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2007-03-01 @ 11:37 a.m.
helen mirren has nothing on me, baby!


The phone rang on Tuesday and I hear this familiar voice. “Its Charlemagne (last name), the cat who am.” Umm, ok. I was wondering why Charlemagne would be calling me. After all, I was going to be seeing him that night at our board meeting. But he was inviting me to his birthday party on Sunday. His birthday was actually yesterday, but the party is going to be on Sunday.

So how do I feel about going to a party at his house? Well its a mixture of happiness and anxiety. Parties= anxiety for me. I haven’t gone to any parties since I moved back East 16 years ago, except for family parties and a couple of Married Guy parties, like the St. Patrick’s Day one where he painted his beard green. (Don’t ask.) So I immediately shot off an e-mail to “A” asking him how I should prepare. (“...Rabies shots? Condoms? Bullet proof vests?”). He wrote back. “nope, its your call, i cant imagine what it will be like.”

I also have a little anxiety because that guy I dated back in November lives across the street and will most likely be there. What do I say? “Say, Handyman...I finally realized why you didn’t find me charming. You did absolutely nothing to CHARM me. I need motivation. Feeding me leftovers from your last date just didn’t do it.” Meh. I figure the best revenge is just to look good and act like he doesn’t matter, which he doesn’t. Hope he doesn’t attempt to kiss me though. Why? Because his kisses were like suddenly coming in abrupt contact with the sucking end of a Hoover vacuum cleaner.

I did see Charlamange later at our board meeting. One of the subjects on our agenda was about our Mardi Gras event the next night. Sci Fi Guy said he was just going to have people write their names on pieces of paper and then select one out of a box. I protested immediately, telling the all-male board that I wanted to be able to campaign to be QUEEN. heh. Yeah, they all laughed. I then even proved that I was Queen material by showing them my lovely Queen Wave, which I have perfected after many hours of practice in front of Guardcat, my most ardent and loyal supporter (I feed her). Naturally Charlemagne told me I was doing it wrong. So there we were both doing Queen Waves simultaneously as all the men at the table were just staring at us like WTF. Sci Fi Guy was smiling though.

So Wednesday was Mardi Gras Night. I got my hair cut in the afternoon. Got the freak on right before I left (first time in ‘07. I reallllllly need to do some catching up fercrissakes. Note to self: More dates with B.O.B. Battery Operated Boyfriend needed. STAT!). I was all happy and excited about our night because its usually more fun than usual and Sci Fi Guy brings in his extensive collection of music (even Louis Armstrong singing “Cabaret” just for me) and we get our class picture taken and then of course there was the Queen thing. I had brought my tiara from Miss Hiss ...you know...just in case. And then I walked through the door and there was my least favorite model in the universe, sitting there slumped in her ratty pink robe on the edge of the stage.

FUCK!!!!!!



The very woman who is the antithesis of FUN and sexiness and good times (a’ la Mardi Gras). How could they do this?? She had just been there two weeks ago with her evil boredom. I was angry, but I didn’t leave because hopefully it was going to be a fun later that night...despite the presence of the Antidote to Anything Enjoyable sitting nearby. So the first 15 gesture poses I never once looked up at her. Instead I drew this....


Yeah, that kinda looks like a depressed 55 year old German woman with gray hair and a huge beak nose who never does anything spontaneous to spark creativity to the poor artists who have now drawn her 37,688 times. Sigh

Finally Sci Fi Guy arrived at our half way point with lots of baked good including Hot Crossed Buns and set up the good music and then it was time for the Coronation of the King and Queen of the Mardi Gras. I was still running around like an idiot telling people I wanted to campaign to be queen when suddenly I hear, “Witty, did you stuff the ballot box??” Sci Fi guy, smiling, had supposedly (wink, wink, I’m thinking) pulled my name out of the hat and suddenly I was the Queen (or as someone later called me....Helen Mirren). Woot!

And then they selected the King, the Kid Doctor, who’s only about 22. Its funny, no matter where I sit in our class, he always sits next to me. Anyways, so we had to get photographed together and he was very excited to throw his arms around my shoulder and neck and hug me rather tightly. You know how enthusiastic those young ones can be. And I guess since he has a mask on, I can show our Coronation picture together. Although this whole image probably looks a bit more like a chubby be-wigged Queen Elizabeth and young Prince Harry than anything.


Me evidently squinting to see some small print nearby.


We then took our group shot and I had The Tall Guy take shots of both events with my new super cool digital camera I got for my birthday. I still haven’t quite figured out how to use it yet (although I did download the pictures into my computer. Yay me!). But then I also accidentally erased a really funny picture I took after class of our Goth Intern wrapped in a huge sheet of gold material holding a toilet plunger like the Statue of Liberty. Damndamndamn. I really wanted to send it to her.

Anyways, so that was Mardi Gras Night at the old Art Class. Queen witty. Do I hear recount?



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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty

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