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2006-03-07 @ 10:03 p.m.
busted for tuna...20 years in the slammer. minimum

Oh my god! Today when I was at the food pantry, trying to make my minimal pay check and recently cut food stamps stretch to a full month, I did something totally criminal. I mean Sister Constance, my fifth grade nun at St. Raphael’s was probably turning over in her grave, wondering....WHAT...WENT...WRONG....WITH....WITTY!! WHAT???? She seemed like such a nice girl when she was here at Catholic School and they pwthooopth! Just like that, she’s like some crack ‘ho gangsta. A crack ‘ho gansta, I say!!

What happened was I was walking around our local church food pantry this morning with my small shopping cart and the food pantry mistress was helping another woman decipher the really complicated signage along the shelves. You know, the ones that say: “ONE can for a family of One. TWO-THREE Cans for a Family of Four”. I know I always get confused too, because after all, I’m bipolar, so I always tend to count myself as two people and then there’s Guardcat who, I think, also has multiple personalities, since one minute she’s all loving and smoochy and then the next minute she’s sinking her teeth into my hand up to the tendons and then she’ll be running all over the house, overturning furniture and knocking over plants and growling like one of Sigfried and Roy’s demented lions that they don’t show the media because it ate a Mexican gardener and several UPS men. So I really think she should count as at least two people in my family as well. So if I did the math right, that would make us a family of four, right?

I really don’t take much at the pantry anyways. I skip over the peanut butter and jelly and the spaghetti sauce and the canned meats (yark!). But today, mainly out of habit of what I usually do when I’m grocery shopping, I accidently picked up two small cans of tuna fish. And suddenly I hear what sounded like the frickin’ voice of God boom over my right shoulder...


And lets face it, there really was a rest of a sentence in there somewhere, like “...YOU LOUSY, THIEVING FOOD PANTRY KLEPTOMANIAC”. I nearly jumped out of my skin when she said that and I did feel guilty. I hadn’t looked at the sign on the edge of the shelving and just automatically picked up two cans like I always do. So I nervously put it... the other 99 cent can of tuna back on the shelf and waited for some kind of karmic retribution for my extremely serious criminal a chicken sneezing the bird flu on me or something but fortunately nothing happened.

But, of course, now that I was behaving so god damn suspiciously....trying to jam random 99 cent cans of fish into the various orifices of my body, I suddenly became the main focus of the Food Pantry Nazi, who was now standing at the foot of my shopping cart, guiding it with her hand saying things like, “Here is the shelf with applesauce, ma’am. You are allowed....


And she did this for the rest of my shopping trip through the pantry and I found it to be a little annoying and demeaning. Okay, a lot demeaning. Although yeah, I realize I do certainly look like a crack ‘ho gangsta....

But looks can be deceiving. And maybe they should consider cutting the patrons of their pantry a little slack, especially since it sports a somewhat inviting sign that says “All are welcome”, and I’m assuming that means tuna stealing crack ‘ho gangstas like myself. And they might even consider that maybe we’re not going to rip them off, because maybe, I don’t know, we could just be there to get some that we don’t go hungry...after our food stamps run out....and we’re trying to pay our massive heating bills from four months of winter weather. Capeche?

GOOD! I’m glad we agree! :-)

Work was really delightful yesterday too. I did one of my all time, favorest things I can do at work ...well, actually several of them. I challenged my boss on a decision she made in front of the entire staff. I showed anger. I cried like an itty bitty baby. I made her defend her decision. I made staff members take sides. I only had one staff member take my side. I cried some more. I felt stupid and angry simultaneously (again props for me for being bipolar and being able to multitask). And I truly wanted to quit right then, because I felt betrayed by an employer who wasn’t willing to stand by me and made a decision I thought was a wishy-washy. Oh! And then I wondered if I was overreacting. Whew! Busy day!

I did talk to “A” about everything this morning. If you’re wondering what the hell I’m talking about, I’m angry that even though the psycho lesbian chick who sexually harassed me, screamed and yelled the “f” word a few dozen times at our office...AT US, left creepy messages, received several warnings about her angry behavior, is still allowed to participate in our programs. Her only restriction? She can’t come to the ones I’m working at. So I lose pay and she is essentially sent the message that sexually harrassing employees of our company is OK. Yay us!

“A” was proud of me standing up for myself though. I don’t do that very often and usually its only under extreme duress, like when I’m about to lose my inheritance to a filipino mail order whore or something.

He was in a very good mood today. He even complimented my appearance which is a very, very, very, did I mention VERY rare occurence? I was like “huh” (looking behind myself) talkin’ to me? I had dyed and cut my hair over the weekend. He must have liked my bangs, because when I went to push them out of my face, he was like, “Oh no, they look good when they’re down like that. Don’t do anything. They look nice.”

Dear Alien Abductors from the Planet Zardoz: What did you do with “A”? Is he in a pod under some bush somewhere? Just wondering. Thanks.”

So he was also chock full of information about my ongoing search for Mr. Right (or as I like to think of him....Mr. Pleasebenicetomeoratleastgivemepowerofattorney) once again. And shucks, I didn’t even have to ask. He gave me a sure fire list of what all men want in a woman. Are you ready? Do you need to go get a pencil? I’ll wait. You can put some tea on if you want. Ok, you back? Good. Here’s the list:

  • Someone who will listen to them
  • Someone who is interested in what they do.
  • Someone who’s fun.
  • Someone who’s flirtatious.
  • Someone who’s intelligent.
  • Someone who’s passionate.
    And while he was saying his list, I kept saying, “And sex” between each sentence. And he finally agreed. Yes, and someone who’s sexually compatible. Well, that seems easy enough. I’m fun (despite being occasionally surly in print). I’m intelligent. I flirt a little too(cough) much sometimes. I can “act” interested as long as it isn’t about Sears handtools or the NFL. Passionate? Well, I’m not sure. Maybe. I haven’t been kissed in over a freakin’ year. Ya wanna come over and make out with me?

    I wasn’t really sure what our little Art Boy Teacher’s agenda was last night. I do know that Gemini’s like to flirt since my mom is a Gemini and I have seen her vast repertoire over the years. I was working on my pseudo-Kandinski painting last night. I had a bigger canvas than I thought and was kind of overwhelmed by how much of a challenge it was. But as usual, I pretty much ignored everyone. For a while it was just me and the hillbilly nanny woman doing some artwork and then we had a new beautifully coifed blonde mother and daughter join us. They had just moved here from Los Angeles. I thought for sure they would comment on our horrible snowy climate, but you know what they dislike the most about our humble city? Not enough shopping malls.

    There, there trophy wife. Maybe we can start a support group or something.

    So anyways, I was sitting there working all intensely on my painting, up to my elbows in acrylics when I hear a very soft “Do you want a kiss?” And to myself I’m thinking, “Did I really hear that? Or did I just eat too much chocolate and I’m really hallucinating.” And then I heard it again, “Do you want a kiss?” and I looked up and it was the Art Boy Teacher who was standing there smiling. I said, “I haven’t had anyone ask me that in a long time” and then he put some Hershey candy kisses on the table.

    But I guess my answer must have tickled him somehow, because for the rest of the night, everytime he’d glide by the table he’d say “Ya wanna kiss?” and then eventually added kissing sound effects as well. Oy! The poor boy is only about 25. I didn’t take it seriously of course. He’s just the kind of flirt, sort of like Charlemagne the Obnoxious French Guy, who only does it for its entertainment value. So maybe I’ll just use it as an opportunity to “practice” the flirting thang, so that when the real thing* (see list above) comes along, I’ll be ready...You know, with somebody who isn’t married or a psychotic lesbian.

    Oh...the painting. This is only a small portion of it, since it was way too big for my scanner. But maybe you can enjoy what colors you can see. Or maybe not.

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  • Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty