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2007-05-03 @ 11:40 a.m.
art sandwich wednesdays

Its finally Spring here and yesterday I was so happy about it, I nearly slapped on a couple of boob-streudals, dressed Guardcat in some kitty-appropriate lederhosens and sang a number from “Springtime for Hitler”. It was also the beginning of what will be Art Sandwich Wednesdays. An acrylic landscape painting class in the morning at the YMCA and then my regular nekkid drawing class in the evening. YAY! I can live with that. I wish I could live with it forever, but I have to enjoy it while I still have the funding. After August, no more money for art anything. I will still continue to go to my evening class, but it will be tight. Very tight.

But my new painting class at the YMCA was great yesterday. And what a difference from Ego-zilla in the last watercolor class. The teacher immediately was referring to us by our names (Ego-zilla never knew our names, even after 6 weeks of class). She was knowledgeable and energetic and helpful. We weren’t subjected to the two bejillion references to her upcoming art book on and stories about her house in the Haaaaaamptons. ”Oh Thurston, can you hand me a brush?” And the best part, no constant references to how the previous students had stolen art materials so we’ll have to tear pieces of paper in two, because I’m so damn cheap there’s no budget. None of the artwork I did in that class fits into any standard matte frame because it was a damn sheet of paper torn in half.

I had thought the class was only four weeks, but its six weeks and we supposedly will get to go outside and paint at some point, since the gym is right next to some marshlands. When the teacher asked us who our favorite artist woman was flummoxed by the question. She’s a newbie who was kind of kissing up to the teacher. She kept complimenting her and then painted something gray and said, “This is how I feel today” (sigh). I’m certain she’ll be the class “I can’t paint, I suck” person. There’s one in every class. But when it was my turn, I said “Kandinsky”. I actually like at least 4-5 artists equally. The teacher thought I wanted to paint like Kandinsky. I could only hope, right?

We did finally get down to painting in the last hour. We divided a sheet of canvas paper into four segments and painted a sky/grass combo, water, and the other two were free choice. I only had time for two of them and the start of the third, but here I am afterwards on my porch being Goofy Artist Girl.

My great day was then seriously marred by a trip down to Medicaid. My Spend Down was just reinstated which means I have to pay the government a payment towards my health insurance. But what I’ve been doing since 2003, is using my payment to “A” as my Spend Down and its always been fine and groovy. And did I mention totally legal? Yeah.

But yesterday I got to meet my new case worker and rather ironically I got the waiting room number M16 and I almost thought I was going to need one by the end of my meeting with her. First of all she said she wouldn’t take “A”s receipt as my payment. Nope. And it was too late for May. I’d have to pay my full payment. And then everytime I would start to talk, she’d talk over the top of me. She also kept leaving the counter and talking to someone somewhere else. In the meantime I started sobbing. I’ve been doing this for like 4 years. Its like killing two birds with one stone. One check instead of two and “A” gets paid. And did I mention its legal? Oh yeah, I did.

So I finally told her I couldn’t afford to write her a check on the spot, because it would bounce and she once again talked right over the top of me because...well...she obviously was a...

bloody horrible scathingly HORRENDOUS CONTENTIOUS bitch from the bowels of hell

...with no brownie points for niceness in her forseeable future.

It finally happened though. Even though I was in a rare good mood, I finally actually made eye contact and said, “Its really rude the way you’re talking over the top of me. I have something to say, and YOU need to listen!” And she actually suddenly stopped all her sanctimonious, “You’re an unemployed crackwhore and deserve to eat shit” thang and looked startled. Because I was about a millisecond away from ending the sentence with “You bloody horrible scathingly HORRENDOUS contentious bitch from the bowels of hell.” but there was an armed guard nearby and who would want to see the headline, “Hippy artist chick snaps and stands up for herself with a government official but then grabs a gun and takes hostages.”

Anyhoo, I finally stopped crying, although she did hand me an 1-800 for a list of shrinks who take Medicaid. I told her I’ve been seeing my therapist for 12 years and I wasn’t going to drop him because of inane governMENTAL insurance snafu. So she said next month the payment for my therapist wouldn’t be accepted.

Afterwards I went over to my social service office and asked not one, not two, but three people if this was all legal, including looking on the Medicaid website...the answer? No, including the guy who is the company specialist in Medicare and Medicaid. So we’ll see who gets the last laugh, ki-MO-sa-bitch.

Fortunately, I was able to end the day with my nekkid drawing class. Tuesday night I had gone to our final board meeting before our art conference in two weeks and they said that another guy would be hosting instead of Charlemagne, so I didn’t go in early. Felt bad, but he forgave me, since he had some help from the Kid Doctor to set up.

We had one of the boring skinny models, but she did find a prop sword in our storage room and used it to model with the whole night. She was a little dangerous with it though. Stabbing the tip into her stomach, into her foot, across her throat. Umm..?

“L” the Hippy Chick wasn’t there, so I just sort of wondered around. Charlemagne was off on some tangent about bodybuilder J@ck L@Lane being the model for Batman, although he did say, “Are you losing weight?” to me, which, of course for someone who once said, “You’d be cute if you lost weight.” was really nice.

At one point I did end up in our unisex bathroom with the Kid Doctor, who was standing at the one and only sink, washing his hands like doctors do. He started talking about how he keeps trying to find a medium to draw in that doesn’t get his hands dirty, but that everything does even inks. He finally stepped aside to let me share the sink, and I just did my usual quick, perfunctory hand washing, while he was drying. When we walked out the bathroom door together he looked at me and said, “Sex, love and art are messy.”



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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty