Molly Goatwax

Today is another Day

Thanks for your kind wishes folks, it's so nice to feel some indignation on my behalf. It always hurts to get dumped, even if you hated the lover who rejected you! The truth is, is that this took a long time coming, the business was drying up and the account reps took off one by one. The final straw was that the rep I regarded with suspicion decided he didn't want to work with me, and so he won't. Although I was good at my job and kept my skill sets up to speed, the cut-throat world of financial services is not the best place for an introverted and politically liberal artist with a bi-polar disorder. After a beery, teary evening with Hubby at the Tavern (of course!) I find myself feeling optimistic and liberated. Monday I'll file for unemployment benefits and start upgrading my home technologies- I can't view this site from the "outside", use Google or access my e-mail on this computer. I'll need to have it cleaned out by a pro and get a dedicated line. I suppose I'm going to have to get a cell phone, among other things. So! Chez Goatwax will not vanish, but improve after I get a handle on what I'm doing, and I will. Hopefully it won't involve driving 35 miles over ice each way in the winter! Now I must tighten some wire on two bottle opener pieces and deliver them to the Salon Show at the Tavern...

Huh.

I've been laid off. I have to clean out my desk and this computer now...

Boy Mayor

Sun photo by Monica Lopossay

I'm glad to hear that our mayor comported himself well for a national audience at the convention last night. Sometimes he just doesn't play well with others.

Wearing Catsup

Catsup. Everywhere. Or is it Ketchup? On my pants and shirt, the car's leather seats, the seven year old's clothes and accoutrements....the ketchup pump at the carry out went ka-blooey on us and it spread around the car like the Cat in the Hat's pink stain. I came running into the office with the child's new stable tee shirt to rinse before the smears set and was questioned by the ( financial ) analyst.
"What are you feeding your daughter at this hour with ketchup?"
"Hot dogs."
"For Breakfast?"
"They didn't have fried chicken."
And so he launched into a litany of eastern European breakfast theories, extolling the virtues of eggs and oatmeal, toast and sausages for one's health, and how terrible it is for children ( or anyone ) to eat fried chicken for breakfast. He did not call me a terrible mother, but I swear I heard him think it. Hmmm...I did feed the tot toast and yoghurt before we set out, but all this outdoor activity has turned her into a bottomless pit and she got hungry again on the way to camp. I think that's a good thing. I'd like to see her gain some weight and so would her physician, who prescribed milkshakes last year. After I told the analyst all that and it was no big deal, he apologized and explained that he has strong opinions on feeding children. Among other things. Well, time will tell. His kid hasn't even grown any teeth yet.

G'day

Oh, I'd better get out of this here aromatic, fly-ridden bung hole before my eyeballs fall out ( although Hubby says that's such an attractive look ). And the day's not even over. The world of varnish, screw-eyes and wire awaits.

Life at the top

Somehow having a corner office ain't all it's cracked to to be, as one of Life's Ambitions. That's especially so when the north facing window's broken and it's the corner of an outbuilding sitting in the middle of 25 acres of steaming horse manure. Adding insult to injury is the fact that they aren't my 25 acres, but that's allright, I'd hate to have to mow it.

Thanks, you can keep it

From today's Police Blotter feature in the Baltimore Sun:

North Point Precinct

Burglary/arrest: A woman reported someone had entered her apartment in the 200 block of Baltimore Ave. on Sunday night and stole a 13-inch television that she would recognize because it was infested with roaches. Near the woman's home that night, police arrested a man in connection with the burglary and recovered the TV - which police confirmed had the insects. Charged with the Baltimore Avenue burglary and another in the 2400 block of Keyway later that evening was Edward S. Renick Jr., 22, of no fixed address.

- Richard Irwin

Blue Tuesday

I guess it's the combination of the end of the month stresses at the farm and the rainy weather, feeling a little melancholy, too busy and all...a lot of the files I'm working on seem to have intractable problems and the farmer is being a little testy with me for not anticipating and clearing them away in a timely manner. Or bulldozing them through, problems and all, I dunno. The seven year old tried to convince me that they didn't hold horse camp sessions in the rain, but I saw through that and dropped her off with an ill-fitting raincoat, anyway. I'm trying to get her to take more responsibility for getting herself ready in the morning, to make sure everything she needs is in her backpack, rather than rely on my "momory" and organization skills- if she forgot to hang up her swim suit in the evening, then she has to struggle with a wet suit the next day. I'd also like to have her pack her own lunch. I was not much older than she when I had to pack one for myself and also my younger sister's. She would get upset about the sugar pops and mayonnaise sandwiches and the half eaten twinkies, she'd complain to my mother about the sardine and jelly combinations, and yes, I did get into a bit of trouble for it, but she learned to pack her own lunches quickly enough after that. The experience seems to have scarred my sister for life, so I'll have to come up with a different strategy and not an expensive, junky ready-made from the lunch meat department.

Pearls, Ponies and a Goat

I have reconciled with my kitchen, at least until next week. Saturday was clear enough to fire up the grill and put foil wrapped packets of salmon with lemon juice, butter and fresh dill next to soaked unhusked ears of corn and burgers for those misguided individuals who wouldn't eat such succulent fish. The 23 year old was supposed to bring pasta salad, but well, she's a little flighty. And we love her anyway, enough to finally give her the strand of pearls I promised as a gift for earning her degree. This week sees us forking out an enormous amount of money for the 7 year old's priviledge of mucking out the pony stables at a horse farm down the road a bit from my office. She gets to clean and brush "her" pony as well as take riding lessons, and though I've been warned she might take an expensive liking to this activity, our options are limited by our work schedules and commutes. Besides, that farm has bunnies and a cranky miniature goat named Annabelle. Who could resist?

What would Phyllis do?

Gosh it's murky and humid out! Like swimming in dog breath...I'm feeling lumpy, dumpy, slightly grumpy, globular and spongey! And over the weekend I have to entertain. Oh, they're just family and I should be looking forward to seeing them, and I do, but I'm kind of at a loss as to what I should feed them. It's not as if I could just smear peanut butter on the 7 year old's face and pretend we've already eaten*, either. I suppose we could pick up a bucket of chicken and they can potluck the rest, or we could even grill something outside if it's dry...but I really would rather cook something brilliant and besides having no ideas, I hate my kitchen and resent having to use it. It's very small and whoever remodeled it in the seventies had to have been a giant, I can only reach the first shelf in the wall hung cabinets, what little counterspace exists is covered by cans, jars and small appliances and I can't open the windows! Even boiling water to cook asparagus heats the kitchen up to the suffocation point. Ugh. Not to mention I always have to spend an hour cleaning it before I can make anything. And the tragic part is, I'm really quite good at cooking entire delicious Sunday dinners co-ordinated to be ready all at once. I let myself be blindsided by the large attic studio when we bought the house, I wasn't paying any attention to the kitchen at all. Six adults, tommorrow afternoon. What would you do?

* From Phyllis Diller's Housekeeping Hints