2005-01-17 @ 11:19 p.m.
I had the weirdest thing happen this morning. When I woke up, I had my entire sheet, blanket, and double bedspread gathered up under my armpits and everything below the waist, which was nude of course, was just hanging out there. And I was like WTF? And then I began to speculate what might have happened. Had I had a visit from the Prince of Darkness, like in “Rosemary’s Baby”? Had he just planted his seed of evil and departed, like all Princes of Darkness do? Or maybe I had a chance encounter from that poor, unfortunate guy from the Cialas commercial with the four hour erection. I love the way the commercial tells people they should “seek medical attention if an erection last for more than four hours.” Like duh. Or they could just look at naked picture of Richard Simmons. That would probably kill anything that even vaguely resembled a four hour erection.
So I had to untangle myself from the bedsheet strangle monster. Guard cat was down at the bottom of the bed watching me. When I asked her what she was looking at, her eyes glowed a bright demonic red for just a second, and then she went back to being her usual lazy ass self. Cats know more than you think....they're just not willing to share.
My mother called briefly and asked if I had thanked my sister yet. Nope. I am a really sorry individual when it comes to thanking people in a timely manner. And I’ve had a lot to be thankful for lately. Emotionally Christmas sucked, but gift-wise it totally ruled. I was stunned at how many nice things people gave me...giftcards...money...giftcards :-) And last Thursday when I went to my support group, a friend from there gave me a late gift (another giftcard for “Olive Garden” Woo, I’m now officially rolling in “Olive Garden” giftcards, anyone want to go with me?). I’m always a little shy about opening gifts in front of people. I think it comes from my mother, who always needs instant exclamations of GREAT JOY from me whenever I open anything from her. I’m just not really a GREAT JOY gift opener. I suppose if I opened a box with a set of keys for a 2005 Passat, I might get a little jumpy-uppy-downy. Or say, a gift certificate for sex toys :-) or something. But generally, I’m pretty sedate. So what was I talking about? Oh yeah...
Anyways, for like months and months, my sister down in Florida had been telling my mom that her and her friends had been gathering clothes and shoes and purses to send us. At first, it was like yippie, free clothes! Because clothes aren’t generally something I spend money on. As in never. But then as time dragged on, I started to doubt if this large imaginary box of clothes even existed, but it finally arrived 3 days ago.
I was a little hesitant at first, about letting myself get too excited about it, since my sister had said that all the clothes were size 12 and smaller and I was under the impression that I took size 14. But I don’t. Size 12 were groovy and I even fit into most of the petite sizes which were in the box as well. Yay me! And can I say one thing about the clothes? I wasn’t really expecting much. I guess because I’m so used to shopping at the Salvation Army, where stretched out tee-shirts and pilled sweaters are the norm. I only expected as much. But these clothes looked like Teri Hatcher’s wardrobe in “Desperate Housewives”. Sexy tee-shirts, exercise clothing, a scooped neck black sweater with 3/4 sleeves, some low waisted black linen pants which fit perfectly. There were also multiple pairs of capri pants, but since I’m short, I don’t really like those. I think they look stupid unless you’re tall and willowy like Charlize Theron or Angelina Jolie. I also got a pair of Nike sneakers. I’ve never had Nikes before. They feel different from my Reeboks, but hell, I’m always needing sneakers, and now that I’m the New Queen of Treadmill at the “Y”...yee-haw!
My mom wanted me to put on a fashion show for her. I felt kind of dumb doing that. She had handed me a nightgown and I kind of crunched up my face saying, “Well, I don’t exactly need one of those” (she knows about my penchant for sleeping nude) but she said, “I know, but you may have company someday.” Company? If I ever HAD company, chances are, I probably STILL wouldn’t need one. heh, heh. You’re dreaming, witty.
But I tried it on (it was a large flowery short yellow mu-mu thing) with the Nikes and black socks, and then I put a sweater on over it. I looked like a bag lady from under a bridge. But I did a sexy model walk through the living room like it was Fashion Week in New York. Eat your heart out Claudia Schiffer!
After the fashion show, I headed for the mall. The sun was out, and I didn’t want to go to the movies and miss out on two hours of sunlight, since sunlight is at such a premium in the these parts, that I just walked the mall for exercise.
I did stop in the center of the mall and looked down at the mezzanine and knew I had to go down there. Why? Because I knew I was about to be kissed...that’s why. There were two people there and they had five greyhounds. They were from some kind of “Rescue-a-Greyhound-Because-After-They-Stop-Racing-People-Generally-Neglect-Them organization. They were so cute. And they have such long, skinny snouts. I petted each and everyone but it was Domino who gave me a big slurpy doggie kiss right on the lips. Sigh. Now if only I could get a guy to do that. But I did learn an interesting fact from their brochure, like greyhounds don’t have a doggie smell. It didn’t say why, except perhaps they’re lacking some kind of stinky doggie sweat gland or something. They were so cute though, I want one. Guardcat, can I have a greyhound?
Guardcat: “What are you daft??”
After that I hit a kiosk which was closing out it calendars. All 2005 calendars $3.00! Yay! Because for all the datebooks I got for Christmas (3 to be exact), nobody thought to buy me an actual wall calendar. So I’ve been looking at the calendar over my bed for the last two weeks thinking it was January and then wondering why the days weren’t matching up with the dates. Wrong year, dimwit. So I checked out a few calendars. Fortunately they didn’t have the vast selection that Borders has. Because having to decide amongst 400 calendars, tends to make my wiring overheat. I was immediately attracted to one with Frida Kahlo artwork on the cover though. I love Frida. I thought it was only Frida, but it turned out that it featured other Latin American Artists as well, which was fine for me.
There was also one other calendar I did consider and for some reason, I immediately thought of the rakishly intriguing Hiss Not really sure why, except perhaps that the calendar featured nude figures adorned with food and was called Intercourse. The subtitle was “An Aphrodisiac’s Guide to Food”. Images included a woman completely awash with strawberries across her pelvic region. Another had a man with a series of oysters shells artfully arranged across his impossibly well toned torso. And then there was another woman who appeared to be coated with rice crispies, but then again I didn’t have my glasses on, so I might have been wrong on that one. But it was pretty hot. Intercourse....I want it.
Today was laundry day though. The clothes I had gotten from my sister, while nice, kind of smelled like cigarette smoke and pickles, so I decided to throw them in with my sheets. And today, I just decided to go to the “nice” laundrymatt, where everything works and there are no fistfights in the parking lot. I had just done some laundry this last Wednesday over in the hippie artsy part of town. I mainly go to that one, because its close and also its across the street from a library and I can go over and read The New York Times while my clothes are being laundered.
But this last trek had really pissed me off. I had brought some handmade rag rugs to wash. Guard Cat had puked on the one in the kitchen, so I just threw in the bathroom one as well, just because I didn’t want to wash my regular laundry with the cat-puke rug. When I went to put them in the dryer, I came upon a most aggrievous injustice and nearly became laundricidal. The washer, which the two rugs had been in, did not spin them dry, so they each weighed nearly 300 pounds soaking wet.
So I then had to start squeezing the damn things out. At first I just squeezed them, and not much was coming of it. So I knew I needed more motivation (and elbow grease since I’m not very strong), so I then I began to fantasize about a certain married guy’s neck and how much I would enjoy wringing it and suddenly it all became so much easier. I still ended up having to put out about $3.50 worth of quarters in the dryer, but since it was getting really close to when my art class was to start, I finally just took the wet rugs out and took them home to dry over heaters. I stretched one of them out over my stereo, next to the heater and came out of the bathroom to find Guard Cat trying to lay down and get all comfy on the wet rug. I yelled at her and she ran, but as soon, as I went into the kitchen, she snuck back up on the wet rug and went to sleep. I guess she must have thought she was in a kitty sauna.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty