What I do when it's too hot to paint

Funny thing about this photo: After beaching, but before uploading photos, I was catching up on my bloggy gal pals and saw this photo. What can I say? Great minds, you know!

I really wish I had images to show you of the final product (like here, here, or even here) but, I kid you not, when I stopped this video a whole crew of camera men, lighting assistants, hair and wardrobe personal and approximately 14 pre-teenagers showed up on the beach to do a photo-shoot for über-trendy teen clothing. They decided to set up shop 20 FEET AWAY from me. Which, if you know me at all when I'm in the depths of my creative place, is WAY TOO close. When the football tossing ended up directly in the center of what I was doing, I decided to throw in the towel. Literally. As I left, they said "isn't it beautiful out here?" And even in a bit of a huff, I had to agree.

C'est la vie.

Such is the urban life.

Annie Get Yer Gun

To ring in the early celebration of our eighth anniversary (which is officially next week) BC and I decided to treat ourselves to a night of blissful coupledom. While most people seem to celebrate anniversaries with moonlighted walks, couples massage, or slow dancing, we decided to up the ante a bit. For us, the best way to say "I love you baby" was down the barrel of a .357 Magnum. That's right. How very Mr. and Mrs. Smith of us (plus, since the pilot episode of Lost, I've had this secret feeling that one of these days I might end up on a beautiful deserted island with a whole crew of crazies and only 3 guns and I will NEED to know how to handle a handgun).

Gun Face

(Trust me, you don't want a piece of this!)

Look at those guns (and I'm not talking about the shiny silver one!)

And after our very first ever handgun training class the official verdict is: I'm freaking Annie Oakley. No joke. Not to talk myself up (ok, maybe a little) but I tore UP those bulls-eyes like it was no body's business! POW! BANG! POP! Those little paper target didn't even know what they had coming! I'm so ready to move onto heads of cabbage!

I'm a lady who can rock 4 inch stilettos and a .45, all while striding up the mountainside.

That's just the way it should be.

I feel like kicking some ass now.

Excuse me while I go break down a door somewhere.

*** Side Note (which has nothing to do with the contents of this post whatsoever) ***

In addition to stilettos, pistols and mountain climbing, I also bake a mean loaf of bread. I've been searching for the magical recipe for Honey Whole Wheat Bread that will change my life. I've got a few recipes that are nearing perfection, but if you have one that you'd like to share, please send it on to me! I gotta carb up to keep up the fire power!

Yeah, I bought it.

Lately I've really been trying to make Wise Financial Decisions which basically translates into putting a cap on my random "ooohhh I love this!" purchases. However, sometimes a gal just need to buckle down and hit "Buy" when she finds something as fabulous as this: my new everything bowl from Pink Kiss Pottery.

It came. I love it. Totally and undebatably worth it. Look at that light; even the Heavens approve! I have a huge and undying love for the book Watership Down and there is something about this bowl, with it's dark rabbits gliding silently into the clouds that reminds me of Hazel, Fiver, Bigwig and all the other rabbits of the warren.

I love a great piece of pottery. Sighhhhhhh

Jam-tacular Lovin'

I'm willing to lay large cash bets that NO ONE has eaten as much raspberry jam in the last week as I have. We're talking sugar-rush-one-pint-in-a-day-and-a-half and I'm barely holding myself back from going in for more. What's a gal to do with ten toasty pints of fresh raspberry jam, the first canning foray of the year? Eat up! Call for a second baguette, another scoop of chévre, a wee smear of butter (ok, yeah, not so wee...)

Also, as a side note, what does it say about my jammy-greed level that ten pints might not be enough for me, let alone enough for sharing with neighbors and house guests? I best pick up another flat of berries next week... Especially because I've been talking trades of homemade pickles and white grape jelly (Ladies, you know who you are)!

ALSO, I had a rather embarrassing revelation concerning the fact that I, the textile hoarder, the sewing addict, the queen of "oops, did I just make that," do not own a single working kitchen apron. When the jam is a popin' I've got to duck and dodge the sticky missiles of goo and that is a sight to behold (let me tell you!). Something really must be done to remedy THAT situation...

In other news:

The sun is shining and puffy little white clouds are breezing by my windows

The kitty boys are loafing about, well supported in my personal pillow collection

I'm sitting rather unlady-like (crossed legged in a skirt, tut tut tut)

I'm thinking about this little painting I began just yesterday (the largest in my series of little guys at 8" square)

And OH LA LA! It's Bastille Day which means I need to pour myself a glass of rosé in honor!

Vive La France!

Vive La Rosé!

Vive La Jam!

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious-polyester!

Thank God for the fashion sense of the 70's right?