To be a cowboy

What? You thought all my cowboy-bashing meant I never wanted to be a cowboy?

Ok, so I don't really want to *be* a cowboy. (They ride HORSES! EEEK!) More, I just want to wear their clothes. More specifically, I want to wear the clothes their whimsical desert-swept girlfriends wear. Sound shallow and vapid? It is.

I'm running off with a friend of mine this weekend to the intoxicatingly beautiful southwest for some museum touring, margarita drinking, SHOPPING, poolside lounging, Mexican food eating and pattern swapping. Well, technically, it will be pattern *taking* since she is bringing a few for me, and I am just bringing a big smile - but you know, "pattern taking" makes me sound like a bitch so I change it up from time to time.

While I'm being a bitch, though, I will be living out my Southwest Attire Fantasies to the best of my closet's abilities. Namely flowy skirts that Bubba calls my HippieWear, my old jean jacket, my MooCow purse (I finally got to name one of my own items of clothing. Finally.) and all my turquoise and silver jewelry.

Technically, I don't think flip-flops count as Southwest Attire, but I haven't gotten up the nerve yet to buy/wear/contemplate cowboy boots, so I'm creating a look I like to call Hippie Cowboy. Ok, so I only call it that in my head, but that's because it sounds dorky and I'm afraid people will think I'm a loser.

Frankly, these folks have already coined the style, but all their stuff is so damned expensive that I have to make it up on my own. As derivative and low-brow as that may seem.

I'm hoping that some time in the Land of Enchantment will also give me the much needed encouragement that I'll need to re-approach the Surprise Cowboy fabric. I still need to make the pillowcases and recipe card holders that I've promised and, somehow, that pattern is still burned into my retina and entering my dreams.

Honestly, my sudden longing for all things eyelet, turquoise, denim and flowy might have something to do with the ever-presence of this fabric. Perhaps it is omnipotent. Perhaps *that* is the real surprise? Hmmm...

Anyway, while I'm off soaking up Santa Fe sunshine on my blinding white shoulders and sucking down all the margaritas I can get my hands on, the pooch will be spending some QT with Bubba and giving Rocket a lesson in Fraidy Dog Management.

As it turns out, the pooch (Jada, for those of you wondering her name. Yes, as in Pinkett-Smith. No, not our choosing.) can put on a big Cat-Hating show when she's on a leash, but off-leash she will turn her face to the wall and pretend (and perhaps cross her dog toes) that the cat isn't there hissing herself to death. It's your usual, "Hold me back! I'll tear that cat's head off!" act when we're on a walk, but as soon as we get home, Rocket is the boss - and a mean one at that.

Good thing I can take Jada to work with me. It gives her some recoup time and some time for Rocket to hatch her evening plan.


P.S. I promise this won't become a "Look at my dog!" blog. No. That is just boring.

And, it would take away from the time I spend on my "Look at my garden!", "Look at my fabric!", "Look at this food I made!", "Look at how weird Bubba is!" and "Look at this thing I made!" posts.

Whether you find these boring is none of my concern.