So Mom called today, very apologetic that she hadn’t called me back. And honestly, I believe she was–she is just kinda clueless, sometimes, and we both know she wasn’t crazy about being a mom, but she likes me okay.

And here is some fun with our new scanner:

This was taken close to twenty years ago. I used to wear contact lenses and very, very dark lipstick. I still wear silver hoop earrings a lot, but my eyebrows aren’t quite as heavy-handed, I don’t think.

Anyway, my mom and I look a lot alike, don’t you think?

Hey, come on over to the Riskies to talk about gorgeous, if flawed, women.

This is the message I left for my mom today:

Hey, Ma, it’s Megan. Did you know that all across America mothers are weeping because their children don’t call? But I called you six days ago, and you still haven’t called me back. So, um, happy freaking late Mother’s Day and all, Mom. I hope you’re doing all right. Call me when you can.

Too harsh? Not harsh enough? You’d think I would get used to her laissez-Megan attitude, but it still smarts. I know she’s not dead, because I made her boyfriend promise to call me if anything happened to her.

I’ve been friends with the Picky Vegetarian for 20 years or so, best friends for–what, 15 years?–and she continues to surprise and amaze. Take this nugget, gleaned on a recent phone call:

“I have a rule about mixing fruit with non-fruit. [Name redacted] broke the rule when she put apples into the salad.”

No strawberries in spinach salad? No orange sections with seitan (I would say chicken, but look at her name)? Mango in spicy Thai noodles?

“No.”

Said dismissively, as if to think otherwise is ludicrous.

At last! I am actually touching words that are my own (which sounds kinda weird, actually). I am editing to provide CLARITY and CONTINUITY*. And to make sure not as many people throw my book against the wall if it indeed gets sold, published and distributed.

I am still reading the same book I started a week ago. It’s odd not to be plowing through books. The rotten side-effect of a busy life.

Oh, and have I mentioned I am now averaging two pots of coffee, one pot of tea, and one can of diet Coke a day? Is it possible for one’s bloodstream to be made entirely of caffeine?

Megan

*My own interpretation of my agent’s notes. She was more specific, and not as generally damning. Yeah, welcome to my inner life.

I got my Mother’s Day nap, yay, and a hanger steak and key lime pie and this beer, a collaboration between Brooklyn Brewery and Schneider-Weisse (weiss beer is my favorite). I haven’t drunk it yet, it’s waiting for me. Like a golden liquid beckoning in the vista.

I got the first of some revision feedback today, so I can dive into Road to Passion and get working.

I called my mom on Friday, she STILL hasn’t called me back, so I didn’t bother trying on Sunday–I think that makes me a bad daughter, for sure, but honestly? A mother who doesn’t call her daughter back? Close to Mother’s Day, when her daughter is a mother? Pardon me for being pettish.

This weekend I wore the Goal Diet Jeans, the ones that I promised I wouldn’t wear until I could wear them comfortably. And now I can! I’ve lost about ten pounds, and want to go down a little bit more, so those jeans are loose and stuff. I guess moving, stress, lack of sleep, stress, panic, etc. does have its benefits.

The Shiny New Agent is sending a revision letter my way, which means my OCD refuses to let me start writing Road To Desire until Road To Passion has a delightfully chic fork stuck in it.

Now that I have the space in my office (!), however, I think I’m gonna do one of those collage-y things with pix of hero and heroine and baddie from RTD so I’m all set to go when RTP is done. Updates on if that works for me, or if it’s just a timesuck, later on.

Meanwhile, Happy Mom’s Day!

Over at the Riskies, talking about Mother’s Day.

Just sayin’.

Kwana gave me props on her blog, and I have to assemble my brain cells and post something in reply, but I am so worn out the thought of it makes me yawn.

Meanwhile, enjoy a fine painting by Vermeer. One of my most treasured memories is when my uncle came to visit New York several years ago, and we went to the Met, where they had some Vermeers. He is a decorative artist, which means he can do all that fancy interior painting (and he advised us very well when we were deciding on paint colors: “You can’t go wrong with Atrium,” he said. Wise words, David, wise words). He cried when he saw the Vermeers; he’d never seen one in person, he grew up in Jamaica, was educated in London, and has lived in California for a gazillion years.

Here are the rules:
Link the person who tagged you.
Mention the rules in your blog.
Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them.
Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.
So here goes, a few quirky thinks about me :

[the thing is, I think I’ve pretty much revealed my quirks here already. So when I repeat myself, just remember that I am OPEN and HONEST. And quirky.]

1. I cannot start reading a book without a bookmark in hand.
2. I like to alphabetize things. I just alphabetized the spices in my new spice rack.
3. I count things all the time: Stairs I’ve climbed, seconds I’ve paused, spoons in the drawer. It is making me crazy that we’ve lost one of our spoons somewhere, so we only have seven all told.
4. It drives me INSANE that a lot of buildings don’t have a 13th floor, and I will not watch the numbers go from “12″ to “14″ when I am riding the elevator.
5. I drink a liter bottle of seltzer every day.
6. I don’t like meeting people I admire, because I know they probably won’t like me, I might not like them, or it will just be disappointing. Which is why I don’t ever want to meet Clive, or Richard, or Sean. I do like meeting writers I admire, however, which is how I got to be friends with Sabrina and Loretta.

I am tagging:

Goedi (knowing full well he will hate me for this), the Super Librarian, Stacy , Angela , Nicole and You!