Tag Archive for: oklahoma

Wine, Brothers and Cowboy Boots

Biceps has had his hands full with either firemen training classes, interviews with fire chiefs, or playing and practicing the drums for a new church. The man is an animal that just won’t quit.

Needless, to say-I’ve had a bit of free time.

Baby brother invited me out for a night on the town and there was no way I was turning this opportunity down.


I actually applied makeup, shaved my legs and did my hair. It was a big night.


He took me to Girouard Winery in downtown Tulsa, of all places. Daniel likes a sweeter wine, I like dry-but of course we shared our samplers with the other.

During the course of our sharing adult beverages, I realized I was an adult. I didn’t have to wear yoga pants 24/7. Jeans are good, too.


As with any wine tour-the history, the grapes, the aromas were aptly described while some of us sober ones paid attention.


And, as with any winery in Oklahoma, most of those participating in the tour had a particular style of footwear.


The night was perfect, the conversation couldn’t have been better and the wine was delicious. The next time brother and I go out, I might even order the cheese plate and really live it up.

I’m just that crazy.

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Naughty Biceps

He may look innocent enough. But underneath that sweet exterior is a man fraught with all sorts of naughtiness. At a recent festival, Bicep’s naughtiness got the best of him.

And, Biceps got into trouble. Real trouble.

The show was at midday with all sorts of promise. The best thing about a midday show is the ability to photograph the band well lit.

Another bonus to a midday show is the ability to go to bed at a decent hour and not have slumber party stomach the entire next day.

But, I digress. I wanted to tell you about Biceps’ naughtiness. See the back of this lady’s head who is sitting side stage, far right in the picture?

All heck is about to break loose.

Biceps precariously climbed up onto these speakers for a dramatic emphasis during the set.
There’s a man in the back of the shot with wispy hair, and he is rather concerned and alerts side-stage lady .

Oblivious, Biceps rocks on.
Until the side stage lady weaves her way past the drummer-during the song-points her finger at Biceps and tells him to get down. Tisk, tisk!

Naughty Biceps…I don’t think he was very happy about being chastised by a mother figure during his cool guy rock and roll show.
But, we laugh about it now. Or at least I do.

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This Land Press Launch Party!

I have a secret that I have been keeping from all of you.
When I began reading This Land online, I had no idea who the Mastermind was behind it.

I soon found out that this talented writer, Michael P. Mason, who has been in my life for years, was the Mastermind behind This Land.
This is a quote from the ‘ol Mastermind about this venture:
‘As a collaboration of Oklahoma’s best writers, thinkers, and artists, the aim of This Land is to deliver engaging content that’s relevant to Oklahomans, and to encourage a richer sense of community through our various projects.’-Michael P. Mason

Well said, Mike. Well said. Pay no attention to the robot behind you.

This is Mastermind’s cute little wife putting up with the his inappropriateness. I think he had one too many cups from the French Press, personally.
I know I will be in big trouble for this…but it’s worth it.

But, I digress. (Isn’t that what smarty pants writers are supposed to say when covering over their rabbit trails?)
I started reading this online/now in print paper, and fell in love with it. I timidly began leaving comments on Van Eden’s articles at first, then started stalking Michael Cooper’s photography, and then left a few comments on Michael Mason’s articles, praying I didn’t misspell a word or have a run-in with a dangling participle.
I was intimidated. The writing is good. Not just ‘local’ good, but GOOD.
And the photography? Um, hands down just plain stinkin’ awesome.

One thing led to another, and Michael approached me with a request. He wanted ME to contribute.
I think I threw up on the spot due to my anxiety issues.

And then, I walked around like this for a couple of days. Yes, I was a gigantic robot with flashy silver horseshoes for hands. Not really, but I just loved this robot at Dwelling Spaces and wanted to squeeze it in somehow.

And, guess who squeaked in with her half-butt talent?
Me. That’s my picture in the upper right hand corner, page 2.
Because of this, I was invited to the launch party for ‘This Land Press’.
I actually put on makeup for this event. I can’t believe that anyone would invite me to a social get-together such as this. I tend to sweat a lot and spill wine and say inane things when conversation lags.
“Rebekah, who did your hair?”, Classy Lady asks.
“I did.” I respond.
Awkward silence. So, I jump in with both feet.
“Isn’t this party great? I mean, this is such a cool paper (yes, I used the word ‘cool’) and everyone is so nice. And boy, do you look great. I love your dress. Where did you get it? Isn’t Mike nice?…..” And so my stupidity carried on for what seemed like hours, until she raised her eyebrows and walked away.

But, I digress, again.
This great little store, Dwelling Spaces was packed for the Launch Party. The stock in the store is unreal.

Hand made clutches decked out with embroidery, cute n’ sassy rings made from buttons, and brightly colored toys kept me entertained for hours. Literally.
Note: I want this hanging lamp very bad.

Second Note: I also want this painting in my house. A local artist, Sara Bowersock, did this and a ton of other paintings that I drool over. She even has an etsy store: Point Blank Design.

The Launch Party was a complete departure from my usual nights of pouring concrete steps, caulking showers in rent houses or the general application of Arnica Gel on my aching joints.
The night included food, wine, beer, coffee (mmmm….), music, past boyfriends….which of course is the exact formula needed in order for me to spill something, have junk in my teeth, spit while talking, sweat profusely and just generally embarrass myself.
It was a fantastic night.

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