The Shape of an "L" on Moi's Forehead

Boy, do I have some crazy/sexy/cool friends.

There I went, getting all bossy with 'em, challenging them to write yet another 50,000-word novel in 30 days, and then I dropped my own ball and guess what? They kept picking theirs up, despite my slacker ass. CONGRATS, Wicked and Doris! You rock.

And also a big congrats to Miz Meghan, who, despite a bundle in da oven and daily dates with the porcelain potty, NaNoBlogged her way through an entire month of a post-a-day, complete with her faboo photos.

Anyone else out there who picked up Moi's gauntlet, big ol' smooches to you, too.

Now, go to Moi's baking site and make yourselves a pie!

Speaking of food, here's a Friday's Feast:

Appetizer
What is your favorite carnival/amusement park ride?
Roller Coaster

Soup
How do you react in uncomfortable social situations?
By attempting a kind of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s la, la, la, la, la lightness. And failing miserably.

Salad
On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being highest, how much do you enjoy discussing deep, philosophical topics?
10 bazillion

Main Course
Did you get a flu shot this year? If not, do you plan to?
No. I haven’t had the flu, a cold, or nary a sniffle since I quit smoking seven years, five months, three days and 47 seconds ago. I've been a miserable-ass bitch, but I haven't been sick.

Dessert
Approximately how many hours per week do you spend watching television?
About a bazillion. I loves me some television. I live in the woods, so there ya go.

When Life Hands Moi Lemons

Coming soon to Da Baking Blob:


The Pie that Stole Moi's Avowedly Independent Heart, Chained it to the Back of a Dodge Ram Super Cab, and Never Let it Go.

In other words, you wanna woo someone? This is the pie to do it with.

Stay tuned . . .

Staring Down the Mountain

All the birds have flown up and gone;

A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I.

– Li Po

I wasn't a total slug this weekend. On Sunday, my best friend E! and I crawled out from under our blankies, shook off our turkey induced brain fogs, and headed to the top of the Sandia Mountains to avail ourselves of the late week snow. She in her new Redfeathers, Moi in age-old Atlases, we found enough winter white wonder to play for a couple hours at the top of our world.

I love these mountains and am lucky beyond belief to have them at my back door. And to know that no matter where I am in the immediate area, they are always there – looming grandly if I'm west of them, sloping gently if I'm east. They tell my time, herald my season, measure my calm and my storm.

When I was a little girl, I found a fossil embedded in one of the rocks at the foothills – a small, intricate remnant of a long lost sea shell. That was because, my father explained, this part of New Mexico once lay at the bottom of a vast ocean. Which must explain why, whenever I'm up on top of the Sandia's, nearly three miles above what we call sea level today, I always feel like I'm swimming.

So, I'm curious: what outdoor places do you seek out when you want to feel a sense of wonder?

Mute Monday: Rebels

What is Mute Monday?

The Day After

You know the problem with Thanksgiving?

The Day After.

Because the day after Thanksgiving, I always feel like such a slug. It's pretty tiring, all this merry thankfulness. 'Cause, you know, I'm thankful for just about everything. Well, except Crocs. Those can go.

How sluggish do I feel? So sluggish, I can't even walk the dog. I can't even muster up enough enthusiasm to finish my post on Elvis's jumpsuits. And I could not care less, less, Party People, that I am wearing every bit of fleece I own (well, to be fair, temps did plummet yesterday and it did snow overnight, so at least it's cold). Likewise, the fact that I could at this very moment be stalking the racks at the brand spanking new Anthropologie store in Albuquerque, taking advantage of a bazillion percent off that gorgemous Sleeping on Snow tunic sweater I've been itching for all fall, only makes Moi go: Meh. Where's my blankie?

But, all is not lost. In the hour and a half before LSU takes on Arkansas, I did manage to watch Evil Dead on satellite, a guilty pleasure for a sluggish day for sure, which led me to ponder the unsung pop cultural significance of Bruce Campbell's square-cut jawline. Which somehow led me to ponder this:



If you're going to name someone The Sexiest Man Alive, then for goodness sakes alive, you for ding dang sure better put a sexy photo of said winner on your cover! I loves me some Matt Damon as much as the next red-blooded film fan, especially when he gets all muscled up and steely-eyed for those Bourne movies. But here he looks less like a man of steel and more like a man who just finished dragging his ass at 2:00 a.m. to the nearest Wal-Fart for diapers for the Baby Bourne only to return home to a bloated Luciana screaming from the bedroom in Italian or Portuguese or whatever the heck her native language is for more Yoplait pronto.

Not. Sexy.

That's all.

Eyehole Deep in Muddy Water

All around me, I could practically raise the dead.

In Rowan Oak:

"I have found that the greatest help in meeting any problem is to know where you yourself stand. That is, to have in words what you believe and are acting from."

How a man could think so clearly on the one hand, yet write such obfuscated prose on the other, will forever be a mystery to Moi. But I think I would have liked him anyway.

Ole Miss:

In the year I was born, the man represented by this statue, James Meredith, was the first African American to graduate from the University of Mississippi. But not without first having had other men, grim faced and gun toting, try to prevent him from doing so. My stomach tightens every time I try to imagine it. I wish they'd left the bullet holes in the surrounding buildings.


Graceland:

Because he can break us all with one song.

And this spot:

Chilling, sorrowful, and yet strangely hopeful.

I Knew It

You Belong in Milan

Stylish and sophisticated, you want to enjoy a truly European life - away from tourists! Milan fits you perfectly. Great shopping, high quality food, lots of culture... with very little hype.

What European City Do You Belong In?

I gotta go watch LSU kick some Ole Miss (Bob, why isn't it Ol'?) butt, pay homage to Fabulous 1970s Decor, weep over Elivs, and find me somewhere's a fried oyster po' boy sandwich. Or seven.

In the meantime, take the above Test: What Fern City Do You Belong In? and play amongst yourselves 'til I get back.

Ciao,
Moi

You! Cake or Death?

A couple things you need to do today:
1. Run your Web site through The Lolinator (www.lolinator.com). The Pirate sent this to Moi last night as I was furiously working on an ass client and I laughed so hard I nearly tinkled. This is what she did to Bite the Apple. Check out the Kung Fu kitty with da pittie.

2. Go next door to Moi's baking site. 'Cause I'm not going to rest until I con, uh, entice enough readers to justify hanging up a bunch a' Google ads for Kitchen Aide mixers and Williams and Sonoma tart pans whose proceeds will allow Moi to retire from writing with enough time to spend half the day training for mini-tris and other half on the sofa with bon-bons and the entire collection of South Park on DVD. (The quality of that last sentence right there is proof enough, Party People, why this is an urgent goal.)

But, most importantly, an actual recipe is up and running. If you don't bake, maybe you can con, uh, entice, someone into making it for you.

3. Have a simply splendid day

Moi

Irony Much?

HOW DOES ONE GO FROM THIS:

TO THIS?

I dunno, but the Eric Cartman in Moi hasn't giggled this maniacally in ages.

Dancing With Myself

Another shameless plug for Moi's new baking site.

Come on over, Party People – it's no fun doing this all by myself. Even if it means I get to drink all the tequila.

Lazy Ass Excuse for a Blog Post #2

While I firmly believe there is no crying in baseball, it seems that doesn't apply when it comes to NaNo. I don't know what's wrong with me this year. My brain is a hollowed out husk of its former self and my creativity has flipped me the bird. Last time I saw it, it was lounging on the sofa with a six pack of Fresca and a party-sized bag of Cheetos, zoning out in front of Fashion Television's coverage of the Spring 2008 Milan collections (yay! Luisa Beccaria – boo! Gucci Gucci Goo).

So, I will spend all weekend struggling to wrest my creativity out from the sticky-fingered clutches of crap television and trans-fat-soaked snacks. After all, my novel does feature sex and candy and cowboys. That ougtta be worth something.

In the meantime, Party People, let's take a moment to hunt down my creativity and take a gander at what, exactly, it would clothe itself in, given a $5 bazillion lottery win and just the right occasion:

If my creativity worked for a mega wattage corporate-type corporation and they were throwing a mega fabulous Christmas party and my dumb ass creativity had actually managed NOT to fall asleep at its desk one too many times from the stunning boredom of it all and hence didn't get itself barred from an invitation, my creativity would wear this:


And if my creativity's bestest friend in the whole wide world suddenly up and had a wedding, and I mean a REALLY REAL wedding, complete with cocktails and canapes and hot 20 year old waiters, instead of some drunken five minute ceremony at 2 a.m. in Vegas with Elvis in attendance, it would wear this:


And if my creativity were suddenly called upon to attend oh, I dunno, a posh Southern-Style event like the Kentucky Derby or maybe some second cousin of S.B.'s niece's coming out party, it would wear this:



And if I suddenly had to send my fat-ass creativity off to the grocery store for even more Fresca and Cheetos? I'd ask that it for Gawd's sake shed those stinkin' sweat pants and instead drape itself in this:



Finally, if my creativity absolutely refuses to get its fat ass off that sofa and into my office and behind my keyboard, I'm going to make sure, come hell or high water, it's going to spend the rest of its existence wearing this:


Pee yew, Party People. Gucci is just downright poochie this year.

As If I Don't Have Enough To Do

And if you don't, either, hop on over to Moi's new baking blog and get your sweet tooth tickled.

And She Ran

She ran so far away.

Question is: Why didn't she just keep going?

'Cause that Cruisin' new haircut? It would send me screaming into the hills.

(Psssst: is it just Moi, or is this look perhaps a wee bit Clay Aiken?)

I Don't Want to Write; I Want to Have Written

NaNo has begun. Usually, by this time, I have managed my allotted 1,667 words per day quite easily.

This year? Not so much.

Between home improvements, paying work, a trip to the family up north, and obligations today, I am woefully behind. Oh, and I suppose it didn't help that I changed my story. I went and visited my old homestead yesterday and it brought up a most excellent idea for an entirely new novel (sorry, Wicked's hot nephew), albeit with a few of my original themes intact. So, I wrote furiously last night until I couldn't anymore and now I have mucho catching up to do.

Instead of posting any of it, I will instead leave you with this.

(click to enlarge)

This is Blue, a former RAAP foster dog. While beautiful and soulful, Blue is one of those rare pit bulls who has all the motivation and drive of a garden slug. Seriously. I had this dog in class. Did the fresh hot dog pieces his foster mom pleadingly proferred motivate him even one itsy bitsy bit to work?

Uh, no.

Blue is what we call internally motivated. In other words: "Hmmm . . . let's see which one of these sucker humans finds me The Prettiest of Them All and lends me their lap. It's ten o'clock in the morning, Party People. Blue needs his nap."

I know how he feels. I'm pretty much garden slugging it myself these days.

For Those About To Write . . .

. . . whether by NaNo Noveling like Thistle and Doris Rose, NaBloPoMo-ing like a MoFo like Meghan, or simply continuing in whatever amount of time you devote to writing, painting, or photographing . . . I salute you.

The world is a much more fascinating, inspiring, and hilarious place because of what you put out there.