2006-07-30 @ 11:07 p.m.
I'm just sitting here listening to NPR, like any good hippie/yuppie wanna be and they're playing "When you wish upon a star". Its definitely a good song for me, since a spend a good part of any day wishing for things I can't have. Like gee, I wish my abs were thinner. Or I wish I could find a date. Or I wish I had money. Or I wish I had cable TV so I could watch Jon Stewart on the Daily Show. Or I wish I had my own private masseuse, so I could pick up the phone and say, "Lars! I need my foot rubbed. Come immediately!" But then I realized how selfish and lazy it might all look. Because most of this stuff is attainable. But therein lies the rub. I've lost my mojo. I used to have it. Alot of it. But now I just kind of blankly live in a yuppie village and have Passat envy and I'm not really sure what happened.
Last week when I was talking to "A" about my supposed upcoming, big exploding art career, I started to cry a little and he was like, why are you crying? And it took me a moment to articulate it, because it was all sort of jumbled inside, but what finally came out was....I have all these gifts to share, but nobody there to share them with. I mean, how sad is it, that I paint a painting on Sunday and then have to wait until Tuesday to show it to my shrink. And then he is the only person who will get to see it in person and then the rest of my artwork will just sit in my apartment. Art is made to be shared isn't it?
And that's where the wishing part comes in. Wishing for someone to come into my life. Although wishing, I've realized, doesn't work. It really doesn't. I mean, if a television network suddenly needed a spokesmodel to promote wishing to the masses, I would have to pass it up, because I no longer believe in wishing.
It wasn't always about wishing. Before wishing I went through a lengthy period where I thought I would meet somebody "like they did in Woody Allen movies". Two neurotics meet in a health club. Or at an art opening. Or at a political rally. And then even though they were both neurotic, they would find common ground and eventually fall in love. The only problem was that I realized that usually the characters in Woody Allen movies eventually broke up, like in "Annie Hall" (Annie leaves Woody for Paul Simon and then leaves Paul Simon for life back in Manhattan) and "Manhattan". Unfortunately though, I always loved his movies and kinda forgot that they ended badly.
Of course, I did have that very brief period were I fell in love with people who said "I love you" even though they had wedding bands on their fingers. I know. What was I thinking. I was actually enraged the first time they did that. I was like WTF? Why are you saying "I love you" when you're married. So I didn't even acknowledge the proclamation for over a month. Why? Because frankly, I didn't know what to do. But eventually I gave them a card with the words "I love you" in Celtic. And you know what they said? "Jesus, I was so nervous when you didn't respond."
Because I need someone to discuss things with like what happened at a company picnic Friday. We had a smaller than normal turn out because of some light, drizzly rain. But that didn't keep me from wanting to go out and playing croquet. Nope. I love being a goofball and talking trash with the guys. I'm not real athletic, but I always like to tell my male coworkers that I'm gonna "kick their butts". Its all talk though, because I'm pretty much a retard with a mallet.
The first game I played with a client, her husband and this African American kid I work with. He's pretty cool and has always been very polite and nice to me. I even made a poster for his business several months ago. So I was talking my trash. I made it girls vs. boys. I was saying the girls were going to kick the guy's butts and then I was hitting my ball all over the place....knocking squirrels unconscious, nearly breaking car windshields. And yet somehow I managed to come in second out of four players, beating my male coworker. He just smiled and seemed okay with it.
I had to get a quick lunch because it was 1:30 in the afternoon and I hadn't eaten anything yet, but then I went back for a rematch. This time it was just me, him and a male client who was pretty drugged up and had no idea what the game was about. Anyways, almost immediately, when my male coworker hit his black ball next to my pink one, he said, "Hey, they look like testicles". I was sort of surprised. He's never said anything like that in front of me before. I didn't say anything, but took my turn. He then asked me what that book was with all the world records. I said I thought it was "Guinness Book of World Records" and then he said. "Well there was this guy in there with the world's largest testicles. They weighed like 200 pounds. He couldn't wear any pants. I think he wore a dress." I just stood there stunned. Needless to say, he won. I was too eeked out to play very well and I couldn't even do my trash talk.
But I'm just saying, if I had someone, they could have "talked" to him about the use of the word "testicles" during work hours. Its fine if you say it in my nekkid drawing class, because, duh, there they are right in front of you, but to have some male coworker drag that out during a game of croquet. Man, I get so tired of men thinking because I'm kind of a free spirit that they can do that kind of stuff.
So I've been kind of down the whole weekend. I spent most of it either sleeping or watching videos. I've also been nursing an extremely sore foot. I've actually been in pain for about a month and a half now. I think I might have a bone spur on my left foot. I have continued my nightly walking regimen, but it has gotten so painful in the last week, I think I might finally go to the doctor's and see if there's anything I can do about it. So having someone to rub my foot would be nice too.
And I've also been thinking about Charlemagne. He's written me a couple of times since Wednesday and included his phone number once, which he usually doesn't do. But I need a new start with someone who's available. As in no girlfriend. As in I wish, I wish, I wish I knew what the hell to do. Ugh.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty