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2006-06-22 @ 6:35 p.m.
garden wars and then a different kind of full monty


Ever dislike someone so much that you want to kill them, but you know you’d end up in prison with a big bad ass girlfren’ named Loretta? That’s sort of the position I’m in right now with the Garden Hacker Guy. He is really getting on my last nerve and I mean, the very last one.

Last night I was running out to my art class around 6:30 in the evening. I had my two sketchpads, my purse and my art-bin and I swung open my door and instead of seeing that bastard down in the creek throwing rocks around for whatever the fuck reason, or taking a saw to some defenseless tree for whatever the fuck reason, he was standing 4 feet from my front door on the second floor fondling the very last of the beautiful lush bush that overhangs the creek. He was pulling and yanking and breaking off pieces while he was talking to my neighbor Prozac Face who was just standing there. He had his back to me and Prozac was facing me and I stopped and glared and shook my head in disgust and anger. I wasn’t going to say anything, but he was yanking at the very last goddamn green thing he hasn’t hacked into goddamn oblivion and well...heh...I had to say something.

Yay, assertive witty!! It was nice knowing you. When they find my hacked up body, just remember to say how funny and nice I used to be to squirrels and kitties.

So I finally cleared my throat slightly and said, “Please don’t cut that bush, its really pretty.”

Now is that mean? Or aggressive? Or demeaning? Or anger-provoking in any way? Well, it seems that Garden Hacker (Tiny-Dick) Guy whirled around in a total rage and started angrily flailing around his hands and SCREAMING, “Does it look like I have garden tools in my hands? Huh? You have no right telling me what to do!” And then he started to come towards me and I totally freaked out. I had already locked my apartment door and both of my hands were full and I just sort of backed into my screen door. Fortunately he just stormed past me and walked away. I looked at Prozac Face who’s face was now actually a little more animated than usual. I told her the guy was a nut and that I had called the landlord several times and how upset I had been about the destruction of everything. She didn’t really say much, although she did mention that her nephews had just come to visit her that day and cut across the lawn and that Garden Hacker Guy had run out and started yelling at them, telling them not to trespass and then when they tried to explain they were just visiting someone, he wouldn’t believe them. He’s like one of those wackos on the news who will finally crack and take people prisoner and then they’ll have to call in a SWAT team. I just know it! And unfortunately I think I might be one of the prisoners he takes.

So I was talking to Prozac Face rather emotionally and who shows up directly underneath us on the ground floor? Garden Hacker Guy. He’s listening in on our conversation, so we changed the conversation off him. But there he was downstairs yanking long leafy stems off the large beautiful bush over the big ugly sewer pipe, which is now, unfortunately is totally visible. Nice going asshole. Now we get to look at a big.ugly.cement sewer pipe! Thanks!!

So as soon as I got in my car, I once again called my useless landlord and told him that the Hacker Guy had just gotten verbally abusive...again and that I was scared. He was non-committal as usual. He said he would tell the guy not to cut any more bushes. I should have maybe said, well, George Bush would be okay, but NO OTHER BUSHES, mmm’kay???

But I really hate all this, because I noticed both last night and today when I was driving home, the closer I got to my apartment, my stomach started knotting up really bad. I’m scared of bumping into him. I didn’t park my car in the parking lot, because I’m afraid he’s going to cut the brake lines on my car or something. Because just in the last couple of days I’ve suddenly been hearing a screeching brake noise in my new car. When I bought my car three weeks ago, new brakes were just put on, so why the hell are they suddenly squealing again, huh??

Arghhh! Why are people so weird, and why do they all seem to flock to me and hate me so much? I’m a nice girl. Honestly! So I wanted to save a tree? I’m a hippie! I save trees!

So I was a nervous wreck driving to my art class. But since that is my only social life, I did it. Fortunately Charlemagne was hosting so that made things fun. I was late though, so I had to sit in an awkward seat very close to the stage. We had our first female African American model I’ve seen since I’ve been going. It was good to have someone new who wasn’t one of these deadzone college zombies who look like they can’t wait to run and cut themselves during breaks. She had a slender, athlete’s body and did some nice gesture poses, but my gawd, holy moly, ai-i-i karumba!! The half hour pose? It was basically "The Vagina Monologues" ....
without the...Monologue.

...as in she sat on a chair, with her legs spread totally wide open at a 90 degree angle, as in, if I ever needed any info about the basic gynecological structure of the female clitoris, there it was in living color for a full 30 minutes. Whee! Although to be honest, I really couldn’t look at it. Because as many naked people and naked naughty bits as I have seen over the last 2 years, having to look straight up a woman’s vergeena kinda gave me the heebee jeebees.

I mean, I felt like I was in an episode of “Sex and the City” where Charlotte (me) and Samantha go down the The Village to take a nude drawing class from this hunky teacher. They’re really there less for the drawing part than to gaze rhapsodically at the cute Sicilian/Jewish art teacher, but then when the model sits on a chair spread eagle, it certainly gets the girl’s attention.

Charlotte (me) reacting in horror: “Oh dear, dear. Oh! I can’t look. Its a vagina. “

Samantha: (smiling) “It certainly is.”

Charlotte (hiding her eyes): Is it still there?”

Samantha: Oh Charlotte, surely you’ve taken a mirror and looked at your own vagina before, haven't you?”

Charlotte: “Wha-a-at? Oh no -- never!!”

Samantha: Charlotte....

Charlotte (painfully): All right, once! I looked at it once. BY ACCIDENT. It was an accident.

Unfortunately, I’m not quite that evolved yet, and its also proof positive that I’m not a lesbian, although this last week a friend of mine felt the need to tell me that the preferred cars of lesbians are Subarus. They call them Lesbarus. Can you imagine? Why did she tell me this? Am I throwing off Home Depot vibes or something?

Anyways, I did keep my eyes carefully diverted upwards. That drawing was just way too obscene to post. Fortunately for her hour pose, just when she was getting ready for another Full Monty thingie, Charlemagne, in his accidental wisdom, asked her if she wanted to pose like how she sleeps, so she laid over on her side and I did this....



But while I was drawing that, I immediately sensed that someone was drawing ME. Usually people ask, like the two times JS has drawn me in class, but I could see this guy “D” over across the room looking at me, sketching, looking at me, sketching. It was obvious I was his subject. I always get nervous when people do that whether they have permission or not. Last night it was really hot in the room where we work and I had on a tight black tank top which probably wasn’t really that kind to my blubbery womanly abs. Plus my glasses kept slipping down my nose and my hair was a mess because I had gotten caught in the rain earlier and driven with the windows open. Great! Real life intervening into my modeling career.

Afterwards “D” shyly told me he had drawn me, so I looked at his picture. Fortunately it wasn’t too horrifying. He had drawn both me and The Professional Artist Guy who owns an animation studio here in town. He had been my beard at our recent art conference when I was trying to vainly impress Married Guy’s wifie with the cool people I hang out with. “D” does whimsical stuff sometimes, and he had put the cool Artist Guy in white tube socks with red stripes....something he would never, ever wear in like 10,000 years, since he wears sandals and Birkenstocks. He’s a hippie too. So I teased the Artist Guy, and said its a good thing he didn’t draw him in a Walmart tee-shirt. He laughed.

And what was also funny was that after I looked at D’s drawing, JS said, “Oh, I drew you too!” and showed me a pencil drawing of me and the Professional Artist Guy. He had really big boobs on me. I thanked him for that since my real life ones are like “B” cups. Hmmm. Wonder what that was about??

So anyways....wow....that's like two people who drew me. Gee. Shouldn’t I be getting paid for providing my beauty or something? I’m thinking that is a big ol’ yes, my dear artsy friends.


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