Side Jobber & it's Construction NOT Cleaning or elicit

My good friend hooked me UP!

Time to put my tool belt ON...fill it up with my tape measure, square, chalk-line, lumber pencil, utility knife, plenty of nails - 8's & 16's everything all nestled in their own marvelously stitched and convenient pockets or pouches, sling my hammer in it's metal holder off the back of my right hip. Load up my saw and my chord and my Dad's old Indian tricks. This is gonna be Fun! But I must remember:

Don't underbid myself. Show up on time. Act like I know Exactly what I'm doing. Finish what I start. That should do me. Oh, I'm scared I don't know how to do somethings with the level (the bubble is Not supposed to be in the middle this time). Also I've never leveled a post with cement and all that chingadero all by myself. We'll have to see how that goes. This is what it's going to look like when I'm finished....

Rudimentary toootimentary....I'm always childishly pleased with myself when I draw something like this....it's juvenile, I know but fantastical to me all the same. Happy supplied the poodle. And it's my friend (all the way back from our high school daze) it's a patio extension for her Grandpa. And he's funny! He's in his eighties and still Drives around in his Limo and Scooters w/his oxygen tank at breakNeck speeds. He already told me a story about some guy named Pooopy Munoz. I like him. And I LIKE what I know how to do. Now let's See if I know how to actually Do it.

Goin' to La Chiquita Kyoto style: Beembo bread, milk & Tecate w/lemon (&salt como que no) $9.91

Going passed the house, letting my hair out of it's big loop of messy confines to blow wild in the wind, the plastic bags all dangly for one more block....

I feel GOOD. I feel like I struck it rich right here in the ghetto.

Jesus & Tortilla Mary Get a Bath and Pedicure

before
DURING

After.

is it me or does Jesus need a facelift? And yes, I painted the Blessed Virgin's tootsies RED. Also a little lipstick...just to make her feel a little bit better about herself. See that Cross at her feet? I stepped on that. In the backyard. It was stuck in the adobe by the barbeque pit. It nearly Punctured me in the small of my foot. It fucking HURT. Which is what I get for walking around there with no shoes on. Guilt & Catholicism & Crucification go hand in hand in hand like that.

The shrine is my Nana Josephine's and I treat it like a most beautiful heirloom. Cleaning it with the holiest water in Nipomo and my mom's tortilla warming towel. And then I washed it all down with some cold white wine in a mason jar. Delicious.

I Haven't Nailed It Down Yet.

I think it was because G. was asleep and we share this wall. Those circles w/nails in them? little wooden chop sawed limbs of the black walnut tree. Dyed. Their centers are soft little inner pinpoints that a small copper nail can get shoved nicely thru. But they were just tacked (by my thumb) up there. And today I took them down. Art as moveable therapy that will set up shop somewhere else. Just like my G.
I just need to do something about that goddam waiting list for housing @SFSU.
I gotta have heart. Corazon! And I can't leave any stones unturned. Exausting every possibility is we! Fuck it, we're gonna start busking. I thought in my heart of hearts that G. would be funkified enuf to be down with it. Only he's not into it. That's okay, you know who is? Happy! We are going to get our playlist together and go somewhere outta town where nobody knows us. I'm thinking the Santa Monica Pier. I'll put Pop-pops in his rattiest lookin' clothes. Show a little cleavage. Happy can play the guitar and I'll sing songs like

House of the Rising Sun
Dirty Old Egg Suckin' Dog
I'm glad no one's here (just me by the sea)
Declarate Innocente (in Spanish!)


No, that won't work because Pop-pops is a wild running around chase the birds right off into the ocean kinda guy. Otherwise, we'd ride the bus down there tomorrow....I must come clean and admit that Busking is one of my hottest fantasies.

Happy Birthday, Judy Garland! You would be 85, if you hadn't O.D.'d

And me. Last week sometime, I turned 39 years old....I think it might have been Tuesday...the sixth. I'm getting forgetful in my old age.

Pop-pops don't allow me to brush his teef.

Either we have the scariest raging case of gingivitis or my berry stealing boy helped his own self. Before and after they get washed because he's stealth like that.