2005-01-27 @ 12:53 a.m.
I have this really strange habit. Its actually developed since I started writing in diaryland. Simply put, I have this uncontrollable urge to give "names" to everything.
I, of course, use pseudonyms in my diary. "A" is for my shrink, "Married Guy" is for, well, Married Guy. Unfortunately though, this has carried over into real life. I can't go anywhere or do anything without labeling a person or thing with a title.
Like today I noticed that my right front tire was low, so I went to the gas station to get some air. Unfortunately there was a car blocking the pump. Obviously the person was in the gas mart getting a Hostess cupcake to widen their already wide ass (how I ascertained this, I'm not sure), so I had to sit in the driveway, blocking the incoming traffic, looking at this stupid ass car straddling two parking spaces, blocking the air pump, which of course, was not good, considering I am Witty the Human Volcano this week.
So finally Wanda-the-Human-Asshat-Who-Blocks-the-Airpump-so-She-Can-Go-Buy-a-Hostess-Cupcake comes out. La, la, la. Oh. There's a lady waiting to get into the air pump. She's blocking all traffic coming into the gas station. The back of her car is hanging out into the street. She kinda looks pissed. Maybe I should hurry.
Yes, Wanda the-Human-Asshat-Who-Blocks-the-Airpump-so-She-Can-Go-Buy-a-Hostess-Cupcake, you should.
So, what does Wanda the-Human-Asshat-Who-Blocks-the-Airpump-so-She-Can-Go-Buy-a-Hostess-Cupcake do? She gets into her car and puts on her lipstick.
She finally pulled out, but only after calling 400 people and arranging her entire class reunion from her Nokia cell phone. I pulled up to the pump and went to put air in the tire and the tire had no cap. Ah ha! So that's the culprit!
So unfortunately, I had to head back down to the mini-mall, where I had just come from. I always feel like a total geek when I go into auto parts stores. I know very little about cars except how to check my oil (my Dad taught me) and how to start it. I guess I really should have thought ahead and unscrewed one of the other tire "thingies" and just asked for "one of those", because when I went up to the counter, and had to stand in front of the Mr.-Joe-Auto-Parts-Who-Hates-Stupid-Questions-From-Women Guy, I got all tongue tied. I just kind of shuffled my feet and said, "Well, I feel kind of stupid (shuffle, shuffle). I really don't know what its called....Ummm. That tire thing. You know, that thing where you put the air...the spigot".
(oh fuck...I just said "spigot" to the Mr.-Joe-Auto-Parts-Who-Hates-Stupid-Questions-From-Women Guy. He's really going to think I'm stupid now).
He looked at me contemptuously and then with the kind of pity a dog catcher might show a stray schnauzer, he said:
"It's called a tire vaul'va."
"A Vaul'vaaaaaaaa", he said rolling his tongue suggestively.
Was he being sexual? I've never heard the word valve in two syllables before. But he did bring me back to the Vaul'va section and I picked up a package of 4. Imagine...packaging them in packages of 4. Four vaul'vas, four wheels. How clever!
I had already been to that damn mall earlier that day. Have you ever noticed how they put the heaviest stuff at the very back of stores? Crimany!! We are just waiting for some mega snow and ice monstrosity to come through tonight and early tomorrow, so I decided to go get some rock salt. For those living in warmer climes, that is used to throw on sidewalks to melt ice. Unfortunately, the damn store that I went to, had their 25 pound bags, at the very back of the store. And they don't have any shopping carts. And I was already balancing my 23 pound Datebook, and my 12 pound purse, and some toilet paper and a mega heavy birthday card for my aunt. I finally ended up dragging the damn thing down the aisle. I kind of looked like Jack Nicholson in the final scene of "The Shining", where he is dragging his leg and pick ax behind him...ya know, drag....scraaaape, drag.....scraaaaape.
It was amazing at how all the men in the entire store ran and tried to help. NOT
I finally got to the counter, and had to voice my cheerful opinion to the clerk about how INCREDIBLY STUPID IT IS TO PUT 25 AND 50 POUND BAGS OF ROCK SALT 5000 YARDS FROM THE FRONT COUNTER. She ignored me of course, because that's what clerks do. Especially this one. Ms.-Clerk-Who-Smells-Like-Martha's-Stewart's-Jail-Bathroom. She scanned the first few items and then said, "I really smell don't I?" I did notice a kind of reeking smell as I was standing there, but didn't know what it was. She then told me she had just tried a perfume and stuck out her arm and said, "Smell this?"
"Errr, do I have to?"
"What do you think it smells like."
And honest to God, I told her I thought we were smelling the rock salt. heh, heh. Whoops. She kind of gave me a funny look, but then she appeared to be somewhat of a ditz-brain, so she stuck her arm up to her own nose once again and said, "Well, I think I smell like pine trees."
In reality, she smelled like an industrial prison bathroom cleaner, but bygones Ms.-Clerk-Who-Smells-Like-Martha's-Stewart's-Jail-Bathroom.
I went to my art class tonight. Originally it was supposed to start snowing around 5 p.m. which would have prevented me from going, but Mother Nature was being a sweetheart, at least tonight, so I was able to go. Yay!
Tonight's model is, I think, our all time fattest model. This woman probably weighs about 275 pounds. We don't see many of those. But what makes it a little weirder is that she's also a grandmotherly type too. She looks a lot like one of my mother's friends and for the longest time, when I first started drawing tonight, all I could think was "That's how Lily looks naked!" And than to take it even a little further, it was kind of like realizing how your mother looks naked. AHHHH, my corneas are burning!!!.
Fuck, I really need drugs now.
This woman though, is totally confident. She smiles a lot, which models don't usually do. And I got totally depressed drawing her, because I realized that's how my body is going to look in about 15 years (hopefully minus the extra 120 pounds).
There wasn't much on the Art-Man-Hunt front, although when the Professional Artist guy came in late tonight and smiled at me, I got all dizzy and nervous. It was the weirdest sensation. I momentarily felt like I was going to pass out. See how desperate I am?
There is this other guy who has been a regular for a while. He's nice looking. Fortyish. Blondish/red hair. A beard. Nice body(!!) He doesn't usually join into any conversations at the snack table, but tonight, this geeky art kid with a huge button thing through his lip, engaged him in a conversation. This kid is like Keanu Reeves in "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure". He talks to everyone and I guess he finally engaged this guy in a conversation about music. And that was when I heard the words..."Australian rap". I squinted my ears, if that's even possible, because the Blondie/Red Haired One was talking really softly, but damn if he didn't have one of those groovy Australian accents. Booo-ya! (did you send him over for me, Miss Hiss?
I had been subconsciously checking him out for about the last month, even out in the parking lot. One night we parked next to each other and he had a peace bumpersticker on his car and I was all about that. And then tonight, after his little conversation with Keanu, he walked by my table and did a real obvious peeky at my artwork. I only wish he'd do an obvious peeky at me.
But that is about all that happened tonight. No great pieces of art were produced, so no pictures. Sorry. Maybe next week. But I think you get a general idea of the Name Game that I have created. At least there were no casualties.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty