2004-07-01 @ 12:13 a.m.
|I hadnít been to art group with the Crazy Crazies for the last couple of weeks, and since this may be the last week I can do it, you know, since I
And yeah, if youíre confused about whether Iím doing this or not....so am I!! (uproarious laughter in the background)...its so much fun being a bipolar on the loose. whee! And to think somebody wants to put me in charge of kids. Iíll either be loads of fun, or one of the kids will fall through a rabbit hole and end up like Alice in Wonderland, talking to Cheshire cats and having tea with the Queen of Hearts. I really hope its ME though, since I could really use a break from reality about now.
Where was I now? Oh, art with the Crazy Crazies! Naturally when I walked in I got scolded for being a stranger the last two weeks. I of course, had to deny all wrong doing and say ďQuitícher whining. Wittykitty has returned. Letís do art!Ē
Today I was joined by two of the most Elvis Loving-Cowboy Hat Wearing, Pictures of Wrestlers Decorating my Bedroom - Interview Me Cuz My Trailer Park Just Got Sucked Up in a Tornado Mother and Daughter team ever-- Tammy and Pammy. Mom looked pretty spiffy with her boobs neatly tucked into the waistband of some incredibly filthy pink polyester stretchy pants. Also not much need for dental floss...this one. Her daughter did fair slightly better in the teeth department, but I was thinking she was probably the first girl who got knocked up in junior high. I had a really hard time understanding her. She talked like a three year old child. I think maybe her cowboy hat was on a little too tight, and was cutting off circulation to something vital.
But hey, Iím all for diversity in the art group. I helped set everything up. The girl wanted watercolors and mom wanted pencils. I had my usual pastels. One of the directors of the center kept bringing in more and more art supplies for the girl and I knew this was confusing her, so I told her I would help them if they needed anything else. Like ix-nay on the additional art supplies.
And then for the next hour, it was the stupid marathon. Now I am not making any judgements here. But these two ladies did nothing but say...Iím gonna to draw a bird....Oh this is stupid. Iím gonna to draw a frog...Oh this is Stupid. Iím gonna to draw an tyranosaurus...Oh this is stupid!
Once in a while the daughter would jump in and tell her mother not to ďdissĒ her art, but then sheíd turn around and say the same thing for about the hundredth time. I really donít like hearing people saying bad things about their art work, even if its shit, so Iíd say encouraging things, like, well, everyone has their own style, or that was a nice color. They seemed slightly uplifted by my comments.
The young girlís final drawing was a ladybug from outer space. How did we know it was from outer space? Because she accidentally drew four antennas on its head and I suggested that maybe it was receiving signals from Mars and both her and her mother thought that was just hilarious. I nearly got invited to their house for a viewing of the velvet Elvis painting over the 8 track player in the rumpus room.
Tonight was my figure drawing class and My God, if I ever needed an inspiration for a diet, this was it. We had our first truly Plus Size Model. Whoa Momma! Yowza! Now I am a plus size girl...somewhat (size 12). Iíve lost 45 pounds in the last two years, so Iím slightly less than Plus Size now. But this model was like my potential future, if I keep going to McDonald and eating McFlurries and buying M&Ms every day. She was probably about 54 years old, and weighed in at probably about 300 pounds.
Ok, so by 54, its not news, your boobs are sagging big time. Her stomach was resting fully on her knees when she sat. And her pubic area was so huge, it practically had its own zip code. And what was interesting, was during break I went around and looked at everyoneís work, and NOBODY drew her pubic area, like it actually looked. I did.
Other than that, the class was pretty mundane. We were locked out when we first got there. The model had shut the door and we were all standing around outside the building trying to get the attention of Johnson through closed windows and air conditioning. One person was whistling for him. Another guy was throwing pebbles up at the second story window. But guess who was the smartest and most excellent of them all?
If you are guessing Miss Wittykins, you are right. I walked around to the other side of the building and there was a wrought iron fire escape, so I just climbed up there and rapped on the window 5-6 times and the door was opened by the model (Johnson was running around setting up the room, probably wondering why it was 7 p.m. and there was NO ONE THERE!!!)
Heh, heh. See, I am good for something.
I also chatted with this old hippie chick that is there every week. I think she probably is the antithesis of a hippie in 2004. Sheís 59, tie dye shirt, long dark hair, Birkenstocks, and you just know she probably has a few dozen pot plants out in her yard at home...for medicinal purposes.
Anyways, at break I had told her a story about having had put tacks on the hammers of my piano keys once when I was a kid. I had been listening to some old honky tonk piano music on a record and thought, hey I can do that, and then did it when my mom was gone from the house one day. I wanted to surprise her. The only surprise anyone got however, was that she was pissed that I had pressed tacks into my piano hammers, and no matter how wonderful it sounded, she made me take them off immediately without even listening to the cool sound it made.
So this old hippie lady was totally delighted with that story, and we chatted on and off during the night. And even though she is a hippie, she loves Broadway tunes like I do, so we decided we were going to try and make Johnson play Broadway music during our figure drawing class. But when we presented him with this glorious idea, he just kind of wrinkled his nose like we had just presented him with Limburger Cheese.
I mean, canít you just see a model striking an Evita pose during, ďDonít Cry For Me Argentina?Ē
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty