jumped from the boat to the pier. Okie dokie, I think I got that now. We then sat and chatted for about another 45 minutes or so but I was starting to feel a little queasy and light headed, so I finally told her I had to head home.

About ten minutes from her house I started to feel really dizzy and I could feel and subsequently see blood dripping down my knee. I live about 30 miles from “E and I wasn’t sure if I could make it all the way home in this condition so I decided to stop at my favorite aunt’s house. She’s a major caretaker person and within minutes of arriving I was like 6 years old again as she  cleaned up the wound in the bathroom and put Bactine and a large bandage on it. She even gave me some home baked cookies.

We chatted for a while. I was feeling less dizzy, but I looked down and it was bleeding once again from under the bandage. Plus the skin was starting to turn a bright red around the edges and traveling. I thought it was probably getting an infection…you know, since I had just been at the doctor’s that morning and told I was suffering from several simultaneos infections and put on antibiotics and yet stupidly went out kayaking in choppy waters with a highly excitable Spanish woman.

So I decided to go to the ER. Not at a big hospital…just one of those little ones in the suburbs. What a revelation they are! I was in and out in about 20 minutes! Booyah!  Of course the doctor was older than Larry King and he made a joke about giving me a tetanus shot in my knee which I didn’t think was particularly funny.

So I’ve been trying to rest the last couple of days. The pain has been pretty significant in both my left knee and my right calf which now has a huge yellow and purple bruise and I have a fever.  I even missed my beloved drawing class on Wednesday night. But I have been working on my various paintings. Starting new ones. And finishing up ones that I started in the last month or so.  Even though the pain hasn’t been much fun, the time I’ve been spending on my paintings has been invaluable.

Here’s my latest…

Our Lady of the Boo-Boo Knee.

the cloak of invisibility is lifting…

Now I don’t want to sound egotistical or anything, but I’ve been having this really weird conundrum lately. Oh wait, let me explain something first. I have always felt invisible. Whether it was my dysfunctional upbringing or the fact that I’m very quiet in person, I have always felt like I’m walking around under a Cloak of Invisibility.

Like I’ll be on a hiking trail and somebody will walk by and I’ll nearly jump out of my skin if they say “hello”. Why? Because I thought I was invisible, silly!

But recently that has all been changing. People are suddenly seeing me. And talking to me. And inviting me places. And you know what? Its freaking me the hell out.

What’s the difference? I think it has to do with the having of cancer in January.  I’ve been living every day like its my last. I’ve been letting my guard down. I’ve been “LETTING” people like me (Isn’t that nice of me? Ya wanna like me? Permission granted!)

And then perhaps the biggest thing….I’ve been slowly deleting the negative people out of my life. That’s a big one!

The Spanish artist lady, who I have now gone kayaking twice with, has absolutely no filters when she talks. She tells me everything that is on her mind. She tells me I’m pretty, but also that I’m fat. In the kayak this last week, she was chatting away and she said the reason she was now inviting me to her house was that I seemed more positive. “Before you were quiet and strange”.

Well, all righty then!

I’m just here to report, I’m still quiet and strange, and proud of it, but I’ve opened up to people more and its amazing how they’ll just invite you to their house just by opening up a little. I mean I’ve been kayaking twice in the last 3 weeks. I went to “L” the Hippie Chick’s house for dinner on Memorial Day. Her friend at the dinner called me and we chatted for an hour. She’s trying to hook me up with some 37 year old guy. The Spanish Chick rowed our kayak up to this single guy’s house on the lake and we chatted with him and he  invited us for quesadillas and asked me if I was single, telling me in the same breath that he was too (smile, smile). Funny how everyone is suddenly trying to hook me up. I guess I must look like I need to get laid or something.

Anyways, on the professional front things have been looking up too. I had the wife of one of my artist friends contact me and say that she wanted to look at my artwork for a show at a local beauty spa. I had met her twice before. Her husband was the one who used to pick up women  by flaring his nostrils suggestively at bars. I had also met her at my show in early May and tried contacting her, but her hubby had given me the wrong e-mail address, so no contact.

She finally called me this last week and we made arrangements for her to come see all my artwork at my apartment…you know,  the wittykitty MOMA museum. Naturally I was angsty. Why? Well, duh! a) Having a stranger in my apartment. b) Having someone saying “I like this. I don’t like this. c) Having to unpack and arrange about 20 paintings on all the furniture around my teeny tiny apartment much to Guardcat’s extreme displeasure.

So she came over this week. She was very nice. She was at my apartment for about 45 minutes, arranging and rearranging various pieces of art on the floor to see what would make a good art show at a Eye-talian beauty spa. She was very chatty and said only positive things fortunately, but I still felt nervous as I sat on my couch with Guardcat. In the end she selected 8 paintings and said she’d get back to me about the date of the show.

In the meantime, I got an e-mail from the art gallery where I just had the show. A guy was interested in buying one of my paintings and suddenly more angst! Hey, I’m still angsty. I don’t think I’ll ever get over that. So I called him up. He sounded gay, which of course made me feel more comfortable about offering to take the artwork to his house. There aren’t THAT many gay serial killers. So we made arrangements for the next day.

The next day I went to the Warehouse where I put up a small  display of my photos for Charlemagne’s show this Saturday. I didn’t like the way it looked. Nine 8X10 frames in the middle of a huge wooden box. They looked so forlorn. So I started hunting around for garbage. Yup! Nearby somebody had been spray painting some paper so I took the scraps off the floor and ripped and spray painted them some more and tucked them around the frames. I also ripped apart some plastic bags and found two long metal strips which I hung on nails. Oh yeah, so…so SOHO. Ok, maybe not. But it looked a little better and lets just say I was also a little stoned on the spray paint.

Being stoned when you deliver art is really the only way to go, especially when you keep driving in circles and you’re like OMG, he was like totally expecting me 5 minutes ago and all these suburban houses, like, totally look alike.

I finally found his house and this tall, deliciously handsome gay man came out and welcomed me. We went into his house and he gave me a  tour of all the art around the house, including in his bedroom. I finally unwrapped the Koi fish painting and he just squealed and squealed. And it did look nice against his sunflower yellow walls.

He then turned to me and said, “Well, I always negotiate the price with the artist.” I knew this was coming and considering the original price I had offered it to “A” two years ago and even last summer for $75 (and he  never took it. tsk-tsk!), I had now doubled the price. Why not? Inflation, you know! So he said, “One hundred and a quarter”. I said, “No problem”. He looked at me and smiled and said, “You’re so cute. I love your painting. I’ll just give you full price!”

It was now my turn to squeal, except I did it on the inside of course. He was very very complimentary though. It was like being washed over by warm sensuous waves, all the nice things he was saying. So he wrote me a check in the kitchen. He showed me his garden from the window and said, “Oh, I have a koi pond in my backyard. Do you want to see it?” I really did. I love koi  fish. So we went out back and I shot some photos and got to meet his partner. They had a gorgeous yard.

As I was leaving I told him I was glad he liked the painting and that it was going to a loving home. He stopped for a second and then said, “Can I hug you?” Dang, I love having gorgeous gay men hugging me. So we hugged and then it was off to the Yuppie Grocery store for a congratulatory dinner by myself.  

No…Married Guy has never called back. But I have better things to do, you know, like maybe paint some new things to sell.

whirlwinds eventually make you need a nap

Usually if I go for a long time without a blog entry its because, well, my life totally sucks and there is absolutely nothing to write about except  me sitting catatonic in front of the TV watching “The View” getting pissed off when everybody in the audience gets a free ticket to a Broadway show or a $50 giftcard to Amazon.com or even a goodie bag of green cleaning products from some guy named Sven whose company is called I Love Mother Earth and So Should You.com. I mean, where’s my goodie bag, bitches??

But I don’t have any excuse for not writing other than I’ve been the busiest I’ve been possibly since the days when I used to get up and actually go to work everyday. What’s up with that? Well, I think its something called “Having a life”. All the cool kids are doing it. Naturally there’s no pay involved. Oh no. That would be too freakin’ weird. The universe simply wouldn’t allow that.

So lets briefly review the uber busy wittykitty social calendar.

First: I was asked to be in a women’s writing group by someone I met at the Goth art show. I can’t say much because I’m fairly certain she is probably scouring the internet, as we speak,  looking for my blog since I’ve been bringing in doctored up entries (deleting my “wittykitty” moniker obviously) since I’m too damn lazy to write anything new.

I did feel pretty anxious at the first group meeting since everyone there actually reads REAL BOOKS and throws around famous author names like Carlos Castaneda, who, of course, I thought was the guy who won “Dancing with the Stars” last year. I admit, I’m not real intellectual.  But by our second meeting there was a little less literary muscle flexing so I felt a little less like Paris Hilton at a Think Tank with Stephen Hawkings.

And then my art group had our big once a year art conference at the local university. I absolutely loved it because I felt like I was going to an expensive college for two days, having access to lots of talented and sometimes famous artists who spoke at our event. Usually Charlemagne and I go up and pilfer recycle old canvases and art supplies left over from the school year up in the lockers but unfortunately everything had already been totally cleaned out. Bah!

I think my biggest thrill though was getting to meet world famous artist Jer0me Witkin). He is 69 years old and has had an incredible art career and is well thought of in the art world. Here is a sample of his work.

Anyways, he did a presentation of his work with us 2 years ago. Back then in my incredible angst, I had gone up to him with my art friend “J”, intending to ask to get my photo taken with him, because he’s like a rock star to me, and suddenly I chickened out and told “J” to go stand next to him while I took his picture. I had been kicking myself ever since.

Well, not this time baby. I was still nervous as hell. He said so many things in his presentation that really resonated with me about being an artist. So much so I was practically weeping. But I didn’t want to go up and start babbling like a teenager meeting the actor from “Twilight”.  “J” was with me once again and he took my camera and fortunately did all the talking. I just stood there like a geek thinking, “Can I touch your painting hand so I can be like you?”

But what was really cool, was not me meeting him (his hands were really cold by the way!), but the fact that “L” the Hippy Chick met him and with her warm yet raucous personality managed to get a modeling gig with him. I am so happy for her. She was absolutely over the moon. And for the rest of the day, everytime we’d see each other we’d literally jump up and down like two teenagers who just got free Jonas Brothers tickets.  And since then I’ve been getting to hear stories about how he works and about his studio and what music he plays. Evidently, she is going to be part of a huge three part mural. All she really wants is to be on a work of art hung in a museum somewhere as a legacy for her kids and grandkids.  Go “L”!

The Monday after the art conference I went to the Spanish Lady artist house and we went kayaking. That was certainly a first. When we were driving back from the lake she abruptly stopped the car when she saw a dead badger in the road and ran over and took a photo of it. Back at the house she later showed me her series of photos of road kill. I pretty much excused myself from that. Urp! I actually got invited up there again today, but I’m pretty tired from another art gallery thing last night and besides she may be busy looking for squashed ferrets or something.

My art show came down last Friday. Nothing sold, although the art gallery owner told me several people were interested in my koi fish painting. People are always interested in that. They just never buy it, right “A”?

I’ve been very manic in the last week or so, finishing up paintings that have been laying around my apartment half done. I’m going to be doing another art show with Charlemagne on June 13th with a bunch of my self portrait photos. I’ve had photos in shows and even museums before, but it was in the days before digital cameras, so I had to get 10 prints printed at Target and buy a bunch of frames and put them together yesterday.  I think Charlemagne is gonna freak when he sees a couple of them. No more asexual witty. A lot of times when I do my “selfies” (self portraits) I definitely glam it up. I realize I don’t exactly ooze girly girl in my every day life. I guess I’m just afraid of attracting the wrong sort if I’m too fabulous, so I just settle on attracting absolutely nobody, although….

Well, I had a rather large shock two days ago coming out of the yuppie grocery store. I had just stopped in for a couple of things. And as I was exiting the store who do I see in living color? Married Guy! Fucking hell! I mean I have seen him a couple times from a distance or from my car where I could either duck behind a counter or speed off in a cloud of dust, but there he was…less then five feet away from me. My heart nearly ripped out of my chest, pounding 1000 MPH. I haven’t talked to him in nearly 5 years.

So there he was and there was no denying we were going to have to say at least SOMETHING. Naturally I was gripping the handle of my shopping cart like I was hanging off a twig over Niagara Falls and he was just casually approaching me smiling, saying something snarky like “Wow, its been like 10 years hasn’t it?” I corrected him, of course.

So we started catching up a little but it was really noisy in the main thoroughfare so I suggested we step inside the store. And then he said he was just going in for a bite to eat. And stupid me, yes, I did invite myself and there was no, “Well, you really shouldn’t you crazy bitch” from him. So we had dinner together and talked about the last five years. And about my anger. heh. There was no admonishing though. Just an interest in what happened. And then he did the most astonishing thing. He invited me to Kidlet’s high school graduation party. Last time I saw Kidlet, who I always adored, he was only in 8th grade.

Whether this all transpires is truly up in the air.

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!

Letting people from England sleep in your house

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 
Can we get a Thanka Jeeezus!?!?!
 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

wishy and washy sent packing

I went to see my Oncologist on Thursday. Have I mentioned that I have a bit of a crush on him? No, he’s not the egotistical Indian doctor who told me he paid people to say he was good. No, this guy is a tall Eye-talian with large shock of white hair (WTF?), black nerd glasses and this maddeningly sexy sardonic look he gives me everytime I ask a stupid question.

Thursday was my second visit. Apparently, there’s a minute possibility that a tiny cancer cell  might have slipped through a severed nerve ending in my chin and escaped into my body. He’s there to keep an eye on it and look for clinical trials for me. 

Naturally I have questions…like will I ever be able to kiss hunky Eye-talian Doctors anyone again and feel anything, since my lower lip has no feeling and is now deader than AIG’s chance at being voted America’s most trusted insurance company ever fucking again. But mere seconds before I was able to ask that, I suddenly got all blushy and giggly.  Why?

Well, during our first visit, we had been accompanied by a young female Physician’s Assistant. But this time we were alone. With the door closed. Me. Him. His dark Eye-talian eyes. And I’m pretty sure I looked  particularly fetching in my black bell bottom corduroy pants, circa 1987 and black sweater with chunks of cat fur. I mean who could possibly resist?

I guess we’ll have to briefly head over to NBC comedy “Thirty Rock”, for a quick consult with Liz Lemon (Tina Fey), the patron saint to possibly all insecure, sarcastic women. I mean, we’re practically twins anyways, especially on Thursday’s night show where she had been dating this guy…a doctor… who was so perfect that absolutely everyone gave him everything he wanted and tended to overlook all his incredibly apparent flaws. Liz does too…at first, letting him win at tennis, so they could make out in the cab, and then feigning interest after just mediocre sex. But then one night, when she almost chokes to death on salmon doused in Gatorade (his recipe),  he just  stands there oblivious on how to do the Heimlich maneuver…A doctor! Its at this point, Liz finally sees the light.

That is kind of momentarily how I see my “relationship”  with Dr. Mastri-de-Lips-are-so-perfecto-ani playing out. He’s calling a doctor in Buffalo on his Blackberry, just looking at the phone, knowing his good looks will eventually dial the right number somehow. I mean, I know that’s always worked for me. I’m just sitting there  looking at him. Who wouldn’t? He’s hot.

See, that was something I never did with “M”, my date mate from February. I never looked at him…like he was a rock star. Or even the guy moving the equipment after the show. Its not that I’m shallow or anything. Its just that I realized after going over the Good list and the Meh List, the Meh List was longer.  It was also the first time I ever realized I was allowed to make that incredibly decisive decision. In fact, I  guess you didn’t notice  the impossibly clever title of my last blog entry….”(S)he’s Just Not That Into You”.  I’m sure he was grateful you tried to save him with all your thoughtful comments.   But the deciding factor? Well,  it was what he said about an hour into our date.

“I’m really wishy washy. Even my kids tell me that.”

Whh-a-a-ttt? That’s not something you tell a woman on your  first date.  I’m like totally wishy washy too, but I would never actually say that to a person I just met. I mean in my case, we’re talking about a person who got into a guy’s car and still wasn’t sure which restaurant to go to in a 2 minute drive down to the mall. Do I take him to the pizza place where I take all my men….HEH (witty, there’s only been 2 fercrissakes) or do I go where I originally went with Handyman, which is more expensive?

Truth is I like and need men who take charge. Married Guy was like that without being obvious. He just took care of everything  and I didn’t ever have to be resentful that he was being bossy. He was just a kind of “git er’ done” kind of guy without any of the usual attached guilt.

But can you imagine what life would be like for two wishie/washies?

“So honey, what do you want for dinner?”

“I don’t care, whatever you want.”

“No, its up to you.”

“Whatever you choose, is fine.”

“Salmon with Gatorade?”

“If you want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Only if you are.”

“Your choice, sweetie”

“You did say salmon with Gatorade, right?”

“Whatever you think…”

OMG, “CSI: New York” would eventually just find both of our skeletal remains sprawled by the stove.  Cause of death? Inability to make a decision due to extreme wishy-washiness.

In the meantime, I still check my winks and notes on sMatch.com. I have some dude with photos of his mansion up on the Finger Lakes and of his boat, but none of him. One of his qualities listed is: Horniness. On his notes, he keeps typing “LOL” after things that aren’t funny. Like WTF? That is such a “No”, sweetie. Who do you think I am…your 12 year old niece?

The hunt is still on though. sMatch.com sends you 12 “new” men every two days. This last crop was the worst. Twelve men…only 2 had photos. One guy even had a hand gun pointed in close proximity to his head. I guess he was indicating some level of desperation for a date.

So I guess I’ll also just be on the lookout in the real world too. Newly single doctors with nerdy Austin Powers glasses. Stray artists. Perhaps even a nerdy accountant with a penchant for neurotic, insecure women in the mold of Liz Lemon on “Thirty Rock”.  

In the meantime, I did want to mention I recently had one of my paintings selected for an art show opening in May at this trendy new art gallery in town. Their shows are geared towards social activism and political themes. The gallery owner said she “loved” my painting. That made me feel especially good since this is the first show I’ve ever had work selected where I didn’t know somebody. I feel that makes it even more of a victory. The 24X30 painting, by the way, is called “The Magic Coyote”.

Don’t you think Dr. Mastri-de-Lips-are-so-perfecto-ani might need some new artwork in his office?  I could certainly use a little after hours IN-stallation, if you know what I mean.

gangsta scarface chin girl

Needless to say I’m a little sensitive about the 2 large, prominent scars on my face and neck from my skin cancer surgery on January 19th.  Fortunately the pain is about 97% gone. My chin itself is still really numb though. I can’t feel anything from my bottom lip to the bottom of my chin. Its weird. I feel like I’m wrapped in duct tape and  Andy Roddick could probably hit tennis balls off my chin and I wouldn’t even feel them.

I did get my stitches out early last week. Under all the bandages, I was like totally convinced Dr. Mohammed would probably be snipping stitches for like 10 to 15 minutes, you know since I could barely open my mouth and have now lost 10 pounds (yay!). But all he did was go “snip…snip…snip“. DONE. Three fucking stitches. I was astounded because I still couldn’t open my mouth and I still felt like a rhinoceros was sitting on my face…but not in a fun way.  Yes, I realize there must be those kind of stitches that dissolve on their own, but still, I had been looking forward to some kind of instant physical relief. 

The doctor then handed me a mirror. I really wasn’t sure what to expect…A huge horror movie gash down my chin and a Zodiac Killer slash across my neck? Yeah, that was about right. Plus there was also this really odd little pea sized bump just under my chin. So I innocently asked and it really was a legitimate question: “Will this little bump ever go away?”

His reply? Well, I should probably go back and re-introduce the guy. I have never mentioned our conversation right before my surgery. Oh, it was a knee-slapper. He had come into my little cubical with his clipboard, all official and stuff. You, of course, always want the doctor to be on your side, especially if they’re about to 1) take cancer out of your body and 2) be cutting your moneymaker  stunningly adorable 50 year old face. So I rather charmingly recounted a conversation I had had with a woman who had gone to him for some plastic surgery and had been very happy with his work.  Without looking up, he said, “I pay people to say things like that” and then went back to writing. 

WTF? Now I realize you’re reading someone’s blog who’s like the biggest smart ass in the universe. But for some reason, whether it was the IV feeding me hyper sensitive feelings glucose or what, but at that particular moment, I felt very…distressed by his tart remark.

God damnit! I KNOW I’M SARCASTIC EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE….but you don’t say that to a patient who’s scared out of their gourd and doesn’t have anyone there to hold their hand.

So anyways, as I was looking at my “Friday the 13th- the Aftermath” face in the hand mirror, I simply asked him if he thought the little lump under my chin would go down in time….a legitimate question if you ask me. I wasn’t being critical. It wasn’t like I started screaming  and running around smashing bottles of Botox in his office or anything. So he slowly turns to me and says, “People pay me to have chins like that.”

Oh.

Anyways, after my appointment, my friend “J” took me out for lunch at a local foo-foo yuppie pastry shop. I was fairly successful at slurping some French Onion soup sideways off a small spoon. But then  I started noticing was how everyone (a.k.a. “The Beautiful People” as my brother used to call the people who frequented this place) were all suddenly staring at me. I’m sure there was a lot of “Who is that hideously scarred girl slurping her soup sideways and why is  she making us look at her whilst we’re typing on our cute little pink iMacs and drink lattes”. Although I’m fairly certain that maybe a few of the older women were probably going, “Gee, I haven’t been to Dr. Mohammed for a while. Maybe I better call his secretary for an appointment”.

Nevertheless, I felt very conspicuous, especially when I was not even aware that droplets of soup were streaming down my numbed chin in rivulets and I looked like Patty Duke in “The Miracle Worker.  I later went with “J” over to Target and while he shopped for clothes, I inexplicably tried on teenaged boy fedoras. “J” said I looked like a Black Irish Gangsta. For some reason that made me feel a little better about my scars. Or at least menacing enough to make a yuppie drop their iPhone and have it smash into a million pieces in the home furnishing department.

Since then, I’ve had two people ask me if I slipped and fell on the ice. And I’ve had three people look at me rather sorrowfully and ask, “Will you be able to get plastic surgery to (cringe) fix that?”

Very….

Very….

Doubtful…..but thanks! 🙂

Of course after a two week hiatus from my art class, I was finally able to return to my class this week and I have no idea what Charlemagne announced to the class. Not that I wanted anything announced, but evidently something was said since some people I know looked at me like I had a terminal disease or something . Oy!

It was just good to have some social contact. I’ve been really isolated during this whole thing and isolation=depression for me. And also thinking I look hideous=depression too.  So I’ve been struggling mightily.

And did I mention I met a guy on sMatch.com? Why not add stress to your life when you’re healing from cancer. I didn’t mean for that to come out that way. This last month really proved that I could really use a person in my life. My own person, I mean. Sure I managed to convince three friends to  help get me to appointments and surgeries up at the hospital, but the real proof of how alone I felt became quite apparent as I was lying in the O.R. cubical just before the surgery. I looked around at the other three people in the quad waiting for surgery and they all had people with them. Me?  I was just lying there alone with no one. It was really then that it hit home.

So we’ve been writing since right after the surgery. He knows about the surgery and the scars and says he’s willing to wait. He seems very bright and thoughtful. He does have a sense of humor (essential) and he’s Jewish, which is not essential, but I do like Jewish men. I did think a good first date would have been  to go see that new movie “He’s Just Not That  into You” this weekend. HA! Oh, witty, you’re such a kidder!!  But we haven’t quite got things together to go out yet. So we’ll see. There’s always this coming Thursday when I hit my 51st birthday and then I’ll be even  older and MORE scary looking. Woo hoo!

Thanks again to Stepfie for caring about my love life. And also thanks to Xat for the lovely hand-knitted hat she sent over the weekend. I lost my beloved beret about 3 weeks again and have had a cold head ever since.