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2004-12-17 @ 2:35 a.m.
flustering boys, my new favorite past time

Here is your horoscope for Thursday, December 16:
Emotional? Who, you? Yep, but just for a few more hours. You won't be wearing your heart on your sleeve much longer, so make the most of it. Let it all out now, while you can claim temporary insanity.

Me emotional? Oh, never. But temporary Insanity. Entirely possibly. My only long is temporary?

Well, the PC has been healed by a shaman. I flew him in from Arizona and we prayed to the God of Bill Gates Corn God, and ate some mysterious psychedelic mushrooms plugged in a new keyboard and suddenly I had a working cursor, thus making it possible to type in the all important c:/win, bringing my computer back to life. It’s funny how that works.

It’s also funny how much has happened in the last few days, but nothing really. It’s always like that for me. Everything is big to me. What? I didn’t trip over the cat walking out to the kitchen? Alert the media. I didn’t weep and sob while in the shower? I must contact “A” and tell him immediately. I’m just so damn important. I think I need a media rep.

On Monday, we had our office Christmas least for our small department. During our morning meeting, my boss asked for a volunteer to go and help the woman who has been providing my training for the last 6 week, prepare for the party. How hard could that be? Getting ready for a party? So I volunteered and drove over to this other location across town, and she put me to work. My tasks? Peeling and mashing potatoes. Lots of them. Dragging around tables and chairs. Putting out silverware and dishes and decorations. Putting ribbons and name tags on about 35 presents. Setting up the CD Player. Selecting music (I put on “Nutcracker Suite” but one of the songs “freaked her out” (huh?), so I had to change the CD). Making gravy and stuffing. (ha, ha, wittykitty in the kitchen. me breaking into riotous laughter. I have absolutely no cooking skills whatsoever. If you can’t nuke it or cook it in a pad of butter, I am totally bewildered). I know this doesn’t sound like much and most of you are probably doing at least this much on any given day in the two weeks before Christmas, but she never even gave me a chance to sit down and rest and my fibro pain was really bad. I finally had to hand over the potato mashing duties to my co-worker, because I was so exhausted. And she seemed put out that I couldn’t fulfill my duties. I later felt very guilty when I finally sat down to eat, because that’s just how she makes you feel in general, but I was really starving because it was like 1:30 in the afternoon and I hadn’t eaten since a bowl of raisin bran about 8:30. Plus I was sweating like a pig, and was all dressed up in a white silk shirt, which I didn’t want to get dirty.

People finally started to file in around 1:15. It was a mixture of my co-workers and their clients. The trainer was very determined to make them eat the hor-doerves first, even though there were huge platters of carved ham and turkey out on the table under foil. I would have gone for the meat too, but she wanted them to only eat the dips and chips and fruit. But I was thinking to myself, lookie...luscious slabs of meat...yum!! I wanted to grab some too, but I was there to set an example. Since I am an employee, that is.

Of course, by that point, I was just happy to sit down. After much ado, we were finally able to dig into the meat part of the meal around 2:30. It was at that point that I realized there were several men in the room who were madly in love with me. I have a young fellow employee, who is behaving like a high school kid around me. Looking all moony eyed, and making silly jokes and then looking at me to see if I laugh. Oh sweetie....I’m into older men, like past puberty. The last time I heard a joke like that Jimmy Carter was still president. And your parents probably hadn’t even met yet. You are just too darn young. Please don’t have a crush on me. You’re a nice kid. I don’t want you to get hurt. I guess I shouldn’t have complimented him on his meat carving skills in the kitchen. He was all puffed up about that. I just wanted him to feel good about himself. Not fall in love with me.

And then there was “M”. A client. A guy probably in his thirties. He introduced himself, and I realized he was a client, since he wasn’t one of us, and one of the first things out of his mouth was, “This is probably too personal, but what is your diagnosis?”

Now there are three things mentally ill people ALWAYS talk about: 1) What medication are you on? 2) What is your diagnosis? 3) How many times have you been hospitalized? And always in that order. I get a little tired of the conversation to be truthful, because there is so much more to me than that. I actually kind of resent it, but its the way that mentally ill people get to know each other. How much you can ascertain about a person from what pill they take is a total mystery to me.

So I didn’t answer this guy at first, because he immediately retracted the question, because I think I accidently shot him the wittykitty deathray you-must-die stare. I didn’t mean too. I actually forgot I was at work, and am supposed to be representing our company. But I was just reacting freakin’ jerk, why should I tell a total stranger what my diagnosis is? But then considering the setting....virtually everyone in the room is under the care of a therapist and/or on medication, I guess I had to soften my stance a little. But then he started to get a little annoying. He wanted to know where I lived. He wanted to know what my apartment looked like. He wanted to know if I had a family. He wanted to know if I had kids. He then went back to the diagnosis question, which I finally answered, and he seemed totally thrilled that he had cracked the penultimate mystery of the universe. awittykitty’s diagnosis.

But the strange thing was, I kept answering his questions in a general way, and then he would ask the same question again. And his hands were shaking really bad. I don’t know if I was doing that or if it was a medical condition. But then he starting getting more and more personal. He moved closer to me. He told me more about himself (like I was really interested). He has never worked. He lived on the west side. And then it was abruptly back to where do you live again, witty???? I was actually starting to get eeked out. This is just the kind of thing that is making me nervous about my new job. Clients wanting to know personal information about me, like where I live, and me not knowing how to handle the question. Personally, I don’t want these people to know where I live...ever. I finally excused myself and went into the bathroom. And when I came back out, I bypassed my table and went straight into the kitchenette area and started shoveling fudge into my mouth at an alarming rate.

The trainer person, finally after much consternation by the crowd, let the crowd have dessert about two hours into the meal and then it was time to hand out presents. Just doo-dads, cheap jewelry and some clothing items. And then my boss thanked her for all her work on the party and I thought for sure, she would acknowledge the two hours each of solid work that my co-worker and I had done, but nary a mention was made. She just took a deep theatrical bow and let the applause wash over her. Well, what-evah!

The next day when I saw her at work, she didn’t say one damn thing about the party, like gee, I really appreciated your help or anything. Not even thanks. Up until this point, I had thought she was pretty cool, and was even considering her as possible friendship material, since we have some stuff in common, but after that, if I want to interact with a narcissistic personality, I’ll just call my mother.

Wednesday was infinitely better, if for no other reason than my drawing class in the evening. We did have possibly one of the most inert models in the history of the universe. I thought that somebody had sent a corpse over from CSI: New York. As in totally expressionless. Zombie. Dead zone, as in take her pulse, I think she’s flatlined, Mr. Sinese. Plus she was one of those bone thin chicks. Virtually no breasts. Armpits so hairy, the CIA might consider looking for Osama bin Laden in there. Furry legs. It was all rather unappetizing. My drawing of her, actually makes her look more lively than she was...and for some unknown reason, I gave her red hair. Her hair was actually mousy brown. I guess I was trying to protect her identity. Not that my lack of accurate drawing abilities wouldn’t protect her.

People actually started to leave at the intermission, but one person who didn’t was “K”, the person who I’ve been somewhat interested in since summer. The one who “A” has been bugging me to ask out for months. Unfortunately, he only attends the class maybe once a month, so I never have time to get up the courage to do anything, because he’ll abruptly appear one night and then leave early, so if I don’t make a concerted effort to corner him in a brief time frame, he’ll slip out of the class without me being able to talk to him.

But I got him good on Wednesday night. Yeah, baby. I was telling the girls in my Survivor Group about what happened and they think that he likes me, because I “flustered” him. heh, heh. ME, flustering somebody. Can you imagine?

I did corner him at the snack table during the intermission. He is not much taller than me, dark hair, dark eyes, my favorite combo. And I asked him how he was doing (he’s healing from a recent operation). And then I just launched into a bunch of questions. I’m sure it was like the Spanish Inquisition or something. Probably if somebody was watching us, he was probably rearing back, cringing in fear and trepidation. I just couldn’t see it, because we were standing so close. I imparted quite a bit of info about myself, about my new job, about my background as a graphic artist, about my family, about moving here from California, about my expertise in certain graphics program, since I know he works in a print shop.

We were briefly interrupted by “E” this older guy who I took an art class with this summer. I had told him a couple of weeks ago about selling my painting, and now he just keeps coming up to me in every class and loudly exclaiming, “You’re a professional artist!! You’ve sold a painting!! Can I touch your hand?” And I’m like pipe down there, skippie. You’re embarrassing me. It was just a fluke I sold something. Probably one of my friends bought it, so shut the fuck up. But this guy keeps doing this every week, and I’m starting to get really embarrassed. So even though we had already had the “You’ve sold a painting, can I touch the hem of your sacred garment” conversation earlier in the evening, he came up and interrupted us saying, “Can you believe witty sold a painting?? She’s a professional now. Do you think she’ll still talk to us?”

Me: (thinking internally) “Not if one of you is being an asshole.”

K kind of nodded his head and smiled a “this guy is an asshole” smile, but he seems too nice to say anything mean or ignore him, so finally “E” just scurried away relishing his contact with an art icon of immeasurable talent and we continued to talk. But I could tell he was nervous. I was telling him how many siblings I had and he was so flustered by our conversation (obviously by being in such close proximity to a goddess) that he stumbled over the number of siblings he had, making him sound dyslexic. Poor guy. He did say he would let me borrow a copy of his Photoshop (only if you deliver it in a red velvet jockstrap with jingle bells on it, sweetie).

Unfortunately I was unable to go in for the kill. Sorry “A”. I know you wanted me to ask him out for coffee, but I just can’t do that. I have never asked a guy out in my entire life, except for Tad, and we all know how that turned out. I had a mad crush on a guy for over a year. I finally got up enough courage to ask him out to the movies, and two nights later, he met his future wife, to whom he is happily married now with kids. Yay, me!!

I guess I just have such great taste in men. And such great timing. I did meet Married Guy before he was married, but I wasn’t aggressive enough to pounce. I guess I just have to wait for the planets to line up or possibly call back that shaman to make certain my love life behaves like it ought to. And there’s always those funny psychedelic mushrooms to partake in. MMMMmmm.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty