poetry at a thruway rest-stop

October 17, 2009

The last five days, minus my night at an art show hosted by Charlemange, have been some of the most stressful, not to sound like a drama queen, but like ever. I’m sure its the cancer speaking. The events aren’t THAT bad…except maybe my trip to the Buffalo Cancer Center Tuesday, but fucking hell, why am I being tested so much? You know I can’t handle things. I mean, I’m the person who yells in my car if I see a person talking on a cell phone at a stop sign.

“Fucking idiot! Drive, why don’t cha!!”

So let’s start at the beginning, shall we. My car. My dear delightful rust bucket of a car bought on 6/6/06. Its been a pretty decent car, other than costing over a $1000 in repairs last year. But in the last month its been having trouble starting. How many times have I had one of my many, many doctor appointments, gotten in the car and it wouldn’t start. A lot! And then last Wednesday after my art class I sat in a church parking lot (it probably didn’t like my 6/6/06 car sitting in its holy parking lot) and it wouldn’t start for over 10 minutes and then sputter-sputter…cough.

In the meantime I had been talking to my neighbor Freaky Eyebrows about her car. She’s 57 and owned a ’96 Toyota Camry and never drove it because of driving anxiety.  So she decided to sell it. I decided to buy it after a test drive out to my cousin’s house who pronounced it in excellent condition. So yay! What I didn’t see coming was how incredibly wanky Freaky Eyebrows was going to be about absolutely everything.

OH MY GOD.  Is murder legal in New York? Quick…could someone Google that for me? She nearly drove me insane in the ensuing couple of days. Calls filled with rapid nervous talking about the car and the money filled my answering machine.  Especially the money part. The most important thing!!! As in  ” YES!!! YES!!! YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ” (that’s her having an orgasm over receiving a somewhat large sum of money…only large because we’re poor. I had to borrow money to buy this of course).

Naturally I had to fuck things up by not getting the money to her on the correct day. Thursday, witty…not Friday!! You would have thought I had kidnapped one of her cats and taken porno shots of it or something. She called and whimpered and moaned and complained and reprimanded me last Thursday, as in bad witty bad.  It suddenly seemed like a really bad idea…buying a car from the woman who lived right across from me.

Anyways, I guess she was so desperate to get her mitts on the money however, she abruptly decided to take the day off from her 4 hour work day at the yuppie grocery store sweeping the floor, to do the transaction with me. Unfortunately on Friday, I had one of my myriad of doctor appointments. A brain scan.

Great news! I have one! Although it really hasn’t been working much this last week. Bygones.

So I had to go to that appointment at 12:30. Naturally Freaky called me just seconds before I was leaving. Frankly, I don’t remember what she said. Probably something about the fucking plastic screws in the license plate. She talked about those a lot between Thursday and Friday.

So I went and got my brain scan. And then made several money stops. And then  away we went. During my doctor appointment, she had found out that the DMV in the north side of town was closed and that we’d have to go to one on the west side. Naturally my insurance company was on the north side. This was just the beginning of the psychotic OCD  Freaky Eyebrows that nearly drove me to murder- part of the day.

I attempted to get on the freeway for the first time in about 4 years that afternoon. I have anxiety about driving on the highway, but I figured with the purchase of a  “new” car that wasn’t ready to drop a muffler, I’d be ok. But no…Freaky Eyebrows never  stopped talking and was doing all these nervous twitchy things like looking at her watch every 34 seconds , which made me so uptight I missed the on ramp.

I’ll just edit the rest of what happened, since it was mostly about me wanting to hit her in the fucking head with a tire iron because she talked so much, but by 5 p.m. Friday, her 1996 Toyota Camry was now mine. Booya!

Monday was going to be the day I sold my old car. I always loved my old Subaru. It was rusty. It sometimes didn’t start. It  recently flunked all 5 of its inspections, but I still loved it. But I also had to sell it quickly because I have an asshole landlord who had told Freaky Eyebrows (because she called and told me how many times over the weekend??) that he was going to have it towed since it now didn’t have any license plates on it.  

My aunt had suggested junk car dealers, who usually start at about $250. Guess what? That’s a lie. I had started calling people the Friday before but nobody was calling back. One guy I called back, had even blocked my phone number. WTF! Its not like we went on a date. So by dark and after 3 calls from Freaky “reminding” me that the landlord was probably going to tow  the car like momentarily, I was stressed out to the max. Why? Because the next morning I was leaving for Roswell Cancer Center in Buffalo.

I finally called my mom at about 5:30, crying. We did briefly conspire to tow it over to my uncle’s to “hide” it, but AAA wouldn’t tow anything without plates. I finally just said “FORGET IT. FORGET EVERYTHING!” and cooked a microwave dinner. Just then the phone rang. It was the guy who had bought my last car, who works at my mom’s apartment complex. By then it was dark out. Him and his wife were out in my parking lot. So I ran outside.

Blah, blah, blah. My mother had told him not to cheat me out of my $300 asking price. His wife handed me $150. I took it. The end.

Don’t you wish you were me?

Anyhoo, the next morning I went over to my Art Friend “J”s house at 8:45. He had agreed to take me to Buffalo since, as mentioned I’m afraid to drive on highways. The trip was fine until we heard a very quiet…ding…ding…ding. “J” got off at a rest stop and checked under the hood. Everything looked fine. We got back on. ding…ding…ding. WHOOOOOSHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  A sudden huge cloud of smoke blew up from behind the car and then some billowing smoke  started to curl up from under the hood.

FUCK!

“J’s water pump was a goner about 25 miles outside of Buffalo and we were still about 40 minutes from the Cancer Center. “J” was incredibly level headed about the whole thing, but not me. I was having a meltdown inside. Neither of us had a cell phone, so he walked over to the side of the thruway where everyone was going about 85 mph and amazingly flagged down some trucker within about 5 minutes. We used the trucker’s cell phone. I called the hospital and he called a tow truck and I did something I probably wouldn’t have done five years ago. I accepted a ride from a total stranger.

Thank god he wasn’t like Jeffrey Dahmer’s brother or something.

So I got to the Cancer Center about an hour late. It didn’t really seem to matter. They just dovetailed me in.

The next part I’m a little embarrassed about. This world famous cancer doctor came in to talk to me about their chemo program and I was really rude to him. I didn’t know that that was  the reason I was there. A commercial for a chemo program. Why couldn’t they just have told me about it over the phone, god damn it. Don’t you know what I’ve just been through??? He smiled kindly and shook my hand and thanked me for coming to Roswell. And then two other chemo sales types came in and I was rude to them too, so much so that they called a social worker, because apparently I was having some kind of meltdown.

Really?

So I did talk to him for quite a while. I guess I felt guilty about my friend’s car breaking down, because by then “J” had called from the garage and they were going to keep his car over night and he would have rent a car to drive us home and then back to Buffalo the next day and I felt like the worst, blood sucking friend in the universe. The doctor told me I must have a lot of power to create so much chaos.

Ha ha ha ha! Yes, I do. So don’t piss me off, Republican Party.

“J” finally picked me up just after the hospital closed at 5:30. Did I know what he was driving? Hell, no…We didn’t have any cell phones! Remember?

(Incidentally, I am joining the Cell Phone Nation. My uncle is putting me on his Family Plan after hearing about my nightmarish adventure. So I guess I can’t make fun of people with cell phones anymore. 😦

We finally got on the Thruway to come home. I hadn’t really eaten anything since a bowl of cereal at 7:30 that morning, so we pulled off at a rest stop so I could get a sandwich. I had previously bought “J” a gift for his efforts…a little something long before I knew it was going to be such a sucktacular day. Since we’re both writers and artists, I had found him a used book called “Love and Art” with artwork and love poems. I made sure he knew it was for him AND his wife. (ahem)

Anyways, I was sitting there utterly exhausted, eating a sandwich,  as he  gingerly unwrapped the book. His face really lit up when he saw the cover. As he leafed through it, suddenly stopped, looked up at me and started reading me poems across the table. I felt so utterly touched, I almost started crying. I’ve never had anyone read me poetry aloud before. It felt so personal.

Thank you “J”. That made a really horrible day, just a tiny bit better.

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why do most of my doctors look like michael j fox?

October 3, 2009

In the last three weeks I’ve been to so many doctor appointments in so many places, with so many nurses and so many waiting rooms with so many crappy magazines (except for the last two which had the New Yorker) with so many people asking me for blood and to stand on scales and to lay quietly and  giving me bad news (yes, I do have cancer again) and making me feeling all tired and handing me large folders full of information about cyber knives and them wanting to send me to a cancer center in Buffalo even though my car looked at me and sarcastically said, “Buffalo….you’re kidding, right?”

The fact that my car talks should be scary enough.

And then there was that huge fight with “L” the Hippy Chick two days before my lung cancer biopsy. I was a wreck waiting to go to the hospital, so I had been trying to fill my days with fun, relaxing activities so I wouldn’t think about the upcoming medical “event”.

For instance, I went to my favorite artsy/hippie festival the weekend before.  My art group had a tent set up and I mostly hung out there since  I had been feeling really tired lately. But I did walk around a little to see all the lovely whack-a-doos  in my town. Artists. Belly dancers. Musicians. Hippies. Flower Children…

And even Republicans trying to shake our hands, like they liked us.

For me, the argument had actually  briefly started the day before. I had parked quite a ways from the center of activity mainly because, well shit, there were no parking places any closer. Do you think I would park a half mile away if I could park 20 feet away?  So I offered “L” and her grandson a ride home like I always do. I have no problem giving people rides. None. I do it all the time.  If I’m lucky enough to have a working car, why not help people out….right?

 So “L” was spouting off angrily about something. I had sort of tuned it out for the first time ever. Why? Because I was still  grooving off the good vibes of the happy hippy day. Then she says, “Well, if I had known your car was this far, I would have just walked home!”

I bit my tongue on that one, but decided to take the high road. So I offered to go get the car and pick her up, but no, no, no, she said,  I’ll make it…somehow (groan).

Anyways, the next day I went to an art event up at the university in their lovely  art gallery. It was very relaxing and pleasant and quiet. We didn’t have a huge turn out, but we were sitting amongst a very famous painter’s artwork  drawing a model and I was incredibly relaxed. Which was good. And also the reason I went.

And then “L” shows up with her grandson who’s 7. And suddenly she was chatting loudly. Joking with the model. Her grandson was running amuck around the galleries. “D”, who was running the session, tried to give him some paper to draw on, but after about 5 minutes, he was running around once again. “L” wasn’t doing anything about it, as usual.

At the time, instead of drawing the model, I was actually attempting to draw one of the famous paintings. Silly me. Anyways, suddenly out of the corner of my eye, I see the grandson walking around with what looked like a pencil. He looked at me coyly and then turned around and started making a stabbing motion at the painting. I totally freaked out. This painting is probably worth about $80,000. So I leaned over and whispered, “Please don’t do that!” So he runs back over to “L” and I could hear some loud whispering and then some whimpering. Great. I made the kid cry.

We finally finished up around 3 and went outside. I offer her and her grandson a ride home but warned that it was about 5 blocks to my car since I couldn’t park on campus. “L” suddenly got absolutely  livid and started doing this loud mock talking to “D”, as if I wasn’t there and then stalked off. WTF? Ok, fine. Whatever. 

So “D” and I started walking to our cars and I’m blowing off a little steam about how weird she was acting and and then suddenly at the first red light she jumps in front of us and sarcastically wishes “D” a “Good Day” and just glares at me. I told her I hope she had a good day too. It was just getting too weird. Then she disappeared again. “D” and I walked together another 2 blocks and he went up that street to his car and then suddenly there was “L” again…yelling at me at the top of her lungs in the middle of a busy thoroughfare.  I just kept walking.

I’m really pretty innocuous in real life. Very quiet. Not someone to pick fights. And here is this woman, who I’ve been friends with for 5 years screaming all this crap at me. I finally yelled, “I’m going in for a cancer biopsy tomorrow. I went today so I could relax. Can you please stop yelling at me?” And then there was a brief silence and then she yelled something to the effect that “We all have to go sometime. That’s just how life is.” By then I started crying. How could anyone say that to someone going in for a cancer biopsy?

She then yelled after me 3 times…”What time?” I yelled back 7 a.m.” but evidently she couldn’t hear me because by time I got to the street where my car was,  she screamed at me that I was just like her last friend she just lost. That was I abandoning her. Needless to say, I cried all the way home.

Fortunately, not ALL my art friends are lunatics because on Tuesday, my dear friend Charlemagne did pick me up (I think Guardcat told you that) for my hospital visit.  And he does give good hug. You know you do, you cute little Frenchman!

And then in some weird stroke of fate or synchronicity, I was shopping at Target the next week and who do I run into AGAIN? Married Guy. Yup. Right there in the pet food aisle. Something keeps throwing us together. When he saw me the first words out of his mouth were, “You look really pale.” Oh wait, no, he first said, “How come everytime I see you, you’re shopping?” and I said, “Because I’m a rich housewife in *********” Ha, ha, ha. Irony. Love it. Both the rich part and the wife part. So anyways once we both bought our stuff we went outside and I told him about my lung cancer and he looked pretty stricken.  And then he offered help. And then I stupidly went to his wifie’s art show that Friday night. Do I want to see him again? Yes. Absolutely. I’m going through some really rough times  right now and I really need some people to lean on.  He gave me his cell phone and said to call him anytime. Whether I’ll actually be able to, remains to be seen.

Anyways, back to the doctor part,  evidently doctors don’t necessarily talk to each other. I now have about 4 or 5 of them. And except for the hottie oncologist, they all look like Michael J. Fox, especially the one I saw today who told me I’ll be getting something called Cyberknife, which is some kind of high intensity radiation in 3 or 4  lengthy sessions.  I’ve been worried because October is my busiest art month, but it looks like I’ll be able to get most of my events in, before I collapse into a pile of glowing radioactive wittykitty goo towards the end of the month. That is way better than the original suggestion of a serious, big ass surgery though, and I’m happy about that. Of course, ask me about that when I’m sleeping 23 hours a day around October 23rd.

Oh, by the way, “L” the Hippie Chick didn’t talk to me last week in my art group, but she did this week. Pretty much everyone in my art group now knows I have cancer. And for some reason as Sci-Fi Guy and “L” were walking me out Wednesday, she started asking me if the doctors had given me a length of time I was expected to live. She just kept asking me that over and over.  It was really starting to upset me.  When you’re dealing with this kind of stuff  you really don’t want to think about that, you’re supposed to think about your survival. I finally practically yelled I didn’t know and just asked her to pray for me. And then she mentioned she knew of a prayerline- on the phone with the numbers 666 in it.

WTF? Am I really that bad? I know one thing, I’m never correcting anyone’s kids ever again!

This is me right before my biopsy on September 15th. I’m so 666, dont’cha think?

Guardcat writes another note for witty’s ambivilent blog behavior

September 13, 2009

Dear Ms. Blogenstein:

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

Sincerely, Guardcat.

now I remember why I’m a neurotic recluse

August 16, 2009

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, I think so too.

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

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

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

I’m much funnier in print obviously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ummmmm?!?!?!

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

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

See, that’s what friends are really about.

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

 

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.”

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…

365.3/125 Man-paint Bokah 

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

a note for my teacher

July 22, 2009

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

June 27, 2009

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…

June 11, 2009

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

May 31, 2009

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?”

SODWitkinandBarb2

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.

why it feels good to be believed in

May 11, 2009

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

really?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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