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2006-04-18 @ 11:23 a.m.
the naked zen men garden


Okay, so since Iíve been taking this new medicine, besides being really tired and sleeping for like 23 hours a day like my cat, Iíve also been having these really weird dreams. I mean, thatís not to say that I donít always have weird dreams, like Iím ruling a small country just off the coast of California where chocolate is considered legal tender, we all worship at the Our Lady of Johnny Depp, there are no cell phones ringing ďThe Star Spangled BannerĒ in ring tones that only bats and menopausal women can hear and best of all, fat abdomens are considered so sexually desirable that men are swimming over from Malibu in search of ďbelly muffinsĒ to bury their face into. Yeah, belly muffins. Theyíre the New Black.

My dream this last weekend? Well, I havenít been going to my Wednesday night drawing class much recently because Iím burned out. Yeah. Canít you believe it? Burned out at seeing nekkid people? Yes, thatís pretty jaded. But you can only draw so many boobs and butts and vergeenas and penises, before eventually you just hit a wall. Because right now I kind of feel like an obgyn going in for like their 3,330,440th pap smear. Its not like, oh a vagina, I remember that night with Sharon Stone, its more like did I pay the VISA bill or damn, I think I missed ďLostĒ last night.

So last night I dreamed I had returned to my Wednesday night drawing class after a long hiatus and the class was jammed. Although it seemed like there was something very different afoot. It was almost like it was no longer just an art class but also like an zen/yoga class. There was all this Hindu/New Agey music playing. And incense was burning. And there were a lot of new faces, many of them Indian, which we donít usually get. We usually only get the hippie/artist types from around the W#### Nation. People who could be easily be airlifted directly to California and nobody would be able to tell they were from the East Coast. Thatís just how good they are at Hippie Speak and Hippie and Goth Dress.

It would be like that old show ďThe InvadersĒ from the 1960ís, where the alien invaders from outer space fit in so easily with earthlings in every way except for one thing. They did everything with their pinkie finger sticking straight UP. Oh how I used to LOVE that show. It was one of the few shows I was able to convince my mother to let me stay up for. But pinkies up? I wonder if they were gay? Like from some gay planet? A planet not quite as red as Mars, but kinda pink which might have indicated that they rocked to the sounds of early Donna Summers? They were always nicely dressed and well coifed and styliní. Oh well. This is just a theory.

Oh, so my dream...So I walked into the community center room and it looked like the freakiní set from the musical ďHairĒ with all the hippie types and the incense and the Hindu type music lilting skyward and then I looked in the center of the room and instead of having one of the usual boring, skinny, indifferent, donít hate me because Iím indifferent models, there was this huge, for lack of a better word, catbox-like thingie built in the middle of the floor. It was a 3 feet deep wooden box with white sand measuring about 15X15í and inside were SIX NAKED MEN curled in various intricate designs inside the box. It looked like a giant Zen Men Garden and I was like WTF? I leave for a couple of weeks and suddenly weíre getting SIX naked men simultaneously writhing around in a sand box and nobody called me? This is a travesty...a travesty I say! But what happened next was truly a travesty. I looked over at our Fearless Art Leader who gave me his usual toothy grin, but when I went to pay for my ticket he said, ďOh, Iím sorry, this is only for people who come on a regular basis.Ē And to myself I was like ďWhat?Ē I do so much for this organization...their newsletter, board meetings, helping set up and tear down the stage and chairs and easels occasionally. Why canít I just stay and oogle draw SIX NAKED MEN?

So I just walked out. Damn. I finally see something worth drawing and I get rejected by my own class. I wonder what that means? And I actually wondered what the dream meant in general. Iím sure if ďAĒ was translating he would say that it was something about me wanting to have sex with six naked men on a beach or something. Because with shrinks, its always about sex. They always have to drop sex into everything, so that they donít go crazy listening to people whine all day. Now that I work with people like this, I can certainly identify with that. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, I donít hear much about sex at work. Except from my co-workers. ďBĒ, for instance, the other day said he was ďhotĒ when I walked by. The only thing I can think is, it was the first time he has seen me wearing a dress since he was hired. Wow, I wish I had that effect on all men. Just wearing a dress and men are falling all over themselves? Maybe I should do an infomercial.

But maybe the dream does, in fact, have to do with sex and anxiety, or the fact that there are men available for the taking and Iím not doing anything...and no Iím not talking about you ďJĒ. You do remember me attempting to murder you at work yesterday, right? My hands around your neck....Uh huh. Damn those new meds! I guess I just have to be more open to the possibilities.

I guess also Iím a little overwhelmed because I have THREE art shows coming up in less than a month and I donít have anything framed and I donít really have the money to run out and get frames for 4-5 paintings. Iíll probably have to play musical frames like I always do. Take the drawings or paintings from the last show and put in this showís work. Although recently Iíve been doing paintings on canvases and they donít fit in those cheesy, cheap, flat frames you get at Michaelís for $12.

So my three art shows are as follows: A one day show at the YMCA where I took the recent painting class on April 28. Its not really that important to me, but I enjoyed the teacher and I might take another class there and its close to my house and...yada, yada, yada. Why not? On May 5th my Wednesday night drawing class will be having a month long show at the community center where we have the class. Since its in a public place where kids are, we can only submit portraits which is fine by me, since I do way more portraits that drawings of boobs and vaginas. And then on May 18th, we will also be having a larger, more prominent show of our nudes up at the local university in a bigger venue than we usually do. Iíll actually have to go through my sketchpads and actually look to see if I have anything decent. Iíve been so burned out lately, Iím not even sure if I have any full nudes to submit, but this is the place to do it, since its up at the big art school where important, snooty types walk around.

Oh, and I almost forgot, I start a new portrait class tonight. I just called the teacher to see what Iím supposed to bring since I never registered for the class ahead of time and didnít get the supply list. I have such anxiety about using the phone and this teacher, who I took a class from last Spring, is such a little Eye-talian hottie with long hair, that that made it doubly hard. But he is a really excellent teacher and I really want to learn how to draw people in 3-D once and for all and this is the guy who can teach me that. He was a little gruff on the phone this morning though. Gulp. Iím glad I didnít give him my name, but of course, I did stupidly tell him Iíd be bringing my acrylic paints to class if that was all right. Dang. Now heíll definitely know its me. Iím such a dork. But I do rule my own country with chocolate as currency and no cell phones, so Iím not all bad.


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