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2005-09-03 @ 12:47 a.m.
a 6 kiss penalty

My Wednesday night art class was its usual frantic self, only because Charlemagne the Obnoxious French Guy was once again in charge. We really do need to get this man/boy a watch.

Expected arrival time: 6:30 p.m.

Charlemagne's arrival time: 6:55 p.m.

...all out of breathe, as usual. How hard can it be to walk exactly one block? Crimany. Fortunately, our fearless art leader had dropped in and helped me set up. We talked about the drawing session I missed this weekend. I was so incredibly bummed out. We had an outdoors nude drawing session. We only have it once a year, but I was just finishing up at my old apartment and by time I got back to the Village, I was so hot and exhausted and in pain, that I just nixed the idea. And I really wanted to go. So much so that I had turned into a mega stress puppy, screaming and yelling at my poor mom who was trying to help me clean. My car was so totally packed that I was unable to get my vacuum cleaner into my car, so Guardcat is under strict orders not to shed until I can retrieve it. I also pouted the rest of the afternoon.

No drawing of naked people outdoors. Boo! Plus I was a bitch to everyone in a 100 mile radius.

But Charlemagne blew in at the last moment, and I gave him the prerequisite death ray glare/slash/cold shoulder. Because I have issues with lateness. Lateness = The death penalty with no appeals. And I've had so many people in the last 2 weeks be late. First Charlemagne, who was so late, he didn't even show up two weeks ago for our art class until I called. And then the lesbian chick at work, who was 20 minutes late for our movie event. And then another coworker I was doing a group with who didn't show up until about 2 minutes before we were supposed to start and I was standing out on the street with all our clients because I didn't know how to shut off the alarm in the building. And while my movers were much better this time, they too were also an hour late. But their lateness was actually a good thing, because I really needed more time to pack stuff and rest in-between.

I guess I just don't understand people who think being late is okay. If you're supposed to be somewhere at a certain there.

So is it pretty obvious that I'm anal about being on time? I guess its because I used to have this really terrible boss in California who kind of nurtured that idea. I'm like on time about 99.999% of the time. But this woman used to stand at my desk and if I was like 30 seconds late, she'd tap her watch and say something like, "Gee, glad you could join us in time for lunch." Grrrr! That used to piss me off so bad, because I was usually only late because of horrific traffic in California, not because I was dawdling in front of the mirror or catching the last few precious seconds of the Regis and Cathy Lee Show. (Yeah, like I'd really watch that).

So Charlemagne knew he was on my shit list, and what did he do? Oh....kiss me. Yeah, it totally works everytime, dammit. I'm so weak for man kisses, even if they are of the French Charles DaGaulle kind, which is to say, a kiss on each cheek. But to be honest, the week I've been having, any kind of kissing was fine with me.

What provoked all this was when I asked him for help afterwards. I am going through some extreme fatigue right now. I wasn't even sure if I was going to go to my class because I was feeling so tired, but our fearless art leader had E-mailed me telling me it was Charlemagne for the night and he isn't really capable of running the class alone. He didn't come out and say that...because, well, he didn't have to. I just knew.

So I was folding up the biggest of the art tables we have and I just couldn't do it. I'm too short. So I called him over to help and of course, he wanted to get on my good side. He kept telling me to let go of the table and I kept saying no, that I wanted to help him and it went back and forth and I finally said, "Look, I don't trust when people say they're going to help, because they always disappoint me."

Whoa. Where did that come from? I guess that's sort of how I've been feeling the last couple of weeks. Even when a couple of people DID come through for me, I was only cautiously happy. I guess I'm just sort of used to people blowing me off. Does that sound bitter? Perhaps. But its not so much bitter as said with a feeling of resignation. Like really, you'll help? That's great. You'll be there then?" And then they don't show up. Or they cancel. Or they just don't offer. And I have a really hard time asking for help. Even if I was on the Titanic sinking, I would still have to put together a series of passive aggressive type questions leading up to "Do you think you could kinda, sorta, maybe throw me a life jacket?" and of course, by then, I'd be swimming with the fishes.

But right when I said that Charlemagne grabbed me and started hugging me and kissing me right in the middle of everything. I could feel a deep blush coming up from my toes. I was so embarrassed. But he does stuff like that. He's always grabbing women and kissing them. Its no big deal to him. He was also consoling me about what I said, like "Poor witty. I'll be there. I'll help you. You just have to ask, ok? OKAY???" He finally stopped kissing the hell out of my face and I kind of wobbled and felt hot. I wasn't getting THAT kind of hot. I just felt like the Virgin Mary on her first date.

So we’re supposed to co-host together again next week. And I was just sitting here thinking....he better not be late, otherwise that may involve a 6 kiss penalty.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty