I'm Cheating

I'm cheating on Stanley with Aaron Eckhart. (Well, not technically, but metaphorically. Don't get your hopes up too much!)

I've strayed from my preference of the nicely-headed bald man and have gone for the dimpled chin and square jaw.

(We'll call him Chris) We ran into each other at a night club. He was huddled in the corner with his friends, all seeming afraid that they might have to dance, when I spotted this cute creep in the corner.

I ran over and immediately pushed him with me up on stage, we both kept laughing at our horrible dance moves.

Chris was wearing a sweater. I asked, "Aren't you freakin' hot in that thing". He said yes, and I peeled it off of him, lucky for Chris that he had on an undershirt.

Shoot.

We exchanged numbers and he actually called the next day.

Not sure if I can technically claim we are now dating, because he's always working to pay for his school. (Which I do admire to avoid the gruesome student loans.)

But I think I might get to see him this weekend.

6'1, brown hair, brown eyes, and the cutest smile....with the dimples. Yeah, I might have a bit of a crush on this one.

And I must confess, he is an excellent kisser.....

Everything is Working?

As of this moment, my life is like a well-oiled machine. All the parts are humming along in perfect harmony. No smoke coming out of the engine, no gasket blown, but maybe a few wires have short circuited? (I had to throw that in there)

I was trying to think of something to bitch and moan about and I've come up empty handed. Whenever I try to get "bummed" about something not going right, I seem to have a "ying for my yang".

-I will never work again-now I have a job.
-The swimsuit line has died due to costs-They sent me over the wrong production quotes.
-I will never date or find love again-I have three dates this weekend. (leftovers for everyone!)
-My painting career is over and I will be a starving artist-I just sold a painting yesterday.

So! My career, love life, family, and health are well.

There's my report.

Thank God all is well!

Grandma's Curves

Nothing puts me in a better mood then spending time with my grandma. She's a great example of being a good person. Through out the years she has never forgotten my birthday and has always brought me a treat whenever I was having one of my two million mini-meltdowns this past year. She rarely gets angry-actually never.

She is always a lady.

Before leaving the house, her hair has to be fluffed and she has to be dressed appropriately.

When I was visiting her down in Southern Utah, I had mini-meltdown 2,312,001. I think it was over my cousin having a fabulous boyfriend (other people's happiness makes me very unhappy). I heard myself whine, "Why not me?"

Grandma tried lifting my spirits with chocolate, but it didn't work. So she stepped it up, demanding, in Grandma's subtle way, that I should go work out with her.

What? Work out?

Grandma quickly fluffed her hair, put on a lace-collared shirt, black nylon slacks, and pink sneakers.

I was surprised that a "lady" would exercise. And I was surprised again when we pulled up to "Curves", because a "lady" would never exercise in public.

But this was an all women's gym, so it was acceptable.

Grandma was filled with enthusiasm and jazzed to be working out together. I told her I would "spot her" and she looked at me strangely (ladies don't bench press).

The set up is in a circle and you quickly go from one machine to the other, with dancing in between.

The speakers blared "Let's Hear it for the Boys" as grandma quickly darted from one machine to the next, eagerly dancing to the music between sets. She explained it was important to keep her heart rate up.

She quickly stopped when she started to sweat (ladies don't perspire).

Her "cheering up" technique worked. I will never forget my Grandma working the machines in her lace-collared shirt and dancing.

I love my Grandma, the lady that she is.

Stanley and Sundance

A thick layer of smog and dirt covered the sun and hadn't left for weeks. I was ready for change and some sunlight, so I got in the car and headed for Park City. Having lived in the area for awhile I knew it would be clear blue skies.

As I was making my way up the canyon I remembered it was Sundance and a swarm of people would be taking up every last parking space. But I had a few tricks up my sleeve, or ten dollars in my pocket for parking.

I was able to park right on Main Street and wondered up the street staring at the crowds of people. A few bodies were lurking in the alley ways, which I assume were paparazzi. I stopped and visited a few of my old haunts and gallery friends.

As I was walking out of one of the galleries, I almost pushed into "Ray Leotta", yeah...I have no idea who that is, and then almost immediately bumped into a child actor from some whale movie? I guess Tatem (Tater-tot) Channing was still inside the building. See, I'm not up on all my celebrities-I should watch more TV.

I asked a man standing in the alley who these people were and he Cooley informed me. Then I realized he was paparazzi and I had to ask him one question. Have you seen Stanley Tucci?!

He laughed and said, "You just missed him."

DAAAMMMIT!

I stormed off. Jumped back into my car. And drove down the hill back into the smog.

But at least I did get that slight ray of sunshine.

The Friend Request

I thought my non-relationship was going well. We spent every weekend together and had a fabulous time over Christmas. He painted a "future" of trips, new places to eat, and telling me that he "Liked me." I would reply that "I liked him too!"

Things were peachy until I received a Facebook "Friend Request" from a girl I didn't know.

I remember him being open and mentioning that he was dating her and I told him I was dating different people as well, but with this "request" I realized that I was starting to care about him more than I let myself acknowledge.

I told him about the "request" and he was surprised as to why she would do that, and that he was still dating her.

Was he sleeping with her? I became territorial.

Everything unraveled.

I knew it was over when at my birthday party, he texted that he was "too tired to come and was going to crash".

I understood, because everyone goes to bed at eight o'clock on a Friday night! Yeah!

So digging deep and finding the stalker inside, I piled all my girlfriends into the car and did a "drive by". Sure enough, an unidentified vehicle was parked in the driveway. Ha! I knew it! My stalker was satisfied.

Two days later he calls. His tone of voice is already mopey as I ask him how he is doing and slowly he whispers, "Ok." And says, "He's not ready for any commitment and that he is sorry but he is going to have to go with the other girl. But that I've been alot of fun." as I pictured him patting me on the back.

It took me about another three hours to have it sink in that I had been DUMPED!

I would like to scream "Jerk!" and horrible icky names to try and make myself feel better, but I actually feel bad that he doesn't know what he wants in life, as far as marriage and finding someone to be with. Even with everything I have been through I still believe in taking that risk and finding a connection. It's the greatest feeling to "love someone more than you love yourself"-Good Will Hunting.

You can stay the same with the same relationship of just "watching TV and having sex", or actually build a life with someone. Why not take the risk? The joy in life comes from doing things that scare us and excite us.

It's all in the jump.

Too often "love" is a rendezvous of superficial affection. Nothing gained and nothing lost. To grow as people we need time and getting outside of our comfort zones to form a deeper connection.

I hope that he finds someone that makes him laugh, challenges him, and helps him find the beautiful things in life.

"Tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all."-Alfred Lord Tennyson

Ex and the city

I love Sex and the City, but I especially love this scene. This is how I felt in my marriage and I now often find myself in a similar situation. The show makes me really want to live, visit, or mail myself to New York City!

Finished Landscape

Haven't posted a painting in awhile. This is a small 8x10 of the Utah landscape. And well, today is my birthday! Yay! So far I'm having fun and doing nothing productive, except this blog.....it's considered productive-right?! I went to lunch with my grandparents, and my niece and sister came over and brought me a birthday cupcake and a lovley vintage headband. Tonight I'm going to dinner with a long time friend. Then tomorrow is the big ladies night out with a few bars and dancing. Good Times!

The Electric....Slide!

Having combed the lakes and mountains of Utah to find that special man and turning up empty handed, I reluctantly agreed to go with my friend Trudy to a "Mormon Standard" dance.

Yeah....I must be getting desperate.

I've gone to this type of dance before but it was when I was in my teens. I remember some of the rules which you were quick to learn because the "herd" would not let you forget. You weren't just scolded by one but by all.

-Modest dress, no cleavage, tangs, or short skirts

-Modest dancing, aka...no grinding and Elvis impressions

-No close slow dancing (to leave room for the Holy Ghost)

Arriving at the entry point, a large sign read all the points that I remembered in bold letters. I quickly looked down at my fuchsia pink sequin skirt and started tugging to try and cover my legs just a tad bit more.....I might just pass the guards at the door. Yes my skirt was originally a tube top, but I thought it would function as a skirt too. Resourceful.

Passing inspection, we gazed out onto the dance floor. People were spread out like eggs in a carton, slightly moving to an upbeat song. At first they reminded me of zombies, but then I recognized the song and the dance. You guessed it. The Electric Slide. Yes, the most asexual song out there, usually played while shopping at the grocery store.

The dejay must have been strictly instructed not to play any slow songs because it all stayed fast. I suppose the "guards" were worried it would become an orgy on the dance floor. So the dancers continued their dance as if they were being jostled in a car wreck.

Noticing that we were standing out by not standing glued to the wall we quickly blended in by pasting ourselves to a banister. We slowly scooted our way with the crowd making our way to what seemed to be the main attraction. The food.

It was a small buffet. A child's wildest dream: skittles, licorice, and punch. I guess the only high at this dance was going to be a sugar high. The "Muddy Buddies" were particularly my favorite. A treat that is not only economical but efficient. You put Chex Mix into a plastic freezer bag with chocolate chips, butter, and powder sugar and then violently shake the bag to evenly coat. Nothing fancy here, but effective.

Having gorged ourselves on all the delectables, we moved back onto the dance floor. As I peered into the mass of zombies, a man approached and started to scream at me. I quickly realized that his hearing was gone, which wasn't unusual for a man in his eighties.

He shouted, "What a lovely young lady" as his eyes darted to my sweatered chest. I smiled and said "Thanks", and slide away in another direction. He followed as if he had become a limb.

Another thirty minutes of this game and I had had enough.

The party was over.

With my belly full of skittles, Trudy and I headed back to the car, laughing about the odd mixture of people. She was also amused that I was able to not get kicked out of the dance.

I obeyed all the rules....maybe next time I will have to break a few.

Me and My Dirty Dirty Picture

(This painting is similar to the photo, but with a drape over the backside)

Walmart. It's fast and easy. I can upload photos and swing by to pick them up in an hour. Quick and painless.

So when I stopped by the photo counter, I was surprised when I told the lady my name and she gave me this strange startled look, like she just burped and swallowed. She quickly turned in her nylon pants, leaving a swooshing sound as she scurried away to another co-worker in the corner. She whispered something in his ear and they both turned and silently stared in my direction.

Their eyes accusing......

Then I remembered.

"Shoot." I said as I nervously smiled at the employees huddled in the back.

They had discovered the picture.

"Play it cool", I told myself as I saw one of them pick up the phone and loudly announce that they needed the Manager in the photo area.

The Manager and the employees discussed for a moment, when he headed my way immediately starting to tilt his head and cross his arms, ready to give me a good verbal lashing.

I pictured myself leaning onto the counter with a cigarette dangling from the corner of my mouth as I casually ask "What seems to be the problem", just like a dangerous Maverick, not to be toyed with in a cavalier manner.

But I can already feel my face creeping into a fiery red.

"Mama. We don't print "those" type of pictures. We are a family store." He states darning me to challenge his authority.

I quickly come to my own defense, eagerly stating that the picture was a nude, but it was only the backside of a woman, with a drape across her backside. This was a family-friendly modest nude.

And Gosh Darn it was for the sake of art!"

He lets out a burst of air, breathing a slight onion aroma over the top of my head, as he pretends to ponder the situation. He rapidly turns and marches away, as I imagine his heels clicking, he meets back with the rest of the employees for a pow-wow.

The formed pack are examining the photo, while making animated gestures.

The verdict: "Mama, (the Mama word again) we have determined that this is an unsuitable print because the drape does not fully cover the line of the woman's bottom. I'm sorry but I cannot allow you to have this photo."

Summary: In other words....too much ass crack is showing.

I smile, knowing this was a no-win ordeal, and promising myself that I will install the printer as soon as I returned home.

I'll be damned if anyone is going to keep me from painting this picture, I cursed to myself. They allowed the scene in Titanic, so a painting should fly, as I pictured the Manager watching the movie and singing along. I just knew he loved it, Celine Dion and all.

My face was now a burning bright red and I felt like I had just tried to shoplift porn from the local video store and had been caught. The Manager said my pictures of barns and horses were okay and that I was free to go.

But never bring back my dirty, dirty pictures!