Warning... this is not a toy

Have you seen the warning on plastic bags that state it is not A BAG. Imagine, and here I was hoarding them for future grandchildren. Well today we discovered a use for those bags. They make dandy raincoats for a cat who loves to roll around on them till the static is such that it sticks to her as she runs around the living room wondering why she's laden with hitchhiking bags going along for the ride. At least she knows it's not a toy. I wonder if she can read.

Stop me before I google again

Why is it that I cannot seem to stop myself from a googling a certain someone just because I know it pisses her off? Why can't I be an adult instead of a willful naughty bitch? Why can't I be good or, maybe I'm sick of being good and kind and nice and want the true me to come back and seek vengence on those who have royally pissed me off?
Why even write it here? In hopes that someone will read it and get pissed off all on her own. Perhaps that's nasty enough for me without drawing anyone else into it besides the perpetually assanine groovie=-chickie-soulfully-blonde-who can't write worth a piss and shouldn't even try ex friend.
And my good friend who tried to turn me to the good side. peruser, you tried but the

Oh soulfully blonde, Ell Woods? Good lord woman don't you have a mirror and if you don't take a look at any of the endless photos of yourself online. For someone who doesn't want people reading her blog you certainly have yourself spread all over the web. Give us a break.

So creative lately

I'm making dolls again but not using model magic except for face molds. I want to open an etsy store but, as usual, do not have any faith in myself. It'd be a big step for me to put myself in a position to be rejected but what the heck. It won't kill me. If I can face the possible foreclosure on my house, nothing can defeat me. Right?
To deal with the possible foreclosure I've started a new blog so I can whine and moan without bringing the readers of this blog down into the slough of despond with me. It's the least I can do for the three of you. Anyhow I really enjoyed playing with the felt and beads and faces and it kept me out of trouble and from running the streets with wild men. Gotta watch those wild men. And tiwddles... which is what I call my little little whatevers. Twiddles. Check back anytime and see if I ever figure out how to put pictures on this blog.