2006-09-12 @ 1:14 p.m.
Like all things in the life of a person who suffers from anxiety, the anticipation of an event is always worse than the actual event. So the wittykitty LOOOOVE-IN yesterday morning wasn’t nearly as horrifying as I thought it was going to be. I did wake up and cry from sheer anxiety that morning, you know, as in, oh no, people are going to be nice to me, and this might possibly upset the continuum of the entire universe somehow. But people mostly talked about....guess!! Go ahead, guess!! No, not a great ass! Although, hey, what can I say? But almost everyone mentioned that I had a great sense of humor. Can you imagine? WITTYkitty? I wonder where they got THAT idea from? Even “B” came over, although he’s no longer part of our department, because he wanted to be part of the candle ceremony and say that I was the only person who could keep up with him in the sarcasm department and he was going to miss that. And to think...only one person mentioned that I did my job well. But hell, being known as Don Rickles with boobs is far more important than mere job performance. Right? And fortunately when it was my turn, I was actually able to articulate what the job had meant to me, which was really unusual because usually when I start talking, it kinda sounds like “lfgihqrdnji rgujh m(snork)griiigm”.
“J” and I went out to lunch. I know he’s going to miss me, aren’t you “J”? “J” reads my diary. I won’t bust your chops about being a married guy going out to lunch with the lovely, single witty yesterday. You’ve been a good friend. I actually forgot to thank him for all the times you drove me home when my car had crapped out last winter. He told me he was going to miss me during lunch and asked if he could call. I think I said yes. I just hope he keeps it under control. He does like to chat, that one. On the way back to the office I had him snap this picture in front of my favorite BBQ rib restaurant.
We did our last empowerment group together with Green. They let me do my favorite subject “Healing with hum0r”. I was the person who introduced that into the curriculum last year. Articles involving humor and how useful it is for people who suffer from depression. Like did you know that kids laugh an average of 300 times a day and adults only about 14 times? What’s wrong with this picture?
I did get a few more than 14 laughs Sunday at my mom’s party with Gay Elvis and his legions of fans. OY! Okay, not really. Not while I was at the party. I hated the party.The party was basically divided up into two groups. A) Casting call for “The Sopranos” (i.e., lots of old crusty Eye-talians wearing polyester and looking somewhat sinister). B) A bunch of plump, middle aged Elvis groupies. And again, where did I fit in? Nowhere. I had nothing in common with anyone.
And yet my mom felt the need to take me around and introduce me to every last person at the party. At one point I tried to protest, but evidently, I upped her coolness factor when I allowed her to introduce me...her “beautiful” daughter to everyone. Beautiful? Since when? I never heard that growing up. Maybe funny looking. Or fat. Never beautiful. I especially had no interest in meeting all the Elvis’ groupies. Because he had annoyed me right when I walked in. Rather than greeting me by name, he had yelled out, “Hey, its (my mom’s nickname) Junior!!!”
When I heard that my blood pressure nearly hit 200. I just pretended like I didn’t see my mom who was sitting next to him. I just swerved and went over to see one of her friends. I never did talk to him the entire night. No loss to me. He was wearing some tight jeans with one of those belts that buckle but is way too long and hangs way, way, way down, all penis-like. Its so obvious the way is hangs, what we are supposed to be supposing. Married Guy used to wear his belt like that occasionally. Like its some secret male boasting hand shake or something. To me it would be like a woman jamming two volleyballs up the front of her sweater.
And then about five minutes into the “party” (Eye-talian corpses and Elvis groupies) I went and got a cup of Diet Pepsi and walked by my mom’s friend who was wildly gesturing and she immediately nailed my Pepsi cup and it flew up in the air and splattered all over my face, hair, sweater and khaki pants. Great! Good thing we were outside because Cowboy Bob is a Virgo and his house is so perfect it looks like a series of hotel suites in Vegas hotel. Why Vegas? Because he has huge posters of Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack all over his walls. Sinatra and Marilyn Monroe. The first time I went to the restroom, with its nearby white phone, there were 9 Marilyn Monroe photos and posters in the bathroom. Can you see why I felt the uncontrollable urge to hum "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend" while I was peeing?
Cowboy Bob pretty much lived up to his billing. It was only about 60 degrees out but he was wearing white linen shorts, sans man panties, and loafers so he could tap dance when the urge struck. My mom said she had picked up one of his many Las Vegas books and looked at it and when she set it down, he came running over and had to put it at the precise angle it was supposed to be. Man! There are more OCD people in the world, than I thought!!
It really got too damn cold outside, so I went in and sat in CB's all white living room and watched one of his 5 big screen TVs. There was nothing on except a channel with pictures of singers from the sixties singing "Mack the Knife". I was amazed at how many of the Eye-talians kept walking by and just touring his house. Going in all the bedrooms. Picking up things and looking at them. I thought that was kinda rude. I startled one woman. She said she thought I was a manikin. Didn't know they made short, chubby, middle aged manikins, but you never know.
The partiers finally came indoors after dark and I went down to the massive playroom downstairs. All the "entertainers" (Gay Elvis and friends) all sang songs from the 60's. This one really ancient 90 year old Eye-talian guy with jet black hair kept yelling, "Sing Sinatra, sing Sinatra!!" I finally had to move since I didn't want to ruin my background check for my new job by murdering Frankie "the Hammer" Fanuchelli.
I finally settled in a chair behind a treadmill and could only see Gay Elvis' chest and groin. That was fine. He is like a hyperactive child going "look at me, look at me!" Honestly. He can sing and all, but he is just way too hyper, WHICH IS WAY HE'S NEVER MADE IT IN SHOW BUSINESS.
Just thought I'd add that.
There was one funny moment when Gay Elvis flopped down in Cowboy Bob's lap for a brief moment while performing and then popped up and said, "Woo! I guess you've got your (cough)phone on VIBRATE!" Cowboy Bob laughed and said no, but later yelled out, "How come you're so cute and 48 and don't have a girlfriend?" followed by raucous laughter. None of the groupies laughed of course, but I was thinking: Exactly.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty