Baring Teeth
I flopped backwards on my bed. Dangling my feet, I stared at the ceiling and sighed long and with feeling.
"What's wrong with you?" my sister Parisa asked me as she walked into my bedroom.
"I need a vacation from blog writing."
Silence.
"I think I'll take this week off," I said, testing the waters.
"No you won't," was her immediate reply.
Frowning, I propped myself on an elbow so I could direct the full force of my pout at her. My pout is crazy powerful. "But I've written so many posts lately, for all kinds of different sites. Can't I just have one week off? It can be my Christmas present. I know Santa would agree I've been a good girl this year."
Parisa shook her head in the pragmatic way she has, obviously immune to my pooched lips. "You went too far with the good girl part. No one would believe that."
Not shockingly, I didn't really believe it either. "What should I write about then?"
"Write about me." Then she laughed. "Doesn't it just crack you up how I always think you should write about me?"
"Not really."
"I think it's funny." Still chuckling, she said, "Whatever you do, don't write something Christmas-y. That'd be obvious."
I did what I needed to do: I painted tomatoes.
"I don't want to write. I want to paint." I pursed my lips. "Maybe I'll paint a picture. It'd be work, because I'm guest blogging on Pens Fatales about museums on Friday. It'd all tie in nicely."
"Oh geez," my sister muttered not-too softly. "Do I want to know what you wrote about on the other blog?"
"Probably not."
"I didn't think so." After a moment, she said, "Shall I bring you some water for your watercolors?"
I smiled brilliantly. My smile is even more potent than my pout. "Yes, please."
Mad Cow Running, and Other Tales of the South
Last night I asked my sister what I should blog about today. She said, "Blog about me. I'm always an interesting blog topic."
And she's modest too.
But enough about her.
And on to me. I'm in Arkansas, making my annual trip to visit to my friend Julie Linker. As of this moment, I have not
- shot anything;
- seen a scorpion;
- gone night fishing;
- eaten catfish and hush puppies;
- or shared moonshine with a redneck.
But give me time—I still have a couple weeks here.
Julie and I have babysat a mad cow though. Yesterday, Gary (Julie's husband) was at a friend's house helping him move some cows into a different pasture. Julie, her daughter, and I decided to join them, not to herd but to sit by the pool and read. We have our priorities straight.
Except we got put on mad cow duty. One of the steers was supremely pissed to be penned away and was doing its best to get out. Gary and his friend went out to buy fence reinforcing materials, instructing us to keep an eye on the cow.
After the men left, I turned to Julie. "So we're supposed to watch to make sure the cow doesn't escape?"
"Yes." She calmly flipped the page of her book.
I listened to the cow furiously kicking the barn door. "And what are we supposed to do if it does?"
"I don't know about you, but I'm going to run."
Fortunately, it didn't escape until after our watch.
Next...
Julie and I are headed to Orlando this week for the RWA National conference, which means we've been plotting our wardrobe over the past few days. Somehow, she decided I'm going to wear a silver sequined dress to the Rita Awards (the romance industry's equivalent to the Oscar Awards). Picture the shortest, most blinding dress you can and you'll have an accurate image of the dress. If you're going, you won't be able to miss me. I'll be the walking disco ball—walking because the dress is too tight to sit in.
In other news...
Those of you who follow me on Twitter know I've been painting. If you aren't following me on TWITTER, shame on you.
Anyway, yeah—watercolors. I'm not sure what possessed me. I haven't painted in a coon's age, since I was knee high to a tick. (I'm in the South and have to say things like that or I'll have my Visa revoked.) I love it. Today I should be writing, but I'm tempted to take my paints to the café instead of my laptop.
Don't worry. I'm not giving up the day job. McLovin and I are headed to work right now. A girl cannot live by paint alone. At least not this girl.