The last few hours

May 25, 2010 at 12:56 PM
Up til three fixing Kat's computer, it was fun. It was like rifling in her underwear drawer and being allowed to make changes, like turning them all hot pink or making them all say "RADNESS". Thanks to Luke for that, his instructions kept her computer from turning into a flying toaster last night. But where his instructions left out, I was left alone with a computer asking me questions that - for once - I couldn't even think with. Wha-huh? The WHAT database? Press 3 for whahhhhhhhh? I was deep in IT tech.

After I got through that hoary jungle, I ran what I know well - defrag and disk cleaning. Except I did them my way - the hardcore techy way. With fancy applications. I firmly believe that everything can be solved by running defrag once a week.

Anyway, now that Kat's computer is the equivalent of hot pink and rad, I shall move on to this morning.

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I have meetings all day, and lots to do. Staying up until three was not part of the plan.

So this morning, I wake up at 9:00 (two hours late) thinking "Oh crap! Straight to work then..." so it makes perfect sense that I crawl into the shower, spend ages under the warm friendly waters provided by the shower gods, and then get dressed. Once again, I'm wearing lady's work pants. They make me feel more "worky" on Tuesdays, when I have all my conference calls and stuff.

So, now that I'm late for starting my morning lineup, I find myself tottering around her kitchen pulling together breakfast. For some reason, Kat's cat, 'Kitty" thinks I have to take over feeding him. I have no idea where his food is.

So Kitty's chasing me around the kitchen, somehow calculating the precise mathematics involved in performing graceful figure eights that somehow ALL manage to intersect with my moving feet and legs in unpredictable ways as I stumble toward the coffee maker.

Here's how it goes.

Stumble, accidentally snag toe on Kitty. Check a cupboard for cat food. Grab mug, trip over Kitty. Explain to Kitty that I have no idea where his food is. Pour coffee into cup, head toward the bananas. Check a cupboard for cat food. Carefully stop feet at exact point where I'd have tripped over the Kitty, and then lift my foot slowly over Kitty. Check a cupboard for cat food. Still somehow end up tripping over Kitty. Explain to Kitty still louder that I don't know where his food is. Check a cupboard for cat food. Look at Kitty and say "See?" while pointing at the cupboard.

Reach down and pet him for a second sympathetically. This turns on his bongo drums, apparently, and he's now magnetically attracted to my legs, unable to not have some portion of his Kittiness rubbing against my body. Check a cupboard for cat food.   Trip over Kitty. Check a cupboard for cat food.    Trip over Kitty. Check a cupboard for cat food.

Whine to Kitty that I've already explained about his food and I'm not gonna keep talking to him anyway, he's a CAT.  Check a cupboard for cat food.

I trip on the way to pour myself a glass of water on Kitty. One tiny droplet splashes on him from my glass of water being poured. He vanishes suddenly and completely from the kitchen until my cup of water is done and sitting on the counter.

Trip over Kitty on the way to the apples. Explain to Kitty again that I'm not explaining this to him again. Check a cupboard for cat food.  Check a cupboard for cat food.  Check a cupboard for cat food.

Where the HELL does Kat keep her fricking cat food? Holy crap!

Tell Kitty it's totally Kat's fault I can't feed him.

Pick up a cup of coffee with my left hand. A cup of water with my right (Kitty disappears). Put a banana into my pants (I have no pantspocket, so the waistband's doing the job), put an Apple in my left bra cup, put my keys (why am I holding my keys? I don't know!) into my right bra cup, and head back to the back porch.

Aside from accidentally proposing a toast to myself with coffee and water while opening the door to the guesthouse, I think I'm doing pretty well.

Then I sit down and realize - I forgot to take the banana out of my pants and I now have a smooshed banana popping out of my pants and falling forward through my shirt like some strange alien. Good thing I work alone at home. That kind of thing is why I don't do well with coworkers.

OK. Talk to you later.

Wedding Gifts, Weddings and Love

May 17, 2010 at 5:16 AM
I would personally be very insulted if I got a wedding gift of something that didn't represent how that person sees me or my union. Kitchenware and Cuisinarts are inappropriate wedding gifts as far as I'm concerned.

I was very close with my cousin growing up, but I moved away ages ago. And I still miss her regularly. So when she said she was getting married on her 17th anniversary (they've been a done deal since they met) I decided it was important to give her something real and representative. They don't lack for anything, their lives are neatly sewn up, income, happiness, a home, and a fully stocked kitchen. They don't need material things from their relations, that's for sure.

So I painted her a painting in the theme of her wedding - which was purple, white with orchids and old fashioned.

I think it's appropriate, and I really like this one.

I finished it in Kat's house, just in time to be dry for the wedding.


LA People

May 6, 2010 at 2:27 AM
I'm headed to LA this weekend. Gonna spend a bunch of time with Kat. Yes, that Kat.

Anyway, LA people kinda weird me out. Hanging out in LA iskinda like panning for gold in icy creek water; mostly there's slime, but sometimes there is a hint of real beauty. And no matter what you do, you're gonna end up terribly uncomfortable, lose your footing and up to your knees in crap.

Now, there are some VERY REAL people in LA. And some VERY REAL artists mixed in with the people simply hoping for a glimmer of celebrity, some kind of recognition rather than accomplishment. And I really despise fame-seekers and false artists. I really can't stand false happiness, false laughter, false teeth, false boobs, false hair, false eyelashes even. I'm as real as it gets.

I found LA as a child to be a place full of many different kinds of people, some are truly fabulous. And some are total and complete wackadoos.

How many times when I was a small child in LA did I meet celebrities and their friends or entourages? Plenty. How often was I impressed. Only once. I think her name was Bertha Kitt or Eartha Kitt or something. I found her turban seriously impressive.

Oh! One more. Geoffrey Lewis' forehead is amazing. I was highly impressed. Just not the same on film.

All of this before I was two, mind you, so my view of things was rather toddler-centric.

But, to this day, celebrity doesn't impress me. I got pissed at a celeb you sometimes see in magazines because she cut ahead of me in line once. And at another shall-be-unnamed celebrity for somehow forgetting I've known her since we were tiny. (Probably got asked for money by one too many childhood friends.) Plus I have had a few good run ins with celebs. One held the elevator door for me once. I like him now. And another seemed very nice after I stayed at her house one weekend a long time back - one of my relatives worked for her and we were housesitting. Everyone should be judged on their actions. Not flim flam. And certainly not given special treatment.

But the thing about LA is that, along with real artists, real powerful movers and shakers, it draws people who are so delusional that they seriously believe they are artists and movers and shakers despite that they can't string three complete thoughts together without refusing to notice the obvious or making someone else feel inferior.

False artistry does not impress me.

Long soliloquies on your own merits do not impress me.

Refusal to even look upon me because I am NOT a world famous artist or a relative or assistant to an a-list celebrity is just gross.

Wearing hippie clothes and speaking in a whisper about how much you love everything when it is totally out of context (say, at the gas station) kinda weirds me out.

And pretending that you're listening while you aren't, well I hate that.

And I found so many many many of those kind of people in LA when I was growing up.

So, let me just say that while I don't really like the average LA person, Kat is AWESOME, I may spend most of my time in LA just hanging around her house and helping her grow hydroponic tomatoes and dancing with Colin.

Because I seriously seriously hate that city. I'd rather be almost anywhere.

At least the weather's nice when the smog rolls away...

Hummingbirds and Paintings

May 4, 2010 at 10:42 PM
For the first time, I got a hummingbird trapped in my house that I didn't care about being careful and gentle with.

See, I have an oil painting that is drying - it's at second stage (base, dry, detail, dry, touchups) so it's wet and hanging out in the livingroom on an easel.

And that hummingbird was within INCHES of my oil painting a few times.

I think the bird was so interested in the painting because, while right now the middle looks like a white blob to the seasoned eye, it will eventually look much more like an orchid than it does right now. That would be the world's biggest orchid and the hummingbird was probably thinking 'SCORE! My friends won't believe this!'

Or maybe it was simply trying to get high on the fumes from the paint thinners. I don't know. But it was obsessed.

So here I am, running around the house holding the easel, trying to tighten up the screws on my easel, keep the painting on the easel, and be where ever the hummingbird is not.

Lord, that was better than cardio, because cardio is not usually accompanied by sheer wailing panic.

But the painting is feather free, the bird found his own way outside and I don't end up having a photo of myself cleaning oil off a bird like a Gulf coast environmentalist.

Say Something! And it will belong to others...

at 8:51 PM
It is disheartening to me that all my blog posts only get comments on facebook... no one comments on them here where I wrote them on my own intellectual property.

Oh wait, Google owns one (blog spot) and Facebook owns the other (uh, facebook).

So when does anything I think or say here actually count as belonging to me?

Is it bad for us as a society that we technically no longer own our free speech?

And really, why do I miss getting comments here on my blog? I'm getting MORE comments, and most of them come from people I actually KNOW.

Why does it bother me that I've lost my other Cat, and my strange/unhappy/quirky/bloggy friends... (perhaps it is because they, too, have been swallowed whole by facebook.)

Anyway, I'm done ranting here. No one will comment on this. Until it automatically reposts to my facebook. (sigh)

Fish Don't Bite

May 1, 2010 at 4:19 PM
I've been trying to find real love for a while now. 4 years of online and offline dating have shown me that I would have no trouble at all if I was willing to settle.

The pitfalls of after-divorce dating are that I trip over opportunities for the following. Literally, every few days I get some reach toward me for one of the following:

1. Relationships of convenience, where someone is with me simply to have a warm body beside them at night and a person to date. No particular warmth for me as a person, but just to be together.
2. Casual sex.
3. Relationships with men who make loud claims to care about me but that I feel only friendly toward at best.
4. Sugar daddies. Dear lord, the online universe is FULL of divorce 50-something men who want someone my age with a good body and a sweet disposition. They have so few requirements. And they offer the world of financial security and easy living in exchange for the ability to plunder a younger body at will, searching for their lost youth. Trust me, they won't find it there.

I'm being WAY too picky, apparently. I want the REAL DEAL!  I want mutual admiration and goals, I want compatibility on all goddamn 29 measurements of compatibility that e-fucking-harmony talks about.

Before you suggest eHarmony, let me tell you that no online service matched me up with WORSE matches than eHarmony. Holy crap. You've never seen such unqualified, suicidally unhappy, uncommunicative louses as the men that eHarmony felt I was most like. Gee thanks, eHarmony. Way to crap on my parade.

Perhaps there simply is NO WAY to find the real deal online, especially if you come at it from the "once bitten, twice shy" attitude that I do.

I no longer believe proclamations of undying love. I have heard them too many times from the mouths of idle wanderers to be fooled. I believe only once in my life did the person who spoke them at me even possibly mean them enough to back them up with actions.  And I've been promised the sun moon and stars more often than a summer-stock Juliet.

I decided years ago that if someone loves me, they will prove it with actions, not words. Kind of a "look, don't listen" attitude.

And I have nothing worth looking upon in my life right now. As much as I have admirers and sweet men who would possibly take good care of me (but never really have tried to prove anything), I don't have anyone I am willing to love in return. I am much more of a Guinevere than a Juliet. I am not a young, naive thing who will believe the words of my enemy simply spoken from the heart, no matter where they lead her. Guinevere required daring tributes and long crusades to prove love before she was willing to bed down her Arthur, and I suppose Lancelot as well. Lucky woman had two men willing to go to that length for her. (Come to think of it, in my youth I was very much a Guinevere.)

Back to the online dating thing.  I have learned the hard way that online dating isn't "real" to these men. And it doesn't draw the kind of men looking for authentic bone-deep love, who think time and experience show whether a woman is right for him. It draw the kind of people who think that a brief email flirtation followed by a telephone call of three hours length is a binding connection worthy of proclamations of love, and then on the next call are certain you're a fraud - send a new picture taken right now to prove you really look like that. And on the next call are certain you're the love of their life. And on the next call they accuse you of pretending to be something you're not. And on the next call they declare their love again. And try to conference in their mama. No. Really.

And that's what this comes down to. I'm "too picky" - I don't want casual sex, nor do I want a relationship of convenience. I can find either in the "real world" easily. I don't want phone sex and dizzyingly beautiful statements that never turn into action, and polite chuckles that mask bone-deep distrust lurking below the oily skim of kindness in every call.

I can find incredibly superficial love like that in "virtual dating" and in real world dating with virtually no effort.

So when I bitch that I can't find anyone, I'm not admitting to a life completely devoid of attractiveness to the opposite sex. Nor am I admitting that I'm not trying hard enough.

I don't want anything but a real live honest to goodness man I'm attracted to who is willing to stretch a bit on my account and admirable enough to admire. It's terribly simple. Out of 7 billion people, one man somewhere must fit my bill, maybe.

But I'm coming closer and closer to the conclusion that he doesn't exist in the online dating world, nor are my friends really going to ship me any of the great men that they meet in the cities.

I think maybe I have to go where the fish bite. Or at least the kind of fish I want at my table. I have to leave my woodland haven, my perfect idyllic empty trap of a world.

It's a bit sad, because I love the woods so much, but I'm gonna do it anyway. Just a heads up (in case you haven't already realized that I say everything on facebook about 6 months before I say it here now).