blackbird.jpg (30437 bytes)

2006-03-19 @ 10:25 p.m.
spring won't spring. I think its broken.


Wait!

I know its coming!

Ya gotta believe me!!

Maybe if you squint your eyes...

No really!



Okay, okay....I guess street cam images don’t lie, do they?

This is a picture of one of our streets Sunday afternoon, the day before Spring. Notice anything unusual? Like there’s so much freakin’ snow that there’s nobody out walking and you can’t tell the difference between the sidewalk and the street, because its just a big ol’ stupid blur of white? Damn Mother Nature. Damn her big old arbitrary, menopausally, persnickety, I’ll teach you to start growing Spring Flowers and have flocks of geese flying in before I’m ready Winterosity. And just so we know who’s boss, the weatherman just said to expect snow through the end of March.

BUGGER!!

I did go to the gym yesterday. Rather than stupidly driving 1/2 mile, getting nearly naked in a locker room full of soccer moms and their hyperactive Stepford children, I just got dressed for the treadmill at home. Because, what I’ve noticed is, as cute as children are, and I do like them, truly, is that they have no idea where they are walking or running. They just run blindly through the locker rooms and slam into people like fruit bats trying to fly their way out of Ecudorian rock caves. Its funny, but as a kid, I was always aware of where I was running, because, well, for one thing, I usually WASN’T running, because I wasn’t allowed to run in public places like stores and gyms. And also if I ever ran into anybody my mother probably would have slapped the DNA out of me. But unlike the 1963 me, all these little pseudo-Caroline Kennedys just get free run of the locker room, screaming in tones that only fruit bats can hear, with even an occasional foot stomping (mine). And even when I kindly said, “Excuse me, honey!” and try to gently guide them back to their mommies who are ignoring them while talking to another yuppie soccer mom about pilates or Flintstone vitamins or whatever yuppie soccer moms talk about, they really aren’t learning a darn thing about being polite in public.

The exercise room was amazingly empty for a Saturday. I’m not really that fond of treadmills. I much prefer the great outdoors, but of course when it looks like this:


...and the wind chill is only about 10 degrees a room full of machinery is much better. Also I get the thrill of watching cable television, which is not something I have at home. They have about 10 televisions with something different on every channel and for once I actually remembered my headphones. Yay me! I like to think of myself as fairly politically brainy. I watch “Meet the Press” and “This Week” most weekends and George Stephanopolis makes me positively wet in his own little snotty smug, brainiac way.

So what TV station did I hook my headphones up to? CNN? MSNBC? FOX? Hell no. I watched some New York couple get their apartment organized by a professional organizer on the Discovery Channel. They had loads of craps, especially the guy who collected practically everything including records, ceramic tiki statues and of course every cheap plastic McDonald’s giveaway crap toy since the beginning of time. The program kept cutting to his wife who was rolling her eyes when they would show a close up of a 2 inch tall blue wienie dog with a pink hat with martian antennas sticking out of it.

I was glad that I had a half hour on the treadmill and the show was a half hour. I did suddenly spot a coworker though...a girl I work with. I have seen her at the gym before. We do groups together occasionally. I’m always glad when I see her in the gym and not the locker room. Can you imagine the severe, disabling trauma of seeing a coworker in some stage of undress? Or worse yet, naked? Or vice versa? Gah! I mean it would be different if I accidently wandered into the guy’s dressing room and saw some male coworker naked, but a girl?

Although, to be honest, I can’t even think of a current male coworker I would like to see naked. Pretty sad, huh? And I definitely wouldn’t want it to just be gratuitous nudity, because then I would probably be somehow obligated to let them have a sneaky peeky too, huh? So since I don’t really know what the protocol of coworker nudity is, I’ll probably just try to avoid it all together.

Also really, the only person who has ever expressed even the slightest interest in seeing me nude was Charlemagne the Obnoxious French Guy. But I think that was just from an artist’s standpoint. But at least somebody wanted to see me nude. I mean other than the psycho lesbian. So yay me!! But not at the gym...OKAY?? Good.

My mom took me out to breakfast this morning. Last night I had told her: “Don’t call me before you leave. I’ll just see you when you get here.” I have terrible insomnia. I wanted to sleep in. So what happens?

8:45 a.m. Rrrrrriinnnnngggggg!!!!! “Hi witty. Are you up yet? I’ve been up since 7. I’m just getting ready to leave. There’s sure a lot of snow out there. It may take time to clear the snow off my car. blah, blah, blah. blah, blah. Blah. blah. blah. (4 minutes later) blah, blah, blah. (7 minutes later) blah, blah, blah. Are you sure you’re awake?”

I love how she always respects my wishes. I went back to bed until 9:54 a.m. Six minutes before she was due. I don’t usually eat breakfast, but hey, it was a free meal. She had gone to see her FAVE....the Elvis impersonator the night before once again and I got the fulllllllllllllllllllll report. They have now forged a relationship and he recently made her a CD and told her the contents “would be better than getting a new car! And better than getting a man!!” (and he would know, I think). And she has been going crazy because she doesn’t have a DVM player. A what? Did you say DVM player? Yeah, she keeps saying that too. She doesn’t exactly know what a CD is.

So today after breakfast I told her we could go shopping for a CD player over at Target. What she really wanted to do was to find something to play this mysterious, life-altering CD on. The stairs and walkway to my apartment were extremely slippery, otherwise we would played it here. But we took it to Target and tried to play it on 4 different CD players and it wouldn’t play on any of them. I then suggested we go to the library across from where I live and play it on one of their computers. She agreed and the computer room was packed. She, of course, was all blustery. She nearly missed the office chair which had rollers and almost fell. She then whacked the person at the next computer in the head with her purse. And then some old woman came in and asked if the last person who had just come in had lost money. By now my mother had headphones on and couldn’t hear anything, but was speaking loudly, like “IS THIS ON YET???” Some guy tried to claim it, but I knew the exact amount because I had just bought stamps for my mom and she had gotten $12 in change and the lady gave me the money. My mom had dropped it out of her pocket evidently. So we put the mysterious, life-altering CD into the computer and put the volume all the way up and she said she could only hear it very faintly. And how many times did she say this very loudly? Oh...about 7. By then everyone in the computer room was looking at us. I finally just took the CD out and told her I didn’t know what was wrong but that it appeared to not be working. She seemed upset, but what can you do? She finally left.

After playing on high speed internet at the library for a while, I finally walked home. My mom had brought me this huge painting this morning. Her neighbor, who had just been put in an convalescent home, had tossed it in the garbage when he moved. Its just one of those big, old fugly 1960’s beige landscapes with trees that you hang over your brown plaid couch and shag carpeting. When I had initially glanced at it in the morning, I thought it was one of those cardboard reproductions you get at Sears or something, but then when I got home and pulled it out of the backseat of my car, I realized it was an actual painting on a canvas.

So first I will have to somehow make sure that it wasn’t painted by some obscure yet famous painter whose paintings are worth like $67,000. (heh, heh, its down in my unlocked car as we speak -- don’t steal it, ok?). And once I’ve determined that, I will probably just gesso over the painting and have a huge, fresh new canvas to paint on. “A” has been bugging me to do a painting for over his couch for over a year. Who knows? This may be the one that finally finds a home there.



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