Sledding Fail … With a Texas Accent

Like most moms of six-year-olds, I am constantly laughing at the things my son does and says. I feel like I should be following him around with a video camera every day just to capture and preserve all of the funny antics. (Perhaps to pull out and remember how cute he was when he’s a teenager and testing my last nerve.)

Luckily, my husband is a video-ing nut case and often DOES film our son. Such was the case this past weekend when a great snowstorm dumped a ton of fresh powder, and the kiddo decided to go sledding in the back yard.

The following video was the last take of many, where the kiddo was performing in his own version of the X Games, complete with commentary after each sled run. In this last run, he catches some air. But what’s even funnier is his Texas accent when he’s talking to his viewers afterward.

Have I mentioned this kid visits Texas quite a lot but has been raised in the Colorado mountains? I don’t know where he gets this drawl from.


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Valentine’s Day in Colorado vs. Valentine’s Day in Texas

Valentine’s Day in Colorado:
images

 

 

 

 

Skiing Couples Wed Atop Colorado's Loveland Ski Area

 

 

 

 

 

Valentine’s Day in Texas:

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plastic-cattle-dna_1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Both are pretty darn good, eh?


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Comment and You Could Win! Who Is Your Favorite Character in Blue Straggler?

I recently visited with another book group that read Blue Straggler, and I always love it when I hear how animated and passionate readers are about the characters in the novel.

This particular conversation revolved around Adam and Rudy — two very different male characters in the story — and which one of the two was more likeable as a long-term romantic interest for Bailey (and for the book group members …).

And then one of the members asked me who MY favorite character in the novel is. That’s a pretty tough question. After all, I created them all and they lived in my head with me for a very long time before the story was complete and out in the world. It’s kind of like asking me which of the many dogs I’ve had in my life is my favorite. I’ve loved them all in different ways. I can’t pick. Ever.

I will say, however, that I plan to write a sequel to Blue Straggler, and Rudy will have a big part in it. Because I think I might miss him the most.

Now – your turn. If you read Blue Straggler, comment below and let me know which character in the novel was your favorite and why. I’ll choose a winner based on which comment I like the best. (I’m queen of this little world/blog, you know.)

Best part: Winner will receive a signed paperback copy of Blue Straggler – in its original 2012 cover (those are in limited supply, baby!)

Now, don’t let me down. Comment away!

Here’s a recap of the some of the characters for you:

Bailey — Directionless female protagonist approaching 30; uses self-deprecating humor to deal with life; enjoys Cool Whip and alcohol on frequent occasions; can’t keep a relationship longer than it takes milk to expire in the fridge

Rudy — Bailey’s best friend since college at Texas A&M; will kick your ass at Jeopardy; Bad at dating and financial management.

Idamarie — The third and oldest member of the friendship triangle; shells out good diner food and mostly good advice. Fourth-generation Texas woman with the hair and sass to prove it.

Adam — Moody mountain man with a beat-up Jeep and heart, plus a lot of dogs and a barn for rent.

Francis — Coffee shop owner and Bailey’s first friend in Colorado. Nice Southern accent.

Stella — Feisty mail carrier and mayor of Gold Creek, Colorado. Don’t look at her prosthetic ear.

Tuck — Tow truck driver, originally from Texas, now living in Gold Creek. Has a Jesus bobblehead on his dash.

Bailey’s Mother — Enjoys throwing backyard parties and yard sales, and berating Bailey. Co-owner of family’s fiberglass cow business.

Bailey’s Father — Rancher. Values beer, old outlaw country, gambling, and good dogs.

Lawrence — Librarian with Skills.

Weasel – Bailey’s cat she believes is out to get her.

Willie and Waylon – Bailey’s family’s dogs

WHO WILL YOU CHOOSE?


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Different Reactions to a Big Cat Sighting

mountain lion

And by Big Cat, I mean THIS.

 

 

 

 

 

My latest observation …

Denver Foothills people: Wow, a mountain lion. How big? Male or female? Adult or juvenile? Be sure to knock on your neighbors’ doors to tell them. Bring your dogs and children inside for two weeks. Be on the lookout and report all evidence!

Colorado Mountain people: Yep. Heard him last week on my roof at 2 a.m. Went outside, heard him hiss at me, went back to bed.

Texas people: Honey, where’s the camera and my gun?

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By the way, I wrote about my own encounter with a mountain lion once for my now-defunct online mountain living column. Here’s an excerpt, for posterity.

I think I’ll always remember his stare. His black-brown eyes locked on the front end of my car and didn’t flinch. The muscles along his jaw moved, but his face and eyes did not. He didn’t glance away, not once. His ears didn’t move, either, as I thought they might. His tail was black-tipped and as long as his body, and it switched back and forth, as he seemed to be considering his options. It reminded me of how a house cat might swish his tail before pouncing on a toy mouse. I actually wondered at one point if he might lunge toward my Subaru.

His face was sharp and angular and surprisingly small compared to the rest of his body. A black line continued from his nose to his mouth, and combined with his long whiskers, he looked like he had a thin, handle-bar mustache. His stance was slightly crouched as he looked at me, his sleek body lines sloping to the back feet. He was wary of me, but there was definitely a sense that he was in control.

It seemed like five minutes or so that we stared each other down. I thought about fumbling for my camera phone, but that seemed somehow wrong. Besides, one movement on my part would have shortened our time together, I think.

Finally, with a swift decision, he leaped from the right side of the two-lane road to the left. And in one long and graceful jump, muscles rippling under his tawny fur, he disappeared into the brush and trees leading to the creek behind our home.

Afterward, as I continued along the road toward our house, I shivered a bit, literally, thinking of all the times my husband, son and I have walked that same path along the creek. Had he been there any of those times, after grabbing a drink from the water, watching us? Swishing that tail?

In some ways, I kind of hope so. After all, he’s one of us.

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[photo credit – St. Mary’s College of California]


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Update on My Crack Addition (Dr Pepper)

It’s been three weeks now, and I’ve had only one Dr Pepper in a moment of weakness. And here’s the thing. It’s not getting easier! I still crave it like crack. When will this end? I need a patch. (And it’s a helluva good thing I never got addicted to Virginia Slims.)

Current Problems of Life Without Dr Pepper (not an exhaustive list):

Eating a burger today without Dr Pepper was like eating warm, freshly baked bread without real butter. It just shouldn’t be done.

Dr Pepper is a connection to home; it’s the national drink of Texas (unofficial). Without it, I’m a tad bit unanchored. And trust me, no one wants to be around me when I’m unanchored.

Coke is not a substitute. Neither is Root Beer. And don’t get me started on juice.

Water tastes like … nothing. Adding lemon makes it takes like lemon-nothing.

Coffee makes me speak really fast in meetings and pee too often. And I can’t drink it past 5 p.m. or I’m up all night craving Dr Pepper (and peeing).

Tea tastes like grass. Not the good kind.

I’m having to go to bed early just to keep myself from going to the SitNBull Saloon down the street to get a take-out Dr Pepper from the mean biker-bartender. Note: I don’t even think they have takeout cups, but I could bring my own. The biker-bartender would love that, I’m sure. I can see the look on his face right now.

Drinking vodka and wine at the same levels as I was drinking Dr Pepper is not advised by the American Medical Association.

My old stand-by comfort foods just aren’t the same without my refreshing, fizzy DP. Now, when someone asks, you want to go to Noodles? How about a bowl of chili? I say, eh.

The real kicker? My husband has quit Dr Pepper, too. And weight is dropping off him like <insert good metaphor I can’t think of right now>. Me? I’m gaining weight. Because in my sick little head, if I can’t have DP, then I’m damn sure gonna have pie and peanut butter.


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How to Stop Drinking Dr Pepper in Five Days

Dr Pepper

Day 1

Announce to your six-year-old child and husband that you are finally going to kick your crack habit. Ask for their loving, non-enabling support. Tell them, with their help, your body will be pure once again! Tell them this isn’t like those 12 other times you’ve tried to quit. And tell them you are way stronger now — and not to think of that unfortunate time back in 2010. Post to Facebook and graciously accept sincere congratulations from friends across the nation. Post to Twitter and get several replies from high fructose corn syrup fanatics.

Day 2 – A.M.

Order a grande, double-shot mocha at Starbucks because you deserve it after not drinking Dr Pepper all day yesterday. And you need the caffeine to ward off the withdrawal headache. This is going to be a good day!

Day 2 – P.M.

Drink a glass of wine (health benefits) for dinner instead of your usual Dr Pepper on ice. Drink another glass of wine to congratulate yourself on being so health-focused. Drink another and decide the evening walk can wait; you’d rather watch HGTV.

Day 3 – A.M.

Try to convince yourself that Honey Green Tea really is just fine. It’s great! Really great. Sip it in gratitude.

Day 3 – P.M.

Beg husband to drive to a neighborhood café and get you a Coke. Not a Dr Pepper because that would be wrong. But just a Coke. You know, to get you through the crisis. Even heroin addicts get help coming off, right? Offer unmentionable favors in return. When he refuses, search the Internet for cheap divorce lawyers.

Day 4 – A.M.

Stop for gas at a convenience store on your way to work. Figure it won’t hurt to have one very small fountain drink of Dr Pepper to ease the developing headache and quiet the shakes. Make plans to hide all evidence of the purchase from husband and son by carefully disposing of receipt and cup. Learn the Dr Pepper dispenser is out of order. Say a curse word so loud people in the store look at you. Take a deep breath. Consider it a sign from the Universe, put down the cup, and walk away. Exhibit pride for your determination to beat high fructose corn syrup at its own evil game. Go through a drive-thru and get a bacon-egg burrito because it is now justified.

Day 4 – Noonish

Experience withdrawal irritation at maximum levels. When a man bumps into you while talking on his cell phone in the kitchen at work and does not even acknowledge the invasion of your personal space, resist the urge to yank the phone from his hand and toss it in the trashbin. Instead, give him a nasty look and walk away. Stare longingly at the Cold Drinks! vending machine on your way back to your desk.

Day 4 – 2 P.M.

Drink a lot of water and announce to your coworkers that you are on Day 5 of the New You. Then realize it is only sadly Day 4. Decide to take a break to get more fancy coffee, which likely has more high fructose corn syrup in it than a Dr Pepper. Argue vehemently with people on Twitter for no good reason about the People’s Choice Awards. Envision them drinking Dr Pepper and hate them even more. Tell them so in 140 characters or less.

Day 4 – 3 P.M.

Sext husband in hopes he will change his mind about buying Dr Pepper at the store. Get no response.

Day 4 – 5 P.M.

Repeat “I will not stop at Sonic. I will not stop at Sonic.” to yourself 20 times while driving home. Fight back road rage during worse-than-usual traffic. Listen to meditation music to soothe your soul, which is going through withdrawal, too. Flip out when there is no wine in the house for dinner. Read “If You Give a Dog a Donut,” to your son at bedtime and begin to think of writing your own book called, “If You Give Me a Dr Pepper, I’ll Lick Your Face for Free.” Hope your mom isn’t reading any blog posts you write about this.

Day 5 – A.M.

Post to Twitter that the first person to bring you a Dr Pepper over Sonic ice wins a million dollars. (Void where prohibited.) Ignore snarky responses. Lie to spouse about the reason you need to run down to the neighborhood café. When he doesn’t fall for it, have a really positive discussion about how you can fight this together. Cross your fingers behind your back when he’s not looking.

Day 5 – Noon

Throw bottled water at spouse when he suggests it for lunch. Then sit down, drink the water, write a post for your blog, and know, for sure, that you’ve really kicked it for good this time. After all, five days is a long time. Eat Bottlecaps candy while writing blog post. Make plans to buy a 12-pack tonight.

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Readers’ Top 10 Blog Posts in 2012

I started this blog in early 2012, at the request of my publisher. I’ll admit I was worried about it. I’d written a weekly online column before, but that was different. This was a BLOG, something I’d resisted for years. Would I have time to blog and blog well? Would people (other than my mother) care enough about what’s going on in my head to read it? And what in the hell would I write about?

Well, I haven’t kept up with the blogging schedule I’d hoped for, but I have written a few fun pieces. Below, I’ve featured links to the 10 most popular posts, just in case you missed `em. Even I enjoyed rereading a few.

Oh, and just to recap this AMAZING year in publishing for me (because that’s what you do on New Year’s Eve-Eve) … after becoming an Amazon bestseller in the spring and summer, Blue Straggler (released as an ebook in August 2011 and in paperback in March of this year) remains in the top 30 in sales and customer ratings in comic fiction on Amazon. It hit #2 again right after Christmas and #5 in a different category (humor). Pretty cool. Or rather, a huge dream of mine come true. A Good Kind of Knowing was released in ebook in October and in paperback earlier this month. It made it to the #10 spot in its category (fiction/drama) on Amazon and remains in the top 30 in ratings. It also made the top 100 in customer ratings in literary fiction. Whew. That’s as good for this writer’s soul as crab legs, cheese biscuits and a Bahama Mama from Red Lobster.

I’m so thankful to everyone who has supported me this year and always. Having my work touch just a few people would’ve been satisfying. But this kind of success has been overwhelming. Thank you!

Now on to those posts, and here’s to 2013, y’all!

 #1  Our Dogs Are Going to Get Us Kicked out of the Neighborhood

#2  Saying Goodbye to My Dream, or the One-Year Experiment With Normal Living

#3  And This Is Why I Hate Dental People

#4  Friends Are Worried About My “Girls”

#5  What Happened When I Turned 30 …. and 40

#6  What Being a Texas Woman Means

#7  How Growing Up With Country Music Made Me a Better Writer

#8  21 Facebook Posts You’ll Never, Ever See From Me

#9  Open Letter to High-Fructose Corn Syrup

#10  Your Official Music-to-Read-By Playlist 


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Open Letter to High Fructose Corn Syrup

Dear High Fructose Corn Syrup,

Listen. It has come to my attention (my mama hates you) that you are a key ingredient in two of my most favorite things on earth: Dr Pepper and Cool Whip. If you were also in Cheetos, it would be a trifecta of incredible goodness. (By the way, I looked that up to make sure, and nope, you’re not on that list. There is, however, something called Disodium Phosphate, which concerns me, but that’s another blog post.)

But here’s the thing, HFCS (I can call you that for short, right? I think our relationship is at that point now) … you’re no good for me. You’re like that guy I dated for a few weeks in 1998 who drove a fast motorcycle and smoked The Mighty Herb for breakfast. He was fun and all, like a chilled-out version of Bandit from Smokey and the Bandit (Part 1, not the sequels), but I knew it would still probably end with me in a body cast at some point.

This is not the guy I dated. Mine wore pants. Most of the time.

You see, sugar (just kidding), people tell me you cause diabetes (in small studies, and only type 2). You make my cells into cancer-receptors (in even smaller studies, in adolescent mice). And I’m afraid you might be directly responsible for my muffin top that’s gotten so large it’s more like a wedding cake layer. One of the bottom ones.

In fact, did you know there is a website titled “Why High Fructose Corn Syrup Will Kill You?” Which made me so sad. Because I love you. And what hurts you, hurts me.

Of course, your PR team has set up its own sites, as well. I found one that I read for a really long time because I really wanted to believe in it all. You. Santa. Effing Elves on the Shelves. It all sounded so true! So right. So hoofs-on-the-rooftop magical.

You seem so innocent.

But alas (I’ve always wanted to use that word in a blog post), I know it’s only pot smoke and mirrors. I know the Real You, and you’re bad, bad, bad. You’re so bad that I won’t even let my kid near you, lest he fall for your mysterious powers. I’d push him away from you as quickly as I’d push him away from a growling pit bull. (I almost changed that to say “push him away from a falling boulder” because I really don’t want a bunch of pit bull people taking down my website because they think I’m a PB hater. I’m not. But a rolling rock didn’t sound nearly as dramatic as a snarling dog with a locking jaw, so I kept it in. I’m going for the visual here, people. Lay off.)

Random rusty nail picture to drive home the impact of my words.

Back to us, HFCS. You and I … we’re like fire and gasoline. We’re like oil and water. We’re like a rusty nail and a foot attached to a person who’s never had a tetanus shot.

And I’ll admit it. I think I may be addicted to you. You’re my crack. My meth. My scotch on ice. I need a 12-step plan. Or I need to go cold-turkey. (Typing that makes me get a little shaky in the hands. Hallucinations may be next.)

Even Dr. Oz tells me to stay away from you. And he knows stuff. He’s like Prevention magazine. Or maybe Wikipedia. But still.

This one’s for you, Mom.

So what are we going to do about this little situation? Are we just going to continue with this tango of no-goodness? Are we just going to keep driving into the night on that motorcycle and a cloud of weed? Am I going to keep this charade going on forever?

As Jack Twist says in Brokeback Mountain, “I wish I knew how to quit you.”

That’s right, High Fructose Corn Syrup. You’re my Jack Twist. I’m your Ennis. Only I’m a 28-year-old writer (no comment necessary)/future blues singer, and you’re just a common sweetener made by processing corn in some weird, unnatural way and subsidized by the government.

I don’t have the answers.

All I know is that for now, there is an ice-cold DP in the fridge calling my name, and the makers of Cool Whip now make a Cool Whip Frosting in three heaven-inspired flavors.

Damn you, High Fructose Corn Syrup. Damn you.

 


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What I’m Thankful for Right Now, in This Moment

New and old friends and family who support my writing. A six-year-old who can already cook up a mean batch of fried catfish. Sonic ice and Dr Pepper. A husband who buys me Sonic ice because he knows it makes me happy. Two furry babies who make me smile, no matter how very bad they can be. My publisher, 30 Day Books (Laura Pepper Wu and Brandon Wu) — it’s so darn awesome to know that there are good, kind people all over the world, and that I have these folks on my side. Jeremy Kron for his wonderful work on my novels’ cover and interior design. My new job with Truven Health Analytics. I’m loving the work so much. Knowing that I’ll get to see my family and taste my mama’s cooking in just a couple of weeks. My Kindle Fire. Brilliant writing by people who inspire me. The herd of deer hanging out on our road this evening. The Rocky Mountains. Fresh mountain air. Memory foam. This laptop. Friends I know will be there for me if I need them. Texas Hill Country pecans, found at a Target in Colorado, believe it or not. Cool cotton pillowcases. Good wine. Stand-up comedians. A mother- and father-in-law who adore my son and treat us all with overwhelming generosity. The good health of myself, my family and my friends. The music of Lyle Lovett. Sara Lee pies because I don’t have time to make my own. Readers out there in the universe who are reading my novels and taking the time to let me know that my words touched them somehow. Every single person who has written a review of either of my novels. My eyesight. A soft, warm blanket on a chilly night. Stars. Avocados. Dark chocolate. Ariat boots. Vacuum cleaners. Wild Orange essential oil. A massage therapist as a spouse. And the sound of my angel-son saying, “I love you, mama,” as he drifts off to sleep.

What are you thankful for right now, in this moment? (Don’t think about it deeply, just spit out what comes to mind. It’s nice sometimes to just Let. It. Out.) PS: Vacuum is a weird word, isn’t it?

 

 

 


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And This Is Why I Hate Dental People

In my novel Blue Straggler, the main character, Bailey, admits to being truly afraid of two things: lightning and rattlesnakes. That statement could be autobiographical for me, except you’d have to substitute “dentists” for “lightning.”

Yes, I’m one of those crazies who fears going to the dentist. I’d rather go to the ob/gyn than the dentist. I’d rather experience Chinese water torture. I’d rather be forced to eat dung beetles, or just dung. Seriously. Yet, I make myself go once a year (okay, it’s usually more like once every two years, but don’t judge me) because basically I don’t think I’m going to be all that sexy in dentures. Also I like to eat and to eat well, you really should have teeth.

I can trace my dental phobia back to growing up in rural South Texas where we didn’t have fluoride in our water until we got MTV and I left for college. (Exaggeration alert. I was in junior high. Probably – I did not research this. Sue me.) I had cavities back then and a dentist (we didn’t have many choices) filled like 100 cavities in one appointment. Or maybe six, but still. It scarred me, okay?

This is me in the dental chair. Not really. But can you believe the things you can find on the Internet?

So, this past week, I stepped into my current dentist’s office for a cleaning and checkup. I say my current dentist because I’m also a “dentist hopper.” I jump around to a lot of different dentists, because once a hygienist or dentist hurts me, I leave them without a note. And since anything having to do with going to the dentists hurts like hell, I love `em and leave `em a lot. This is why I get about 10 different notices from dentists all over Denver saying I’m past due for an exam. (Clean up your mailing lists, people! I’m over you!)

I’d prepped for the appointment with drugs to soothe the soul and ibuprofen to take the edge off the pain. And yes, I was just there for a cleaning.

Let me just say that those drugs did nothing for me as soon as I smelled that gawd-awful dentist office smell. What the hell is that smell, anyway? Burned flesh? Jawbone sawdust? I suggested to the receptionist who took me back to the cleaning cube that they should pump laughing gas in through the air vents. She didn’t laugh.

I took my seat in the chair, and the hygienist promptly tilted my ass so far back I nearly slid off that slippery vinyl chair, head first. Then she attempted a conversation, with me in the yoga pose I like to call “Upside Down Sitting Duck.”

Hygienist: Do you have any concerns?

Me: Not really, other than you’re going to hate me because it’s been two years since I’ve had a cleaning. Ha, ha. Ha?

Hygienist, looking at my chart and frowning: I see that. (She could have humored me with, “I won’t hate you, don’t be silly.”)

Me: I’m sorry. (Also at this point, I have a very good view of her nostril hairs and she could use some maintenance.)

Hygienist, aiming a sharp, archaic tool at me: Let’s get started.

Me: Wait! Can I have a topical anesthetic?

Hygienist: Why?

Me, blood pressure rising: Because, byotch, you are about to wound my gums! (I didn’t really say that. I actually said, “Because it helps with soft tissue pain when you scrape my gums; I read it on the Internet.”

Hygienist: I’ll have to check with the doctor.

She leaves and I enjoy the view of a popcorn-style ceiling, which they should really remodel this century. When she returns with the goop, I also bring up another uncomfortable topic.

Me: I also wish to decline x-rays.

Hygienist: <Insert very long speech here about how they are a great and necessary diagnostic tool, and how I am pretty much the stupidest person in America for not getting them.>

Me: I realize all of that. Thank you. I still decline. I don’t like radiation, and why yes I do know how it compares to security devices at the airport. I’ll sign the form, please. And yes, I know that you will not get to bill my insurance company $1,000 for x-rays. I’m truly sorry.

So, as you can tell, the hygienist and I are not on friendly terms, and this is not a great way to shape a relationship with someone who is using barbaric measures to supposedly remove tartar buildup. In short, this woman obviously hated me, and she took it out on my poor innocent, inflamed gums and teeth. Also, she almost sucked my entire tongue up with that little tube one time. I came out of the chair a little.

At this point, I was just praying that the ibuprofen would kick in, because my head was starting to throb. Also, note to readers: Ibuprofen makes you bleed a little more than normal. Enough said. I think I needed more than one of those bib things.

I also found this on the Internet, which pretty much sums up how I feel about going to the dentist.

When she finished with me, my cheeks and chin were literally peppered with tartar pieces (and maybe pieces of my teeth, who knows). I could have used protective eyewear. I had been in a battle I could not win, even if the dentist did eventually tell me I had no cavities from what he could see without the x-rays.

That night, I immediately found that having vodka in the house is a good thing. Because y’all, I had to self-medicate. Plus I think vodka is good for killing bacteria in your mouth. I’m going with that.

For two days after, my teeth were so tender that I couldn’t even eat Cheetos without pain. And yes, you haters out there, I KNOW that if I went every six months, I wouldn’t have so much tartar buildup and the hygienist would not have to put her foot on my chest to get the pressure she needs to scrape the crap off.

The moral of this story is that there is no moral. I just hate going to the dentist. As soon as I get rich, I’m going to take advantage of sedation dentistry … for cleanings.

 


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