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2004-07-29 @ 1:16 a.m.
do two neurotics equal one normal person:

Well, I finally had a day in the Plus Column. I didn’t win the lottery and Married Guy didn’t leave his wife for me, but I made it through a whole day without crying and even managed to scrape up an eensy bit of hope. I think its due solely to the fact that the women in my support group are getting together to help me on Friday. “A” is always telling me that nobody is going to rescue you. They may not exactly be rescuing me, but I do feel like somebody is at least throwing me a lifesaver. And that feels pretty good. I feel cared about and that doesn’t happen very often. Maybe I am worth saving. Who knew? :-)

Went to the art class down at the Crazy Crazy place today. One of the women from my group had promised she’d be there, but she wasn’t. I do hate that part. People promising stuff and not living up to it. My Dad used to promise me stuff when he was drunk when I was a kid and then wouldn’t remember it the next day. And I could never understand why he would renig on stuff. I didn’t understand that he just couldn’t remember what he had promised me. So I am extremely sensitive about the promising thing. Married Guy promised me the other night that he would take me out on his canoe, because I was saying how much I loved water, and I had missed out on canoe fun because of all the RV problems. If he doesn’t remember his promise, I guess I’ll have to beat a canoe trip out of him.

Aren’t I charming? No wonder I’m not married at 46.

So when I got to the Crazy Crazy place there were two people “doing art”. The crazy crackhead chick, who wears three inch deep eye make-up and says things like “I fell out of bed and smelled spaghetti cooking like chocolate” (Its okay if you don’t understand that. Nobody else did when she said it), was just leaving when I got there. I was left with “T”, the guy who asked me if I liked ponies the first time I met him and then wanted to date me and this other woman who says mean and sarcastic things about people as soon as they leave the room. I can just imagine what she says when I leave. She was doing finger paints. She’s fifty something. Naturally they cleared the way for the “real” artist. If nothing else, I do have the respect of the crazy people when it comes to the artwork I do down at the center. They all seem to like it and call it cool. I mean, there’s nothing better than to be called cool by a crazy person. SCORE!

So even though my day was going better than any in the past 3 weeks, I still wasn’t particularly inspired. I had brought in my Portfolio art magazines which I usually look through to get ideas out of or get inspired, but I just plopped down my canvas, and did a dark blue wash on it, and then painted some black squiggles, and painted in some of the crevices with yellow, orange and bright green. I didn’t think until I got home today that some white splashes might have loosened up the image, but unfortunately for all the acrylic paints I have at home...white isn’t one of them. So here is my latest supposedly cool, and crazy person approved painting.

Had to finish up early to get to my Anger Management class. Today was our last class, and essentially graduation day, which only meant one thing to me...FREE PIZZA. Its funny, but the teacher had said I was going to be getting a certificate despite my spotty attendance, and I kinda dropped my head in shame and said, well gee, its true, I didn’t really complete the course, so that’s ok, and then she said, No, that’s ok, you’ll be getting a certificate anyways for the times you did attend...blah, blah, blah.

Well, I didn’t get the certificate. Argh! Ok, I didn’t deserve it, but I kinda felt like Charlie Brown having the football pulled away by Lucy. It’s fine that I didn’t get it but why did she go through the whole rigmarole about me getting one if I wasn’t going to. That just wasn’t kosher. But you know how we celebrated our completion of Anger Management today? We watched the movie “Anger Management” with Jack Nicholson and Adam Sandler. What a great movie! There is some really hilarious stuff in that movie, not only about the anger management, but also about shrink/patient relationships, and some really incredibly bad boundary violations (but boy, are they funny). The movie lasted until after 5 (our class usually gets out at 4), so I had to race home for a quick dinner, so I could get to my figure drawing class.

Johnson, our fearless leader, was a no-show tonight, so “K”, my second potential art class husband person, was in charge. Poor “K”. I had gotten there about 15 minutes early and I saw him pull up with all the stuff Johnson usually brings in (a cooler with goodies), so I knew he was opening the studio for us. And then when I got to the door, no “K”. I then walked around to the back of the building, and saw that his car was gone. Hmmm.

And then people started arriving and the community center doors were still locked. Time was ticking away and finally at about 6:59, “K” came tearing into the parking lot, all hot and sweaty, and unlocked the doors. He had forgotten the key on his first trip and had to drive home to get it. And he was totally unnerved. He seems the type to have a nervous stomach anyways, so everyone helped him set things up. We started about 10 minutes late. He later leaned in close to me and said, “I was so humiliated”.

My God Man, You Were Only Late for An Art Class. Now You’re Starting to Sound Like Wittykitty. So I told him not to worry, because everything got done and we were all happy little artists.

Okay, paragraph four about “K”. Hmmm. “K”. I think I realized from about the time I saw him out in the parking lot tonight that I was trying to impress him with my wit and my whatever the hell I have to impress menfolk with. Yet everytime I went to talk to him and say something witty...since I AM THE WITTY KITTY, I would just stumble and fail miserably. He would just be standing there, with his soulful little Jewish face, and I would get all stumbly, and suddenly instead of talking directly to him, I would suddenly be looking at us from above, as if watching on a video dating screen.

Witty: Jibberjabber, jibberjabber, honk, yark, yark.

“K”: (smiling shyly).

Witty: (shifting uncomfortably because the Jibberjabber, jibberjabber, honk, yark, yark joke just totally tanked and I’m not used to not scoring with my incredible wit). Ummm.

“K”: (smiling shyly, and kinda looking like Alvy Singer in “Annie Hall”)

Witty: I guess I’ll just go sit down now. Thanks.

“K”: Ok. Thanks for talking to me. (to himself: “I hope she doesn’t think I look like Alvy Singer in “Annie Hall”)

Perfect....two shy neurotics.

Of course, there were some diversions. When I was paying for my ticket some old geezer, came up behind me at the entrance, and asked if this was the business management seminar. Now, this guy didn’t exactly look like the business management seminar type. No, my friends. He looked more like the bottle of Thunderbird in the alleyway type. So I turned to him and said no. And then he asked the same question again, and I said no again, kinda of snippily. (I don’t particularly like old men). And then he asked a third time, and I finally turned to him and said “No, this was a nude figure drawing class”, and suddenly he looked like he had just been told that all the drinks were on the house...until Christmas 2010.

And tonight we had an older model (definitely a theme in the summer, when our local college is not in session). So this old geezer sits down and is just gawking, and I do mean gawking...kinda like...I haven’t seen a naked woman since 1962. And this woman, despite her age (probably around 50) has some pretty graphic poses. I was pretty much struck nearly blind when she decided to do this pose which had her clit poking directly into my face for a full two minutes. Models don’t usually open their legs when they pose. But this one did, and Grandpa Walton was sitting in a chair nearby, with no drawing utensils, enjoying the view as well. Whee! Isn’t this fun? Much better than a business management seminar. He did finally have sense enough to ask someone for a couple sheets of paper, and then he started drawing “something” with a ball point pen. (always my favorite means of drawing).

And then during the break, clitty woman started handing out business cards . I guess she wants to further her nude modeling career to more than once every six months. And I guess I must have looked like some kind of Arts Impresario, because she gave me her card too. Yeah hon, I’ll get’cha lots of nude modeling jobs. You just wait and see.

I didn’t have my glasses on, so the writing looked like ant antennas, but after holding it out about 4 feet from my elderly eyes I noticed a really weird thing. She lives on the very street where Married Guy has rental property. The street is only two blocks long, in a fairly large city and what are the odds, that a nude model lives on the same street as a Married Guy’s rental property. And then I took it a step further. What if she lives in his rental? I don’t know his street number, but what if? So I asked her. She was very offended that I thought she lived in a rental. Damn, I guess nude models make better money than I thought.

But she also asked me for a ride home afterwards, so I guess, its not that lucrative. I had to turn her down. I was still stinging from looking at her clitoris full on for two minutes, so I passed her on to “K”. Can you believe it? I gave a nude model to my potential future husband/Alvy Singer. I watched her ask him for a ride and I knew he would take her home, just because he seems really nice. And he did say yes.

And as for the old geezer. Well, I guess drawing nude girls on a piece of paper with a ball point pen must have gotten boring after a while, because he was soon wondering around the studio, and ended up grazing at the snack table right behind me. I could feel him watching me draw, which made me very uncomfortable. I was like back off Grand Dad! He then disappeared into the unisex bathroom for a good fifteen minutes (I don’t even want to think what might have gone on in there, although I did go in there afterwards to wash my hands and it smelled like dead raccoons, so I guess he took a major Old Man Dump. Eeep)

And then I did have the pleasure (sic), and please God I hope he washed his hands, of having him introduce himself to me. His name was Bob. He wanted to know my name and how long I had been coming there and questions, questions, questions. I just shook his old man claw ever so briefly, said my name and was off in a flash. Didn’t want any Old Man Cooties, because those are the worst. Especially from guys named Bob!

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty