maudie’s & goodwill

maudie’s & goodwill

about 5 seconds from my house. I go there a lot. kinda like a “norm!” @ cheers moment sometimes, but you still don’t care if you’re wearing mascara or not. it’s just that kind of place. they’ve got this blistering-hot hot sauce — in case you think i’m a wenie, i won a jalapeno eating contest in college, so i know what i’m talking about… food’s great, too, but that’s not the best thing. it’s the people. the staff.

they’re all so damn happy. tonight, i asked the hostess how she was doing. it’s so fun being here, she said. i just love my job so much it’s not even like coming to work. now, seriously, how many people do you know who say that & mean it? they’ve had the same people working there since beans were new, & that’s saying something.

this is the place where clinton came two weeks ago, if anybody saw my FB post. they said he was a hoot, posing for everybody’s selfies. of all the nights for me to stay home eating a bowl of cereal…. damnit, janet!

here’s the other thing — there’s a goodwill a coupla doors down. people call it the gucci goodwill (GGW to people “in the know”) because all the donations are from the neighborhood — not like i’m some ritzy socialite (as if) but somebody’s bringing in some pretty cool stuff. not the women’s dept. — you can forget it on that — but the men’s? now, you’re going to think this sounds totally gross & i guess it is, wearing somebody else’s shoes — but someone i know got a pair of real-live alligator dress shoes. i guess they were dead-live. no wait, real-dead. whatever, they were slick.

sometimes you can score some pretty awesome albums, too. they always seem to have the same helen reddy’s “i am woman, hear me roar” — don’t know why somebody hasn’t snapped that one up. & a little anne murray “snow bird” — also still there. they had the partridge family & i was so pissed when it was scratched to hell. i got wayne newton’s “red roses for a blue lady.” come on — i hadn’t heard that since my mom played it on the hi-fi, & old wayne still rocks it.

all right, i’m going to let you in on a secret, so don’t tell everybody — you cool?  okay, it’s the auction. most of it you wouldn’t touch with a 12 foot pole, but darlin’, i’ve scored some good shit. 

imagine someone who cleans out their grandma’s house after she kicks off. ew, what’s THIS, i can just hear them saying….  it’s a fine-as-hell oil painting, you idiot. so here i was a couple of weeks ago. grabbed myself up a couple of bullfighting paintings. & no, they weren’t velvet &, no, elvis wasn’t the matador. the technique, the brushstrokes…  absolutely killer. got myself a nifty little iron chair with a tufted seat for my vanity. a waterford bowl. i’m telling you, the GGW doesn’t suck.

i also hang out at estate sales. you can really score at those. gotta get there early, though.

oh, & did i tell you i got some incredible hartman luggage? coolest yellow lamp…  i think i might have a problem.

so, back to maudie’s. i absolutely recommend the tacos al pastor & the chicken flaquitos, or taquitos or flautitos – i never can remember what they’re called, oh — & the avocado tomatillo sauce.

did you notice i didn’t mention when the auction IS?  as my mother used to say, you don’t have to tell everything you know.

TTFN

 

 

 

 

watching my reflection on my computer screen

watching my reflection on my computer screen

admit it — you’ve done it, too.  when the light hits it just right, the screen is like a mirror. like catching a glimpse of yourself in a storefront window. you know how you pretend you’re not watching yourself because everyone inside the store will think you’re a freak? well, that’s what’s happening right now as i scrutinize my deformed nostrils on my computer screen while sitting in the  middle of starbucks.

i just keep getting cooler all the time. 

my daughter & i were having dinner @ the café inside nordstroms department store — you know, the place with the yummy salads where the waiter always brings a chocolate-covered peppermint stick with your bill  so you’ll tip him extra? i really love that place. anyway — while we were eating, she informed me with a snide little laugh that my nostrils are different sizes.

well, guess what, hot rod, i told her. yours are, too.

what????  

she didn’t believe it until she whipped out her phone & took a nostril selfie.  she just had to take a picture of mine, too, of course & posted them side-by-side on instagram where i’m sure they’ve gone viral — 1,000,000 hits & counting.

okay, tell the truth. you’re checking your own nostrils on your screen right about now, aren’t you?

are they the same size? just curious.

happy birthday to me

happy birthday to me

it’s tomorrow, and i say, who cares?   I guess you could say the thrill is gone.

here’s what i’ve done since i was in my early 20’s — something ingenious, really. about mid-year, i begin telling myself that I’m already the next year older so it won’t be such a shock when it gets here.  you should try it.

i used to really hate getting older. when i was whining about it a few years back, my mother looked at me and said, you know, martha — you’ve had a lot of birthdays.

after i got over the indignity of her comment, i was left wondering why people apologize for being older. I mean, what’s that about?

think about it.

here’s what i said to my snotty little daughter the last time she made a disparaging comment to me about being old:

listen here, you little pipsqueak. i was kind of a hot babe when i was your age & you ain’t got nothing on me.

come to think of it, you should be writing me a thank you note.

and you’re grounded.

was that wrong?

miley cyrus – i can’t believe i’m writing about her either

miley cyrus – i can’t believe i’m writing about her either

the uproar & hoopla over miley’s performance at the Video Music Awards has died down.

gratefully.

yet, I’m still having flashbacks of miley’s disturbing, flesh-colored Daisy Dukes. if only I could wash my mind out with soap.   her performance left me saying, honey, you can’t dance so please give it up & that goes double for that nasty foam finger you kept putting in very unladylike places.    anyway, i’ve finally put my finger on the reason i was so appalled.

you’re hanging on the edge of your seat, right?    & in case you’re wondering, my finger is not, i repeat, not a foam finger.

her being such an attention-hog really got on my nerves —  i mean, wasn’t it supposed to be robin thicke’s moment in the sun?   and, btw, isn’t he FINE?  the song he sang,  “blurred lines”  — well, i just love it.   let’s all  sing a few bars, shall we?

hey, hey, hey……… hey, hey, hey………..hey, hey, hey

if you can’t hear what I’m tryin’ to say….   if you can’t read from the same page…

maybe I’m goin’ crazy….  maybe I’m goin’ blind…    maybe I’m goin’ out of my

mi–i-i-i—i-i-i — i-i-i—i-i-i-i-i-i-i—nd

you’re going to have that song stuck in your head all day now, aren’t you?

you’re welcome.

okay, here’s the other reason.  i love miley’s music —  i seriously do — & when she ditched the whole disney, hannah montana-persona  in favor of  the  “serious artist”  persona, she pulled it off.  honestly, she did, & I really & truly like her music.

but strutting around the stage pretending to be a sex-bomb like britney spears? well, she didn’t pull that off, because she just ain’t.   yeah, i know britney was a mouseketeer, & so was christina aguilera. whatever.  for them, it was merely a footnote.

for her “sexy” moment, miley wore tennis shoes & short, little pig tails all over her head & absolutely would not stop sticking out her tongue — something ornery little kids do, right?

& did i mention, the girl just can’t dance…  i think i did, but,  i mean, come on! ,  “twerking” her skinny little booty as if she was  bootilicious beyonce?

egads.

but, you  know — the girl’s doing something right, because I’m still talking about her..

The Final Curtain

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