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2004-09-12 @ 12:34 a.m.
why I wish my giant sunflower would eat that stupid freakin' squirrel

Meet Seymour, my 357 foot tall sunflower.

What? You don’t believe me? I grew him from a seed Married Guy gave me for my birthday in February. I actually planted a bunch of sunflower seeds out in the yard, but only three took. Two of them grew to gargantuan proportions and one of them was a mini-me out in a pot on the porch. And I’ve been pampering those damn things all summer. Talking to them, singing to them (mainly Beatles songs, like “Here comes the sun...”, oh never mind), and fertilizing them with some brand called Nu-Ku-lar Grow-Rite (direct from Crawford, Texas).

Anyways, about mid-July my Eye-talian landlady comes over during her garage sale to inquire about my little garden. She’s already nervous that I’m growing dinner plate sized morning glories. So, I have two four foot high sunflowers growing, right? Four foot high, ya picturing it? And she asks me, “Are those weeds?”

Like freakin’ hell woman, would I let a four foot high, 5 inch thick weed grow in front of my bedroom window?? I, of course, said no and explained that they were sunflowers. I was still pissed at her for ripping out a huge bed of peonies under my bedroom window when I was up at the Nanny Guy’s in early July. Sure its her property, but still. They had been really beautiful and lush and green, but when I got home there was nothing left but an ugly gash of bare earth. I cried.

But then again, I cry rather easily.

So I had been waiting and waiting for my sunflowers to bloom. And just this last week they had finally started to develop their rather large buds. And I was really excited. And I was going outside everyday to look at them. And admire them. And say nice things to them so they would get really big and look pretty and make me happy without the benefit of medication. And then one day I went out, and one of the flower heads was completely missing and the other one was ripped in half.

You rat bastard fucking squirrel

Anyways, you know who you are. And you can be damn sure my lawyer will be contacting your lawyer, you little gray fuzzy dickhead. Grrrrr!

*******
So a true test of your affection for someone is if you are willing to get up before 8 a.m. for them on Saturday.

Ding! Married Guy - 10 points. Yeah, I’m an idiot.

Today he was running in a half a marathon. He’s totally capable of running a whole marathon, but only a half one was offered, so he signed up. Kidlet was also there running in a mini-marathon, so he could do something with his Dad. The event took place down at my favorite lake where I walk nearly every day in good weather, so it was no big thing to get down there, even if it was in the A.M. Unfortunately, as usual, I didn’t get all my information straight, so I showed up at the wrong end of the lake. But by then it was too late to drive to the other end to catch him as he started the marathon, so I just mosied down the path. I figured I’d run into runners eventually.

Walking along the path I was attempting to make eye contact with people. I had, after all, promised “A” that I would “scan the horizon for men without wedding bands” this week. It was kind of like homework, but I’m not very good at it. I guess because whenever anyone cute comes along, I always look at the ground. Good goin’ witty. When’s the wedding?

I did have this one short, bald guy talk to me though. It must be “National Bald Guy Talk to Witty Week”, because this is like the second third bald(ing) guy to talk to me this week. I must be sending out some kind of organic “I want to kiss your chrome dome” vibe or something. This guy was definitely less threatening then the one in the laundromat, but still kind of a loser. Oh yeah, I forgot, I’m like on the verge of loserdom too, as I sail into my Fifteenth Year of No Dates.

I finally got to the first marathon turnaround. I had brought my camera with me, since Married Guy’s family is about the closest thing to a family I have, so I like to take pictures of their events. I finally saw kidlet running towards me, and I called out his name and he turned, I snapped a picture, and then he ran on. Tonight when I talked to Married Guy, kidlet said he never saw me today. I guess he was “in the zone”.

I then waited and waited for Married Guy to come running by, and it seemed odd that he was taking so long. He had joked yesterday that he would probably be at the back of the pack, but by now it was like 90 year old women and fat guys with goiters. I finally asked the people who were manning the half-way point what could have happened to someone and it turned out I was only at the mini-marathon turnaround, and that the half-a-marathon marker was still another half mile down the road. Oy!

So I walked the half mile and then I got to see the real runners. Or at least the half-a-marathon runners. The manly men. Men in shorts. Woof! And there were certainly a lot of nice bodies running by. And I certainly didn’t mind waiting for Married Guy. And it was interesting to see the varying states of sweat and exhaustion the runners were in. Some were panting. Some weren’t (at least audibly). Some were barely sweating. Some were so drenched that they looked like they had swum there. Some of the older men seemed to be in better shape than the younger men. And there were very few women.

Hey girls, it was only a half marathon!

But I finally saw Married Guy running towards me. He didn’t really know if I was going to be there and probably thought that since I wasn’t at the starting gate, that I had blown it off, but there I was...Groupie Extraordinaire with camera in hand. I called out in his name, and unlike kidlet, he immediately heard me, smiled and waved. I took a quick picture as he breezed by and then when he went around the turnaround, I went to take another picture, and he did this incredibly looney Baryshnikov ballet leap and I was like WTF? Yeah, he was showing off for ol’ Witty. Kind of like, I’m 47 years old, but I can still jump like a caffeinated gazelle at the 8 mile mark of a marathon. Whee!

Yeah, I (heart) Married Guy.

(whoops, sorry “A”, I forgot I was supposed to be scanning the horizon for guys without wedding bands. I promise I’ll start tomorrow).

I went and got the film developed afterwards with a coupon that expired today. Neither picture came out particularly well (it was a throw-a-way camera), but at least I have them and will probably give them to him tomorrow when I go out to his house for a bar-b-que.

The roll of film did produce some other nice pictures though. The sunflower pic. Some cute kitty pictures that will probably show up here in the future.

And then a picture of your gracious hostess.

Now this was taken last week up at Married Guy’s house, so I had to do a little Photoshopping in order to blur out his house. I don’t particularly want to give away his identity. And if you’re wondering why the hell all those flowers are pouring out of my uterus, that was where his dog was sitting. I didn’t want to have a picture of his dog in my diary either.

But then after I did my Photoshop trickery, I realized that it looked a little funny. The position of the hand over the vaginal area. I mean, it looks like a promo for "Suzy Slutsky’s Guide to Self Pleasuring".

But it was still a nice photo. I liked it. I think I look fairly babelicious for a 46 year old. So you’ll just have to get over the hand part, you pervs. I was, after all, just petting a dog.

Honest! :-)

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty

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