Randomness

Yes. There is no coherency to today's post.

For example:



Yes. That's a dog--a yawning dog--in a laundry basket. Somehow, the three-legged wiener dog--whose three legs are all of 2 3/4 inches long to begin with--managed to get into the laundry basket all by himself. Warm-from-the-dryer blankets will do that, though. Guard your baskets carefully. Wiener dogs may be lurking.

Which has nothing to do with my continual obsession with What Not To Wear As A Cowgirl:



So, this is pretty good, right? My Fashion Stylist vetted the skirt; the belt over the shirt works, doesn't it?

Do Cowgirls wear pantyhose? Tights? Leg warmers? Anything? Because I've got to tell you, the high that day was 34 degrees, and I was cold. Not to mention my legs are not exactly things of tanned, toned beauty. Oh, the sacrifices I make for fashion. Hopefully, San Fran will not be that cold.

I also have this:



I swear, if I show up with a camera at work tomorrow, I think the Lovely Mary will scream or something.

Anyway, I think if I'm going to wear the brown corduroy jacket, I'll work with either a white or bright-colored shirt. But otherwise, I think this is workable.

Wait, that was almost coherent.



Ah, that's better.

Let's see that again, shall we?



Yes. You are looking at a snowman three times the size of the real men who made him. He's across the street from my house. As we speak, I am sitting in my office and watching people drive down the street, slam on the breaks, back up, and occasionally get out and take pictures. His garbage can hat and most of his bricks have fallen off, but this snowman isn't going anywhere anytime soon. This is no mere boy's snowman. This is a real man's snowman. And speaking of real men...



Holy Moly. It was 28 degrees out, and Mr. Carhartt Overalls there was busting out those guns in a big way. Those arms will be making an appearance in my next book, I know that much. It takes a whole lot of muscles to move that much damn snow. And a forklift.

Notice the dogs:



Jake (modeling a stunning, custom-made, hand-knit sweater) is sort of okay with strange men who have awesome biceps. Gater, on the other hand, is considering attacking. You haven't heard a dog bark until you've heard a half-beagle howl in attack mode. Really. It's almost like the sonic bark from that movie Bolt. It shatters my ears every time.

And, finally, for those of you who actually managed to hold on through all this randomness, I've updated my website, here, to include the blurb on the book I'm almost done writing. Yes. I'm almost done with another book. This one is called Mystic Cowboy. I hope you like it!

So, tune in next week, when perhaps a little more organization will have returned to my life.

Or not.