Molly Goatwax

Dear Martin...

This is the Valentine I am sending to Boy Mayor. Gosh, he's a hunk, but we are both married, so I have to think of something appropriate to put on the back. Ummm...

Challenge

I e-mailed Rolling Rock to see if they would underwrite my house (see previous post). Do you think they will rise to the challenge as unfailingly as the bubbles in thier product? Or do you think Corporate America won't embrace Outsider Art? Take a minute and drop them a line on my behalf and we'll see what beer can build.

The Green Green Glass of Home

Someday I will buy a plot of land in West Virginia (where the building codes aren't strict) and a coupla bags of cement so I can build me a little house out of Rolling Rock bottles. This idea is not new, it's been done before, but I will situate the house and the land by a bar so we can offer this unique service . That enterprise will be named "Molly's Last Call".

Same Old

It was nice to go downtown last night, even if just to the Tavern, and even if I had to make nice on the sidewalk with the Deanie Weenie who got me fired from the art school. One of the great advantages/disadvantages of having frequented the same bar all of my adult life is; you never know which relic from the past is going to waft through the door. Sometimes I will be reminded of things I never gave much thought to when they were common, and didn't miss anyway, like root beer barrel candy, paper wrapped wire hangars or simple can openers. So, if I never gave much notice to the creep a former room mate was dating 20 years ago, why would I be interested now? But besides listening to his blather, to be polite, I asked my cigar smoking buddy to save the boxes for me, admired Miss Julia's new haircut and the other Miss Julia's necklace and otherwise made the rounds. The beer was every bit as crisp and refreshing as I envisioned and I was pleased to drive a tipsy pal home.

Back to Work

I got to work with no trouble at all. For the record, my car never lost traction, not in this storm, not this winter. The farmer found my tale of freaking out on the highway highly amusing. I doubt very much that he would be so amused if I turned around and went home every time I got a panic attack on the way to work, so I won't push it. In fact, let's not mention any more panic attacks, manic episodes or psychic phenomena at work. Let's focus instead on the approaching Happy Hour...at the Mount Royal Tavern...now there's an affirmation I can wrap my head around; I deserve a beer. I will have a beer. It will be the best beer I ever had. Ohmmmmmm......

Try Again?

O.K. The car is re-de-iced and the weather guy on T.V. told us there are no excuses today. The 7 year old gets only a 2 hour delay. So let's try this again. Another day in the house would send me over the edge, anyway.

More Traffic

I guess you could call me wuss of the year. I got half-way to work this morning when I just thought to myself: Molly don't play this. I have a reasonable confidence in the car, I spent twenty minutes or so peeling the crust of ice from it before starting out. Then I bumped and ground out of Hamilton without slipping too much. Northern Parkway was slick but passable, the most dangerous intersection in the state negotiable, the expressway not too stressfull. The brakes, tires and front end work was well worth it, I was almost confident until, until I hit the interstate. It was a sheet of glass. Tractor trailors in front of me fishtailed and the glop was freezing on my windshield before the wipers could shove it aside. My knees shook and my stomach cramped in the throes of a full body clench. I pulled off the first exit and headed back to town, because there is just more glop coming. And I hope that's OK. God, I tried before I wigged.

Wintery Mix

Yesterday evening, Hubby and I took the 7 year old (and Mr. Beetz) to her older sister's gallery opening. She has a solo show of photographs, thought provoking and classically composed black and whites that should get a good review. There were a lot of people there I hadn't seen for a long, long time who came out to see what my kid was doin'. There was even real food and bottled beer in addition to brie and sour white wine. Today 5-6 inches of snow has kept everyone at home-land 'o wusses. But on top of this snow we are getting a lovely glazing from frozen fog-slick, slick, slick. If everything gets coated with a quarter inch of ice, as promised, no one will go anywhere tomorrow, either. Fire up the oven, might as well cook a big meal involving a roaster with whatever gets unearthed from the vegetable bin...

World's Smallest Bouncer

In the Eighties, being an off and on young art student, I held a succession of odd jobs. I loved the used book store, I sang jazz with a number of combos, I had a teacher's contract with the City of Baltimore for taking my clothes off for the children at the School for the Arts. I modeled elsewhere also, painted houses, sold my paintings, read poems for money and what ever other gig presented its self to cobble together the rent. I did a three week stint as a bouncer at a fairly gritty place in Fell's Point. At this point, for the record, I will admit to being 4'11" and the last time I went to the doctor's, 109 lbs-clothes, keys, clodhoppers 'n all. Everything at the club went well, those persons I asked to behave settled down, ID's were shown respectfully and my word was law. One time I asked a drunken, threatening patron to leave, he said "Yeah? Who's gonna make me? You and what army?" At this point, all the other bar patrons stood up in unison, crossed thier meaty, tatoo'd arms across thier leather vested chests and glared. Mr. Smarty skulked off quickly enough, but I was replaced soon after with a more traditionally sized doorman. It didn't pay much, anyway.

Jimmy

Now that I no longer have him work on my car, I find the farm mechanic so much more amusing than I used to. I came across him earlier today, standing in our office kitchen and I said hello. He's a scrawny, whiskey voiced guy hovering around 50, he said; "Hello there, gorgeous! How we makin out?" I grabbed the front of his bubba coverall and snarled; "You and I are NOT making out!" He looked down at me and said "Not now we ain't, heh heh heh heh..." I must be mellowing. A younger Molly would have broken his nose for him.