2005-07-10 @ 11:20 p.m.
Here is your horoscope for Sunday, July 10:
Contrary to astrological opinion, getting up close and personal really isn't a problem for you. Finding someone freewheeling and independent enough to allow you both to have a life is the issue. Guess what? They're here.
WHERE??? (me looking around me bedroom. me looking under the bed. me looking out on the couch hoping to catch them watching a Boston Red Sox's game.) Can you be a little more specific? Like maybe give me their coordinates so I can find them on Mapquest. Or maybe they have a micro-chip in their neck so that I can locate them on the digital screen of my wittykitty man-catcher thingie? Help me out here. I kinda need a description. Like, do I work with him? Did I bump into him today when I was out at McDonald's in the yuppie village (heh, heh, the parking lot was full of Mercedes and Jaguars. Isn't that funny? Yuppies at McDonalds! And they don't even serve pinot noir!). Did I spy him when I looked at that apartment today? Did I catch a glimpse of him when I looked out the window at the apartments across the common area? It's kind of set up like in the movie "Rear Window". All the apartments face each other, so you're looking at about 20 different sets of windows. Was he there? Did he see me? Did he fall instantly in love? (dumb question...of course he did, I'm the delusional, yet stunning wittykitty).
Of course, as soon as I read the line "They're hereeeeeeeee!!", I instantly thought of the movie "Poltergeist", where the little blonde girl intuitively knows that their suburban tract home is full of evil ghosts who are going to suck her into the closet and Craig T. Nelson is going to have to call their little short weird psychic lady, who kinda looks like Bette Davis in "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane" except her hair isn't blonde and she is going to find "THEM" and rid the house of their sheer evilness by calling upon her special powers and along with lot's of special effects, we're gonna see dead people rising up out of the swimming pool in the back yard going, "Aaaaaa"..."Aaaaaa. I want to eat Lindsey Lohan....Aaaaa" (was she even born then? Oh, that's even worse, THEY wanted to eat Lindsey Lohan as a baby. Ewww. Bad poltergeist. Why, oh why, would they ever want to deprive the movie going public the sheer rapture of later watching her in "Herbie, Fully Loaded".
Dang. What was I talking about? See, I ran out of my medication this weekend, and I'm kinda like Courtney Love when she starts seeing little Kurt Spiders running across her ceiling...except my boobs are smaller.
I had the most bizarre dream this morning. It was one of those evil dreams, where you wake up, go to the bathroom, lay back down for like 10 minutes and then dream "Gone With the Wind" as directed by Tim Burton. Freaky. In my dream I was in a medical office. I was supposed to be getting a shot or giving blood, and everyone was ignoring me. In real life, I've kind of accepted being ignored. Quiet people are frequently overlooked and then they become the BKT serial killer. (heh, stupid person that I am, when I first saw stories about the BKT Killer, I thought it had something to do with "Burger King").
Anyways, in my dream I was being ignored and I just blew a gasket. I started screaming at all the women employees in the office. And then this one bitch decided to imitate me behind my back. Well, I pretty much just laid her flat then. And I was totally awesome. And that’s really something, because in real life I am so angst ridden and nervous about talking to people, that large segments of my life are left unresolved, because I’m unable to say things. Or I’ll get angry at someone (like Married Guy, previously...my mom...”A”) and I’ll just pretend like everything is all right, but inside I’m fuming like an overwrought volcano. And then I’ll go home and start yelling at them around my apartment, because alone....in my apartment, I’m like Attila the Hun crossed with Noel Coward.
And then you always kind of wonder what dreams really mean. Of course if you ask “A”, they all pretty much have to do with SEX. I mean, no matter what I dream about, I’ll say, “So, what do you think that means?” and he’ll say, “Its about sex....”
I tell him I dreamed about winning the lottery and buying myself a new car with chromium tail pipes.
“A”: “Tail pipes...penis. Its about sex. “
Or I’ll tell him I dreamed about going to New York City to see the Empire State Building...”
“A”: “Empire State Building? The ultimate phallic symbol. Its about sex...”
Or I’ll tell him I dreamed about this really enormous English cucumber that vibrated when I picked it up at the store...”
“A”: “Cucumber. You need to eat more cucumbers, because we both know you haven’t eaten a cucumber in a REALLLY long time. I think its about the nutritional value of eating cucumbers.”
Thanks, “A”. Thanks Jung. Thanks Freud.
Today was the day that I officially looked at the apartment next to the creek and guess who was standing with the landlord when my mom and I walked up? Freaky Eyebrows. And last week after showing us her apartment, she had sworn us to secrecy. Don’t tell Brent, I showed you my apartment. So we walk up and she says, “Hi witty!” Oy.
My mom was in full crisis mode though. Her car air conditioning wasn’t working today and it was really hot (AGAIN!! Damn this global warming thing) and on the way over we had to open the car windows. She was so worried about her hair getting messed up. I felt like saying, mumsy, you’re with me. Chances are nobody is going to look at you, because I’m so damn cute, so don’t worry about it. But, subconsciously I think she knew this, so she pulled out the Big Guns. The “I’m dying, pay attention to me” thingie she uses when it looks like I might possibly get more attention than her. And she did. Me and the landlord walked up to the second floor to look at an apartment and she was lagging behind, panting and wheezing and clutching her chest. The landlord ran back to check on her. She had sat on the stairs and was waiting for
That’s right...callous witty. I’m so mean. I just know how she is though, and sure enough, he went back to get her. She was delighted.
The apartment looked pretty good empty. I got to look in all the closets and cabinets. I got to see the fireplace. The place was remarkably cool for such a hot day, with no air conditioning. That certainly bodes well, considering how damn hot my place is. So I told him I was interested, but wouldn’t need a place until September. I also said I was interested on getting an apartment over on the other side near the creek. He said he’d have to wait until August 1st to see if anyone gave notice. But Freaky Eyebrows last week had said she knew someone in A8 that was going to be moving, and THAT is on the other side overlooking the creek, so yay!
Afterwards my mom and I went to McDonalds for a soda since it was so hot and drew out the apartment on a napkin to figure out if I could get all my furniture into it. I have a lot of crap, furniture-wise, so I have to make sure I fit. I think it will. And then when I got home I looked at my stuff and it didn’t seem as large as we drew it on the napkin.
Before we left the yuppie village, however, my mom drove by my brother’s house and said, “Hey, why don’t we stop in?” Why, exactly. I can only take my brother in small doses and today he was particularly annoying. He was working out in his garage on some work related shit that involved electronics and micro chips and mega herztels and power strips. I don’t know. So we get there and for a good 40 minutes, he talked non-stop about these tiny lightbulbs made in China which he uses for his business. It was kind of like Bill Nye the Science Guy...except excruciatingly boring. My mom was nodding her head accordingly, because my brother, Guido Obnoxious, has to be the center of the universe at all times. He’s the one totally enraptured by the yuppie way of life and has a Volvo and goes to overpriced bistros to eat sun dried tomatoes grown by virgin nuns. We have a little rivalry going on...except its only him. I don’t have a rivalry. He’s always felt that my mom liked me better, so he always has to prove how incredibly valuable he is as a human being. And that usually involves 1) How smart he is. 2) How rich he is. 3) How important he is in the community. 4) How sexy he is with the chicks (he has a mistress and is always telling my mom the gory details).
I listened to the light bulb dissertation for about 10 minutes and then started wandering around his garage looking for something interesting. He was certainly in his glory. Light bulbs from China...blah, blah, blah. I INVENTED electricity. Blah, blah, blah. I have a Volvo. Blah, blah, blah.
Fortunately his girlfriend came home and I went in and visited with her and their finches. Their finches just had 3 babies, and they were really cute. I went in the bathroom for a minute and when I came out, my mother was squealing in delight. “Come look at what Guido Obnoxious has!!” (what doesn’t he have??)
So I went into the living room, which already looks like the display room at Best Buys and he had some kind of DVD projector which was shining a huge video on the wall. It was like a drive-in, only obnoxious. And of course, we had to hear how much he spent on it. That’s key for Guido. It costs $9 MILLION DOLLARS for a personally autographed, gold plated video copy of the new independent film by Gus Van Zant: “My Sister’s a Loser on Food stamps” starring Lindsey Lohan.
So we had to sit and watch an Enya video being projected on the wall and ceiling over the fireplace. Whee!
Anyhoo, tonight, after much trepidation and looking out at my current landlord sitting on her back porch reading for over an hour, I finally went over and talked to her and told her I would be moving at the end of August. She seemed a little surprised, but not mad in any way. I told her it was mainly the noise factor...the fire station alarm across the street and the AC unit next to my bedroom and she seemed to understand, especially about the fire alarm. She has lived here over 30 years and hates it too. No wonder she always looks like she’s about ready to pass a gallstone. She’s had to listen to that freakin’ fire alarm for 30 years!
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty