2006-02-07 @ 2:00 p.m.
Is it just me, or does everyone in the Rolling Stones look like they forgot to put their dentures in today except Mick Jagger?
Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay, I watched the Rolling Stones during the Testosterone Bowl on Sunday. I always like to see what cadaverish, sixty year old, living testaments to a life of drug use look like and of course, I knew they would sing my theme song, “I can’t get no satisfaction”. I even got up off the couch and jumped up onto the coffee table with my 3D Happy Hanukkah sunglasses and sang into a hairbrush, scaring Guardcat into a near fatal cat heart attack. It was all very exciting and just atypical of a night at the awittykitty homestead.
See you don’t need drugs and alcohol to have fun, just relentless boredom and the serenity that comes from living alone with a cat. Yeah, I know...what a crock of shit.
Well, that bitch Mother Nature is really kicking our ass today. After only about 7 inches of snow for all of January, we had about a foot of snow overnight. And being OCD I kept going out my front door and sweeping it directly off my porch down into the creek. I had complained to the management about lack of maintenance, especially around the mailboxes and I looked this morning and its all shoveled out. Yay for being a big mouth! Of course I had also vaguely mentioned on a note attached to my rent that I had almost slipped and fell and oh my, how icky those law suits can be. Heh, heh. Power of suggestion is amazing, especially where money is involved.
I had met this woman down in the laundry room last week and she had said she really wished our apartments would go co-op so she could BUY it. And I was like “huh?” These apartments are tiny. The building is crumbling. There are rodents. It has poor maintenance. Why in God’s name would you want to buy the damn thing. I told her I was on disability and she daintily said, “Oh, I guess you couldn’t afford it then.” Nor would I want to, you damn wench.
Well, on Monday at work I talked to my boss about what happened with the lesbian chick over the weekend. She had already called my boss, of course. I knew she would. She had also called me twice on my voice mail. She told my boss that she didn’t want to see me anymore because it was too hard because she has a crush on me. She also added that she had thought I was a lesbian too...which can I clarify for a uno momento here....is a load of crap. I knew she was gay the first time I went out, so I went to great lengths telling her I had just ended a 5 year relationship with a married MAN, you know, as in someone who possesses a penis. But I guess she just heard what she wanted. The message on my voice mail was similar and then a second message gave me permission to call her up and make fun of her. I, of course, would never do that. I’m not like that.
I talked to “A” about it this morning. He’s had his share of these one-sided borderline relationships. He told me that I wasn’t responsible for it and placed the blame entirely on my client. He said as long as I had set up strong boundaries (which I did), I was not at fault in any way. He also said that she left me no choice when she wouldn’t get in my car Saturday.
Ugh. I hate when people are hurting. I’m too soft hearted.
Well, its 5 days until ELVIS!!! WOO!!!!!! My mom is taking me to see her buddy the Elvis impersonator this Saturday before my birthday. And I couldn’t be more ____________ (insert adjective of great excitement). Do I want to go? Well, I guess that’s the million dollar question. Did my mom ask me if I wanted to go? Yes. And what was my answer? No. Did she give up asking me? No. Did I give up saying no? No. Did she use guilt to make me say yes? Yes. Did I crumble under her guilt? No. Has she ever thought that maybe I might want something more useful than a night at a Elvis impersonator show? No. Has she ever asked what I really wanted? No.
I guess you can see a little pattern forming here. This conversation has been going on since December when she found out her Elvis impersonator buddy was having a show the day before my birthday. I have no interest in seeing the show and I don’t want her to spend the $60 for something I didn’t want to see, especially since she’s poor. I have been saying “No...No...No” for two months. And then the other morning she called all excited and said, “I made the reservations for Saturday. We have to be there at 6. We’re sitting with Elvis’ parents.”
See how much input I had into my birthday present? Sure, its a gift, but she knows I have no interest in going. She did assure me that he won’t come over, attempt to sit in my lap and sing, “Happy birthday, babbbeeeeee” to me, which, of course, would culminate in the newspaper headline: “Birthday celebrant stabs Elvis impersonator in aorta with a steakknife”.
Its not that I don’t want attention on my birthday. I do. Lots of it. Hugs. Kisses. Roses. Even a stray e-mail from someone would be nice. Instead I’ll be laying on my couch watching the conclusion to “Grey’s Anatomy”, wondering who’s going to get laid first, me or the young, lovable George on the show.
So this morning when I was seeing “A” I was telling him how my mother always tells me I’m a pessimist and she’s an optimist and he came up with a good zinger which I won’t repeat here, since this diary appears to have some uninvited guests. But he assured me that I am NOT a pessimist. I am quite the opposite. And then I added, not only am I not an pessimist, I’m also quite cute and adorable too! He looked up over his laptop and said, “You’re working on it.”
When a delusional person says they’re cute and adorable, especially when they’re on the cusp of being 48 years old, you’re supposed to instantly agree and nod your head so violently your glasses fall off. Mmm-kay?
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty