Molly Goatwax

Sweet Friday Night

I just went through one of those weeks where everything's been gettin stupid and goofin on me. I actually said to a collegue; "I cain't dew nofin! Ai'm inna coma!" We did, however, just have a pair of lookers at the house and their Realtor who were so ensused I gave them valentines. Time to finally crack open a well deserved brew, pull out the Elmer's and go

glue.

duhhhhh

I think I've set a personal record for myself in figuring out how to pay this suspended typepad account with a credit card in ONLY four days! In case you were, like, wondering where I've been.

Because Weird is the default setting

The weekend was consumed by chores, more so than usual, as we had lookers at our house in addition to family obligations and the regular routines. Sunday after boxing Mother's excess winter coats for the less fortunate I went to Molly's. The astonishing amount of cigarette butts, scattered napkins and fruit wedges on the floor told me that Saturday's commerce was good, and as I was pushing the stools aside to sweep, the neighborhood graffito banged on the door. Some Sundays the bachelors from Fawcett Street appear magically like elves to help with the mopping and the hauling, but as they hadn't yet, Mr. Spray Can was happy to pull his truck around.

Lunch

Photo courtesy National Zoo

Ummm...this gets served with a thermos of iced green tea and rice cakes.

Cover Blown

Yesterday the branch manager overheard me say, "Oh! How very nice!" as my Hubby told me over the phone about the B.O.B. award. Then started the questions. To which I waxed epic about the airless refrigerated draft lines and the recorded temperatures of our draught. And, while I've told him on several occassions that I own a bar, as he does a haberdashery separately from our bank, it now occurs to him that he must sample a Smithwick's at Molly's. To this I responded by hunting down our cleaning man and standing him a few pints in advance of mopping tommorrow. And dive that this old little corner bar is, the bookcase has gone up ready to sponsor the Remington Literary Society, born as of this moment. Time to gather a box o' books for the free exchange and make a sign.

We approach an explosion

Dear Stix,

I tell you, with the anniversary on Monday, back to school night Tuesday and going out tonight for dinner with as much family as we have here in Baltimore (six out of seven.), and gosh, that was nice! I need to spend more time with those people who look and think the same! it's been a regular trifecta of events piled on top of the full timer and slinging beer invoices at Molly's. We got our B.OB. awards party invitations from the City Paper today. I'm sorry I haven't called. I'm still trying to fit the laundry and the dishes around all this. Y'know. Besides the putting the house up for the market thing and somehow teaching at least one workshop at the museum...that letter came in the mail, too. And look-it's time to go to sleep. I was going to tell you about how in the past, I've fallen in love with a voice, or a joke or a goofy sparkle in someone's eye as they grin at me...

Much Love,

Bessie Mae Mucho

Stop the presses!

er...the pixles...Key Board Man's act at Molly's has won a Best of Baltimore award from the City Paper. I cut n pasted the whole thing at the Public House site!

Seven Things III

In thinking about the next 7 items, things I can't do, it dawned on me how easily it could turn into a litany of infinite regret....

I can't throw a dish on a potter's wheel nor play any musical instruments.

I can't practice law or medicine, fish in this state, give blood nor join the military.

I can't play tennis, golf or practice archery.

I can't reach anything in my kitchen past the first shelf since the step stool vanished.

I can't wear heels.

I can't stay awake past ten nor jump out the window at the Tavern anymore.

I can't move mountains, tell the future, cure the common cold or find an antique hand cranked doorbell to affix to a mezuzah.

But I'm okay with all this, really, not 'cause I can't be bothered  ( I was really tempted by the snappy retort! ), but because there is so much I can do and have done that I hadn't really regarded any of these things as liabilities. Except the disappearance of the step stool. That's really been bugging me.

Seven things, part two

I found this next exercise rather cheering, in a self-affirmative kind of way-even though I've teased and turned up my nose at those who make affirmations part of thier routine;

7 things I can do:

. I can tell to a decade how old is any given structure in this town.

. I can wake up without an alarm clock on time, 99.5% of the time.

. I can paint a portrait that captures the subject.

. I can do a split right down to the floor, still. It's always good for a free beer!

. I can see ghosts, but haven't for a few years.

. I can be trusted with a secret, or large amounts of money or to mind my own business.

. I can keep a commitment-happy anniversary Binky Winky Hubby Wubby!

For Miss Lis

Miss Lis has tagged me for a meme, but I can only do a part at a time, starting with the seven things I plan, or in my case, wish to do before I die;

1. I want to go to Boise. And to New Zealand, Madagascar, the Canary Islands and Seattle.

2. Buy the dentistry and restore it well, back into a six or eight bedroom house...it's old, it's large and I don't know that the undertaking won't undo me. I am secretly coveting the newer back two rooms on the first floor to consolidate into a studio.

3. Collect cars in a barn and employ a mechanic to keep them all running. Don't you want a Bugatti, too?

4. Have my reconstructive surgery redone. Every day this crooked, achey quartile bugs me.

5. Put in writing and set up a trust for my wish to have my skeleton cleaned, hinged and hung at the art school when I'm done with it. Whether they want it or not. nyaah nyaah nyaah!

6. Have a piece or collection of my art in an actual museum's permanant collection. I've been in the charity auctions and the giftshops, but not in a curated show, nor collected.

7. Kiss a grandchild. Time for little Ethanol to get on the ball...ahem...

My, how selfish is this list! And I see that I lust for a Bugatti over a free baby someone else takes care of...