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2006-04-28 @ 1:22 p.m.
yoko bono




Yeah, I’m still around. Been doing lots of real important thangs, like a safety training at work this week. And Lord knows, I need safety training. I have stalkers, ya know. That’s why I’ve been traveling incognito lately. Okay, I’m really been traveling as Bono, except I don’t have $4.9 billion dollars in the bank. And I can’t sing. And I don’t have a penis. But otherwise, we’re almost exactly alike, ya know? We’re both Irish. We both wear sunglasses to fool the adoring masses. And we both like to affect a kind of sneer, although underneath we’re both kinda secretly nice and like to help people. Just don’t blow our cover.

I hated getting up early for the safety training though, especially since I knew what it was going to entail. “If you’re going to co-facilitate a group at night...be sure to work in pairs.” at which point our female version of Steve Carrell from “The Office” played a disco version of “Celebrate Good Times, Come On” on her Powerpoint presentation. Ha ha ha ha. Yeah. Good times. I’m so glad I got up three hours early to catch that, because absolutely nobody laughed. I looked back over my shoulder at my boss, who was just sitting there stone faced.

And I enjoyed the part about the paper shredder even better with such gems as, “Don’t put your fingers or tie near the grinding blades”. Reallly???? And then she threw up a picture of Whoopi Goldberg in “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” who evidently got her dress caught in a shredder and we all went “Yeah, like we all wearing blue sequined chiffon dresses while we’re shredding cartoons about the office manager.” Well, except for maybe “J”. I told him he was gay yesterday. I was singing, “Good morning, good morning” from “Singing in the Rain” and he actually recognized it and knew who sang it (Debbie Reynolds for those who care). And I turned to him and said, “You’re so totally gay.” And he lisped, “Yeth I am” and flounced off. Oy!

And to think the day before I had to call him on talking about sexually inappropriate stuff during a meeting. I was meeting with him and another man and he started describing a trip through a local trendy area with a bunch of bars and how he went into this one place where the waitresses were wearing dazy dukes and then he started cupping his hands lasciviously. I asked him to stop, since by the way, this was a meeting for E_____ment not Girls Gone Wild. I didn’t really say that, but I was just thinking it, but I did ask him to stop cupping his hands. I think he was trying to impress me with his manliness. Hate to tell you. I’m more impressed with intellect and thoughtfulness, than Neanderthal melon grabbing motions

So that’s why I prefer to emphasize the artistic side of life, where asshole rarely dare to tread, since anything artistic or intellectually challenging instantly makes their penis get smaller. That’s not to say that there aren’t a lot of manly men in the artsy side of my life. Au Contraire. I would say on any given night, it is usually about 80-85% men in my Wednesday night class. Manly men. Way more manly than those twits who think they’re shocking me by tracing the outline of a women’s posterior over their notes during a meeting for our new group.

But I’ve been busy. I worked 2 full days this week which is unusual for me....Ms. part timer. But I want to make enough money to get a car in May. So I need all you religious types and heathens alike to say a novena or burn incense or something, so that my old clunker stays in one piece until I can apply it towards another car in the next couple of weeks.

I have been taking that new portrait drawing class way at the other end of town and driving there has had me worrying about my car. The class went a little better this week. The old Eye-talian lady who told me that my drawing made everyone else’s work looked like crap last week, was a little more hospitable this week and we were talking about how we were both totally Right Brained.

I don’t even think I have a single Left Brained brain cell, since I can’t do anything logical or sensible or mathematical. But hey, hand me a pencil or a paintbrush or a computer keyboard to write with, and I am like someone who was just released from prison. free. free. free. For the longest time in my 20’s and even my early 30’s I did make a concerted effort to do things like my taxes and my check book and time sheets and reports, but now I just totally blow them off. I don’t even have the concentration skills to read anything longer than a diary entry. I do miss reading books, since I used to be an avid reader, but I can’t get past about 5-7 pages before I lose interest.

Today when I saw “A”, he managed to throw in the fact that he thought that I should try and think about working full time. And I laughed to myself. Hell, I can’t even do my checkbook. How am I supposed to throw myself back into a full time job situation? His solution would be more medications. I got spoken to about the fact that I stopped taking the meds that I got at the hospital two weeks ago. I did give the main ones a good try though. The sleeping pills? Forget it!! I took them once and literally slept a day and a half and still felt like a frookin’ zombie. The other med....it made me feel so anxious, I felt like ripping limbs off. It was horrible. I ended up taking my other anti-anxiety meds like M&Ms trying to circumvent all the shaking and quivering and it STILL wasn’t enough. So finally after nearly two weeks I stopped. “A” wasn’t happy. I’m not a big fan of meds anyways. I’m bipolar and there are a lot of things I like about it. The energy for one. The big spikes of creativity.

Like take Wednesday night for instance. I was exhausted from having a full day at work, but that was only the beginning. Then l came home....Started dinner on one side of the kitchen. Started painting on a large canvas on the other side of the kitchen. Was bouncing back and forth between the canvas and the stove. I’d go flip the meat over on the stove and then rush back over and go, brushbrushbrush DAB brushbrush DAB. and then run back over and flip the meat again and then run back and start a different color on the painting. I’m sure it looked pretty comical and I hoped I didn’t accidentally paint my piece of ham, but I wanted to get the painting done to actually show “A” the next day. Is that not dumb? He’s been gone for three freakin’ weeks, but then I decided, the day before, to try and do a large painting....Plus I was also on my way to my Wednesday night drawing class. I wasn’t going to go because 1) I was exhausted 2) I hadn’t taken a shower 3) I didn’t really feel inspired to go, only somewhat obligated 4) I wanted to finish my painting 5) I have like 5 DVDs stacked up now, waiting to be watched, including “Pauly Shore is Dead”. How could I NOT want to stay home and watch that, as well as the final season of “Sex and the City”. I did manage to squeeze in “Basquait” about a drug addled artist who was friends with Andy Warhol. Yay me.

But somehow I managed to do almost everything else on the list, except the DVDs, including this painting of John Lennon and Yoko Ono locked in their famous embrace shortly before he was shot to death in front of the Dakota.



Wondering where I photographed it? Well, ummm. Heh. This morning, right after I had some Nazi nurse poke my poor defenseless arm several times, trying to get some blood for a fasting blood test, I stopped at the cemetery down at the end of my street with my painting and started walking around with it, trying to find places to photograph it, since its way too big for my scanner. I only had a half hour until my appointment with “A”, but when the artistic muse strikes, you have to go, so I photographed my painting at about 5 different locations including a wooden table in front of a mausoleum, in some grass amid wild violets, on top of a tombstone of someone named Chapman (heh, perhaps a little too off the wall considering who murdered Lennon) and then finally on this rock headstone and brushy bush. I did also offer to share my art with 5-6 deer who were grazing in a field out behind the cemetery. I laid it out on the ground and one bold missy came up within about 15 feet of it and then kicked some grass up, as if to say, “That’s crap” and then walked away.” Critics....they’re everywhere, ya know?



But it was getting towards 10:30 and I thought I better head out. So as you can see, I could never really do a full time job, with a brain like this, but I did promise “A” that I would call and make an appointment with that psychiatrist tomorrow about some different meds. I’ll just have to explain that I don’t want it to effect my creativity, because after all, creativity is all I have.


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