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2006-12-21 @ 1:55 a.m.
nudes by candlelight was the best part


Oh man, the Christmas cards are just pouring in. Gah! Where am I going to put them all. Gah! Okay, I only have 5. Two of them are from my best friend “G” down in Manhattan. One is from my Born Again Christian cousin who always tries to convert me to Christianity every Christmas. One is from a ruthless car repair place I went a year and a half ago, who quoted me a $740 price for a new starter and then I eventually got them down to $280 when they agreed to do it for (“cough”) cost. Thanks for the Christmas card, assholes. And then the fifth Christmas card? I found an old one from my sister from last year and decided to put it up, so I wouldn’t look like the saddest, most forgotten menopausal woman in the universe.

I did have a brief burst of Christmas shopping today at Target. Because no matter how much you want to ignore it, the inevidible is on its way. I even got my official Christmas box down from my closet. I have a very small fake tree (about 2 ft. tall) and I literally walked around my apartment going, “Where am I going to put this?” Because my apartment is very small and its starting to look like a crazy person’s apartment, where everything is piled on top of everything. Especially now that my last art show is over, and all of my artwork is home once again, instead of at some wildly intuitive art lover’s house, making their guest bedroom look pretty.

I did have someone ask how much one of my pieces was last Wednesday. It was framed, so I said “$60” and then she just kind of cleared her throat nervously and stepped away like I had just told her I kicked puppies or something. My god, lady...$60. The frame alone costs at least $20. And its a one-of-a-kind gift....as in nothing you can buy down in frickin’ Walmart.

I did end up giving “A” one of my paintings for Christmas. It was one of my personal favorites, but I figured that’s what made it special. The fact that I would give up something I really liked must mean they’re special. I guess he liked it. He seemed to. I don’t think he was expecting it and last year he refused to open the gift I had given him while I was there. I mean, thats really the only pleasure I can get out of this crazy, obnoxious holiday...being able to see the look of happiness (hopefully) on someone’s face when they open their gifts.

But back to Target or my new catch phrase for their totally retarded sales clerks, “Who are you, George Bush?” All I needed was a stupid battery for my cordless phone, right? I had walked to Target...just cuz I can, bitches, but I had forgotten one important thing. Eye glasses. As in, I can only see things, if they’re larger than John Goodman.

So I walked back to the electronics department, hoping to just get a clerk to read the teeny print on the back of the battery packs and then I’d be off. I guess I confused the guy right away when I asked him if “he could be my eyes”. I don’t know if he took it literally, like ahhh! That lady wants my eyes! I then said again that I just needed help reading the fine print, and he still looked perplexed. What could be so perplexing about that? And I had even brought the battery with me, so all he had to do was look at the number and match it up. Well, evidently this was very perplexing too...the matching of numbers thingie, because he kept picking up battery packs and looking at them like they were in Chinese. And the display even had a glossary of what number went with what battery...which I pointed out to him, but he said it was confusing and he didn’t understand it. He then took off walking with my defunct battery pack. He said he needed someone to help him so I stood there waiting for about 10 minutes. I could see him wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles looking for help. Eventually he found another salesclerk who said he’d help me, but evidently, he was actually intelligent, so his services were in high demand. So Dorkus finally came back with a stock clerk. I explained to the stock clerk that all I needed was for him to read the number on the package, which he did and then in about 12 seconds, he handed me the correct battery. This was the stock clerk not the guy who actually WORKS in the electronics department. Oy!

But my joy and merriment with Target employees was not quite over yet. I handed the cashier my battery and a candy bar and it came to $14.57. She keys in $15 on the register, despite the fact that I had just handed her two $10 bills. You know, as in $20. Well, evidently since the cash register didn’t do the math for her, she too was really confused. She handed me the coins and four $1.00 bills. And since I was still steaming over Dorkbrain in the electronics department, I just jammed the money in my pocket. But as I was walking across the parking lot, I suddenly realized she had jipped me of $1.00 and when you’re poor, $1.00 is $1.00. So I went back to the store and just went to the customer service, since I didn’t feel like standing in line AGAIN at this cashier’s register. Especially since I was on the verge of store-rage. So they had to call a manager over the loudspeaker. I had to wait for her. I had to tell my story twice. And then the manager didn’t even apologize. She just tossed the dollar on the counter and walked away like I had done something wrong. Bitch.

Tonight was my art class holiday party. I had been hoping Charlemagne would be there, since I haven’t seen him in over a month and really miss him. But he wasn’t. And we had one of those god-awful bone thin anorexic chicks who looks like she’s about to commit suicide. God, I hate those. I remember a couple of years ago, we had this great African American guy who really got into the spirit of things and wore a Santa hat (though nothing else) for our Christmas Party night. But no, instead we had to have zombie-face, I hate-you-I-hate-Christmas girl.

We did have lots of goodies, some free beautiful artbooks from the 1950’s (I grabbed Picasso and Van Gogh) that somebody had donated and some great music brought in by the Sci Fi Guy. He has this vast collection of very weird, one of a kind recordings, like Joe Friday from “Dragnet” arresting a guy because he didn’t believe in Santa. He had another recording of The Beatles from 1963 talking about how people send them food and presents for Christmas and how great that was. We also did something really unusual. We turned out all the lights, except on the model, and drew by candlelight for one pose. I could just see one errant candle melting down into the styro-foam cups they were sticking in and burning down our beloved community center.

Afterwards I chatted with “L” the Hippie Chick and Zue, the woman trying to be my new best friend. My goodness I’ve never had a person pursue me so passionately for friendship. I like her okay, but I feel like she grills other people to see what I like and then shazam! Wow, witty and I are sooooo much alike. I find it very disconcerting. She also heard when “L” and I were talking about going to see “Dreamgirls” and suddenly it was all...hey maybe all three of us can go!!

Or maybe not!!!!

We closed up shop a little after 11 p.m. We were all saying good night and have a great holiday (Both Zue and “L” are Jewish, so I had to make it non-denominational). And then suddenly the Sci-Fi Guy was wishing me a Happy Holiday, when I realized he was moving in for a kiss. As in....He’s getting closer. Closer. There’s no turning back now....smoooch!!! I’ve never kissed him before. And yet as I was driving home, I stupidly touched my lips like in some Sandra Dee movie. He kissed me. And I was kind of shaking. And you know what I realized? His one brief kiss was about 10,000 times more exciting than any of Handyman’s kisses. Handy was a terrible kisser and I’m not just saying that now, because he dumped me. Kissing him was like having my face smashed into a car fender. He kissed really hard, but with no finesse, and it was always very uncomfortable.

And in case you’re wondering, Sci Fi Guy is happily married, so no match-making out there, kids. I will just continue to be: the woman in search of the right lips.


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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty

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