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2005-04-14 @ 1:54 a.m.
dame edna and his love stick come out to play with the paranoid.


If God or Allah or Glinda the Good Witch or somebody from a reality show ever gives you a choice of mental illnesses, donít take paranoia, because that is the most god-awful illness you can ever have, especially if youíre imaginative like me. ha, ha. Iím very imaginative. And therein lies the problem. Iím so imaginative that I create elaborate scenarios. Like if a piece of paper blows across the sidewalk, suddenly that piece of paper was dropped by someone who was spying on me or someone who slashed my brake lines or someone who wants to do me bodily harm. Forget about the logic of that scenario. It just is.

For instance, I have a great deal of paranoia about my diary. Like alot. Like when suddenly my daily hits went from 30 a day to 155 and 124, respectively, in the last two days, I was totally convinced that Married Guy had found it and was on the way to my house to beat me into a bloody pulp. When I told my case mgr. about this, she suggested that I delete my whole diary. I was aghast. My diary is very important to me. To me thatís like asking a parent to delete their kid. I put a lot of effort into writing this everyday. Some of it, is to make it entertaining to read, but most of it, is to create a record of my life. Iím not exactly making a blazing path in real life, like discovering the cure for cancer or running a successful business or even being a parent. Iím only a neurotic woman who likes art, who wants to find love and who want my path to be recorded even if nothing much is happening.

What really started all this was seeing Married Guy on the TV news last week. Thatís what got me started talking about him again. I was just sitting all nice and comfy with Guardcat on the couch and suddenly there he was, being interviewed on the news and my stomach just dropped. I hadnít seen him since last October and I donít take surprises real well. I remember when I saw Zenshrink last summer, after our little incident, I shook for nearly ten minutes. And then I felt totally paranoid afterwards. So now Married Guy has been on my mind a lot. Could it be because heís thinking about me? Gee I donít know, witty, why would you think that? Because Iíve had a couple of strange things happen around the wittykitty hacienda (and beyond), the last couple of days and I donít know whether theyíre coincidental or paranoia.

Like yesterday for instance. I had finally got my car back, presumably with the brakes fixed (although they are still squealing like pigs in heat), and I had gotten home after a brief graphics job at work. I walked in the house and as soon as I set my purse down the phone rings. I ran into my bedroom to get it, because I always like to look at my caller ID. Its an old habit. And on the ID was this name where Married Guy used to call me from occasionally. It was not his cell phone. It was not his office phone. It was not his home phone. But it was from this marketing company just north of here. So I hesitated for a moment, knowing this, but I finally picked up the phone and said ďHelloĒ. And there was a long silence.....Click.

Shades of last October. I had this happen quite a few times when we were first parting ways. Calls from this number and then hang ups. But back then I wouldnít pick up the phone because I knew it was him. Today I just picked it up for kicks. And partially because I have like Alzheimerís Lite and I couldnít quite remember if this was the same number that he used to call me from, but Iím like 99.99% sure.

Fruck.

So I see this huge spike in my diary numbers. Get a hang up call from this oh-so-familiar number and then I went to my Wednesday night art class tonight. ha, ha. The big spike in my diary number was probably just some innocent, nice person interested in reading about my incredibly interesting life. Yeah. Thatís it. Gosh, even being a stats whore, I was still nervous about someone reading my diary. Go figure.

Anyways, so I headed over to my art class. I knew that Mark the Exhibitionist Male Model was going to be there tonight and he is always interesting. Heís a local judge (!!!), heís in his 50ís, he has no discernable tan line, he shaves his genitals, he walks around naked during the break (heís the only model who doesnít get dressed during breaks. In fact, he comes over to the snack table and eats tortilla chips, with the love stick pretty much level with the chipotle and french onion dips, which to me, kinda screams ďhealth code violation!!!Ē, but I donít say anything, in case Iím ever in his court room, and want to get out of a parking ticket or something).

When I pulled up in front of the center, I parked just past the driveway, out on the street. When I looked up, a silver SUV pulled right up in front of me. Hmm. Kinda looks like Married Guys....ummm.SUV?? Fuck. I tried not to think about it as I gathered up my art stuff and got out of my car, but suddenly, the SUV that had just pulled into a parking space in front of me, totally floored it and took off like a bat out of hell. That in itself scared the shit out of me. A big SUV screeching off into traffic for no apparent reason. And thatís when my paranoia really kicked into place. I was not totally positive it was Married Guyís SUV, but damn, it sure looked like it. It looked just like the one that had been parked across the street a couple of months ago. The one that had pulled up when I had pulled up. And the one that had stayed until I entered the building and then left. I really donít know anyone else with an SUV except ďAĒ and I donít think he would be spying on me. In fact I know he wouldnít, because I think heís in Florida visiting Mickey and Friends right now anyways.

So I felt very quivery when I got in the building. This would be the third time I was aware that Married Guy had been spying on me at the art building. When I had talked to my mom about the original call, she didnít think it was him, because he has a very forthright personality. She thought, if he called me, he would just say something and not do the hanging up thing. But then when I called my mom tonight and told her I thought I saw his SUV at my art class, she was all over that earlier phone call, saying that maybe his marriage was going bad and that maybe he just wanted to hear my voice. Ahhh....my mom the romantic. All it strikes up in me is fear. I donít want a stalker. Especially when ďAĒ is on vacation for two weeks. Gah.

And then getting up to my art class tonight continued to be like a mine field because the facilitator of the group I just left has an activity in the room downstairs and I had to walk by it and I really didnít want to see her, so I literally bolted through the entrance and sped up the stairs. Gee, witty, at the rate youíre going, youíll soon be on everyoneís shit list in the entire Northern Hemisphere and youíll never be able to leave your house again. But, at least my art buddies still luurve me. It was a pretty quiet night. No Charlemagne. No Second Potential Art Class Husband. No Professional Artist Guy. It was a small class. Just us and Mr. Shaved Balls. I do have to applaud the guy though. This guy is never, ever, boring. He always does at least one, bizarro pose for the night, and tonight was no different.

I was standing at the snack table scarfing up tortilla chips talking to this kid who is always dropping hints about his career as a doctor. I just canít see him as a doctor, because like dude, why are you in an art class last week, asking Charlemagne where you could find beautiful women to have sex with. If anyone should know, it would be Charlemagne, but I had always thought he was gay. I was surprised he was seeking women. And beside, talking about your medical career isnít necessarily going to get you laid. But we were chatting. We both have lived in Oregon and were talking about how beautiful it was and AGAIN he was talking about how much money heíd be making as a doctor, if he ever wanted to go back and live there. (Incidentally, this kid is truly a kid. Probably not much older than about 22. Why he was trying to impress a 47 year old woman, Iím not sure. OK. Maybe, just maybe, Iíll bite and say, yeah, he was looking for beautiful women around our town and lookie! He found one...ha, ha, ha!! Just kidding. April Fools!!). Anyways, the whole point was that I lost track of the nekkid guy.

So Our Fearless Art Leader finally called us all back to order when suddenly Mark demurely slid around the edge of the bathroom door frame....heh, heh....in drag. Oh fuck. It was so totally hilarious. He had on a black page boy wig. Lip stick. Big Dame Edna speckled glasses. A big black feather boa with gold sparkles throughout it. Black thigh high stockings. And black heels. Of course the male member was poking through the feathery boa. Everyone started laughing. Me and ďLĒ the hippie chick just looked at each other and started cracking up. Iíve never seen a guy in drag up close. Talk about fugly. (sorry Mark). But it was very fun to draw. I drew it more as a cartoon than a realistic drawing (as if you ever do a realistic drawing witty). It just really made the day a little bit better. Dame Edna with his/her Love Stick. Booya!


p.s. Incidently, this is my 600th entry. (me throwing confetti. Whee!)

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