I don’t know what has happened (planets aligning, I sold my soul to the devil, etc), but my Best Week Evah continued on. The day after my boss agreed to buy that painting of the silhouetted girls’ faces, I got a letter from a non-profit I had submitted slides to. They accepted two of my paintings for an auction to benefit local battered women’s shelters! I was so shocked and amazed. I mean, all these good things happening in a row is just wild.

What’s funny is that I have submitted slides a bunch of times to local galleries or contests and they always get rejected, which is fine; I generally expect them to be. It’s just such a competitive field that I’ll most likely toil in obscurity for years and years, if not forever. And I understand that. I don’t get hurt or rejected or feel like oh no, nobody likes my stuff, it’s not meant to be, when I get a rejection letter. And by now I have such a collection of them saved that I figure someday I will work them into a collage. You know, for fun. And for masochism.

So anyway, rejection letters are usually bunchy because the envelope contains your returned slides. But this envelope was completely smooth, so even before I saw the “Congratulations!” salutation I had a little hope that it would be good news.

Of course I am thrilled. But. It is definitely weird to think about a stranger buying them and taking them away forever. They’ve been hanging on my walls for a few years now and I consider them mine, you know? Not just something I made, but also a part of my living room. And in a few weeks I’ll never see them again…it’s sort of an odd thought.

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Friday night I went out for dinner for my gallery friend’s birthday. After two hours and about fourteen mojitos, she turned to me and I could see that she was very drunk. She had her patented “I’m crazy and I have wild and crazy eyes!” look she always has when she’s about to say something random and /or off-color. Sure enough, she leaned in close and whispered in my ear: “Your voice, lately…I have noticed that it sounds like Ana Gastayer, when she does that skit in Saturday Night Live. That one where she’s in the cornfield, and Alec Baldwin is there, and they’re doing that really dull radio show.”

And first I was totally confused, but then it occurred to me that I had spent all day at work with NPR on in the background and had absorbed the slow, syrupy cadence of their talk-show hosts. Funny. I guess there are worse things to have than a sultry radio voice.

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This morning I went to meet my mom and stepdad downtown to see museums. My mom is, to borrow a phrase, completely batshit crazy. Here is a sampling of wacko things she said today:

In the National Gallery…

Mom: Why are you getting all up close to the paintings like that?

Me: (???) What do you mean? I’m just trying to see the details.

Mom: Oh, okay.

(looking at paintings)

Mom: What did he use to draw this one?

Me: It says “gunpowder.”

Mom: Wow, how did you know that?

Me: It says so here on the wall.

Mom: Wow! Good thing you decided to get up all close and look at the details.

Me: (What in the hell???) Um, I guess.

**

Later…

Mom: So, we’re going to see the Museum of the American Indian, right? I have to go there. It means a lot to me, personally.

My stepdad: Oh, because of all the Native American blood in your family? Ha ha ha.

Mom: I will have you know that I was born in South Dakota! And my first caretaker was a [tribe name I did not catch]! And this museum is in my blood!

Me: Mom, we’re, like, Russian and German.

Mom: You are Russian and German. I have the sprit of the Native American.

Me: (?????)

**

Mom: Okay! So, we’re looking for the “The Peoples” exhibit.

Me: Sign says it’s this way.

(walk walk walk)

Mom: WHERE IS IT???

Me: Mom! It’s right here – see, the sign? “The Peoples”?

Mom: Ah. (pause) I wonder if that means that this is the exhibit?

Me: (ARGGHHHHHHH)

**

My stepfather is crazy, too.

Stepdad: So, how did you do in that painting class?

Me: Oh, it was just a continuing ed thing; we didn’t get grades.

Stepdad: Did you learn anything, at least?

Me: What? Yeah, totally. I mean, I’m still sort of finishing most of them up, because I was all focused on doing the figures and I –

Stepdad: So, how’s your job going?

Me: (ARGGHHHHHHH)

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Dude, what is up with parents? Every time I am in their presence I turn into a sitcom character. “Sullen Teen.” I’m sure I sound like an ornery brat to anyone who is listening to us. It’s embarrassing. I have yet to figure out how to sound like a normal 25-year-old woman when I’m around them.

Furthermore, and more importantly: Am I going to be such a loon when I’m their age?? Horrible, terrifying thought.