2005-02-11 @ 12:31 a.m.
For the last two or three weeks I have been timidly calling massage therapists around town. I, of course, lost mine back in September due to the fact that I stupidly fell in love with him. It was Married Guy of course and I used to generally get about 2 massages a month. Of course, I had to “earn” them and earning them involved doing tasks for him. He never kept track of that. That was my job and he trusted that I would never cheat on him. Heh. Would never cheat on him. I was just laughing at that part. Nope, I never cheated on him. Yay me.
So I’ve been without a massage for four months now. And after having them for 5 years, ya kinda miss them. So I’ve been calling all these local massage therapists. Unfortunately, I’ve been getting nothing but voice mails and I have been leaving messages. Lots of them. But have any of them called back? NONE. NADA. ZIPPO! And then I started getting a complex (wow. first time!!) Like I started to wonder if Married Guy had put out some kind of wittykitty APB to all the local male LMTs. Like DON’T massage this chick...She’s trouble. I was even starting to wonder if they were checking their caller IDs like, Whoops, there she is again. Better not answer that.
So finally on Wednesday, when I was trying out yet another laundromat (I’m truly addicted to laundering), I decided to actually go to a massage place. I figure there was no way to escape if I walked through the door. So I went to this place down on J Street. Just walked in. The door wasn’t locked. There were two massage rooms and I could hear talking in both of them. It was then that I was greeted by a little honey colored Wire Haired Terrier and it totally licked me into submission. And yes, that is probably the only time you’ll ever read that phrase in my diary....licked me into submission. The dog was awfully cute though, although once it had licked me, it almost immediately went back to sleep, like oh a burglar, better take a nap. So I sat in the office for a half hour before an older woman emerged from one of the massage rooms. She didn’t seem startled to find me there
So be forewarned...wittykitty the husband stealing massage slut WILL be on the job Saturday at 11.
Wednesday night was Mardi Gras Night at my art class. It was snowing like hell when it came time to leave, and I was really nervous about driving in it, but, hey, Mardi Gras Night....free colored beads! New Orleans music! Naked people! What’s not to get excited about? UnfortunateIy I left so early to compensate for driving like an old lady (i.e., slow), that I got there before anyone else except our Fearless Art Leader. But I knew it would be a busy night, because its usually one of our biggest nights of the year since it has a theme.
And with it comes special models. Or at least we can hope. ”L” was scheduled and I had mixed feelings. I had gotten kind of burned out on her last year. She had been a frequent poser and while kind of pixishish, I had gotten bored with her. She has a nice body and all, but she’s not very creative visually. But now that she’s been gone for a while and cut off all her curly hair, she had a new look, so she was once again deemed interesting. Yay “L”.
The art party finally started about 7:10. “L” did need a little prompting though. Our Fearless Art Leader had brought in a bunch of colored Mardi Gras beads and masks and I had to (ahem) suggest to “L” that perhaps she should maybe play “dress up” with some of the masks and beads. Our usual special event model “S” always just innately knew to put on the weird feathered masks and to drape 300 pairs of colored Mardi Gras beads over her breasts like some dazed extra from “Eyes Wide Shut” without asking. You could immediately feel the current of excitement, mainly amongst the men, when she did that. Put the silver mask on. I mean, half masks, shielding the eyes always make for a kind of kinky vibe, I think.
Now aren’t you glad witty was there as Creative Director?
During the break, we had a chance to chow down on some Dirty Rice New Orleans style and prepare for our twice a year photo. We always take, what I guess can only be described as our Class Photo for our art class. All the artists gather on the staging area, do something silly or outrageous and then our Fearless Art Leader takes our picture and then we all stand around momentarily and congratulate ourselves about how fabulous we all are.
Of course getting 20-25 people to stop eating Dirty Rice New Orleans Style and get their asses over to a staging area is not easy, because, well, artists 1) resent authority 2) like to eat FREE food 3) may be notoriously shy, but may have a burst of creative energy which involves either public nudity or incendiary devices.
I’m not sure why, but I had used my cell phone during the break, so I brought my cell phone in for the photo as sort of a joke. I hate cell phones. I should have probably smashed it and made a mosaic or something, but its not mine. It belongs to my employer. I also wanted to stand near “K”, my second possible art class husband. He seemed unwilling to come up near the front, despite the plea for “short people” to be near the front. Gee, some people are so sensitive. I had also wished that Charlemagne the Obnoxious French Guy had been there. I knew he would have done something
But we finally got all arranged. Or as arranged as a bunch of scattered brained artists can get and Fearless went to shoot the picture...Dead batteries. Fruck. But then some nearby college student said he had some AAA batteries on him (mine were home in the vibrator, but bygones), so then we had to wait around for a couple of minutes for the loading of said batteries and then get all arranged again. This time though, one of the artist, a very cute guy, who I can’t even consider because he’s way cute and way young, decided to stand with his back to the camera and have a mask on the back of his head. I thought, go for it. Your ass is awesome with a capital “A” (not that I was looking or anything). And then “K”, the Professional Artist Guy and “J” were all doing some melodramatic tomfoolery around the back of him. I couldn’t quite see, because I was busy calling my talent agent on my cell phone when the picture was being taken. Ha! Me on a cell phone. Priceless!
This morning it was off to “A”s office for our Thursday group. It had been snowing heavily all night so I decided to take the bus(es). I had tried to find someone to take me and made two calls to two people last night, but one wasn’t home and the other said no. Can you imagine? Saying no to me? Well, yes witty. Because basically everyone says no to you unless you have something they want. Which therein, was where I made my mistake. Calling women. Ok. Got it.
But group was pretty good even though I was really tired (getting on the bus a little after 7 a.m. for a 9 a.m. group made my eyes droopy). As usual, as I sit here 12 hours later, I can’t really remember much of what went on in group. “A” talked quite a bit, as he usually does. He’s very interesting to listen to and seemed particularly reflective today. The only thing that really made an impression on me (meaning the only thing my drug addled brain can remember) was that he said he thought that two people who have similar diagnoses (like say two bipolars) shouldn’t be together. So I really tried to pin him down, like, well, what kind of person SHOULD a bipolar be with? Details...details!! This made Mysterious Paul laugh for some reason. At least I accomplished something before 10 a.m. today. Making someone laugh.
But most of the group was centered around our latest addition, Hershel...someone who “A” is once again (cough) urging me to consider as a date mate. But this guy, well, lets just say if we were in the Neurotic Olympics, I’d come in second. And remember last week when I compared him to Charles Grodin? Well, I was merely missing out on the fact that he sounds and acts more like Al Franken. Yeah. I mean, he doesn’t necessarily look like him (because he looks like a dad from a 1970’s sitcom. Ya gotta lose that beige sweater vest, dude), but he is funny. Good for you “A”. You finally delivered me someone funny. I just don’t know if I could tolerate all the angst if what you said about two people being similar doesn’t make a good match. Also visually, I find him repellent. Sorry. 1970 sitcom dads in sweater vests just don’t do it for me. I’m funny that way.
After group I asked Mysterious Paul for a ride over to the mall. I intended to go to the movies before my afternoon group, and didn’t want to stand out in the snowstorm on East Genny if I didn’t have to. And he was happy to oblige although he was obviously nervous about having such a shimmering goddess in his car. Hey hon, you’re a 30 something man with a 40 something woman in your car. It’s the home court advantage.
It was only about a 5 minute ride, but we had the kind of conversation you have on first dates...all kind of stilted and artificial. We were talking about movies, which seems to be something we have in common, and he used some big word (he’s studying to be a professor at the local university, I believe). I guess he was trying to impress me with his braininess. I was mainly just trying to remember the last damn movie I saw. (“Sideways”...damn. Why couldn’t I remember that this morning? Oh yeah, I was nervous too, as in being in a car with a 30 something guy. Or even a guy. Or even a person who wasn’t my mother). Argghhh! (Ok, maybe I would win the Neurotic Olympics, but not by much. Honest!) I also rather boldly and blatantly extended an offer to come to the opening of my art show in March. Its not like I said, hey baby come to my house and pick me up. I merely mentioned the time and dates for him to come see pictures of nude people.
Too much you think for a first car ride? Perhaps. :-)
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty