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2004-08-01 @ 12:16 a.m.
trying to talk myself out of professional cat boudoir photos

Well, last night, in a moment of weakness (and Lord knows, I have many of them), I had put a brief paragraph in my diary entry groveling for financial assistance on my soon to be ending diaryland gold membership, employing guilt, tears, threatening to withhold my stunning weekly art displays, because I would no longer have room in my cyber art gallery. I had even brought in a trio of violins to play really sad music, as I cast my eyes downwards, looking appropriately sad and urchin-like. I couldn’t even believe I was playing the guilt card. I felt like I was channeling my mother or something. But then within about 20 minutes of putting it up on diaryland, I had snagged a Super Gold Membership. Woot. Woot!

Man I felt such a combination of guilt for groveling and happiness for getting something so nice, that I quickly launched into the increasingly well known Wittykitty Dance, which actually looks alot like Elaine’s spastic dance on “Seinfeld”. Remember that? And as for dealing with the guilt aspect of it...I jumped right back onto my entry and erased the whole embarrassing plea for help thing, so I wouldn’t look or feel so damn geeky and pathetic.

So I would just like to thank my Supergold Sugar-daddy or Sugar-mommy. You are most kind and I would smother you in kisses if I could, but since you are there, and I am here, and you may have boundary issues (oh wait, that’s me), we’ll just leave you with a heart-felt THANKS!!

Ok, so I’m down to my last $25 for the month. what to do? what to do? Hmm. Hey I know! Have professional Cat Boudoir Photos taken. My cat is so worth it. She is so freakin’ sexy...the Carmen Electra of the cat world. Okay, I didn’t quite have enough for a Professional Cat Boudoir Cat Photographer to come to my house. And my bedroom is too small for any kind of Professional Cat Boudoir lighting equipment. And my cat would probably freak out if a Professional Cat Boudoir Cat Photographer walked towards her with a camera. I mean, she freaks out if a piece of lint falls off the laundry bag in the bathroom.

But I did sneak this picture of her when I was up at the asshole Nanny guy’s house. Even though I hated 99.99% of everything at his house (not counting the kids of course), there was one thing I really loved. He had this absolutely stunning iron bed that I slept in. And since I had to keep the cat solely in my room, Guardcat got very friendly with this bed. And she really loved it too for some reason. Usually at home she’s running around like she’s being chased by the CIA, but up at the Nanny Guy’s house, she romped around and laid on that bed like she was at a $1000/a night spa. And I was like, what’s up with that?

But was she welcome? Not really. The first time the asshole saw her, he looked down and said “ya little bastard”. Can you imagine? Just calling a cute little kitty a bastard for no reason? And this was the first night I was there. And it wasn’t like she had committed a crime or anything, other than being a cat. I guess I should have said, “Takes one to know one, dickhead.”

Anyways, that little blob of love-fur in the middle of the love-bed is my kitty, Queen of the Universe and the real keeper of my heart.

Today was pretty uneventful. It was very muggy and warm. My mom’s best friend, who I really liked called me about 2 and asked me to come out to dinner at her house. She had told me she had some old stuff I might be able to put on E-Bay, but I just hadn’t gotten around to getting back to her, partially out of shyness and partially out of apathy from the past couple of weeks. She also told me she had just hung up from my mother, and that my mother was having chest pains. Ugh!

The only explanation? I got so much attention yesterday with my intervention, that she was having an adverse reaction from it. She always gets chest pains when I get attention. When I graduated from my graphics program and was getting my diploma, they had to stop the graduation ceremony just when they were going to call my name because she was having chest pains. When I had photography featured at a local art museum and they gave out certificates to the participating artists. Guess what? Chest pains. Two of my last three birthdays? Visits to the ER with...yup chest pains. Lord knows if I ever won the Academy Award or anything. Guess we’d have to have an EMT unit standing by with oxygen.

So instead of calling her, I did nothing. I messed around on the computer for a while. Played the piano. And then drove out to “B’s house. She’s the one who lives on that lovely creek. When I arrived she asked me if I had called my mom. I said no, and told her I didn’t want to deal with the drama. I think she was taken aback when I said that.

So she showed me a bunch of stuff. I mainly took a bunch of really old books and some Elvis records. Not even sure if they’re worth anything on E-Bay. I just grabbed them because of name recognition. I also grabbed a few records for myself like Ella Fitzgerald and a Gershwin. She said to take what I want.

We then had a nice meal of ham, potatoes and thick string beans. She didn’t seem as outgoing and friendly as usual, and I was guessing it was because I hadn’t called my mom. So she asked me again after dinner if I wanted to call my mom (no, not really), but I did. My mom did the weak voice, I got a pain under my armpit thing. But I’ve heard it so many times before, I just took it with a grain of salt. So after my phone call, “B” lightened up considerably and was laughing more. We sat out on her back deck which over looks the creek, and I finally told her about my mother’s history of histrionics. Like when I used to live with her, she would do the chest pain thing as many as 4-5 times a week. She’d call me at work at 10 a.m., tell me she had chest pains, but (sigh), she would wait until I got home (at 4:30) for me to take her to the ER.

Well, allrighty then!

I think “B” finally got a little insight into the whole chest pain matter. I told her I didn’t want to appear callous, but when somebody plays wolf so often, its difficult to take them seriously. And I think she finally got the point.

But we had a nice time on her deck. It was considerable less hot and humid up where she lives than in the city. We were watching the various birds fly up and down the creek. Finches. Swallows. Hawks. There was this beautiful Cedar Waxwing that kept landing on the antenna of her boat which she had tied to her dock, and then flying away, and then landing. And soon there were four of them flying around our heads. They were very comical to watch. And as I sat there relaxed, enjoying nature and talking to someone about nothing in particular, I finally understood the line from the Gershwin song...

Summertime, and the livin’ is easy.


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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty