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2004-04-29 @ 12:52 a.m.
when opera stars come to town it ruins my love life

I stopped in at my case management place today. I had thought my anger management class was starting today, but alas, the world will still be unsafe for another two weeks.

So I just left my car there, and walked through downtown to get to my art class at the Crazy crazy place. As I was walking on this back street, there were some huge tracker trailers unloading a show into our big art deco theatre downtown (doesn't every town have one of those?). There were a bunch of hairy chested men, hoisting equipment and yelling to each other. And of course there was a big luxury bus parked on the street. Girls were waiting around on the street with flowers and cameras. I wondered who was sitting in there sipping expensive bottled water and possibly snorting cocaine.

So I rounded the corner and finally saw the marquee. We were playing host to that young, good looking, dark, curly haired, internationally known, very angelic-like male opera-like singer (are you picturing who it is?). Ohhhh! Him.

Didn't know our little town had CULT-CHA, did ya?

But I had to hurry to my art group. There were more people than usual today. Had three new women. One asked to share my pastels (grrrrr, well only if I have to, and you better not ask to use purple, red, orange, yellow, white, blue, pink, aqua, salmon, brown, black or peach).

Another woman acted like she just wandered in from handing out pamphlets at a Jesus rally. Bless you, my child. She kept looking skywards, as if for some divine inspiration. She asked us how to spell "ANGEL" and then drew this angel that looked strangely like Loretta Lynn from the 1970s with the words, "The Angels will come in the door and save us."

Hey, wouldn't it have been funny to have spelled Angel, Angle? "The Angles will come in the door and save us"? Kinda sounds like a British Band. The Angles.

The third girl was pretty cool and drew really well. And fortunately we were also joined by my lesbian friend who had just gotten married over the weekend, "C". These classes have gotten us closer. She seems alot more relaxed and happy in the class, than in group.

We talked about the wedding some more. She finished up a project she's been working on the last three weeks. And I was telling her about that guy asking me out to lunch yesterday and how I thought "A" probably had something to do with it. I also told her about that guy Kevin in my art class and how tonight was going to be the night I was going to try and be assertive, per "A"'s instructions, and possibly try to say more than two words in a row to him.

And then "C" asked me what kind of guy I liked. She said she took me for a "metrosexual" type.

Metrosexual? is that good? I'm afraid I'm a little out of the loop on that terminology. Plus I was basically sitting in a room full of mentally ill strangers who were drawing pictures of daffodils, serial killers and angels that look like Loretta Lynn.

Hmmm. I did tell her that I didn't really like the guy who ask me to lunch, but that I liked dark hair and dark eyes. But when I thought about that description I realized it wasn't very specific and if we were in Italy, that would be virtually everyone in a 2500 mile radius.

So I narrowed it down to an ex-hippy, who probably smoked pot in the 70's, votes Democrat and owns a Saab with a "Question authority" bumpersticker. "C" laughed.

I drew yet another artsy lady today in the group. Kinda looks like Chita Rivera. I always take my artwork on tour around the center when I'm done drawing it, so I can soak up compliments. (Yeah, I'm totally shameless, but this is the only place in the universe that I do this. No one else ever sees my work outside of the mental health center. I figure as long as crazy people like my work, that's all that matters).

But one of the people who runs the place (presumably non-crazy), has been talking to me for the last three weeks about a friend of hers who owns an art gallery in a nearby town on a river. She seems convinced that this woman would put my work in her gallery. Of course my main problem is NO CA$H to frame my work. All I have is a bunch of sheets of paper with pastel drawings on them. Not sure if there is a way to remedy this other than winning the lottery and I'm not even sure if my work is good enough to go in a gallery.

I mean, its gangbusters in the nutty place, but in a real gallery...well.

So I took "C" home afterwards. She's young....still in her twenties, and I always feel good, when I drop her off because she always tells me "You rock!!"

Pretty good for a 46 year old. Maybe I do rock.

Oh, and right before I dropped "C" off, she had been kind enough to do a little psyching up of the wittykitty for my possible love match with Kevin the art guy tonight. The last block before her apartment we had started chanting his name KE-VIN, KE-VIN, KE-VIN and then started going WOOT, WOOT, WOOT. Yeah, we did look pretty silly. And yes its pretty hard to believe I'm 46.

But dammit....Kevin didn't show up tonight. Can you believe it?? After all that WOOT, WOOT, WOOT? Fruck.

Hey, maybe he was at the concert of the young, dark, curly haired, good looking internationally known, very angelic-like male opera-like singer. It's possible you know. I wouldn't hold it against him or anything, although I did exert a lot of energy getting ready for our possible love match/coffee date.

Now what am I going to tell "A" on Tuesday? I turned down your boy's gracious offer to lunch, so I could swoon over the arty fly-by-night guy who might possibly own a Saab and votes Democrat and goes to concerts of the young, dark, curly haired, good looking internationally known, very angelic-like male opera-like singers.


The class was largely uneventful. Naked girls with perfect boobs are starting to annoy me. I sat next to Charlie the French guy who insisted on singing along with the B52's music and making wisecracks.

I did force myself to stand with a group of people during the break and attempt to make meaningful conversation and nod and throw back my head in laughter upon hearing funny stories. I felt like I was acting in a bad movie though. I wish I was more comfortable in social situations.

See, maybe if Kevin had been there, I could have laughed at his jokes, and then we could have started making plans for our June wedding or something.

damn. is a little something I drew tonight. This is dedicated to my Super Gold Member benefactor. I have a slight inkling of who you might be, and I wanted to thank you again for the opportunity to share my scribbling with diaryland folk.

Unlike many of my other work, this has been untouched by Photoshop. This is just raw pastel scribble scrabble.

Poor girl...her ass really wasn't that big. Also my scanner cut off her legs. See if I were married to Kevin, we'd have a bigger scanner...

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty