Keep working on it, George.

Bush involved in leak?

Smelling is bad -- acupuncture treatment #2

My second acupuncture treatment was yesterday. Mmmm. Just as good as the first time. We still haven't even started with specific NAET treatments. I think that they were concerned about the fact that I can barely breathe and haven't been able to smell anything since 1992. I don't know how many pins were stuck in my back and shoulders (and arms and legs) but this time one of them was ouchy. They had to take it out. Otherwise, it was all good. I stayed there on my stomach under a heat lamp for twenty minutes and the sensation was simply exquisite. Then I felt great the whole rest of the day. The euphoria is like how you feel when you get a bit of really great news that you were waiting for. So there's the upside. Feels good both during and after. Here's the downside. My dog needs a bath, the fridge needs cleaning, and the cat box could use a little attention. I knew all that but now I can smell all that. Yay, I can smell. Dang, I can smell. Don't ask me how it works. I have no idea. But my sense of smell is returning and all day yesterday I could breathe through both nostrils. You know what gets better when you have a good sense of smell? Shut up, I was talking about taste. That's a good thing, in general, but Hubby won't get away with buying that cheap wine anymore now that I can taste it. Got any recommendations on a good Pinot?

Is "innocent manipulation" an oxymoron?

Girlie arrived at our bedside at 7:15 this morning -- a normal time for her. She was in her jammies, also normal except when aliens are running experiments. Aliens popped by twice in the last -- well, forever -- and didn't realize that getting dressed before being nagged was normal human behavior for Girlie (thusly they were recognized as aliens). Anyway, last night I'd put a stack of clean clothes in her room so this morning I suggested that she go find an outfit for today before heading downstairs. Girlie: "Why do I have to get dressed so early?" Me: "It's not that early. You need to get dressed before school so why not now before we're all in a rush not to be late?" Girlie: "I only got dressed by myself those two times to keep you away from making me do it every day." Me: laughing on the outside but on the inside being VERY afraid of her teenagerhood. She's only in first grade. Okay, it's plain old manipulation on her part, I just called it "innocent manipulation" because she hasn't figured out that she doesn't need to tell us about it.

Will the next election ever get here?

Sitting on the floor eating stale jelly beans, the president speaks to his speech writers about a rallying cry to members of the United Nations about the Middle East.

Desperate Measures

Pokedly Yours...

Today I had my exam and first actual treatment using Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM), more specifically, acupuncture. The first thing I was asked to do was to stick out my tongue. Huh? She looked at it and wrote something down. Maybe it was, "uses Crest toothpaste." Maybe she could read the lines on my tongue and tell how long I was going to live and therefore whether or not to bother treating me. I really can't say. Then she took my pulse, had me stick out my arm and resist pressure, and breathe a little funny at the same time. She murmured something and made a few more notes. Bring out the needles, already, I'm thinking. So she did. (She reads minds too.) Whatever skepticism I had brought with me finally took a lunch break. It doesn't hurt one bit to get the needles positioned and after lying there for twenty minutes under a warm lamp, I didn't want her to take them out. Seriously, it was wonderful. The needles today were mostly in my back and shoulders. We finished up with a shoulder/back Chinese massage and I was high as a kite all afternoon. Now here's the spooky part. My allergies have damaged my sense of smell so much that I can't smell vinegar. Except today I could have. My dog jumped in my lap and I commented to Girlie that stinky doggie needs a bath. Stinky? Doggie? I could smell the dog? I could smell the dog! My next treatment is on Thursday. I can not wait!

The Importance of knowing what motivates your kids

Tribulations

I made Girlie release the lizard. Sob! Sob!! SOBBBBBB!!! "Deep in my heart, it was like that lizard was my own son!" The son she kept in a dark box with no water and little food. We told her that if she saved her money for a month, we would help her buy the extra-large terrarium required for a lizard. Check back with me in May to see if we haven't moved on to other interests.

How do you define "pet"?

For me it's easy. Cat or dog? Pet. Anything else? Big mistake. But I checked Merriam-Webster's and it says: "a domesticated animal kept for pleasure rather than utility." So, going with the broader definition and her original intentions, I think we have to call the beetle, the giant mosquito thing, and the spider (named, in order, The-bug-Mommy-helped-me-catch, Gabriel, and Charlie) pets. She caught them today after releasing Ron the spider who had survived his day of captivity. Okay, they are pets. She got them what she believed passed for food; she named them, she toted them around in a container; and she even put a label on the container just like a dog would wear a tag: If lost, please return to... kind of stuff. If you read yesterday's post, you know that she had burial plots reserved for them already. Enter the lizard. After buying new shoes for the big father/daughter dance tonight, Girlie found herself with a shoe box. Next thing you know, she'd caught her first lizard. The war on nature is escalating around here. Girlie and Hubby read about keeping lizards on the computer and by now you know where this is going. What do lizards eat? Bugs. What did Girlie have a surplus of? Bugs. Only, as I have explained, these were pets. Were. Pets. I hope they didn't know what was going to happen to them. I wont let her bring the lizard into the house so one at a time, she gazed into her little tub-'o-death and said, "Hmm, what are we going to do about you?" Stomp, stomp, stomp out to the kitchen. Door slam! Plop! Into the lizard box they went. The-bug-Mommy-helped-me-get went first but Gabriel and Charlie didn't last much longer. Actually, Gabriel managed to escape but the intent to feed him to the lizard was there. Before long, Girlie's going to need a coliseum. Let's just hope she never gets a permit to keep wild animals. I'll rest easier knowing that my cats outweigh my dog and aren't in any immediate danger should Girlie get any wild ideas.

Look, Nana Banana, My First Pair of Heels

It's all about the shoes, isn't it?

Here Lies Rebecca the Moth

You probably can't read it but it does say, "here lies Rebecca the moth." Apparently, Globulists don't believe in cremation. Rebecca the moth was only with us for less than 24 hours but she made a big enough impression on Girlie that she got a full-sized headstone. Much bigger than those of Sunset, Starfire, Aleeshia, Bob, Carly, and Ron the fish. Trapped today is Rebecca's replacement (mind you the ink wasn't even dry on Rebecca's headstone). Ron the itsy-bitsy spider (not to be confused with Dead Ron the fish) has the misfortune of residing in Girlie's plastic tub o' death today. She put in a couple of sticks so that he could weave a web but I'm thinking he'll lack the inspiration (let alone oxygen). There are a couple of air holes but they are necessarily tiny. I don't like bugs (thus my contract with Terminix). But I don't like squelching Girlie's scientifical (her word) exuberance even more. So I allow the bugs. The pet cemetery is my bigger concern. I'm going to need a bigger side yard. And if you read my blog, you know I'm a long time Stephen King fan. He wrote about pet cemeteries a long time ago and I haven't forgotten the outcome. One of these days we're going to have a night of the living dead around here and it's going to look like decayed flopping fish and a rag tag assortment of buzzing little bug zombies. Fodder for Scream 4, the movie, I guess.

Goodbye Allergies, part one.

Today is my first appointment for my N.A.E.T. treatment. I hope there's no homework. Oh, and to get the above cartoon, you have to visit it's first incarnation.

Okay, best present ever

Just a few minutes ago, a friend of mine from high school surprised me with a happy birthday phone call. I haven't spoken to her in more than 15 years. For some reason, after all this time, she still has my birthday marked on her calendar and this year she tracked me down from our hometown in Oregon. I could cry. Seriously. She has always been an amazing, positive influence to anybody around. We played Little League Softball together on the Southern Oregon Masonry team that my Dad coached. She played second base to my catcher. We had a killer move that caught people stealing from first base on a regular basis. Now? She has five kids, the youngest of them 11 years old and picking her new softball bat for the season online. My Girlie? She has declared that she hates sports with balls. Cripes. Now don't let me digress. This old friend just made my day. If you looked up "upbeat" in the dictionary, you'd find her picture. And that's saying a lot from me -- the slap-happiest girl around in most situations. She's well. Her folks are well. And she has five wonderful kids. Thanks for the gift, S.

At Play

Girlie is a funny little first grader. She can play dumb. Yesterday, Hubby asked her about the amount of wrapping paper that she'd used on my present. She replied, "Geez, what's a kid supposed to know about how much wrapping paper to use?" She can play know-it-all. On the way home from school today she told me that she was doing subtraction flashcards and that she thought that "0 - 1" would be a difficult one. I explained to her that she wouldn't be seeing a card like that and proceeded to give her a five-minute explanation about it. Or I would have if she hadn't cut me off and said, "yeah, negative numbers. I know Mom." So she knows about negative numbers but not how to wrap a present? She can make me believe that she's smarter than the President. In that same conversation, she explained that negative numbers are what you get when you spend more money than you have. I love my Girlie.

Squeal!

That's the sound I made when my British girlfriend, H, gave me my birthday present today. First we got pedicures (a first for me, don't know what I was waiting for) then we got coffee and then I got, hee hee, an umbrella. A Burberry umbrella. Plaid and all. Don't ask me why, but little luxury items just absolutely make my week (month, year...). So next time you're in Tampa, if you see a short-haired chick with jeans and an Old Navy tee shirt spinning a Burberry plaid umbrella in the sunshine, you'll know that it's me. Thanks, H!!!

Orchid Food

I meant to point out in my last post that on my window sill is an old jar of orchid food next to a silk orchid. Tells a story, doesn't it? So do the wine glasses by the sink.

UFO's, Lindsey Lohan, and knitting

My title has nothing to do with my post. I've simply discovered that when others do a google search for something totally unrelated to my blog, if the subject is also in my post's title they sometimes stop by to say "Howdy." So today I plan to capture alien-loving starlet watchers who knit. Wish me luck. As you can see, I'm in a very good mood, in spite of this (see photo of my kitchen sink above). It's my birthday and I'm trying to finish the sentence, "Now I'm forty-three ...." Past versions included, "Now I'm forty-one derful" and "Now, I'm forty-two good to be true." Any suggestions? Oh, but I didn't get you anything. Perhaps you can make both of our days by buying a copy of my fabulous novel, if you haven't already. It's a chuckle, it really is. Oh, and I think today would be a great day to hear from My Agent! about novel number two. But enough about me - what are you up to today? If you're in Florida like me, you should definitely get outside on your lunch break. It's gorgeous today!

Tomorrow is my birthday! So I...

stole my husband's iPod Shuffle. It's been sitting around unused on his desk since Christmas. The statute of limitations has run and I grabbed it before Girlie did. Like those seagulls said on "Finding Nemo," mine, mine, mine. Too bad I scraped so hard on the iTunes gift card that came with the iPod. I can't make out the code I'm supposed to enter to get my (his) $15.00 worth of downloads. Drats. I also found out what he's getting me for my birthday: a course of treatment with a recommended alternative physician (read accupuncturist) to see if I can lessen my allergies to Earth. I will be blogging all about the experience, I'm sure. And now that you know what my birthday present is going to be, surely you can see that my iPod theft was fully justified.

It's what's for dinner

Papa Bear invites sculptor Danial Edwards to a private reception.

Curse of the Dead Monkey

A little background. I'm one of those people who moved to Florida and memorized the only important part of the rhyme that can save your life: Red on yellow, deadly fellow. Coral snakes, people. Uber-poisonous and not at all sporting seeing how they don't rattle or otherwise announce their presence. And yes, you nay-sayers, I have seen TWO out in the not-so-wild. And what does that have to do with monkeys? I'll tell you. Today, I screwed up my courage and took a nature hike, all by myself, in a nature park in Pinellas County. I put on my hiking shorts, brought some water and a bird identification book, and slung some binoculars around my neck. Then, I ventured onto a path that was not one of those safe raised wooden boardwalk things. It was a real path. Through woods. I've lived in Florida long enough not to jump at the sound of lizards scurrying through the brush. I can also readily distinguish the scrape of palm fronds on other trees. But I'm ever vigilant about snakes. I don't like 'em. (Which is probably why Girlie LOVES them, but that's a story for another day.) So, I'm creeping around this path when I hear a loud brushy sound. Yikes! Oh, it's only a senior citizen about forty years older than me looking for a different path out of the park. She's wearing a twin-set (I'm not kidding you) and nice slacks and telling me that the last time she was in the park, she'd climbed somebody's fence looking for a different exit. Ignoring the obvious questions about exits and such, I asked her about snakes. She said, "Oh, I never give that a thought." Hmmph. She took off in a different direction, on her way to the White Rabbit's tea party I guess. I round the bend in the path and see up ahead that there is something dead in the path. Brown, furry, monkey-like and dead. Never mind that monkeys are not indigenous to Florida. In my mind it was obvious -- somebody's poor pet monkey had escaped to the woods and been killed by a Coral snake that was probably still lurking around somewhere. I was frozen. Crikey! WWCHD (What Would Crocodile Hunter Do?). Never mind - he likes snakes too. I wish I had a video of my approach to that poor dead monkey. One step forward, pause, look around for snakes, repeat. Finally, I saw that I was right about one thing. It was a monkey. Hah. A stuffed monkey. Dead (well, abandoned) right there in the path. I claim the out-of-context defense for not recognizing its stuffedness as quickly as I recognized its monkeyness. And I guess the title of this post really should be I Cursed That Dead Monkey. But it did teach me one thing: Coral snakes will attack stuffed animals as readily as live ones. Poor little monkey.

The Alien Invasion Has Finally Begun

I thought that they'd be more subtle. Nope. I knew the second that Girlie walked into my room this morning that the alien pod people had finally arrived. "Mommy? Can I get up now? I hope so because I'm already dressed. And I have my shoes on. Now I'm going to go make my breakfast." Sob! I feel so guilty. I should miss my Girlie but this new alien version is awfully compelling. Let's give it a few days, shall we?

Why people come to Florida in winter

This photo was taken in February. It's for all my relatives up north to remind them to come visit me. All others in harsh environments may avert their eyes. 

More Fun With Wendy

Tomorrow (Tuesday) night at 7:30, I'll be speaking to the Women's Fiction Group at the South Tampa Barnes & Noble. It's a tad north of Kennedy so of course it's not in South Tampa at all but I'm sure you can find it. ANYBODY can come. Anyway -- they read PARVENUE THROWS A PARTY this month and I get to tell them why they loved it. As a bonus, I'm thinking of reading the prologue to the sequel, TEACUP TRAVELS, just to whet their appetites. TEACUP TRAVELS is in the capable hands of My Agent! up in New York and will hopefully get published next year. I hope to see you tomorrow! Wendy

Worse than shopping for a new bra

Here's the thing. I had an appointment this morning at nine o'clock to listen to my options regarding the results of an ultrasound (no, I'm not pregnant). I already know that instead of finding the polyps that they expected to see, they got a three-fer: two cysts (one on each ovary) and a fibroid (in the ole uterus). All are normal -- I'm not harboring weapons of mass destruction. So I sat in the waiting room planning the cartoon I would draw. I pictured the fibroid as a George Bush character. It's small and inconsequential except for the fact that it managed to lodge itself in a position of power (something called the endometrial canal). The cysts I would liken to Irish dancers a la Lord of the Dance. They dance around, move back, and new ones move to the front on a regular basis. I've been staging that show since at least 1990. So imagine my disappointment when the doctor never showed up. I left at ten o'clock. Others in the waiting room were sticking it out. But when I'd gone up to the counter, I'd seen a State required notice that my doctor had elected not to carry malpractice insurance. I'd never noticed it before. SHOOT! I really liked him. I've never sued anybody in my life. But I'm a former attorney and I just can't recommend to myself, let alone anybody else, that I see a doctor who is not insured. And I don't like getting stood up. Crappity, crap, crap. Now I must find a new one. I hate that.

Why don't we do this instead of war?

World Pooh Sticks Championships held.

Is it like a pig in a poke?

Mindy at The Mommy Blog reminds us that she is dating a chef. If she wasn't my friend, I'd have to go poke her in the nose.

Why my cats hate my dog.

Late Night Search

It's late. I should be in bed but instead I'm noodling around on the computer. On a whim, I searched for "nuts" on MSN search. I'm thinking of gourmet nuts, roasted, lightly salted. A bedtime snack. What did I get? Bumpernuts. Gonads for cars. That was the number one ranked thing on my search. Killed my appetite. Good night all.

I'm not having an affair.

This post if for my Hubby. He doesn't like change. Once I moved the couch in our living room and he got nervous. My friend informed me that men just don't like change. Move a couch? You must be having an affair. So yesterday I dyed my hair. I was really just trying to cover up the brassiness from a past dye-job. I wanted it to look dark brown like my real hair color. It came out nearly black. In fact, it's got burgundy mixed in if you catch it in the right light. Rather than freak, I simply cut it a bit shorter so that the color is less noticeable. My hair is short -- it will all grow out very quickly. In the meantime I look sort of Goth and edgy. But to Hubby, dyed hair and a cut must mean something dreadful. He hasn't said "boo" about my hair change but he's twice tried to get me to pay attention to him this morning instead of work. Poor thing. I love you Hubby.

Whatever Girlie wants

For an assignment, Girlie had to list her career aspirations. 1. be an artist 2. run a restaurant 3. be an author and illustrator (one-upping her mother) 4. invent something. That last one is the most curious. Remind me to ask her what type of thing she would like to invent. I'm guessing invisible spray or human wings. You go, Girlie.

I used to be a more fun dinner date.

Books, Blogs, and other alliterative items

My mind has been in the Big Apple a lot lately. My Agent! is there working hard to sell my next novel, "Teacup Travels," a stand-alone sequel to "Parvenue Throws A Party." Naturally I'm distracted by the thought that editors at big publishing houses are looking at my manuscript (maybe even right now!). Also, I'm going to New York next month for a writers' conference. I'm so excited. It's been too long since I paid a visit. Hubby and Girlie are tagging along to take in some sights while I'm at the conference. If you have any suggestions for seven-year-old sightseeing in N.Y., I'm all ears. She loves art museums so we're not completely without a plan but she'll only want to visit one or two. As for blogging, I've been asked to give a talk to the Tampa Writer's Alliance in May about book/self promotion on the web. I'm going to try a few experiments between now and then so that I can relate some more personal experience. I'm open to suggestions for experiments too. Of course I'll be relating my experiences with blogging to the group. Finally, burns. Can somebody recommend a brand of casual dishes that you can put in the microwave and not burn the shit out of your hands when you take them out? Every day it's the same thing. I should be on Candid Camera. I try to use hot pads but I end up dunking them in my oatmeal or dropping the bowl. Help is needed. Thanks.

Fancy? Or Not Fancy?

Last night we took Girlie with us to Roy's to celebrate Hubby's birthday. She put on her fanciest dress and nicest shoes and smooshed her face into a fancy expression. Then she told us how to tell the difference between a fancy restaurant and a not-fancy restaurant. 1. A not-fancy restaurant will have less fancy fish in its tank -- like puffer fish. 2. A not-fancy restaurant will have hot dogs on the regular menu -- fancy restaurants will only offer hot dogs on the kids menu. If she'd also mentioned about the fancy vs. not-fancy bill, then I think she would have summed it all up fairly accurately.

Happy Birthday, Hubby! See what I made you?

It walks like a duck.

From BBC News: "The president admitted there would be tough fighting ahead in Iraq, but after referring to the sectarian violence that followed the bombing of a Shia Muslim mosque in Samarra last month, he said: "Iraqis took a look and decided not to go to civil war." " So what did they decide to do? Play tiddlywinks? Hmm. We, the United States, are a nation at war. But all that violence, killing, bombing, then reprisal violence, reprisal killing, and reprisal bombing between the two factions in Iraq is not war, according to the President. What exactly is it?

Snicker, snicker

It's the last day of Girlie's spring break

I love her. We had fun at Busch Gardens, the beach, the mall, the movie theatre, the park, etc. Tomorrow she's back in school. Cue the Andy Williams: "It's the most, wonderful tiiiiimmmmeee, of the yeeeaaaarrrr." I need to get back to work.

An insight about myself I learned from Harvest Moon

Stupid game. I'm in the fourth year out of five or six, I can't tell. I've bought every farm extension available and I've upgraded my house interior three times. I've made every conceivable hybrid and planted loads of crops. I've bought a sheep and upgraded my livestock herd. Now, there's nothing left for me to buy. I've got a ton of money, but no mall. Boring. Hubby to me: "So basically you're driven by consumerism?" Me to Hubby: "Well, duh." Only in the game, of course.

Translation: Bush wants an early Christmas present

Bush reaffirms first strike doctine.

Gluten is the devil

In the past few weeks, I've been experimenting and quite sadly it appears that I must give up (NO, not cartooning - shut up), something called gluten. It's in wheat and other stuff like beer. No bread. No beer. I'm over the suicidal stage thanks to all the gluten-free products available at many stores these days. I even made GF bread in my bread maker and it turned out great. I'll probably lose weight. What I've already lost is a bunch of physical discomfort. It wouldn't be so bad if I weren't also allergic to dairy and a few other things like apples. I think it's time to try some alternative medicines. The gluten thing is not an allergy but the others are and I believe that a few accupuncture needles will take care of them. I'll let you know.

Sun Worship

Bella likes the new floor. 

More fun with "Paint"

New Threads

Procedure criticized. Gee.

Bad Mix

Oak pollen season and spring break should not coincide. The only allergy medicines that work for me are the ones that leave me totally high. "Mommy, I'm bored. Can I use the electric carving knife?" asks my 7-year-old. "Sure thing, thweetie," I would reply if I hadn't already left her alone to go almost-naked bike riding with the protestors who were on Bayshore Boulevard yesterday (and not today, oops). So maybe that didn't really happen. Who knows? I was high on Benadryl all day. Tomorrow will be the same. I promised Girlie that we'd go see a movie. Somebody puh-leeeze steer me into that dog movie. Thanks.

Soft Bigotry.

A Matter of Perspective

Yesterday, I spent the morning unexpectedly babysitting a six-year-old friend of my daughter's while my Girlie was at school. I spent the afternoon waiting around the St. Joe's Women's Hospital radiology department for my appointment (routine stuff). When I got home, the floor installers were nearly finished but the fumes in my house made me gag. I opened the windows and doors only to find that I'd rather die a slow death from glue fumes than a quick anaphylactic death by live oak pollen. (It looks like yellow powdered sugar outside.) We ended up sleeping at the in-law's house last night, dog and all. I got nothing done. So this morning, my daughter came to wake me and Hubby and reminisced about yesterday. At school she'd had a party and only a half-day because of spring break. Then she'd got to play for a couple of hours with the aforementioned friend. Her grandparents (the in-laws) babysat her while I went to my appointment and although she was bummed out when I picked her up, her spirits soared when I informed her that we were being gassed out of our house and needed to camp back at Grandma's. She sighed this morning and said, "Wasn't yesterday just the best day ever?" Now I have to admit that for her sake, it was worth not getting anything done yesterday if it made her have her best day ever. It's not like I had to go to Disney World or something.

Shucks.

Some mysteries are better left unsolved.

I see Wood and Moons

I'm sky high (probably from adhesive fumes). After several weeks of walking on the cement slab, we are finally getting the wood floors replaced. They're the solid oak, pre-finished, glue it down on the subfloor (which was also replaced) kind of floors that look like the solid oak, unfinished, move out of your house for a two-weeks kind of floors. Never mind. If you have dealt with wood flooring, you'll know what I'm talking about. Oh, the moons. Well, the nicest installer on the planet likes to wear his pants ultra-low. I don't know why, but he always has his backside towards me when I walk through the house. Thus the moons.

Deep Impact

Your son pulled on a tree root and we're all going to die. That was the logic in Girlie's argument/tattle-tale session at the park. She was playing with some boys that she likes in a sand pit when a tree root was uncovered. Boys being boyish, one of them was excavating and that tree root had to go. Girlie being Girlie, she wanted to give it a name and make it the mother in her snake family. Several heart-stopping screams later, she dashed across the playground to inform me and the boy's mommy that he was messing with a tree root; it might hurt the tree; we need trees for oxygen; we're all going to die. I can't help feeling a little pride for my lawyer in training. She put forward the strongest argument available to her and sold it. Watch out boys.

Love the Art

Yesterday was pretty much perfect. As we usually do, we attended the Gasparilla art festival downtown in Tampa. The art was top notch. We bought a really cool painting for our family room. Girlie liked the artist's work too and wanted one for her room. (Uhm, that would be a no). Pissed that we didn't choose the one that she liked, she declared our choice, "hideous." I hope the artist will recover from such a scathing review. We saw Kathy Castor and her daughter at the kid's craft area. I'm voting for her anyway, but it really pleases me to see politicians supporting the arts. Castor's cool. I know her personally and I can vouch for her. Then last night we supported the Tampa Theatre by attending an Oscar night event there. Boy was that fun. They even had a fake Joan Rivers out front commenting on the clothes. I love Tampa.

Brokeback Plot

Uhm, none. Well, okay, they love each other and it's not going to work out for them to be together. I finally saw Brokeback Mountain and I loved the scenery, I loved looking at the movie's two handsome stars and it didn't bother me that they loved looking at each other. But somewhere in the second half while I was marveling at how they'd made the characters age, I realized I wasn't paying attention to the story anymore. That's because there wasn't one. At least not much of one. Great acting though. I'm sure it will win lots of prizes tonight but I wouldn't vote for it. Of course I'm one of the few who loved The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou. I can't be trusted.

AT LAST! (all about me, me, me)

My new novel has found . . . AN AGENT! An AGENT! in New York. I love my AGENT! and I'm going to work the phrase, "my agent" into every conversation I have from now until July. If you are a writer, you know how difficult it can be to find an agent. It's work, work and more work. So three snaps for me. Stay tuned for the announcement that I have AN EDITOR! (i.e., when a publisher buys my novel). That might be worth six snaps.

I do hate crybabies.

Your Monster Profile

War Darkness You Feast On: Pickles You Lurk Around In: The Backseats of Cars You Especially Like to Torment: Crybabies

What's" Your Monster Name?

GOAL!

I don't care that Girlie isn't a natural-born athlete. Sure, I blanched a little when she pronounced her hatred of all sports with balls but so long as she didn't care, I sure didn't. They do sports at her school and I've spied on her once or twice for my amusement. Once, they were playing kickball and not only did she refuse to kick a rolling ball (the teacher had to hold it in place for her), once she got on base she forgot about the game. The kid after her ran by her around the bases because she was staring at a butterfly or something. Out in the field, her team made her stand under the swing set out of the way and they still yelled encouragement just in case: "Girlie! If the ball comes to you, you have to run after it. Then pick it up and give it to so-and-so. Or just get out of the way. Yeah, just move." I laughed because Girlie is simply oblivious. I was the best kickballer at my grade school but Girlie will have to be the best at something else. Then, quite calmly, she announced this morning that yesterday during sports, she had scored not one but TWO goals. A boy she adores told her that their team won the game because of her and her teacher told her she was proud of her. Oh boy, they've created a monster. Girlie demonstrated her running prowess for me over and over again this morning. If they think that this new, two-goal Girlie is going to be content being stuck under the swings, they're in for a suprise. All I can say is you go Girlie! Be the best butterfly watcher or runner or whatever you want. Keep surprising yourself like you keep surprising us.

If I had a million dollars

That song is going through my head. Bare Naked Ladies, was it? So now I'm musing about what I would do with a million dollars. I'm sure my answer would be different on any given day but today, now, here's what I'd do with a million dollars. 1. Give chunks of money to various charities, of course. 2. Put money in my Girlie's college fund, of course. 3. Buy a Prius, of course. Wouldn't everybody? With a million smackers I could insist on a red one with all the extras and then get that converter I've heard about that makes you get 200 miles per gallon. Who cares if that nulls the warranty? I'll have a million dollars. After that, I'm not sure. We already travel a lot. I like my house. I might like to have another Italian Greyhound. I've dreamed of flying Business Class instead of coach. I must be pretty darn content. A million dollars just wouldn't be all that life changing for me. So, what would you do with a million dollars? Do they still make K cars?

Academy Awards Help Needed

I'm going to a shindig at the Tampa Theatre for Academy Awards Night. Like any good mom, I haven't seen ANY of the movies nominated in the big categories. So quick, what was Brokeback Mountain about? Just kidding. I feel like I've already seen it. Not so with some of the others. I'm going to see Brokeback this week since it's still at the theatres and I can squeeze in a matinee while Girlie's at school. If anything is on DVD, I'll find it at Blockbuster and give it a look before next week. What shouldn't I miss? In the meantime, I'm diving into the latest book by Stephen King called "Cell." Don't anybody call me or otherwise try to contact me tonight (and for God's sake no cell phone pranks!). I'm going for full immersion and I'm a very fast reader. I'll let you know what I thought at Tampa Book Buzz in a couple of days (it's the book club pick for Feb.). Ciao!

The Cooler

I have finally figured out the job I was meant to have: the cooler. That's the schmoe who exudes such bad luck that casinos hire him (in my case, her) to walk by and rub a little of the bad stuff on somebody who's winning a little too often. I went to the horse races on Saturday and the first horse I picked came in dead last. The next horse I picked to place, came in third (that's a show). You get the idea. I couldn't even pick the winner of Dancing With the Stars (I picked Rinna, a former classmate of mine.) Add to that the bad luck I had on a recent trip to France and the ongoing flood/asbestos disaster in my living room and you've got the makings of a bad luck professional. I've been considering taking up poker. After this post, I expect to get invited to a lot of games. Look for me at Hard Rock Casino. I'll be the gal touching elbows with that guy who suddenly can't get the dice to roll in his favor. I wonder what coolers get paid?

Wendy's Little Helper

Because my dog looks like Santa's Little Helper, I get to think about The Simpson's every day. My favorite episode ever, you ask? The one where they staged the musical version of Streetcar Named Desire.

Harvest Moon Update

It's three a.m. so naturally I must fill you in on Harvest Moon. Why do I like it so much, you ask? For starters, my Harvest Moon me never has insomnia and isn't totally whipped by her animal friends. I'm up tonight because my clever little pooch has discovered that once my hubby comes to bed, a veritable feast in crumbs is waiting for her on the family room couch where my husband was parked eating snacks before bedtime. He's a night owl so this happens at well, three a.m. And since my dog long since abandoned the crate in favor of sleeping with us, her night time scavenging wakes me up. My Harvest Moon me would have sold her by now. Just like BooBoo the calf. She was cute and all but she fetched me $2,500 at market. And in Harvest Moon, I have a two-headed talking plant that eats fruit and spits up hybrid seeds. Mix a tomato and a watermelon? No problem. There are even recipes involving these hybrid creations. In real life, I have a two-headed cat (actually I have two cats) and it eats two things like rubber bands and houseplants and spits up too. But there are no recipes involving her creations. Don't even get me started comparing my Harvest Moon offspring to my little Girlie. Squirt waters the crops and he was just born like forty Harvest Moon days ago. I also have Harvest Moon friends. In Harvest Moon, you can shamelessly court friendship with a lonely old man hoping that he'll leave you his bonsai plants when he dies (his wife died last Harvest Moon year and he's got major depression). He's already coughed up a new fishing pole in exchange for pickles made out of turnips. My real life friends have never given me a fishing pole. In Harvest Moon, there are no parents or parents-in-law and the water heater never floods your house. I should wrap up by saying that real life is more fulfilling, blah, blah, blah, but it's three a.m. and I can't sleep. I'm too grouchy to be reflective.

Serf Chic

Sometime in history, it must have been that only the wealthy land-owners had water piped into their houses. Others had wells and still others, the worst off, had to fetch water from the creek. Actually, this scenario is probably still true in many parts of the world. That's what gets me about bottled water. Now. Here. Where everybody's got drinkable water running out of their spigots. It seems (hurricane prep aside) that there are those who drink only bottled water that they have to fetch from that modern day creek called Publix. I suppose the wealthiest these days have bottled water delivered to them by men in big white trucks but I know that there are lots of people who stock up on the bottled stuff when they grocery shop. So, these days, it's all reversed. If you're poor (or just hopelessly out of touch), you drink water piped into your sink. If you're on your way up, you buy cases at the creek, I mean grocery store. And if you really care pamper yourself, you have it delivered right to your door. I guess that's the well in my scenario. What does it all mean? Nothing. But now that it's common for everybody to have a car, watch out for the return of horse carriages and buggy whips.

Jumpin' on the bandwagon

I assume that this gripe has been griped to death in some forum or another. But that never stopped me from piling on. Cough, cough, clear my throat... Why aren't there a few more safe places for pedestrians to cross over Bayshore (in Tampa)? It's the longest uninterrupted sidewalk in the universe but you have to make a death-defying dash across the street to get there. What if I fall? It could happen. My history in athletics has left me with sore joints and two fewer bones in my right foot. Falling could happen. Then smush. Just when my Amazon ranking was looking better.

Join A Book Club

Today is book club promotion day here at my blog. I'm having a lot of fun with my online book club facilitated by Tampa Book Buzz. Anybody can join and obviously, you don't have to live in Tampa. So Alison? How about it? We read a wide variety of books. This month it's "Cell" by Stephen King. March is "Wicked" by Gregory Maguire, April is "Saturday" by Ian McEwan, May is "The Year of Magical Thinking," by Joan Didion, and June is "Maps for Lost Lovers" by Nadeem Aslam. If you live in Tampa and meeting in person is more your style, you don't have to wait for an invite from somebody else's club. You can join a book group at Barnes & Noble. I found out about that when South Tampa B&N picked my novel, "Parvenue Throws A Party" as the March choice for its women's fiction group. I'll be visiting the group for discussion on March 28th. Get busy reading, people. At the very least you can read during commercials while you're watching Lost on TV.

So serious it's called "abatement"

Tomorrow the haz mat guys are coming to "abate" the old asbestos-lined vinyl that was revealed when my house flooded and the wood floors were pulled up. I guess I'll be working away from home that day. Can pets get asbestiosis? It might be bring your two cats and your dog to work day. And crappity crap, my daughter has tomorrow off from school. Does anybody know of a combination playground, dog and kitty park (with wireless internet access)?

Does anybody play Bridge anymore?

I like to play Bridge. It's the best card game as yet undiscovered by people under age 102. My husband (the exception) learned to play in college and he taught me. For a long time, we had another couple to play with once a month but, sniff, sniff, they had to move away. Now people humor me like a crazy nutjob when I mention Bridge and my desire to play it again soon. They just don't understand. It's best played with good friends, a stiff drink, and some jazz on the CD player. Where is your culture, people? Or am I really just a crazy nutjob?

Hopped up on caffeine and ready to roll

But first I digress. "Hi Mom. I wish you had been at this year's Suncoast Writer's Conference this year." So, as you know, I was just at the conference and I feel like a wound up toy that just needs to be placed on a hard surface. Okay, not that kind of toy, Bitch. I'm getting out a novel that was well underway before I decided to tackle the Parvenue sequel. I finished polishing up PARVENUE GETS A PASSPORT a couple of weeks ago and I'm ready to move on. The next novel, set for completion prior to Christmas, is tentatively entitled, THE CANDIDATE FOR MAYOR IS A GODLESS HEATHEN. Sure it sounds autobiographical but I'll remind you all that I am never going to run for office no matter how hard you beg. I'm going to sit down, write my fourth novel and click out a slew of travel pieces that have piled up on me. I never have writer's block. I'm just occasionally blocked by my addiction to Harvest Moon (see below). Lucky for all of us, the novelty is wearing off and now it just feels like, well, work. Have a great day, all.

James O. Born ate my chicken

I went to the Suncoast Writer's Conference this week and although the highlights should probably be that I met Billy Collins, U.S. Poet Laureate, and listened to some great stuff by Augusten Burroughs -- I'm at least most amused that I sat next to James O. Born at dinner and he asked to eat the chicken that I didn't touch due to food allergies that are too boring to go into. Mind you, his first words to me were not, "are you going to eat that?" We had struck up a friendly conversation first. But when he signed his book for me today, he wrote, "Thanks for dinner." I guess you had to be there but I was amused. Still am. If that was the most amusing thing, my favorite things were: 1) meeting Kitty and Jennifer O'Neil, authors of Funky Shui. They are funny and engaging and their book is great too. 2) meeting (again) Sheree Bykofsky, an author, agent, and poker shark. She's the type of agent I hope to land one day. Two of her authors are Kitty and Jennifer O'Neil. (It's a small, small world.)

But I've got more cows. Harvest Moon update.

We have a Harvest Moon epidemic at my house. Hubby, Girlie, and I all have our own games going and it's only because Hubby is a night owl that we don't fight over the Playstation 2. I've never had this kind of game addiction. Not even when Zelda came out. Now it's all about one-upsmanship. "I have seven fruit trees." "I caught a Huge Sharshark." "I dug up three skulls." (There's an archeological dig.) "I have three hens." And on and on. Girlie doesn't participate in the bragging because when she plays, she just pets the doggie and makes her character run around in circles. Sometimes she picks a mushroom. We told her that when you run a farm, you have to work to feed yourself and your animals. We were going to let "nature" take its course but then she got so freaked out over possibly losing her cow, Alice, we had to intervene. So her game is really a challenge. She blows off a few days playing in the forest and I come in and scrounge up food for her cow. And I enjoy it. Shoot me now.

Natsume! I'm gonna sue you.

My Hubby bought Girlie the Harvest Moon game for Playstation 2. Now, instead of doing my work or minding my own little ranch, I'm madly growing apple trees, picking flowers, tending cows and other stuff like that. And when I'm not playing my own game, I'm helping Girlie survive the winter without starving her livestock. Somebody save me!

And now she's on Dancing With the Stars!

About thirty years ago, I listened to my Barry Manilow Live album every day when I got home from Hoover Elementary School where I was in the same class as Lisa Rinna. So imagine my pleasure watching Dancing With the Stars tonight (the results show). There he was. There she was. And in the studio audience? Harry the L.A. Law guy (now Lisa's hubby). I wonder if my Mom was watching too. Mom and Dad still live in the same vicinity as Lisa's parents and in fact they are friends. Now I'll have to confess that the show is pretty awful but it's compelling in a sort of train wreck sorta way. The dancing is great. It's all the rest of it, like the announcers, that aren't working for me. Lisa? You better win big. Do it for the Hurricanes! Yes, the Hoover Hurricanes. Location? Oregon.

Party at the LIbrary

I just discovered that you can suggest a book for acquisition by the library. If you are so inclined, you could suggest that the library acquire my book, Parvenue Throws A Party, Paperback, $12.00, Hoyden Press. Many thanks.

My kingdom for a good night's sleep.

A sharp knife, a king size bed, stuff falling on the floor -- it sounds like a scary movie but don't worry, it was a simple pillow top mattress decapitation. Or should I say, formerly pillow top mattress. Word to the wise, never buy a freakishly expensive mattress that isn't under warranty because they've disconinued the model. My hubby and I must have "Sucker" stamped on our foreheads. This was the single worst bed I've ever owned. It's actually better now that we've removed six inches of down but it's not going to last. And I'm a little worried about how much Hubby enjoyed the process. Hmmm. If you don't hear from me again soon, send the cyber cops.

Stingrays are not for petting.

You know how a fox will chew off its foot to get away from a trap? I would have chewed off my foot just to get away from my foot. That's how much it hurts to get stung by a stingray. Naturally when it happened we were at a beach you can only get to by boat. Then my dear hubby ran the boat aground trying to take a shortcut back to the dock. The motor stalled and needed something or other replaced (we had one, whew). And finally, we found out that all I needed to do was dunk my foot in hot water. Instantly better. I had to keep it in hot water for most of the day. A week later, however, it became infected and took a month to heal. And my daughter wonders why I don't pet the stingrays at Lowry Park Zoo. This happened ten years ago when I first moved to this wild and dangerous state. Why am I thinking about it today? I went for a stroll on Bayshore Blvd. and stopped to look into the water and staring back at me was a fairly large stingray. It's like that crocodile that follows Captain Hook around. The scar on the inside of my ankle will throb all day now. I miss Oregon.

Smackdown at the Bass Pro Shop

Bass Pro Shops display in Las Vegas. Tents are on aisle 3. Testosterone on aisle 4. More fun with pictures from the Hog Wild West. I "shot" this little Eeyore near Red Rock Canyon.

Addison Asked - how can I say no?

One of these days I'll get sweet Tag! revenge on Addison. I just haven't found the perfect one yet. In the meantime, Name: Wendy Bust: That’s between me and my Victoria’s Secret Salesgal Waist: see above Hips: made for birthin’ Birthdate: 3/30/63 Birthplace: Newport Beach, CA Ambitions: Get published. Oops, done that. So, I’ve always wanted to bartend. Likes: Sarcasm directed at others. Dislikes: Sarcasm directed at me. If I Had More Time I Would: Take over the world. I tend to assume leadership positions when given enough time. Vacation Destination: Anywhere away from this asbestos-infested house is fine by me. I’ll see it all eventually. It’s what I do.

Mean Girls (stage one)

Here's where it starts, folks. First grade. To celebrate her 7th birthday, Girlie decided to have her shoulder length bob shorn in favor of an earlobe length bob with bangs. Very grown up. She loves it. I love it (of course I would love her head bald - it makes no difference to me) and best of all, no more tangles. No fewer than five long-haired girls at her school told her that they liked her better with long hair. Poor Girlie -- I had to explain that they still like her, they just liked the looks of her long hair better than her short hair. And that's bad enough. "It's not like I'm not the same person," she excaimed when I picked her up from school. Lucky for both of us, she is still awash with self-esteem. "I looked in the mirror and I saw that I look really cute!" In other words, shut up you long-haired meanies.

How often do you think about the war? How often should we?

Is anybody else getting regretably numb when it comes to coverage of the Iraq war? It's the same news day in day out: two killed, forty bombed, some big number injured and sent home but they never say how many, etc. It's awful, gut-wrenching news coming in a slow and steady stream of information. If you don't stop for a moment in your day-to-day life and consider it, however, it's easy to go about your business and not think too much about it. I'm sure lots of people do. Is that how it should be? Whether you are for or against the war, how often should we be reminded that we are in fact a country at war? Should we be asked, for example, to conserve fuel? I find it odd that when challenged, the Bush administration uses terrorism and the war in Iraq to justify activity such as warrantless eavesdropping on Americans. But otherwise the message from the top seems to be "carry on, spend your money, prop up the economy, drive your big cars and leave this war stuff to us." (Okay, that's not a real quote.) It's baffling to me that for the large part, we as Americans are practically invited to forget about this pesky war stuff and just live our lives. Good or bad?

I need a good thriller...

Hubby is gone for a couple of days and I want to rent a good suspenseful movie, just not too gross. End of the world is fine, end of humanity is fine, but I have already seen Deep Impact and 28 Days Later. What's something that's come out in the past year when I haven't been able to make it over to Tampa Theater or Sunrise Cinemas? Thanks.

Run for your life, Hubby!

Senator Ken Pruitt wrote such a nutsy letter that I didn't say anything about until I read in the newspaper that it's not a hoax (it's so bad I thought Mr. Pruitt had an enemy out to undermine him). It came addressed to my Eagle Scout hubby but he shared with me. For those of you who don't know him, Ken Pruitt is the Chairman of the Rules Committee in the Fla. Senate and the Senate President Designate. So he's not a nobody -- just a nut job. "I want to force them [liberals in Fla. Senate] to go on record as either being FOR or AGAINST the Boy Scouts and the Pledge of Allegiance." "The very worst thing that can happen is for god-honoring, patriotic Florida voters to sit silently on the sidelines while the ACLU, anti-God, left-wing liberals and unelected judges run roughshod over your free speech rights and your right to express your faith in God." Oh, and send me your "best contribution." This last bit gets repeated a lot. Nice to see that the Senate President Designate is against divisiveness. Oh, and hello Ranting Rightie. I figure you'll be stopping by.

I Have a Guest Post on Tampa Book Buzz Today

I got to listen to Stephen King last weekend. Here's what I had to say about it on Tampa Book Buzz.

St. Pete Times asked my opinion

Check out this link. The article was in City Times today.

Meet the Teutuls (vroom, vroom)

Chase Squires isn't the only person to have met television celebrities. Check out Girlie posing with the Teutuls of Orange County Chopper fame. Then read my travel article about it at this link. It's called "Hog Wild West."

Yup. Asbestos confirmed.

See below. I'll try to get a picture of the haz mat guys when they come for "containment."

Henchman Sex Nuggets

Or how about, Iguana cape jurassic? Obviously I made these up. The subject lines on my spam are actually much more amusing and I would guess that they are computer generated. I hit delete so often I've got finger strain. Can somebody explain to me the economics of this kind of spam? I never read the messages. Who would? Why is it created and how do they profit? Just curious.

Asbestos -- wasn't even on my radar

The "water mitigation" guys are ripping up my wood floors. The only comment I have heard is that it's worse than we thought. Guess what they found? Under the wood in the hallway, there are two layers of vinyl (or something) that has been there since the jurassic period. Naturally they'll have to have it tested for ASBESTOS before they can just rip it up. If you have read my posts lately, you'll know for a fact that of course it will test positive and well, they'll just be going ahead and knocking the whole house down before you know it. Then they'll discover that it was built on an ancient Indian burial site and we'll have to move. And we'll get in a rear-ender on the way and it won't be in my van which is the only thing I own that I actually would like to get rid of. But I digress. My good humor remains intact because I'm hardwired that way. My Hubby? Only time will tell.

Four Tagged Too

Because I always do as I'm told... four jobs you've had in your life: lawyer, writer, very bad secretary, bookstore clerk four movies you could watch over and over: White Christmas (oh shut up), any Lord of the Rings, The Shining, The Wizard of Oz four places you've lived: Portland (OR), Washington, D.C., London, Tampa four tv shows you love to watch: Lost, 24, The Office, any Law & Order four places you've been on vacation: Poland, France, Africa, St. Lucia four websites you visit daily: Sticks of Fire, Tampa Book Buzz, TampaBLAB, The Mommy Blog four of your favorite foods: Gyros, sushi, anything Thai, everything chocolate four places you'd rather be right now: London, St. Lucia, Roy's (yes, the restaurant), NYC

It's like Christmas all over again

I get a new water heater. Yay me. I'm so proud of the plumbing profession. It only took them three experts and most of a week to figure out that my old water heater was leaking. So I'm getting a new one. And that's not all. I'm getting new wood floors too. Hurray! I love to move all of my furniture to the back of the house for three weeks. And as the icing on the cake, we get to repair the hole in the outside of the house made when the plumbers thought that it was the line to my hose bib that was leaking. Maybe I'll paint the patch red and green. To be fair, I must explain that my old water heater was hidden behind a fake wall under my stairs. Hopefully home builders these days are smarter about where these things are located. It was the eldest of the plumbers who guessed almost immediately that it was our water heater under the stairs causing our problem. I wish he had been the first to arrive.

Stay off the roads

I warned you all that disaster was imminent last time animals went wild and look what happened, my trip to France was a train wreck and my house flooded. It's happening again with camels (jumping onto highways), whales (sightseeing in London) and cows (taking fertility drugs and having triplets). I'd like to ask the Karma folks in advance if the new disaster could please strike my old minivan that I so long to dispose of in favor of a Prius. Steer clear if you see me coming.

Thanks Bitch

The quiz of the day declares me a dark violet. What are you? Thanks to Bitch/Lab for the link. you are darkviolet#9400D3 Your dominant hues are blue and magenta. You're the one who goes to all the parties but doesn't quite fit in at every one... you know what you want, but are afraid of what the world might think of it. You're a little different and that's okay with them, and if you're smart it's okay with you too. Your saturation level is very high - you are all about getting things done. The world may think you work too hard but you have a lot to show for it, and it keeps you going. You shouldn't be afraid to lead people, because if you're doing it, it'll be done right. Your outlook on life is brighter than most people's. You like the idea of influencing things for the better and find hope in situations where others might give up. You're not exactly a bouncy sunshine but things in your world generally look up. the spacefem.com html color quiz

Get off your computer and come visit me

If you are on your computer between 1:00 and 3:00 today, then you are not at the Gasparilla Childrens' Parade and you have no excuse not to drop by south Tampa Barnes & Noble to say "Howdy." It's on Dale Mabry a block north of Kennedy, far from the traffic jams of Bayshore. See you soon!

They still haven't found the leak...

but this is how I picture it. The next expert is coming tomorrow. Meanwhile, my front door won't open all the way because of the warped floor boards. I'm not feeling too sorry for myself. After all, I took this photo myself in Costa Rica a few months ago. The volcano (Arenal) was exploding. When you get to go to places like this, who cares about a little water damage.

And all this time I thought I was a fruit.

Hee, hee.

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Wendy Boucher!This was fun.

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Wendy Boucher! Wendy Boucher was banned from Finland because of not wearing pants. Wendy Boucher is physically incapable of sticking her tongue out. The pupil of an octopus's eye is shaped like Wendy Boucher. Wendy Boucher does not have toes! The international dialling code for Wendy Boucher is 672! Wendy Boucher is actually a vegetable, not a fruit! Wendy Boucher cannot swim! Wendy Boucheromancy is the art of telling the future with Wendy Boucher! Wendy Boucher is the only one of the original Seven Wonders of the World that still survives. During severe windstorms, Wendy Boucher may sway several feet to either side.

I have Frappred Myself

On my Frappr map, I have pinpointed where I believe my house will float to if the plumber doesn't get here and fix the broken pipe soon. I just found out about Frappr this a.m. If you want, you can put yourself on my map too. It's interactive.

If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all

I have bad Karma this year. It's only three weeks into 2006 and I've had all kinds of unexpected and for me, quite unusual, bad luck. I've already posted about my trip to France. Now, as I sit here typing, I'm waiting for the third plumbing expert in two days to come over and tell me why my house is about to float down the street. Leaky pipe is the diagnosis so far. Well, duh. All the wood flooring in the front of my house is warping. Stand in a couple of places and you can hear water squishing between the floor and the slab. Today another guy with supersonic listening devices is going to try and figure out where the leak is located. Superman? Can you hear me? I need you. Over and out, Lois.

While everybody is at the Gasparilla Children's Parade...

including my daughter and her Brownie troup, I get to make like a neglected celebrity at South Tampa Barnes & Noble between 1:00 and 3:00 pm this Saturday. It's the one on Dale Mabry just a block north of Kennedy. I'll be signing copies of my book, Parvenue Throws A Party, and just generally being my effervescent self. If anybody in Tampa is not going to the parade, feel free (please, I beg of you) to stop by and say hello.

What the French do with bad Girlies

I need more time!

In the most literal sense. My hubby can get by with about four or five hours of sleep. I need eight or I'm comatose all day (even after coffee). Are sleep requirements genetic or is there some sort of training I can get to learn to sleep less and still function? Imagine the things I could accomlish with three or four more hours a day. Hubby would suggest that I spend less time on blogging and stuff but we ALL know that's not gonna happen. I won't give up my time with Girlie and I am simply hardwired to read books all the time. When will I watch the four hours of "24" I've got on Tivo? When will I see even one of the movies that won a Golden Globe? I need more time! Any suggestions?

And the fish died too.

Think of every travel complication you can and you'll just scrape the surface of my trip to France. I'll boil it down for you. Lost luggage: one (mine of course) days lost: 3 new coats purchased because of lost luggage: 1 (for Girlie b/c hers was in my luggage) number of extra coats needed by Floridians: 0 flights missed: 1 (not our fault) extra night at crappy hotel near Paris airport because of missed flight: 1 rental car dings: not sure how many can actually be pinned on us car sickness episodes: 1 (Girlie) rental cars that takes diesel: 1 number of gas stations in all of France that actually still sell diesel: 1 number of suitcases that fit in a French car: 1 number of times stuck in a private parking garage that we got into by accident: 1 Number of pets that died while we were gone: 1 (Aleeshia the fish) I could go on but why? In spite of everything, we had a blast (except for that car sick part -- yuck). I'll get some photos up on Flickr tomorrow. And if anybody knows where I can get some good French Bread here in Tampa, I'm all ears.

One day late (thanks, Air France) I'm back

I may be too jet lagged to be even remotely funny right now but I couldn't resist checking in. First, for Chase Squires, I must report that the only interesting thing we saw on television was the German version of The Simpsons. Homer was getting an eye exam and as he read the chart, Bart was changing the letters to say, "I8PP." How would the Germans even begin to get that joke? All the French stations seem to play American television shows like Law and Order dubbed in French. For Tommy at Sticks of Fire, the only Florida reference I saw was a beach in Nice called Plage Floridian (the Florida Beach). They wish. All the beaches in Nice have beautiful views but no sand. They are covered with huge rocks the size of my fist and larger. For Rick Gershman at Please Name My Blog, eight days in France and I still don't have any idea what you should name your blog. Sorry. For Lisa at Tampa Book Buzz, I read Truth & Beauty by Ann Patchett and loved it. For Blog-O-Licious, the South of France is beautiful but not quite so beautiful as the Pacific Northwest. For anybody else who occasionally stops by, I'll have more details and photos in the coming days. But look at that, there are FIVE, count them, FIVE people who I know stop by my weblog address occasionally. Ah, it's good to be home.

I think the big one is coming.

Don't animals act weird just before earthquakes? If so, somebody is in for a doozy. Chihuahuas are forming wild gangs, cats are dialing 9-1-1, and my dog ate the teddy bear groom ornament off the tree before we took it out on Monday. (The teddy bear bride ornament is now cozied up with the sheep ornament for its long winters nap till next year, but I digress.) I'm sure you're thinking that this is not very scientific and you're wishing I would just shut up and go to France already, but how can I not comment on the streaming news headlines on my computer that are just shouting out "EARTHQUAKE!"

All right you three, here's the deal...

I'm going out of town and I'm not (gasp) taking my computer with me. So the three of you who occasionally read my blog will just have to wait until late next week for the next exciting installment. Perhaps it will be in French. That's right, the Queen of Off Season Travel is taking her family to the south of France for a week: highs in the low 40's, lows in the mid 20's. Brrrrrr.