2004-06-14 @ 9:46 p.m.
|So I vacuumed my entire house this morning in about 3.2 minutes, you know, since its only about the size of a Munchkin model home. And what was the first thing I did? Get a piece of cake out of the refrigerator, grab a fork, turn around rather abruptly and sent the piece of cake catapulting about 5 feet out into the living room. Naturally about 3.5 million cake crumbs sprayed off it as it was flinging itself to its death on my Astroturf carpeting.
Even with the possibility of cake crumbs to gobble up, my cat was nowhere to be found. She is scared of the vacuum cleaner. I don't even have to start it up. I can just touch the damn thing and she'll bolt under the bed. I'm not sure why she is so scared of it. I've never tortured her with it or anything.
One of my mom's old lady friends vacuums her cats every morning. She has four cat. They all have first names like Fluffy or whatever. And then their last names all are the same...Susie Saint Marie, even the boy cats, so its like Fluffy Susie Saint Marie. Mind you, this isn't the lady's real last name. Just her cat's imaginary last name. So my mom will call her up and there will be all this loud vacuuming noise in the background and "M" will happily be chirping that Fluffy Susie Saint Marie is getting "Rainbowed" (a brand name of vacuum).
But not my cat. I have the spookiest damn cat in the universe. We have this thing we do every night. Every freakin' night. My computer is in my bedroom next to my bed. (well, naturally its next to my bed. My house is munchkin size, everything is next everything).
Anyways, I will be sitting at my computer and my cat will come skulking in. Secret Agent Cat. Skulk. Skulk. Skulk. And I'll watch her with amusement from my computer. And she'll be sneaking around the edge of my bed. As to what's on the other side of my bed...I'm not really sure. A giant Rottweiler? A twelve-headed cat-eating mega-monster? Well, possibly. But I have to have my fun, right?
So every single night, we replay the same exact scenario. kitty-kitty...Skulk, skulk, skulk. And then I will lob something from my desk (usually a stray Post-it or whatnot), and then it will usually either land on her or right next to her, and she will totally freak out and flip 3 or 4 feet straight up into the air and then execute a perfect half-gainer into the nearby garbage can.
My friend called me from Berkeley this morning. She asked if my birthday presents had arrived yet. Um...no. My birthday was in February, but hey, the gift giving window is still open as far as I'm concerned. :-)
Talked to her about the Nanny thing. At first she seemed hesitant about the idea. She didn't realize that I was just getting around to the idea of wanting to be in contact with kids at this late date. She only knew me in my young, lets drive around all night and go to Denny's at 2 a.m. and drink cokes phase. She's never gone maternal. She's into hockey.
It was good to talk to her though. I really don't have any girlfriends on the East Coast. Only people in my support groups who aren't really my friends.
But I did finally have to cut her off. It was 12:30 and I was still clothes-free as I was walking around my house on the phone. And I was trying to cook some soup before leaving for my art class. Fortunately my landlords are out of town (our windows face each other at an angle), so cooking in the nude was probably ok.
My art class today was finally pretty good. I think the call beforehand had helped to relax me. Had just thrown on my big roomy sundress and grabbed my art supplies and ran. Was actually a little late, as was the other guy in the class.
Johnson seemed happy that we finally got there. Actually managed to kibbutz with him a little today. He has a very sly sense of humor. We were actually teasing the owner of the house where we hold the classes. The guy is very nice, but kind of a yuppie extraordinaire. Johnson had found a remote control for the air conditioner, so we were coming up with all the different things that could be controlled by remote controls. Like the mini-blinds. The furniture... The nude model.
Fortunately being able to joke around helped me to relax and I wasn't so uptight about being perfect today. We worked on foreshortening and perspective, two things I totally suck at. I still suck at them tonight, but at least I have the scientific explanation of them, in case I ever get a brain transplant someday.
Our model, by the way, was the varicose vein model from Wednesday night. I had thought she was French, but she was actually from Poland, and her name was Eva. Had thought she might possibly have been Hitler's old girlfriend, you know, Eva Braun, but then when I did the math, I realized she wasn't quite old enough, and I think she's dead anyways.
But there was one weird thing that happened today. Johnson was showing us how to draw something on the floor and we both got down on the floor to look at what he was doing, and the model was just laying on the mattress.
Well, I was about 4 inches from the edge of her foot and she was laid sprawled out on her back with her eyes closed and just for a split second, I glanced over at her, and suddenly I felt like I was at a CSI investigation.
Female. mid-fifties. gray hair. No discernable wounds. Location: second floor of a yuppie house. Remote control laying nearby.
Ok, I don't have cable and I don't really know what they do on CSI, but I did get a momentary creep-out. And I'm sure if somebody had lobbed a package of Post-its at me from overhead, I too would have done a freaked out half-gainer into the nearby garbage can.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty