hole bread, I will not die alone

Morning. Slicing into the bread from Avenue. Either they were concerned about the girth of the woman buying the bread and considering her health, offering holes instead of substance, or the bread was not proved properly- or this is their idea of hole wheat bread. Whatever, I did not feel that I got my money's worth, though the bread is delicious, the holes , no so much.

The night before ,I went out , happy hour with friends. One gave me a gift of a little book that is wonderful, dark, funny, and particularly appropriate during these "end times", (they say)...
 

Every page has something of significance especially in my age group.

Being this age, as well as Mom jeans, does afford  so much freedom to just be.  Forthright honesty is a thing, no pretense or pressure to look a certain pulled together , non sagging way and there is more self expression allowed. Mostly because no one judges you when you are elderly. Unless you are GOP, then all bets are off.

Thinking to turn pain into Expression...but with temporary , wash off tats, because I do not like the idea of ink under my skin.

Crafts are a non judgemental, cheap way of attempting to ART in the world.  Whatever is chosen as a medium , glue, bat, spray paint, napkins, crocheting  bog roll covers, macaroni necklaces, whatever gets our minds going in a meditative way that  can only be soothing , out of the box, creativity. Decorating (bashing) a cop car in the dead of night dressed like a raccoon sounds especially enticing/satisfying.

Going to drag show, a gay bar , a straight bar, improv theater, getting to know your weirdo neighbors, Dressing down, dressing up. 

Going to where ever makes me feel uncomfortable and sussing out why I am feeling uncomfortable, dealing with that discomfort in a finger-pointing-back- at- self way, for better understanding. Going to a gallery full of questionable art without judging. Sit with it. Get to know it. These are things I will do more of.

AND I will sit in my underpants till nightfall...

The little book is basically about - This

 Succinct , right on the money, with a twist at the end. The cockroach working at Starbucks featured on a previous page, lives through  to continue working at Starbucks. A charming apocalyptic book, hilarious if you are in that frame of mind.

Stella and I went out to get our hairs cut and then to the Ferry terminal for fish and chips . The hair cutter's salon is fabulous, The owner is from Mexico so, loads of color and Day of the dead art. 

Mexican cheer and light , Best music playing, excellent hair cutter. Could not find one reason to complain.

I took a photo of something in a magazine to look  up online when I got home. It is this:
 

The reviews were positive, though, some find that electrocuting the face is  unpleasantly zingy! Well, yeah, face is freaked out , cringing away from this frog looking  torture device, curling up in a tight fetal position!

 What we do to fight the ravages of age! Oh , Us women folk , just let it fugging be... not twenty years old looking for a mate, for godsake, nor are we bound by rags like the daily mail to present our best at all times. Who the hell cares? Apparently folks who pay $250.00 for face electrocution do. Besides, in the reviews, there was no one over the age of 25 saying positive things about this miracle Zap.  Magazines for women produced by greed preying on vulnerabilities and insecurities -a woman's curse since we began wearing stupid clothing- Fashion and those damned air brushed movie stars. 

Stick to what's real. What is important. I will if you will... and we will not die alone.