2005-03-14 @ 12:27 a.m.
You know, you kind of forget that not everyone is used to looking at nude drawings. I did. I met with my case mgr. Friday and rather than having our meeting at the office, I asked her if she wanted to go see my drawings at the gallery. Our show, which was supposed to run for two weeks, got cut by a week and I really wanted someone to see my work hanging. Someone. I mean, besides my mom. I did tell Mysterious Paul about it once again on Thursday, after "A"s group. I was even nervy enough to show him my picture next to the painting, so if he went, he would know which picture is mine, since they aren't identified in any way. He kind of shook his head silently, like I was giving him last minute directions for a dangerous mission. He's very serious, you know. But whether he ever hauled his cute hinie up there, I will probably never know. Its only about a mile from his house though, so there's no (ahem) excuse not too.
So "R" and I drove up to the gallery on campus. The lights were shut off, so I had to search for a switch. It was about then, that I realized she was kind of embarrassed by the whole thing. Eep. Sorry. She did look at all the paintings around the gallery, but she moved really fast. I was trying to tell her which artist I knew, etc., but she just kept moving. I guess I'm just so used to seeing naked people and naked drawings that I didn't even think about it. I guess I just wanted her to see them, because its her agency that pays for my art classes and even some of my art supplies.
On Saturday I CO-facilitated a group with "J". "J", who is a married Eye-talian guy, is really the only person I have connected with at my new job. He is funny, easy to talk to and I like to tease him, because he's fluttery and neurotic. We're going to be starting our own new group together next week. He's a nervous wreck though, wondering if it will be a success, but I think it will be.
Group was pretty much group. We had the Vincent Gardenia guy who virtually never stops talking. I used to be able to handle his incessant chatting, but now its really getting on my last nerve. Fortunately "J" is able to tell him to shut up in a polite way. But as usual, his subjects were all unrelated to anything. Like he'd be talking about his 1200th trip to the doctor and then insert, "And cedar waxwings are common in Virginia". Huh? He said that he had just phased off his psychiatric meds. Word of advice: Don't. Another woman was afraid of her shower. Then one of the other group attendees started flirting with me. Second word of advice: Don't. One crazy in the family is enough. And I know he had a hankering for some witty, because when he heard that I was going to be doing that other group with "J" he immediately signed up for it. Arg. See, this is why I don't like working with crazies. They think you'll go out on a date with them. You know, delusional stuff. In fact he's probably sitting home right now, wondering what I look like naked.
When we finally ended group at noon, we all left the building at the same time, since we have to put on our alarm system. Out front, "J" had to wait with one of the guys, who was hopefully going to be getting a ride from somebody whose phone number we didn't have. I told "J" I was on my way out to the "Y" and he said, "Oh my son is there today." And I asked what he was doing and he said probably something athletic like playing video games. He then looked at me and said, "He'd really like you, witty..." and before I could ask why, he said, "Because you're a pretty girl."
Man, two magical words. Pretty. And Girl. Yowza. Although, warning, warning Will Robinson, there is that married man flirting with me thing...AGAIN. Isn't that always the way? Always. Always. Always. And I've already done the married guy/son thing. Once was enough. And this isn't the first time "J" has flirted with me. He was also the one who thought I should be in charge of the "Sex and sexuality" part of our group, because....*you know*, wink, wink. Sheesh, is he ever barking up the wrong tree. Must be something about Eye-talian men. Or married men. Or.....arghhhhhh!
It was rather strange going out to the parking lot, because on the weekend its generally empty. But between the time I got there at 9:45 and noon, the entire lot had filled up and was overflowing. Why? Because our city was having its biggest parade of the year for St. Patrick's Day. And it was starting at noon. Originally I was just going to head out to the gym, but I thought, hey, its a nice day, sunny, almost warm (say 38 degrees), why not go check out the parade?
But I think all the street people who live downtown were pissed off that all the people from the suburbs were invading their territory. Like most downtown areas in medium sized cities, its a place suburbanites rarely visit. Except for parades with leprechauns and politicians and floats. So they, the street people, looked pretty scowly. Or more scowly than usual, although their opportunity to panhandle skyrocketed. I got nailed three times walking down about 2 blocks. Do I look like I have money? Hardly.
But soon the parade was in full swing. Our senator Chuck S. was walking along the parade route shaking hands. Some person behind me yelled out "What's up Chuck?" Yeah. Aren't we clever? People were actually already starting to act kind of jerky. I guess it was those big 40 ounce beers they were slurping up at three minutes past noon. Or possibly the seemingly obligatory I-want-to-look-stupid so-I'll-dye-my-hair green-for- the-parade thing. Married Guy did that last year. He painted his beard green. Usually he was a really cool guy, but the green beard thing looked really dumb.
There were street vendors about every 5 feet selling all that was Irish, like large pimp style hats that looked like a leprechaun barfed on them (i.e., shamrocks imbedded in fake fur), pins that said "Kiss me I'm Irish" (I actually already have one, but knowing my luck some wino would probably lunge for my lips), green tinsel wigs, green feather boas, sunglasses shaped like shamrocks, headbands with blinking leprechaun heads popping up off them. Oh how proud I was to be Irish, looking at all this crap.
And there was a lot of beer being sold along the street. And people had brought their own supply in Styrofoam coolers. Not sure why a parade with an Irish theme provokes so much alcohol usage. Oh, ok. I do know. Irish people are traditionally known to be alcoholics. Right. I get it. Moving on.
The parade was moving really slowly though. I walked about 4 blocks amidst the crowds (said to be around 65,000) and pretty much kept up with our glad handing senator. I tried to slip into open spots so I could see the parade, but people were being really loud and obnoxious. Some woman behind me, at one point, kept whistling to someone and yelling "HEEEEEEYYYYY!!!!!!!!" Once or twice would have been ok, but 17 times, no. I felt like Pavlov's dog on crack, wondering which whistle meant which command.
About the only real pleasure I got out of the parade, was seeing a rather striking Celtic looking man walking towards me in a plaid kilt. He even had a rather impressive sword hanging from his belt. Heh, heh. It kind of made me wonder about those shocking rumors that guys in kilts don't wear any underwear. Hmmm. So naturally, after seeing Braveheart and his impressive sword, I then had to push my way through the crowd everytime I heard bagpipe music coming down the street. Why? So I could check out all those kilted lads and wonder just how cool that breeze was on their shalleleighs. :-)
I also tried to get on TV, since this was being broadcast live. Didn't do the usual lighting myself on fire and yelling "Shish kabobs!!" I just got obnoxiously pushy when a cute camera guy was photographing the umpteenth little kid with a green hat on and I tried to like step on the kids head. Not sure if that was broadcast. But at least I tried.
I finally did get to the gym though. It was pretty empty. Gee, I wonder why? Oh, probably because everyone and their cousin was still down at the parade getting shit-faced and puking on the outdoor ice rink with green ice. But that only meant one thing to me...more treadmills to choose from. Yay!
When I got home there was the obligatory call from my mother, who had to bitch about the usual stuff. Her seating at the piano bar (I have actually asked her to stop talking about it, because its so damn boring. She has to get this certain table at the piano bar and she has to have the exact correct number of people there, otherwise the restaurant owner gets irate. So she talks about this endlessly, and I do mean endlessly and I start getting homicidal if it lasts for more than 20 minutes).
She also had a fight with some maintenance guy about the snow plowing. That is another boring subject. How she waits everyday to see if she has to move her car and then when she does, she has to wait for the plowing to be done and then she has to repark her car. Wow. Fascinating. I think the Discovery Channel should do a show about this. And then the third boring subject. The woman upstairs is so rude. She walks on her floor at night. And? That's it. That's all she does. But my mom is convinced that her dining room light is going to somehow come unhinged from the ceiling and come crashing down onto her dinner table. You know, because the woman is fat and the floor shakes. But she is afraid to complain to her, because the woman knows that my mom has two cats. Only one pet is allowed. So she thinks that the apartment complex will make her get rid of one of her cats she's had for 15 years. I keep telling her this is very unlikely. And besides, the two cats sit together in the front sliding door for everyone to see anyways. As in, hey Harvey, that woman over there has two cats. Lets call the corporate office in Podunk and turn her in. Bwahahahaha!
I once lived in a no pets apartment for a whole year with a cat. If anyone ever knocked on the door, I would just run and grab the cat and throw her in a closet out on my back deck. She'd usually freak out anyways, if someone was knocking on the door and just hide. But my mom is obsessed about someone turning her in. Obsessiveness runs in the family, you see.
Today was actually the best day of the week. I was a little worried because when I woke up, I was all congested. I usually always have at least one sinus infection every winter and I never had one this year. But I still did everything in my power to fight it off today. Drank orange juice, took aspirin, chewed on echinacea tablets and slept part of the afternoon. Other than a headache, I actually feel much better tonight. Maybe I beat it!
The reason, my day was so good though, was because my case mgr. had secured a $75 giftcard for me at Michael's. I'm taking a painting class starting on March 24 and they had sent me a list of supplies I needed for the class. The supplies which would have included acrylic paints, several canvases, a pallet knife and some brushes would have set me back about $40. I really don't have that kind of disposable income, so I got a little help from my case mgr. The last time they had helped me out, I had gotten a $50 giftcard, but when I opened it Wednesday and it was for $75 and, I was really psyched. Yay! $75 worth of art supplies. Woo hoo!
I had also told a woman in my survivor group about my gift card and she said she had a tax exempt card to buy art supplies with, because she works for a nonprofit agency which deals with children and learning. So I just waited till Sunday when the 40% off sale coupon came out, and I met her down at the store. So between the coupon and not paying any tax on my supplies, I probably saved about $15. Or rather, I had $15 more to spend. And of course, its always fun to go shopping when someone else is paying for it. I admit it. I'm a trophy wife just waiting to be adored by a guy with a VISA Gold card.
So my final haul included 2 frames, 2 16X20 canvases, a box set of Grumbacher acrylic paints, a new sketchpad, a pallet knife, and a new, larger paint pallet. I am now officially ready(!!!!) to learn how to paint!! Woo hoo!!
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty