Molly Goatwax

A picture

I am having trouble with the scanner, so here is the present state of the Princess Diana beer bottle opener. Nothing but the background roses and the decorative nails are permanantly affixed yet, I need to find more arms and legs.

Better today

Cake for breakfast, cake for breakfast, yum yum yum! I'm all grown up now, so I can do that. The farm girls are all concerned about fitting back into their jodphers this spring, so all the more for me! The tire took all day, 'cause the wheel rim was quite bent and they had to suss around for a used one. Thank you very much Mayor O'Pothole! I would send the bill to him but that wouldn't get it paid and he's got enough problems. There he was in the paper, all pasty faced and goggle eyed with the governor sneering at him yesterday over the school embroglio. Mr. Beetz paid for my wheel, anyway. Thank you, Mr. Beetz! I spent much of yesterday gluing, then nailing a pink cabbage rose print onto a wooden base. The milagros I ordered came in the mail today so I'm cookin'. Hubby gave me a scanner that has a 35mm slide reader (Hear that Miss Janet?) so I can digitize my existing slide portfolio and otherwise metaphorically x'ox my butt n stuff. The old workhorse 35mm takes much sharper pictures than the digital so now I have better options. The only thing missing was pot roasted buffalo, which my mother always cooked for my birthday. She's in Mexico, doing scholarly things with her scholarly new boyfriend...woo...woo...woo! Now I must notarize this pile of documents that amassed in my absence. More tea and cake! Tommorrow I promise a picture.

Whoopie

Flat tire, birthday. My tire went flat on the highway last night. Today is Buffalo Bill's birthday. I did get the car into a gas station, called Hubby to pick up the tot and accepted an aerosol can of tire fixer with misgivings. Haven't I read about this stuff exploding on people? Well, it didn't. The stuff inflated it well enough for me to drive the car to the place that sold me a whole new set of tires last fall. I hope whatever is wrong with it is covered under warantee, or at least cheap to fix, and quickly! I have to get to work. With any luck there will be a cake awaitin'. Happy Birthday Molly.

Brainstorm

I went to the Tavern to pick up a box of decorative nails from Mike the upholsterer last night, but he had forgotten to pocket them. No big deal, being Fat Tuesday, there was an ample collection of wrong-minded individuals out for a bellyfull before Lent's abstinence whose substance abused brains I plumbed for ideas. Sick jokes and bad puns, gossip, recipes, beers and beads were traded and shared. Q: D'hear Princess Diana was on the radio? A: Yeah! And the dashboard, the steering wheel and the windshield too! I know this is so old, but it takes time for some things to surface and be dealt with. I think this subject resonates with my fear of driving, as much as I love my yuppie pig mobile. It just goes to show that even a princess in a six figure car is not immune to the dangers of splat. Over the weekend anxiety had been intruding on my sleep, giving me dreams of bounced checks, mountains of trash and odd confrontations. I woke up several times with sore jaws from gritting my teeth. Now I've got a new project and it will occupy those corners of my mind that fill with fears and trepidations when idle. Hmmm...a background of pink cabbage roses and broken glass...crash test dummies? no...too obvious...brie wrappers....hmmm...saudi money...Barbara Cartland! On fire and clutching a bowling ball!!! Nope, done that.

Canned Fun

Hubby took his car in for repairs and came home yesterday with a pick-up truck that took up two parking spaces. He then insisted we take the 7 year old to the local rat themed pizza arcade. Someone's tiny tot was having a birthday party so they turned on the animatronic musical "entertainment". Maybe I could have tolerated it better if they served beer, but they don't, so we left before I went over the abyss into madness- Hubby talking in a growly macho "truck guy" voice the whole way. At least I had a tiny little wooden square (3"x3" or so) onto which I drew a dear little iconic portrait of Princess Diana and more or less finished it with paint when I got home. I'm thinking of putting this with a beer bottle opener and a lot of car, motorcycle and camera milagros and charms on a tryptych. It's sure to offend someone. I'm open for suggestions on anything else to ramp up the outre. Fortunately, it is dawning on the younger daughter that she's aging out of the rat's demographic. Unfortunately, Spring will bring with it pressure from these two to visit the chocolate themed amusement park, an all day activity. How I dread that- a lose lose situation where I will be in the dog house if I don't go, and in the dog house for going and hating it so much. Hubby says it's my duty as a parent and the 7 year old says someone has to hold the towels. Maybe I could con the 22 year old to go in my place. If this were Japan, I could hire a stand in. I just won't think about it...la de dah! Tommorrow is another day!

Paper

ssss...SSS...the air is filled with those little hissing sounds people make as they are busy on thier numbers. Now I must tether my unruly brain to a pile of paperwork. SSS...ssss.....one forty seven, four sixty six......

Follow up

I know that Miss Janet will be relieved that the Russian Army did manage to save the ten tons of sunken beer mentioned earlier. (But not the truck, it was carried off by the river current.) Happily, it did not spoil, my guess is that they let it warm up so it wouldn't freeze when opened. I'll lift my glass in tribute to the rescuers a little later, and try not to make a beer drinking jackass of myself

Life's painful little lessons

Oh thank goodness Friday is here! By the end of the week I am so exhausted I almost feel like just giving up, like a pair of old underpants whose elastic fails and falls around one's ankles-ladies, if this ever happens to you, the correct response is not to grab them and hitch them back up, but to quietly step out of them and kick them to the curb, and hope for the best. This happened one day as I was waiting for the bus. Speaking of which, on another day I was standing waiting for the bus and when I saw it pull around the corner two blocks down, I held out my right hand, cupped, to recieve change while I dug through my pockets with the left. At this precise moment a seagull flying overhead let loose and a big wet bomb fell into my extended hand. "Ugh." I said as I turned to a well dressed gentleman of a certain age and asked him for a handkerchief. He turned red and looked away without any response. I was so ticked off, I just knew he had a hanky but wouldn't give it to me! I yakked in the gutter and wiped my hand on the cuff of my jeans. The bus pulled up and we boarded, the man carefull to sit as far away from me as the crowded bus would allow. Well, I may be crazy but I'm not stupid- I always keep a napkin handy and replace my failing underpants now.

Brass tacks

We're coming into the endzone now- that weary, half hearted lead footed trudge through the last weeks of winter, a season of mismatched gloves and salt greyed cars. Last evening, in an effort to escape the monumental tedium I managed to pidgeonhole an upholsterer and with some effort, got transported by descriptions of french nails, brocade and channel backed chairs. And Mike is not just any sofa guy, but an upholsterer to the stars! All kinds of famous fannies are coddled by his cushions. He does walls, too. There are people with so much money they are spending it to make thier new mcmansion walls look as if they were transported directly from a depression era boarding house! But then, he wanted to talk about money. Ugh. But he bought me a beer and promised a selection of his prettiest decorative nails for my tryptichs.

Same Old

I feel like I am operating in a cultural vacuum. I want to look at large new paintings up close and engage in some witty reparte. When Oscar Wilde said that "When bankers get together they talk about art. When artists get together they talk about money.", he was only half right. While it is true that when I get together with my artist friends, the discussions almost always concern finances, the bankers I hang out with barely acknowledge the existence of art. Taking advantage of the farmer's absence yesterday, the analyst and I quaffed a few beers with our grilled salmon slathered in mango-chile chutney, saffron rice and a delightful winter vegetable medley at the local tavern. The conversation involved sales strategies, car parts, investment trends, home improvements, the peak oil crisis, computer software and gossip about other bankers. Dry, dry and arid. As it does most always, the topic kept coming back to money. I did remark to him that I thought it odd to go into some people's houses to see nothing hanging on the wall at all-that went no where, he must be one of those people! Maybe his interest would be piqued by something like this. Meanwhile, I think I'll go down to the notorious Mt. Royal Tavern this evening and find some artists to talk to. With any luck, they won't be talking about thier bank accounts.