2005-11-08 @ 10:04 p.m.
Well, of course, today is election day today in our town and it was rather interesting driving to work. Our politicians have this rather charming thing they do. They like to hang out on corners with their friends and neighbors and wave their “Vote For Me” signs around. They’re like on every freakin’ corner. And when you stop for a stop sign or a red light they all jump up and down and wave their signs and yell for you to honk your horn if you support them. Yeah, right, like I would encourage some idiot jumping around like they’re having a seizure or something. Now what kind of message would I be sending? And what kind of message is the politician sending? Oh look at the people I’m surrounding myself with. A bunch of spastic exhibitionists. Girls sticking their ass out, jumping up and down, screaming like they’re cheering the local football squad. And Lord knows, our local football squad, realllllllllllllllllly needs some cheering on, since they suck like 29,000 goat butts.
I think the strangest thing I noticed about these roadside political cheering squads is their placement. Of course in the Village, where the rich people live (well, minus me, of course), they were at every stoplight. And then as I traveled down E. Gwenny, through another tony neighborhood, they continued to be scattered along the road, all dressed in their L.L. Beane jackets and Dockers jeans. But then something strange happened. As I got closer to town, where the neighborhood started to get a tad dicey, as in, where the politicians may not have (cough) exactly campaigned, possibly in fear of a drive-by shooting, guess what happened? Go ahead...guess!! There was not one politician thoughtfully warming their hands on a cup of Starbucks coffee or cheerleader in sight. Nope! Not one. Just overturned garbage cans and used condoms blowing around in the streets. Yay us!!
And did all those political ads that have been running over the last two months work? Well, I’m not sure exactly. Today when I asked my male co-worker “J” who he was going to vote for between the evil Stepford twins. He said, “Oh, the pretty one”. God, I hope he was kidding.
I had a kind of interesting experience over the weekend. I very rarely do any clothes shopping. For one thing, I don’t have much money. And for another, what money I do have, I am starting to save for another car. But I did go into a local nicer store over the weekend. I was in a kind of wittykitty makeover mode. I had dyed my hair and eyebrows the night before. I had just had them waxed (ow). I was contemplating doing something dramatic with my hair, as in maybe chopping off about 5 inches. I still haven’t quite got up the courage for that yet, since I kind of like the long haired hippie look. But I decided to go in and look at some clothes. My clothes are in shreds. Its kind of embarrassing, really. Clothes are kind of a low priority. I’d much rather buy a new sketch pad and pastels than a new shirt. But after shopping around a little, I finally brought two shirts and a pair of jeans into the women’s dressing room. I hate dressing rooms, because, well, they have those damn 3 way mirrors. I don’t really mind looking at my ass, however, because despite the fact that the rest of me is crumbling into the abyss of flabby middle agedness, my ass is taut perfection. Not an ounce of fat. Wanna bounce a quarter off it?
First, I tried the shirts. I could hear talking in the next fitting room. I looked at myself in the flowery shirt I had picked out. Wow. A new piece of clothing. I wondered if I should....hmmmm, that talking....it sounded....WEIRD I then went to take my pants off and DAMN, I finally realized why the talking sounded weird. It was a guy in the room next to me. It was a guy and a girl talking. WTF?
You know, as free spirited as I am, growing up in California in the 1970s, walking on nude beaches when I was a teenager, going to nude drawing classes every week, I just totally froze when I heard a guy’s voice next to me in a women’s dressing room. I guess some young girl had brought her boyfriend in with her while she was trying on her clothes. Ya know, I kinda didn’t really think that was ok. This isn’t your bedroom at home, Jennifer Teen Angel. There are other people in here who may not want your boyfriend loping through the hallways of the WOMAN’S dressing room. We’re sure you love him and I’m sure he’s a great guy and he’s probably even respectful of women, but hey, they call if a Women’s Dressing Room for a reason. BECAUSE WE WANT OUR PRIVACY. Ya got it?
So I actually stood there frozen, like an idiot, while the two lovebirds were discussing how good she looked, looking at myself in the mirror thinking, this is so stupid. But I really couldn’t move. The door to the dressing room didn’t have a lock on it and it was louvered and I didn’t feel comfortable, taking off the shirt, and I definitely wasn’t going to try the pants on now. Jesus. What a geek.
They finally left after about five minutes and I quickly got dressed and walked out and a sales clerk asked me if there was something wrong. I didn’t want to seem like some old biddy saying, “Well, those young whippersnappers were having a bootycall in the dern dressing room.” (even though they weren’t, unless it was a very quiet one). But right when I got close enough to tell her what was going on, some woman came up with some clothes to buy and the clerk totally blew me off, so I just walked away, but felt really pissed, both at her and at the girl for bringing the guy into the dressing room. I felt like my privacy had been invaded.
Needless to say, no clothes were purchased.
And oh, how I longed to be like my fashion idol. Who's that? Why Boring Story Woman, of course.
Last Friday, I had tried to avoid the Lesbian Chick in the hallway, but as I was heading out to get my paycheck I was suddenly aware that L.C. (Lesbian Chick) was approaching at 1 o’clock. I always hate when that happens. Naturally, since I’m her goddess, she wanted me to look at something for her. She’s been trying to put a proposal together for an @rt therapy group at our agency. And she wants me to be her co-facilitator. Next to dental surgery with no novocaine, I really can’t think of anything I’d rather not do. I’m sure her family and friends like her, but she’s just not my cup o’ooblong. She wanted me to look at was her proposal. She had typed up a list of things the @rt therapy group would do. So I looked at the list. The first thing on the list: Go out to this state park in ANOTHER county and take a hay ride and drink cider and eat donuts. Huh? What the hell does that have to do with art? I asked her about this. How are we suppose to get people there? Her: Doesn’t our agency have a van? Me: No. Her: Oh (looking appropriately down trodden).
Oy. She’s been working here longer than me. Doesn’t she know this? I then handed the list back to her and she asked me for about the fourth time if I would do the group with her if we got funding. I didn’t answer her. My brain had already slipped into pacman mode so it wouldn’t explode.
But this was a double-header. I was about to see my two favorite people in five minutes. So I continued on down the hallway and when I got near our conference room, I could see this yellow thing bobbing amid the cubicals. And then there she was...in all her awesome audacious aorta-popping beauty....Boring Story Woman in the largest straw hat ever worn outside of a drag show about Amish people. Was it hard not to laugh?
...Is the Pope Catholic? I think that sucker was so large it had its own zip code. I think one side was in the Eastern Time Zone and one side was in the Central Time Zone. I think that if our airport ever closed and they needed to divert air traffic, they could just radio Boring Story Woman and see if they could land on her hat. Phew! Think of all the money the county could save in plowing costs in the winter. Hey Boring Story Lady, the planes are starting to stack up out at O'Hare. Do you think you could go stand up on the roof and let United Airlines land on the east side of your hat? And maybe, just maybe, if the snow got really bad in the winter they could use her hat as as a giant snow plow. Or maybe they could just attach it to a giant frame and cover the entire city and we wouldn’t even HAVE to plow. Maybe it’ll be big enough to use as my next boyfriend’s condom (wink, wink).
Anyhoo, it just looked a little ridiculous. She looked like some sort demented flying nun/Amish woman. I half expected to look out our front window and see her husband Lars waiting down below with their horse and buggy.
Today was a little better. We had an all day conference thingie and for five whole minutes we had an exercise which involved drawing. Wow, can you imagine someone paying me to draw. Yay. What they did was play 5 one minute blips of music and you had to draw something to each one. One woman was totally upset that she had to draw for five minutes. She said she just couldn’t think in terms of drawing, and I was sitting there thinking, I can’t think in terms of not drawing. So this was one of my drawings. I did continue to work on it for the rest of the seminar. I just drew it out of my head so the perspective is out of whack and I was never one of those little girls who drew horsies when they were growing up, so my horsie actually kind of looks like a doggie, so back off. It was done during work hours at a seminar in a sterile setting. OK??? Sheesh!
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty