It's all good (Keep Tellin' Yourself that, Bullet Hole)

Last week I was pouting about not being at Romance Writers of America’s National Conference in San Francisco. I’d like to say I’m over it, but I wouldn’t want to get into the habit of lying to you nice folks. However, thanks to those who offered suggestions on how to ‘fuggetaboutit’ last week, I’m managed to come to terms with the fact that most of the Killer Fiction authors were able to attend the conference , leaving me the sole author here at KF unable to rub meet and mingle with publishing industries movies and shakers. No hard feelings, fellow ‘Dangerous Dorch Divas’. Don’t sweat it. I have no intention of exacting any type of rabid revenge or devious paybacks. My life at present is very full, thank you very much. I’m doing all sorts of exciting things here in the Heartland. Just tons.

What, you ask?

Uh, well, there’s my new roof. That’s exciting. Uh. No. I didn’t exactly shingle it myself, but I did pick out the color. And it looks mahvelous, dahlings.

And summer term college finals are over. That’s definitely exciting. Well, for two weeks, at least, until I begin fall term. And I squeaked out a 4.00 GPA. Not too bad when I was cursing the Field Ecology professor up and down for exposing me to the worst case of chiggers ever.

What else?

I went shopping.

For new underwear.

I like to get into that ‘Back to School’ shopping mode. Next week I’m going to buy loads and loads of notebooks and number 2 pencils. I must confess, shopping could have gone better. When I got home from my unders outing, I discovered my bras had a little something extra attached. No. Not padding. Security ink tags. You know. Those great big devices that can only be removed at a retail establishment. Nice.

And let me tell you about my slacks experience. For my new job I have to wear gray dress slacks, a button down shirt, red striped tie, and blue blazer. But the gray slacks I was issued were so high waisted I looked like Irckle in them so I decided to invest in some that rode a wee bit lower. (The belly button VS the armpit.) I found the perfect pair at the perfect price that fit me just right. They had two in that particular size so I bought both of them. I figured the other pair being the same size and style, they would fit the same, so why waste time trying them on.

Sounds reasonable. Right?

Only problem was when I went to put on the pair of slacks at home I hadn’t tried on in the store, they drug the ground and I literally swam in them.

And next?

It’s race week here in my hometown. The Sprint Car Nationals. Also known as the World of Outlaws racing. Now, for those of you who are only familiar with NASCAR and Indy Racing, sprint cars are an entirely different beast. (See pictures.) They look like midget cars—midget cars that go well over 100 in the straight of way. The kind of race car I can just picture Tressa Turner taking a whirl around the dirt track in. Or an ex trooper type.

During Nationals we see our population explode to roughly four times its size. Garage sale signs, T-shirt vendors, and food stands pop up on every street corner. Golf carts seem to become an acceptable mode of transportation. And the lines at the local Wally’s World and grocery store make you question if you really need the items all that badly. Which, naturally, I did—toilet paper being one thing you really can’t do without. Unless you’re a glutton for punishment—and have a hankering for chafing, that is.

The chaos has begun already. I have black-top parking for three cars in back adjacent to my garage. It’s handy when you have four kids with cars of their own. Really handy. You never have to ask someone to move their car. Sweet.

So, I go out back to go in search of said fuses yesterday morning and there’s wall to wall traffic on the road behind my house in search of garage sale bargains—including a big white Lincoln Towne Car blocking my parking.

And what do I do?

I pull my daughter’s car up behind her and block her in.

I suppose you think this passive aggressive move shows I’m not quite as ‘over’ San Fran as I’ve insisted. Right?

Who the heck asked you?

Oh. That would be be.

All right. Lay it on me. What’s your week been like out there? Give me the good, the bad, and the ugly.

And Gemma, Les, and Christie—a word of warning. Unless your responses reference piles of laundry awaiting you, pipes that burst while you were away, the number of pounds you packed on in San Francisco, or the flu you came home with, you would do well to plead the fifth. (Although I suppose in Crime Scene's case, coming home to a hurricane passes muster.)

All I can say is D.C. in ’09 or bust!!!!

~Bullet Hole~

P.S. Don’t forget to attend our KF Anniversary Bash next week where we’ll dish about our ‘The Call’ Stories. I’ll be giving away several copies of my last Calamity Jayne book, CALAMITY JAYNE HEADS WEST, to get you ready to raise anchor with October’s release of ANCHORS AWEIGH!