2006-02-17 @ 5:17 p.m.
Monday was our last acrylic painting class at the YMCA and our young art boy teacher brought a bunch of evil (cookies) and healthy (oranges and bananas) snacks for our last night together. He had blue sparkly fingernail polish on and proudly announced that he had been to a cross-dressing Valentine’s Party over the weekend. He doesn’t really strike me as the type who would do that sort of thing, but he was definitely proud of the defiantly non-traditional aspect of a man who could wear blue sparkly fingernail polish and still take the slings and arrows of the stuffy Alec Baldwin look-a-like in our class who paints manly boats and fishermen in rubber waders
I also learned a new word from the young art boy teacher. When someone walked by and asked him how he was he said he was “Zang” (long A), which I assume was good or following life’s protocol. So if you want to be cool, the next time your boss asks you what the hell you’re doing reading diaries on company time, you just tell him/her that you’re “Zaa’aaang!” And then they’ll either be really confused or want to be hip like you and use the phrase the next time they order a latte at Starbucks, hoping to impress the college student behind the counter, who will then turn away and roll their eyes at their other young co-workers and mouth the word “zang” and laugh.
The class was largely unexceptional. There was Alec Baldwin, who was kind of stuffy. The Potters, who were the old couple. The first week the wife took two hours to paint two dots of paint on her color wheel while her husband, the real painter in the family did a whimsical painting of a musician with 3D musical notes. There was Death Mom and her Death Monster and the minnions. She didn’t come the last week. Maybe her dead daughter came over for a spot of tea or something. There was the scrapbooking mom who did the bland landscape of the lake. She painted it for the entire 6 weeks of the class. She was nice, just bland.
And then there was my table-mate this week...the free-spirited African American woman who talked, sang, conjoled and danced around her artwork hoping to somehow improve the results. She was a decent artist. She was doing a landscape of some trees overlooking a lake. And did I mention there were bushes? She kept chattering on and on about Her Bush. And naturally in my head, since everything always gets filtered through my sex-addled brain, all I could think of was the girlie area. So she’d be cheerfully saying, “Oh I love my Bush!! Its such a cute little Bush. Oh no, I just messed up my Bush. I’ve got to reshape my Bush so it fits in with my rocks. And of course, I was sitting there like some pre-pubescent boy listening to all this trying not to giggle. I did feel like we had a third entity sitting at our table...you know...THE BUSH. Thankfully, hers was safely hidden.
And also thankfully, I did manage to refrain from talking aloud to my painting of prehistoric Shaman figures. It just seemed like the right thing to do.
The class is being offered again in two weeks and I think I might take it, if for no other reason than it gets me off my ass and gets me painting. And to be honest, the boy art teacher promised he would show me pictures of himself in drag at the cross dressing Valentine’s Day party if I would sign up again. See how easily I can be bribed?
I did skip my other art class this week because frankly unless I know Charlemagne is going to be there, I am now officially burned out drawing nekkid people. I think if we didn’t keep having the same nude models over and over again, my interest wouldn’t be subsiding. I do have a meeting with our board on the 28th. We are planning a big 2 day teaching conference at the local university in May. I hope we can pull it together and get enough publicity generated so its not a disaster. Publicizing events has never been our strong suit and I really want to see this succeed. I remember last Spring I designed a really cool looking poster for a speaking series we were presenting and it was scrapped for the mere reason that the printing place couldn’t open the publication on their computer. I would have gladly taken the damn thing down to Kinko’s and printed it, but it was scrapped without telling me and our speaking series was poorly attended. So I don’t think I will be volunteering my services this year. I normally make $25/hr. for graphics, when and if I ever get any work now that Married Guy is out of the picture (he was my main client).
I did get the pictures back from my birthday. And I have this lovely gem....
Can you tell how much I was enjoying my evening with Elvis? Let’s see, where would I have rather been?
Getting a root canal?
A colonoscopy sounds kinda good....
Liposuction without anesthesia is definitely piquing my interest...
And to any guys who might ever date me, if I ever look at you with this expression you have either said or done something very wrong like:
I have been getting some interesting matches sent to me from sMatch.com. People who supposedly share the same interests as me. And something else they share with me....a vagina. It seems that sMatch.com keeps sending me matches with lesbians. This is the second week in a row I have gotten sent matches of women (with a few extra pounds) who evidently meet my specifications. The only problem...ONCE AGAIN EVERYONE....I’m not gay. Oy! I did write the customer service department a letter and told them I only wanted matches sent to me who possessed penises (real ones, not strap-ons) and if they didn’t abide by my wishes I was going to sic Dr. Phil on them. They did write back and said I had my preferences set to women which I didn’t. I had it set to Men ages 45-52. Bitch. Anyways, so I told my gay male friend down in NYC about my dilemma and he said he had just joined a dating service for Male Republicans (heh, hard to believe my best friend is a Republican, huh?) and he said he keeps getting replies from single moms on Statan Island. Can you imagine? Anyways, he was also kind enough to inform me, that the day following Valentine’s Day was something called S.A.D.....“Single’s Awareness Day”.
And to think Hallmark hasn’t tapped into this lucrative market yet. Damn slackers.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty