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2006-03-21 @ 1:20 a.m.
half dead rock star wears pink

I met with “J” about our new group this morning. He had called me Sunday at home and I had seen his number on my caller ID. I didn’t call him back, because hey, I was going to see him the next morning, right? So I saw him today. “Did you call me yesterday?” Him: blank look. “I had a call mid-afternoon with your phone number. Him: (confused) Did I call you?” Ahh, the old “Did I call you thing.” He did finally fess up to calling me and I assume it was about our work or our group. Because why else would Mr. Married Coworker be calling me? And then tonight when I got home from my painting class. Guess what? Go ahead, guess? Another call was blinking on my caller ID from him. Now why would he be calling me again? We settled all our stuff about work this morning. I’m going to have to talk to “A” about this tomorrow. I think he’s crushing on witty and I definitely don’t want another “married one” to be getting all schmoopy on me.

I did go to my art class tonight. Got there about 20 minutes early like I always do. Our young Art Boy Art Teacher was moving tables around and doing his usual artist bullshitting about his printmaking projects in college and about how he smells. He talks about that a lot. I’m not sure how often he bathes and fortunately since its still winter, I haven’t been able to detect any aromas approaching roadkill, so I guess we’re good. We chatted really well, until the blonde supermodel girl came in...About 5’11”, blonde, gorgeous. He practically stopped talking to me in mid-syllable when she walked in. And I guess since I’m an elderly and ancient 40 something (albeit cool), in the rock-scissors-paper world of what girl gets more attention from an earthy 25 year old man, I guess I’m the odd girl out. Meh! Whatever. At least I can converse about more things than cellphone ring tones and my iPod.

The rest of the regulars were pretty late. The hick-a-billy nanny and Death Mom didn’t show until about 20 minutes in and the old Russian lady, Svetlana, was a half hour late. Death Mom was her usual Tim Burtonesque self. The Art Lab room has several music rooms at the end of it and kids take both guitar and piano lessons there and then have to walk out through our art class. They almost always stop and look at our artwork and get information about maybe taking the class in the future.

Well, this poor young girl, who only looked about 10, stopped and looked at Death Mom’s huge spectacular canvases of Death Monsters and death Minions with mittens and babies with razor sharp teeth but no eyeballs. To be honest, I can’t even look at her work its so scary. Its like she’s channeling Stephen King or something. But this little girl was just looking at it all and of course, Death Mom had to immediately launch into the long, involved story of her daughter’s death and explain how the Death Monsters in the paintings were chasing her and trying to drag her underground so that she would die. And the babies with the razor sharp teeth wanted to eat her and the poor little girl looked terrified. Oh wait, that was me.

Ya know lady, how ever you are working out your grief about your daughter’d death is fine, just don’t tell some terrifying story about a Death Monster grabbing someone and pulling them underground to kill them to some poor innocent little 10 year old who is just passing by your table. That IS NOT ACCEPTABLE. In fact, it borders on creepy and inappropriate.

I really do think she is a little daft anyways. Just two of the things I heard her yammering about tonight included telling us how she had flunked a music appreciation class in her Ivy League school (I know what it is, but will protect its privacy). She said the final in the class involved the professor putting the needle down on a recording of a “Gregorian Chant” record for like 2 bars and then they had to identify WHICH Gregorian Chant it was. She said she got a “D”, because ha-ha, she knew she would never need to know a Gregorian Chant in her adult life. And then she regaled us with a tale about how musician Mitch Miller, who had gone to her school, had gotten suspended when during the “William Tell Overture” he had climbed up into the area above the stage and at just the right moment....when they had clashed some big cymbals, he had poured a bunch of chicken feathers down over the orchestra.

hahahahahaha. Haaa...what? Are you sure it wasn’t you and your little death minion buddies playing a little prank, ya freakin’ fruit loop?

Anyways, I did try to shut out her voice and all the ambient sound that was happening in the studio. Instead of bringing an artbook with me tonight, I brought a photography book of all the celebrity photos from “Rolling Stone” magazine. I had a couple ideas of who I wanted to paint. Part of me wanted to do something challenging like writer William S. Burroughs and his innate sadness. But as usual, I went for the loud, gaudy stuff.

After I was done with the painting, my Art Boy Art Teacher thought it was Rod Stewart. Death Mom thought it was Elvis Presley. And I felt kinda sad that nobody recognized it as Keith Richards in a drunken stupor. I took it from a black and white photo from the 1970’s where he is laying on the floor looking like he had just snorted about 23 lines of cocaine off Bianca Jagger’s ass and painted it in full color, Unfortunately, you can’t tell he’s lying on the floor and my painting style makes him look a little more alive than he did in his photo. Oh well. Take it for what it is.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty