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.

Do you think he'll get teased?

I know I shouldn't laugh, but...check this out. http://enews.earthlink.net/article/str?guid=20051230/43b4bed0_3ca6_155262005123033459147

I'm LOST without you

Must...have...a...new...episode...of...Lost. In bigtime withdrawal here. I'd settle for a couple of new episodes of The Office to tide me over. Usually I'm all snooty about reading books and stuff because I love to do that too and most people don't make enough time for it. But I want my television fix. Now.

I resolve...

to train my dog. Discipline my dog. Whatever you want to call it. I usually eschew making New Year's resolutions but this year it popped out of my mouth before I could recall it. And my husband heard me and now poor Bella (a little Who dog who is not more than two) is going to have to learn a few manners. Sorry, Pup, it's for the best.

Ooh La La

Next week I'm off with the family to France. The South of France, to be precise. The land of my ancestors where they know how to pronounce my last name (boo-shay: in France it's as common as Smith). I'm going to do research for my next novel which is in the final stages. If I don't have the best job on the planet, I don't know who does. Having said that, I am likely to be cursed with what they call Le Mistral, a wretchedly cold wind that can blow for weeks. If anybody has any suggestions for bistros, sightseeing, and the like, please post-away. And I'll share with you a story from my first trip to France after college. If I tell you that what they call the first floor is what we call the second floor (their bottom floor designated as the ground floor), you'll guess where I'm going with it. To make it short: lots of vin (wine) at a bar, the need to find the W.C. (bathroom), and me barging into somebody's apartment as five residents were sitting on a long couch watching television. No Wendy, the bar's public bathroom is one more floor up. Duh. You should have seen the sharp looks of surprise on those five faces. Pardon moi!

Thinking Pink

As in Mary Kay. Today, I get my "pampering session" with a freshly stamped Mary Kay consultant. She doesn't drive the pink Town Car yet but she's probably on her way if she got somebody like me to agree to a session. I'm useless where make-up is concerned. I usually just go without or slap on some tinted sunscreen and a little mascara. But as I get further into my ... uhm ... creative years, I find myself looking for that little something in a bottle that will hide my wrinkles or even better, prevent new ones. I like the idea of an at-home consultation. No strangers lurking about making odd faces by lifting their eyebrows as the make-up consultant applies ginger colored eye gel to your lids. I'll feel more adventuresome without thousands of shoppers strolling by. Of course I'll spend lots of money, use the new stuff religiously for two days, then go back to my old habits which date to my teens. But it's all fine if it helps my Mary Kay gal get her pink goods. If I can, I'll post a photo of the before and after. Ciao.

Happy What Were We Thinking Day

1. You can't play Twister by yourself. Girlie drafted me and I thank my lucky stars that nobody but me knows how to operate the digital camera. 2. If your Girlie gets a kit to make gummie bugs, she's going to want to make gummie bugs (and since she's six, she needs help). Then she's going to want to watch you eat a gummie bug. After having seen the chemical piles those bugs started as, I'd almost rather eat a real bug (almost). Ditto the camera comment in 1. 3. Everything, EVERYTHING, is sealed into slice-your-hands-off hard plastic these days. Paper cuts feel like little kisses by comparison. Note to self: buy stock in Energizer or Duracell next year.

I have a creche on you

Last night, per family tradition, Hubby, Girlie and I drove around to see Christmas light displays. As we drove past one house, Girlie said: "Hey, I saw some light up Gods!" Me: "Do you think that maybe it was Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus?" Girlie: "Well, it was some Christian thing, that's for sure." Me: "It's called a nativity scene." Hubby: "Sometimes it's also called a creche." Girlie: "No, a creche is when you REALLY like a boy, and he doesn't like you back." Me: laughing, choking on spittle. Hubby: "That's a crush, honey. It's a different word." Girlie: "Oh, okay then."

It's the lack of a warrant that gets me

Since 9/11, I too have been anxious for "us" to be able to catch "them." The terrorists, of course. I'm even willing to acknowledge that sometimes it might be a good idea to listen in on some phone conversations. Heck, I was doing internet research about bomb ingredients for a novel I was writing back in 2001 (before 9/11 (since shelved)). If I've never been on some sort of watch list, I'd be very surprised. But I have never signed up for the idea that the President should be able to order that kind of surveillance without any judicial oversight (like warrants). Sure it's cumbersome, but if the framers of our Constitution thought it important enough to have checks and balances, so do I. If W, or any other President for that matter down the line, can just do whatever he or she freakin' wants to do by using national security as the catch-all justification, what makes us different than other countries run by tyrants?

Each minute is an hour...

Poor Girlie -- Every few seconds she asks me what we're going to do today, as if my answer will change. What I think she wants to hear me say is: "Why, we're going to get into a time machine and jump forward to tomorrow morning when you get to see what Santa brought you." Instead she's hearing: "You need to put your clean clothes away and help me clean up the family room before our one-year-old nephew comes over tomorrow. Then we'll go to the grocery store and maybe do some baking." She'll comply, of course, because she's never been quite sure if I was kidding or not about having Santa's cell phone number. This day must seem impossibly long to her.

Awesome

Girlie says that yesterday's Cirque de Soleil performance was the best event we've ever taken her to, ever. (I might add that this girl has been to LOTS of events and on LOTS of trips so her comment means a lot). But she won't be running away to join Cirque do Soleil any time soon. This is the same girl who dropped out of dance class because of all that, "whine, whine," stretching. She must have been very impressed with the contortionist (the apparently boneless and jointless contortionist -- yikes!).

Florida Suncoast Writers' Conference

One of the top writers' conferences in the USA takes place every year in St. Petersburg. This year, the 34th Annual Suncoast Writers' Conference will be held Thursday, Friday and Saturday, Feb. 9-11 at Sirata Beach Resort. The keynote speaker this year is US Poet Laureate 2001-2003, Billy Collins. The Banquet speaker will be Augusten Burroughs (Running with Scissors, Dry, Sellavision, etc.) I've gone three prior years and seen Salman Rushdie, Margaret Atwood, and Frank McCourt. It's a GREAT conference for writers of any type -- fiction, non-fiction, poetry, screenwriting, journalism. Check out the website if you are interested.

Thank you, Senate

They voted to block drilling in the Alaskan refuge. Hurrah!

Girlie has gone to the dark side

She won a free pink sparkle phone for selling a subscription to Reader's Digest to my husband! How can I live in a house that gets Reader's Digest? And that's not what I set out to write about. With that pink sparkle phone, she has taken to dialing up all of her relatives every day (fine, except that many live in Oregon which is way long distance). Speaking of Oregon, Girlie actually understands the time difference thing but she has decided that Nana Banana and Papa Schmapa can get up at 7:00 am... every day. Still not the problem. The problem is that the phone is in her room and when I came up the stairs, I heard her talking to my husband's mom, Grandma, and what I heard was, "Don't tell my mommy I told you that." YIKES! She told my mother-in-law what? The possibilities were endless and alarming. She's an only kid and it's easy to forget that she's sitting around eavesdropping. Luckily, I'm very crafty and managed to very casually inquire about said comment only to find out that Girlie had had the nerve to tell my mother-in-law that ... I put chocolate soy milk in my coffee. Phew.

Now That's OCD

When you're sitting in a concert hall and they announce that you should make sure your cell phone is off you: check that it's off at least 20 times and then still "obsessed" with the idea that it will spring to life on its own and magically download a loud fart novelty ring tone and go off during some quiet introspective part of the concert, you feel the "compulsion" to dash it to the ground, stomp on the pieces and scatter the remains. Yep, I have OCD. But when friends ask me about my symptoms, it's hard to even remember them sometimes because I invited big pharma into my house and I'm virtually symptom free now. But at my husband's Master Chorale concert last night, I was amused to remember the feeling that makes me leave the cell in the car these days. Of course I have to check several times that it is in fact in the car, but at least I'm not coming close to breaking it.

Blowing Up Christmas Cheer

I don't know where the tradition began to decorate your house for Christmas. My guess is that people made decorations and hung them on the door to welcome their neighbors who might be stopping by for a glass of egg nog at any moment. And now? The trend is to put out giant inflatables that have to be staked and weighted and tied to the house so they stand up. In a pinch, you can use that sign telling your neighbors which security company is guarding your house as an additional ground stake. That way, your neighbors need only do a drive-by to see your Christmas cheer. Before you go throwing that bah humbug back in my face, let me say that I adore the holiday season, I put lights up on my house, my daughter believes in Santa, and I've got carpel tunnel syndrome from whipping out my credit cards. I'm as commercial as the next gal. But these giant things make houses look like department store displays. The personal touch is gone and I'm just a little bummed about it.

Putting the "Bah" back in "Humbug"

Long before "putting the Christ back in Christmas" became all the rage this year, another turn of phrase became popular -- "What Would Jesus Do?" Let's ask that now. Would Jesus tell us to boycott businesses that say "Happy Holidays" and instead spend all our money on consumer goods at "Christian" businesses while we celebrate a holiday that began with pagans but became his birthday celebration? Would Jesus like the fact that some of his followers are so incensed about being wished a happy holiday that they feel victimized, when there are plenty of other issues to spend their energy on like say, poverty and world hunger? Would Jesus listen to that song, "Christmas Shoes?" I'm your basic heathen so I am not in any position to answer these questions. But after wishing people a happy holiday after signing copies of my book for them in Sarasota, one lady hanging about was bothered enough to whisper about it to somebody else who remarked loudly enough for me to hear, "That's why I always say 'Merry Christmas' just as often as I can!" Sorry to have stepped on your Christian toes, ladies, but I stand by my decision to use a nice, inclusive greeting for people whose religious beliefs I can't possibly tell by looking at them. And you know what? I don't think Jesus would have minded.

Merry Christmas Sarasota

I am going to be at Borders Sarasota from 2:00 to 4:00 today signing copies of my novel. It's my first out-of-town book signing and I really don't know what to expect. If you're in Sarasota today, come by and say howdy. Cheers!

Mother of Pearl, Fire on the Poopdeck!

Here's another reason to add to the list in favor of living in Florida, where we don't have basements.

The Christmas Tree Doctor

He's ready to fix all these messed up trees. I like the droopy one second from the left -- Girlie says it was overwatered and that made it droop.

Deerscrimination

"No doe of mine is going to be seen with a red-nosed reindeer!"

A life of its own

You know you've really made it as an author when your book appears at Wal Mart.com.

Girls pants have flies too...

Trying to prove that her pants today were actually made for boys (not true but she rarely wears pants with a zipper fly), Girlie unzipped her pants for some boys at school. And then, since she could see her underwear under there, she showed them those too. Why she did it in the classroom where it could get her in trouble, I have no idea.

At the fabulous Lyssa Morgan Gallery...

I was a guest and a vendor tonight at the Lyssa Morgan Gallery. If you haven't been there, go check out her collection. She has lots of work from lots of great artists. She also hosts lots of fun events that are also charity fundraisers. Tonight was ladies night and Toys For Tots was the beneficiary. I signed copies of my book and drooled over purses, accessories and of course, great art.

Girlie, there are better ways to protest...

My daughter goes to a Montessori school where she is in the equivalent of first grade. This week, because of dawdling, she had homework for the first time. She had to practice some spelling. Being good parents faced with a homework situation for the first time, we made her complete her work before she could watch television. That met with a lot of resistance but in the end, she did her work diligently and was done in no time. The next morning, still feeling bruised, she told us that "ever since I had to bring schoolwork home, my life has been ruined." Poor dear. My husband told her that she should remember how she felt and be sure to get all her work done at school. After she was dropped off, she took her final spelling test and then was supposed to collect up all her spelling work to put it in a folder. Instead, she crumpled it all up between her legs and scissor-stepped around the room telling the teacher to check out her new "buttsie pack." Hello Principal's office. Bad Mom confession: when she told me this story after school, I laughed my fool head off. Then of course I had to tell her that even though I was laughing, it was a terrible, rotten thing to have done at school. Yeah, like that lesson's gonna stick. Sorry Dr. Spock. On the same day, she had to apologize to the teacher and principal for perfuming the entire school. I'm not exactly sure what she was supposed to have been doing, but it involved making fragrant water with perfume and I guess she got carried away and triggered a bunch of people's perfume allergies even two doors down. I know she stank like a bomb had gone off at a perfume counter when we picked her up, and that was after she'd washed her arms. Girlie, Girlie, Girlie.

Gina, did you want the Barbie?

re: more me, me, me author stuff I just remembered that I also sent a copy of my book to Gina Vivinetto at TBT (operated by St. Pete Times). I haven't heard from her either but to be fair, that was pretty recent. Gina, if you read this, you should know that in the '80s I went to concerts by: Billy Idol, The Clash, Prince, Warren Zevon (twice), Thomas Dolby, and Neil Young, to name but a few. I'm not as cool as I used to be but it was easier to be cool when you had mile-high mall bangs.

Book Club Barbie Loves Parvenue...

Re: author stuff In my last post I thanked City Times for including me in their round-up of local authors. It made me reminisce about my early efforts to get a book review in the St. Pete Times. The Book Review Editor is Margo Hammond, a famousy sort of person who is also a "Book Babe" for Good Housekeeping. I sent her a galley, a copy of the finished book, emails, letters and yes, a Barbie doll that was dressed in a suit. I might have called her Smart Barbie. Sadly, I never heard a word back from Ms. Hammond. The Barbie might have put her off. When I was selling my book at the St. Petersburg Times Festival of Reading last October, the organizer came up and said she'd purchased my book at some sort of sale that they'd had at work. I guess I know where Margo's copy of PARVENUE ended up. I just wonder who got the Barbie?

St. Petersburg Times Coverage

Thank you Rick Gershman for the nice write up in today's City Times, the Tampa section of the St. Petersburg Times that comes out on Fridays. It was nice to see some attention given to all the mentioned local authors, not just me. Excerpts from the various books can be viewed online. The excerpt that they used for PARVENUE THROWS A PARTY is from the prologue where the main character is in junior high school. I promise you that the book is actually about grown-ups.

Enough with the lame cat photos

Pictures speak a thousand words so that's what I use when I'm busy putting a thousand words into my next novel. Obviously, I've been busy lately. Today, my buddy Tommy got the recognition he so deserves from the St. Petersburg Times. His Sticks of Fire blog is simply the most worthwhile blog in Tampa. Full disclosure: I contribute weekly to Sticks but his are the posts that make the blog worth reading. Tonight I'm going to hear Lisa Miscione, a great local writer of thrillers. She's well-known and well-published and still very nice to newbies like me. She'll be at the Safety Harbor Public Library at 6:30 this evening, December 8th. And now a question for somebody like Chase Squires of the St. Pete Times. Am I the only person who liked Threshold? Lost is my favorite television show but I always watched Threshold too.

Meowy Christmas 2

Cleo after too much egg nog.

Meowy Christmas

Cleo in the ornament box.

Because Mindy did it.

And Mindy did it because two other bloggers did it. I don't know what happened to O. A: Area Code You Are In Right Now: 813 B: Birthday: March the 30th C: Current Crush: Ewan McGregor (whose isn’t?) D: Favorite Drink: Venti Soy Latte and Venti Red Wine E: Eating Currently: Just had Mexican. F: Favorite Food: Peanut Butter G: Who Do You Go To For Advice: Hubby and that British friend of mine H: Happy or Sad: Very happy. Typically happier than most. I: I think: I have the best job in the world. J: Job: You’re looking at it. Plus travel writing and my novel adventures. K: Any Kids: one, age 6 11/12. L: I Love: My fabulous family. M: Favorite Movie: Is Ewan in it? N: Your Phone Number: Unlisted. P: Favorite Perfume or Cologne: Elizabeth Arden Green Tea. Q: A Little Quirk About Yourself: I’m absolutely nuts about my dog. R: Last Road Trip: Last trip was to London but it wasn’t by road. S: Tell Us One Secret: I have obsessive/compulsive disorder. I’m washing my hands right now. T: Favorite TV Show: Lost. U: Color of your Underwear: Multi-stripe. V: Last Time You Were in Vegas: March. And April. W: Wishful Thinking: A big publisher. Hi Random House. X: X-Rays Taken This Year: Sinuses. They found bumps. Y: Your Favorite Year of your Life: The one I’m in. Z: Zodiac Sign: ARIES!

Appearing Today at Waldenbooks International Plaza

Come say "hi." I'll be at Waldenbooks Int'l Plaza from 2:00 to 4:00.

The Jambon's connected to the . . .

Funny bone. Sorry, my coffee maker is broken and my venti soy latte is still too hot to drink. This morning Girlie brought in her book about France to discuss our trip in January. She's remarkably excited. She wants to practice ordering a ham sandwich in french (thus the title of the post). Anybody who knows my Girlie knows that new situations are tough on her. But I guess the near constant traveling we've done during her short lifetime has made a trip to France seem exciting rather than dangerous. (If any of you tells her about the rioting I swear I'll punish you.) She won't play sports involving balls (too dangerous), she won't ride a bike (too dangerous), she panics at loud noises, she's already decided that she's going to adopt because childbirth sounds too tricky, and don't even ask her about roller skates. BUT, ask her to spend 12 hours in airports and airplanes flying off to very different time zones where you have to say sok jablkovy (or something close to that in Poland) to order apple juice, and she's as cool as a cucumber. She's unbelievably good on airplanes and at fancy foreign restaurants. She loves art museums and we can spend hours in foreign grocery stores looking at food labels. She's Mini Me!

Only for the hardy

International travel can be grueling at times. To make sure that you are up for it, you have to pass the "get your child a passport" test. It doesn't matter that your child is in fact renewing an old passport, you still have to show up at the passport office with: both parents or one parent and an oath sworn in blood in front of some stranger with a stamp from the government; the child's old passport; the child; proof of parenthood (some umbilical cord will do); identification of your own; and a completed application. Oh, and don't forget the money. Lots of it. Especially if you are traveling any time in the following two years and therefore need expedited service. The last thing that you need is time (and the ability to hang on for dear life to the number you ripped off the dispenser because without it you're toast). However long they tell you the wait might be, triple it. We're talking hours here, dear. Just try to find a time when both parents can be off work, the child can be out of school or not in one of too many scheduled activities, and you are flush at the bank. Good luck, I bid you. Today, my family triumphed and in January we are going to France. We just have to count on the post office making delivery as promised. Right at Christmas. Good Lord, we're doomed.

Check it out!

Look on page 28!

And I've tried to get on Oprah...

More on the book promotion front. Everybody tells me to send a copy of my book to Oprah. Nice thought but really, they must receive millions of unsolicited texts from around the world since Oprah started making authors famous. Even if I could hand deliver a copy of my novel to Oprah herself, I think it's unlikely that she would "pick" it for her show. It's not that my novel isn't fabulous, it's that it's not gloomy enough. But there are other ways to skin a cat. I found at Oprah.com a suggestion box of sorts to get your story on Oprah. I've been waiting 36 years for this moment. 36 years ago, when I was six, my girlfriend across the street moved to California. She's been my pen pal ever since. We haven't spoken on the phone (except for once in fifth grade) or seen each other or even exchanged email addresses. But twice a year, more or less, we correspond the old fashioned way via snail mail. Pen pals for 36 years! Are there others out there like us? I would love to see my friend again after all this time but don't you think moment like that should be captured on Oprah? I hope her producers do. And then I might just have to mention a certain little novel...

Jennifer? Can you hear me?

This is what authors do. They write loads and loads of emails to famous authors hoping that one of them will take a look at their book and supply them with what's called a "blurb." I don't mean a big time review. I just mean one of those little quotes that you can then slap on your book cover and other promotional materials. I just wrote to Jennifer Weiner. But I've written to lots of authors in my genre and some who are not. The most helpful author so far has been one who writes thrillers. She's right when she says that a blurb from her doesn't make much sense for my book but she's been really, really awesome with advice. Incidentally, I had an email conversation with Jennifer Weiner a couple of years ago before my book was published. I hope she remembers me now that it is published! Stay tuned. When I'm not emailing famous people, I'm stalking local celebrities. Okay, not really, but I'm sure that's what Nancy Alexander thought when I caught up with her in Sam's Club and handed her a book. Luckily, I've got some good press coming out soon so maybe I can use that to my advantage when contacting other authors for blurbs. I'll let you know.

What I'm thankful for this year...

Little girlies that like to fish. My hubba hubba hubby. Pets, extended family, et al. Fabulous friends. Good health. Good books. And about a gazillion other things. Life is good.

Happy Tuesday

I'm almost done reading The Historian (it's thick). On December 1, I'll be posting my remarks about the book at Tampa Book Buzz. I have resisted reading any other reviews or comments about the book. I'll say this much so far: it is hard to put down (and not just because it's heavy). Lisa Ciurro (of Tampa Book Buzz) has a book club for anyone to join. Check out the details at her site. The Historian was this month's pick.

Aurora Aravena -- You're a Star!

This post is all about my niece, Aurora. She felt slighted that I didn't give her an acknowledgment in the front of my novel where it appears I acknowledge pretty much most of Tampa. So I would just like everybody to take a moment and think about how great my niece Aurora is. Thanks. As you were.

One hot dish

No, not me. That's what I asked a bunch of people to bring to my daughter's school's Thanksgiving Feast. Truthfully, I asked for a few cold dishes too. The Feast was last Friday and I just want to say thanks to everybody who participated. Planning a pot luck for 150 people is no picnic but it came off very well and we all left with full tummies. What we didn't eat went to a great charity. So thanks again, everybody!

The Best Job in the World is . . .

A cop. That was the most popular answer from the six classes of second-graders I got to visit for the Great American Teach-in today. Next most popular was dentist because I kept following the visits by somebody in that profession. Finally, a few bright brown-nosers offered up author as the best job in the world. That's what I was there to talk about. I'm just glad I didn't follow the veterinarian who brought dogs -- that would be a tough act to follow. I brought dictionaries. I told them that the best job in the world is one that you love. I do love writing but after looking at all those adorable faces, even the little guy who decided to give his hair a trim during my talk, I can see why teachers love their job. I can't wait for next year's Teach-in.

Where's the love?

Re: publishing Did you get a newsletter from "The Independent Bookstore" today? I did too. I love independent bookstores and I try to support independent businesses. I have one! Their newsletter was all about supporting independent business in the area, especially this Saturday. Great! Then they listed their November book picks. Nine out of twelve were published by large publishing houses - not independents. Call it sour grapes, because that's what it is, but why didn't they use this newsletter to support independently published novels, such as ... mine of course? I'm getting lots of support from my local Borders and Barnes & Noble (thanks guys). Borders even has a stack of Parvenue Throws A Party on their New Paperbacks table. I'm having my third signing with Borders next month in Sarasota and I'll be at South Tampa Barnes & Noble in January. "The Independent Bookstore" carries my book on consignment, two at a time on a shelf in fiction. I appreciate them carrying the title but it's funny that major chains have done much more for me than the only independent bookstore in town. Go figure.

Not my pajamas, but...

Tommy over at Sticks got recognized while shopping at a yard sale in his pajamas. Hah! Or so I would laugh if I hadn't been recognized while purchasing dictionaries at the local Barnes & Noble this morning. Old jeans, even older faded pink tee, and a full array of drips and spills from my morning making Chicken Marbella and Pumpkin Curry Soup for tomorrow night's book club meeting at my house. Orange curry stains look bad on light pink and it was all I could think about while talking to the brand new Community Relations Manager at the Barnes & Noble branch where I shop. "Tell me about yourself," she said. "I was making curry soup," I wanted to say. Then I felt dumb for fretting about my looks but now I feel okay because ultra-cool Mr. Sticks fretted about his pajamas. Hah.

Certificates of Achievement

I'm so proud of my Girlie. She tried going Exorcist on us. She tried the sympathy cry. She tried everything to get out of participating in the activities at her school's three day retreat run by the awesome Pathfinder organization. But in the end, she tried. And then she tried again. And by the end of the three days, her objections before each activity lasted only a few minutes or even seconds. Throughout the three days, kids earned certificates of achievement for doing the right thing, be it helping others, picking up trash, spotting wildlife, etc. Girlie got hers for "Not Afraid to Try." And along the way, at least five other kids got theirs for helping Girlie during a melt-down. So she was a facilitator as well. Way to go!

Re: Publishing

I placed an ad. Against all advice from people who have reason to know, I placed an ad. The wisdom in the self-publishing world seems to be that an ad just won't create many sales. Granted they were probably talking about print ads. But I'm hoping that this will be different. I placed an ad on The Mommy Blog for a month. It's the kind that you can click on and get directed to my author site, where you can then purchase an autographed copy or click on over to Amazon if you prefer. Furthermore, The Mommy Blog posted a very nice discussion of my book recently (along with a picture of the cover) so there should be some familiarity with the viewers. I'm watching my website traffic carefully to see if there's a bump. I'll let you know.

Adopt a Greyhound

These adorable dogs, and other retired racers, are available for adoption from Bay Area Greyhound Adoptions, Inc. Check out their website!

Tampa Writer's Alliance

Re: Writing Last night I attended another meeting of the Tampa Writer's Alliance. I've been a member for about half a year and it's been very satisfying. Last night our speaker was science fiction author, Dr. Rick Wilbur. He's a prof at USF in mass communications. I don't write science fiction. I don't even read much science fiction (some fantasy and the occasional horror bit), but he gives a good talk that is relevant to beginners in any category. His most important message? If you're going to write, you need to read. And then read some more. And then read a whole lot more. He was preaching to the choir. I'm a book junkie. Now log off and go pick up a book. How about The Cold Road, Wilbur's latest? And consider dropping by a meeting of TWA on the first Wednesday of every month at the something something Germany library in downtown Tampa. See you there!

Only in Florida -- where python meets gator.