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2004-10-29 @ 2:32 a.m.
pools, alien abductions and cartoon guys named Bob

You Are a Snarky Blogger!

You've got a razor sharp wit that bloggers are secretly scared of.
And that's why they read your posts as often as they can!

Snarky, but damn cute.
And obviously damn worthy of a sugar daddy/mommy too! Yippee! Thanks to whoever was so kind and extremely sexy, desirable, adorable, well hung or stacked (depending on your equipment), intelligent, generous, bright, witty, probably able to beat that dorky guy on Jeopardy, and most likely able balance your checkbook and write poetry and Broadway musicals at the same time, for renewing my diaryland gold membership.

A vote for wittykitty, is a vote for America.

Arghhh! I think I just watched one too many election commercials.

Anyways, thanks a lot. I really appreciate. And you asked for it. Artsy-a-la-mode. More nude things are on the way! Oh, and drawings too.

It was a very busy day for a still unemployed person. Had "A"s group first thing this morning. It was hard getting up because I hadn't gone to bed until about 2:45 a.m. and then was up by 7:45. I probably should have just bagged it. Group wasn't all that awesome today. I had to open my big mouth about the Married Guy situation. I won't get into any of it, but "A" said something that really hurt my feelings in front of the group, and I probably won't be talking in front of group any time soon. So thanks "A".

After a quick Egg McMuffin, I then headed over to the YMCA and got my new membership card. Unfortunately, the twit at the front counter made me fill out the same application I had filled out to get OK'd for the Y'Care scholarship four weeks ago. Plus she coughed on it before she handed it to me. I hate that! I hate when you're in public and somebody coughs or sneezes all over the food they're handing you or the money they're counting out to you. One word of advice for them: STAY HOME. Oh wait, that's two. I don't want your damn germs, so stay the fuck home Nyquil breath!

But I got my little card and had my picture taken. In the Universe of Bad Photo IDs, this one would surely come up in the top ten. Its not that its bad or that I look like Barbara Walters without makeup, its just that I look like I'm about ready to commit my 133rd serial murder. I guess I was still hurting from "A"s group. But, by gum, I had my little YMCA card, and I could now officially pass through the gates of hyper-yuppiedom-excercizedness. You see, my YMCA is located in a very yuppie area. The parking lot coming in, was a sea of SUVs with John Kerry stickers. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I just don't have the money for the SUV part.

I had my bathing suit with me, but I did have to make a brief stop at the nearby Target store to buy a damn towel because I had forgotten mine. Fortunately it was only $1.58, so that wasn't too bad.

The pool area was totally packed though. There are actually three pools. One large one, which had a senior water aerobics class going on in it. A second kids pool area with various spraying nozzles and waterfall thingies, guaranteed to make kids slip and fall and cause law suits. And then a third small pool which has very warm water for arthritis patients. I went and asked the woman leading the water aerobics class if I could join in, because I knew all their classes were booked up way ahead, but I thought if I looked appropriately sad and waif-like, she might let me join. And she did. SCORE!

So it was me and the over-80 crowd with our little rubber dumb bells. The woman I came in next to seemed truly perturbed that 1) I came in late 2) that I was 57 years younger than her 3) that I was in "her space" as in a 27 square foot area to the right of her 4) that I was sooooo much cuter than her without the benefit of plastic surgery and botox.

For me though, the hardest part was getting into the pool really fast, and not having a chance for my boobs acclimated to the cold water. Because you see, they are very sensitive to temperature changes, and if my photo ID picture had any kind of a grimace on it earlier, you should have seen me, every time one of the "girls" dipped below water level. EEEEEEE!! Crimany. What was the "Y" doing? Making ice cubes?

But I did do all the exercises and eventually dipped my boobs into the water, screaming inwardly and outwardly trying not to look like a serial killer. The class ended after about 20 minutes.

I then decided that all this boob chilling wasn't going to be for naught, so I swum a lap. And even though I love the water, I'm not a particularly good swimmer, so I grabbed one of those rubber noodle thingies and started to swim. Once out in the middle of the pool though I realized...HELP, I think I'm drowning. Truly. For a moment I got a little panicky, even though I had my floating noodle. I guess I haven't been in a pool for a while, and the lifeguard was incredible looking. I was also really tired and achy from my fibromaylgia. Not having a masseuse anymore is wreaking havoc on my poor body. I've also been tearing through my pain pills like M&Ms lately with no end in sight. Damn Married Guy. Damn you all to hell.

Anyways, I was finally able to noodle swim my one lap and get out of the pool, and head to the whirlpool. And I think I may have found my new best friend, Momma! Whoa! My mom used to have a hot tub in California, so I am not unfamiliar with the healing properties of pulsating hot water jets. Of course it was a little weird to get into a whirlpool with 4 elderly people over 70 talking about arthritis, but it was so worth it. It felt awesome. I could have probably stayed there for like 5 hours and ordered in Chinese, but the sign over the whirlpool limited you to 10 minutes. Secretly though, being such a hedonistic slut, I actually stayed 10 minutes, 11 second. (whispering) Just don't tell anybody!

I finally headed back to the dressing room and shower area. I took a shower and washed my hair. (Note to self: Bring shampoo and conditioner next time. Why? Because your hair looked like a giant frizzed out haystack from hell afterwards, witty. Oh. OK). I then came back to my locker with my $1.58 towel wrapped around my head and I started to put my panties on when suddenly this yuppie-mother comes around the corner with a little boy. And I'm standing there, like in full frontal boobness. And I'm like Fruck!! What the hell! Wouldn't you know, in this huge new facility, with like 400 lockers, that their locker had be right across from mine. I immediately covered up the naked C-cups and ran back into the showers with my bra and sweater and jeans and got dressed like some nervous priest who just got caught with some altar boys.

I guess I just don't understand the "Little Boys Up to Age 5 Can Come Into the Locker-Room" Rule. It was posted on the door. But ya know..personally I think that is a little old for little boys to be viewing naked women. I could see maybe 3, but 5? I mean, 5 year old boys are already smoking cigars and studying for their driver's permit. So no, to being in the locker room with naked women.

I did go home for a while after that. I had planned on taking a nap in the afternoon, since I was so tired, but, hell, I can't even remember what I did this afternoon. Psst. Witty. Alien abduction, remember? Me: Again?

I then headed out for my survivor group around 4:30. I can really get into my feelings in that group and my feelings today were mainly of anger, so I took our communal plastic kid's bat and beat the shit out of a chair. Whee! How fun! It really does help to get anger out physically though. It's amazing. Oh, and everyone was very complimentary and excited about my new job. The leader of the group had been one of my references, so she pretty much knew I had it in the bag, after she talked to the lady.

The evening though, was the best of all. I went to see a speaker at our local university. He is the cartoon editor for The New Yorker magazine. I had seen a write-up on him in the Sunday newspaper and was determined to go see him even though it was at night, and it was on campus in a building of unknown locale. But a friend in my group, lives very close to campus, let me park at her house and then we walked over there. She didn't go though. She just left me off there.

But he, Bob Mankoff, was an amazingly amusing speaker. And he did a great PowerPoint presentation with probably a hundred New Yorker cartoons from the 1920s up to the present. He also just finished a book with all the cartoons ever printed in the magazine. There was something like 16,000 of them. I tried taking a few notes, because he was talking about creativity and humor...two of my favorite subjects, but the only thing I actually wrote down that I could understand afterwards was "It's not the ink, its the think" and that is surely true of any New Yorker cartoon you'll ever see.

Afterwards he was out in the lobby signing his new book. I, of course, was 1) too poor to buy an expensive 9 pound book about the New Yorker cartoons and 2) was probably too shy to ask him for an autograph anyways, so I just milled around for a couple of minutes and looked at an art show that was in a nearby hallway. I did have an Asian woman ask me if she could ask me a couple of questions.

Moi? Moi, of little importance fame?

Yup. She was from the local newspaper and she wanted to know my opinion about the speaking event. Well, as prodigious a wordsmith I am in print here, in person I am like a total Rain Man. So I was like, "yeah, it was great, yeah, great. Funny. Yeah. Uh, huh. Funny. Yeah. Great. Yeah. Umm."

So, if you see that quote in some newspaper tomorrow, I am totally going to deny it. As in, speaker? What speaker? I was home watching "The Apprentice". Honest. You can ask the cat.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty