2005-04-09 @ 2:14 a.m.
So....I forgot to elaborate on riding in cars in men yesterday. Its not really something that has happened since the Married Guy days. He used to drive me around once in a while, while wifie was in a foreign country or something. “A” drove me home once when I was without transportation. I also went to the post office with him once. Hey, how many of you can say you went to the post office with your shrink? How freaky is that? Certainly grounds for postal tramatic stress syndrome.
So Thursday morning I had to practically wake up at the crack of dawn in order to catch the bus to get to A’s 9 a.m. group. I live in an odd location. I have to take two buses over the expanse of an hour and 45 minutes in order to travel 5 miles. Its like trying to get to San Francisco by way of Manhattan by way of Oklahoma City with a left turn at Queensland. I hate it. Plus I get to rub elbows with the elite on the Northside. Oh goodie! Crack whores at 7 a.m. If they look ugly at 2 a.m., they’re really fugly at 7:15 a.m. when they drag their sorry asses on the bus with their blouses cut down to there and their skirts cut up to there. Yes dear, if pap smears on buses were legal, we could all see you’re ready for yours. Especially since your skirt is so short, and its obvious that the on-ramp to the Garden of Eden is open for business.
Anyhoo. I finally got off the bus over on the yuppie side of town. I actually got off the stop before “A”s office because I hadn’t eaten anything and the bus was 35 minutes early. So I hit the yuppie grocery store. I just bought a bottle of orange juice. It’s funny how 1/5 of a mile, suddenly seems like 3/4 mile when you’re walking. But that’s what happened when I walked towards “A”s office. Its a very heavily traveled street. There was lots of dirt and road salt being kicked up by the army of shiny SUVs emptying out of the suburbs. No wonder there’s a hole in the ozone over the Northeast. Damn yuppies. But I finally got to “A”s office. I went in thinking it was 9, but it was a little early. One other time I walked in early and “A” yelled at me about boundaries or something. Hell, I think it was just because my watch was wrong. He later told group I got there early so I could sit next to him. And I was like oh geeze. Shrinkster’s pet. Not really though. So I told “A” about my faulty brake situation. I hadn’t even told him about my car not starting over the weekend. As usual a new mode of transportation was discussed, but since I’m like just one step above the fugly bus crack whore on the financial ladder, a new Passat really isn’t an option.
The rest of the group finally started filtering in. I, of course, was protecting my seat next to the ever effervescent “A” with a fierce tenacity. You know...Shrinkster’s Pet. Ha. Nobody noticed. They just know its MY seat now. I’ve got’em trained, ya see.
Group was kind of weird. One woman is just involved in her very first relationship via a match on Match.com. And I have never seen her happier. I’m happy that she’s happy. She's a nice girl. She deserves to be happy. But now she’s excessively happy. You know, like when people are first in love and they want to skip across fields of daisies. You know, much to the annoyance of those of us who aren’t in love yet. I mean, I don’t want to squash her enthusiasm in any way. It just made my life seem especially bleak. And maybe it was a really, really good motivational tool. I really don't know.
And then a second person in group just got a new job. Yeeks. Two cheerful people. All in a 24 hour period. Sensory overload. Warning, warning. I’m just not used to being around cheerful people. They are very suspect. Its like they just kicked their way out of a large space pod like in “Invasion of the Body Snatchers”. I guess with all the never ending drama in my other support group, where nobody ever gets well (except you and I “D”), I’m kind of at a loss at how to assimilate people picking themselves up by their boot straps and attempting to be happy.
Of course a lot of it has to do with the continual pummeling by “A”. If James Brown is considered the hardest working man in show business, “A” is certainly the hardest working man in shrinkdom. He just never gives up on people. He’ll occasionally get pissed off if you give up on yourself, and then he’ll make your life a holy, living hell. ha, ha “A”, just kidding. That was your other birthday present...a little joke in wittykitty’s diary!! Man, am I ever in trouble.
Anyways, things did finally even themselves out when Mysterious Paul talked. He’s still pretty bummed out by things. But he still had his usual sardonic things to say. I was actually sitting on the Sardonic side of the room on the couch of Sardonia. Because it was Mysterious Paul, me and “C” who also has a rather stinging sense of humor. Her and I were being catty together. One of the cheerful twins made a comment about not wanting to be near redheads and “C’ is a redhead, so we joked about that. We made Mysterious Paul defend the singlemindedness of men in regards to their endless pursuit of women. He admitted that his sex were indeed “simple creatures with only one thing on their minds”. Anyways, aside from his sadness, I still like him and asked him if I could get a ride back to town. He said yes. And anytime I can avoid riding on Ghetto Transit, I’m all about that.
Our conversation went a lot better then the first time we were in his car together. I was still on a high from my fun with Charlemagne the night before and feeling pretty sassy. He’s extremely bright and I think he wants to impress with his intelligence. He really doesn’t have. Its just me. So we were driving down (cough) the street where he lives. Yeah. Remember when I was stalking him about a month ago? I had looked him up on the internet and found out where his apartment was. So suddenly we were coming up where his apartment was and I was wondering if he was going to furtively check out his building as he drove by. And I wondered if I should say, “Gee, what a charming old building. I bet the bedrooms in that old building have exposed brick.” Of course, than he would veer off the road and crash into some parked cars, since what I was saying, would be exactly what his apartment looked like. So I didn’t. I had already escaped one almost vehicle mishap for the week, and I didn’t want to take this nice young man with me. So he graciously dropped me off at my office and almost smiled. It was really quite thrilling.
After my seminar on interpersonal effectiveness (got it, baby!!), I took Ghetto Transit home and took a brief nap and washed my hair in preparation for my painting class. Since I was without a car with working brakes, my case mgr. had arranged for a cab to take me to my class. I briefly thought about my support group which was starting at 4 p.m. I had sent the facilitator an e-mail telling her I wouldn’t be back, and felt a slight twinge, but by and large, I mainly felt relief at avoiding Drama Central. And hey, I was heading to my painting class with the hottie artist teacher. What could be better?
The cabbie, who looked a lot like Michael Moore, showed up right on the button. I was feeling unusually talkative and was actually cracking the guy up by time we were nearly at the school. I may be funny in print, but I am usually very reserved in person. But I was just a regular Henny Youngman. The guy even turned to me and said, “I really like you. You’re funny.”
Hey, if you can sew up the cabbie constituency, you can take over the world.
Unfortunately, in my anxiety about the cab being late, I had ordered it really early. So when it arrived on time, and he got me there quickly...I got there nearly 40 minutes early. Good going witty! So I wandered the halls. I had gone to school there about 10 years ago to learn how to be a graphic artist. But unfortunately, there was nothing artistic about my education. It was merely a generic nuts and bolts junior college type setting which taught people how to use QuarkXpress and a tiny bit of Photoshop. I was the first person in the class of 18 to secure a job. Yay me!
I finally went and stood by the classroom door. I was then joined by my absolute favorite classmates. The nincompoop laughing hyenas girls. OMG, if they are like so annoying I wanted to commit homicide when they sat way across the room during the class, you can only imagine what it was like to stand right next to them as they were braying and guffawing and snorting like two caffeinated 12 year olds at a slumber party. All I have to say is its a good thing I had returned my pallet knife to Michael’s, otherwise I’d be writing this from prison for burying it in Hyena #1’s left aortic ventrical.
The hottie teacher didn’t get there until about 6:59 AND A HALF. I walked in and took my seat, while Dumb and Dumbest perched over on the other side of the room. They then decided they were going to draw....wowsie...a heart....gah...inside a box. How did I know? Could it be because she stood up and announced it to the class and then collapsed into a puddle of giggling middle aged stupid-o-sity?
So, I was sitting there glowering, getting all my supplies out, kind of quietly plotting some kind of art class armageddon. Maybe play some Wagner, strap on some body armor and lob sharp instruments at everyone whose IQ was below 40. I mean how could it get any worse....how could it get any worse??
And suddenly I hear, “I gotta be Meeeeeee.....I GOTTA be MMEEEEEEEEE”. Yeah, suddenly Shit for Brains #2 is doing karaoke. The only problem is....dipshitski...this is an art class at a junior college, not Strike N Spare karaoke night. Man, I just about ran up over the table and speared her forehead with one of the table legs. I have never, ever seen anyone as obnoxious as these two women...ever...in the universe...in the history of the world, Part Two, as directed by Mel Brooks. Fuck. Take some premarin, bitches.
You know, its one thing to have a little fun in a class. Perfectly acceptable. That’s why you take a class to have fun. Well, not me. I actually want to learn something. I know...party pooper! But these women acted like they were in their den during a drunken New Years Eve party. They were loud. Boorish. And just plain obnoxious.
The teacher was very nice to them, but they kept interrupting him by talking like babies. No really. Like ga, ga, goo, goo. Poo, Poo. Do woo wuv me?? And he really couldn’t say more than about three or four sentences without them either cracking up with each other or joking with him. On the first two nights of the class, he was a pretty good sport about it, but last night, he didn’t interact much with them. He was in some kind of physical pain and was kind of limping around and grimacing. I felt bad for him. He said he had to get up in the morning and travel to a nearby town and paint a mural on a building and that the project was going to take a few days.
Really though, the best news of the night came with the Dumsy Twins finally left a little early. I was like besides myself with joy. And I was even happier when the teacher was asking them if they were coming for the last week of class and they said NO. And I was like:
I was so totally thrilled. And the painting that I had been working on for the whole night, suddenly got immensely easier. I was able to concentrate on it. I was able to see all the lights and shadows. I was able to feel the emotion.
I had drawn the initial image really quickly. As a matter of fact, the teacher was really shocked. He was slowly walking around the room, giving advice to the various students, and he had only gone around once, and when he got to me, I had the entire picture drawn in less then 10 minutes. He was startled. The old husband guy next to me said, “How did you draw that so fast?” I guess I didn’t realize it was fast. I’ve been taking my Wednesday night class now for about 16 months, and I think, drawing every week, especially the fast sketches, has really strengthened my drawing muscle. Of course, I think everyone draws fast because I see 15-25 people draw that fast every week.
I did get some help from the teacher, but not nearly as much as last week. I don’t know if it was because he was in pain, or because I was doing things right. He did repeatedly say my painting had a lot of motion in it. And like it was waaaaa-ay better than the heart in the box crapfest over on the other side. Ha, ha. He didn’t really say that. He probably was thinking it, but he didn’t say it. Anyways here’s my latest painting. Hope you like it.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty