we’ll see about that

won’t we?

Realized something totally weird. The Old Bitch gets so concentrated, that she has to be distracted to change projects. Is that a kind of oxymoron? Should I talk about that?

It’s kind of like a little voice that keeps reminding her that there’s another project that needs attention. It stays on the back burner until it becomes unbearable, and then, once the heat is up, the pot gets stirred. ok. enough is enough.

Bizarre realization

Sometimes you really can get what you want. I managed to achieve my goals two days in a row. Only trouble is, I don’t know how I did it, so I can’t pass the knowledge along.

I can wish you good luck, though, with your own goals, and, if I dare, I suggest that you go for broke, but don’t kill yourself in the process (in other words, have some fun). These may have been key elements in my little successes, but, at this point, I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Age, in this case, is not the main problem. more concerned about getting bitten.

Bought a new t-shirt

Just got back from CA and OR and, can’t help myself, love to shop. Bought a T that reminded me of one I bought 30+ years ago in Mill Valley. In one of the two canyons in Mill Valley, on a one-way street headed back to the  village (across from the Mill Valley Market and the fire station), there was an old garage back then that the “gluers” had taken over. They called it the Unknown Museum, and, in it, were funky items that the artists had decorated by glueing stuff on them. There was a car with rows of cupie dolls, bottle caps, sequins, plastic toys, you name it. A chair had been remodeled into a throne, be-speckled with all kinds of everyday objects. There was a Shiva, I believe, sporting do-dads.

Here’s a site that talks about the Unknown Museum.

It quotes Micky McGowan, the museum’s creator, who had his collection of “stuff” there, and now that I think about it, I seem to remember that he was a vegan, who wouldn’t wear leather shoes, and created some kind of funky canvas plastic shoes that he sold at the museum.

Here’s a couple videos on it. the musuem now and the museum then

Anyway, at that time, I was renovating a home on Magee, and, one of the Unknown Museum’s artists, Ron West (I think) was doing some house painting for me. When I’d ask him how I should make out his check, he’d say, Ron East, North, South, West. Take your pick.

Ron was actually an air-brush artist, and I bought (and treasured) one of his shirts. It was a long-sleeve white T on which he had layered his fantastical creatures over swirls of aqua paint, implanting sequins for eyes. I wore that shirt until it was full of holes, and finally threw it out.

So, wherever you are, Ron North, South, East or West. Thank you!

I keep forgetting

who I really am. even when i wear my MOB t-shirt. Guess I should buy another mug.

Is it really all about gray hair? Read a statistic the other day that said back in the 1950s, only a small percentage of women dyed their hair. That’s why we all don’t look as old as our grandmothers did.

Hmmm. Does that mean that there were more mean gray-haired old bitches back then?  Or does it mean that a little hair dye sweetens up a woman’s disposition? Hard to say. Perhaps. Perhaps. You certainly can’t tell a book by it’s cover, can you?