So after reading many similar reviews of Conan, I decided not to see it on my birthday, because it didn’t look cheesy bad fun, it looked cheesy bad bad.

We went to see Crazy Stupid Love instead, and that was delightful. A good, solid, nuanced romantic-comedy, go figure!

But right around lunchtime I got an email from the Most Thoughtful Spouse Ever who had gotten Jason Momoa to hold up a sign wishing me a Happy Birthday. I shrieked in the office when I saw the pic. My co-workers came running to see if I’d had a stroke or something.

Very cool. Later on, I was a big doofus and totally forgot it was my birthday when I was doing another errand, so when I got a call on my cell–from someone who never calls my cell–I assumed something was wrong. D’oh!

It was a great day. And meanwhile, I’m waiting to hear about a variety of projects out being reviewed, and that’s cool, and work is awesome, and I’m not miserable. Go figure!

So this week is the week of my birthday, and normally it’s not that big a deal, and it’s not really this week, except it’s a way to get the Long-Suffering Spouse to take me to see Conan the Barbarian* the day it opens, which coincides with the anniversary of my birth.

Last night, we went to see Cowboys and Aliens, which was as I’d expected it to be: Not very good, but enjoyable. And let me say, someone who knows knew that one of the best parts of the film would be Daniel Craig’s ass. Because it was in many, many shots, framed by chaps (not assless chaps, mind you, that’d be gross). I was quite impressed.

Not so fun is the hot water heater leakage we dealt with Sunday–we still don’t have a hot water heater, which means cold showers. Luckily, it is summer, so is more tolerable, but still.

*This trailer is way bloody. So don’t watch if you’re squeamish.

Yes, I am the Queen of Hyperbole, why do you ask?

When I got home Saturday, the (Thoughtful) Spouse presented me with three packages: One contained a yoga DVD I had rented multiple times from the library, one had Richard Armitage (swoon!) reading Georgette Heyer’s Sylvester, and one was a bike helmet. Which meant on Sunday we went and got this:

Yesterday was lovely. I got up, worked on freelance, then headed back upstairs to take a nap. WIN1

Then I worked on my own writing, and finished this short Regency-set story I’ve been doing. WIN2

Then, McVane came up with the perfect anagram for my name: Tramp, Fang On Me. WIN3

The Picky Vegetarian, who’s been working like a dog WITH dogs (and cats) called, which was nice, but cell reception stinks so all I could hear was “Happy Birthday.” But still, it was nice. WIN3.1

After, I read more of The Way of Shadows by Brent Weeks, which the Faux Critique Partner recommended. WIN4

[Many, many happy birthday wishes from Twitter and Facebook, plus a special post from my P-I-C] WIN4.1

Then, STEAK! And family, and wine, and laughter. WIN5

A gift of tube mascara and Godiva chocolate. WIN6

After that? The Nocturnal Aunt and I watched North And South, and she adored it. WIN7

A really, really good day.

It’s Charles Darwin’s 200th birthday today, and there are plenty of places to read about how brilliant he was, and how his theories revolutionized the way we think.

You won’t read that here, however (even though it’s true).

One night, when I was a teenager–I must’ve been about 14, because my mom had already left by then–I was sick with a cold or something. All I remember is I felt crappy and I wanted someone to get me medicine or something or just make a fuss of me. Since it was the middle of the night, all of our apartment’s inhabitants were sleeping (we had a motley crew of friends and relatives living with us at any given time). Anyway, I went into my dad’s room, because I just wanted to be taken care of, damnit, and I tried really hard to wake him up. A very hard task.

Eventually, he sat up and said “Darwin was right!” in an emphatic tone, and lay back down and went right back to sleep.

I went and took care of myself. But I always thought it was really cool that my dad was dreaming about Darwin.

Happy Birthday, Charles!

I miss you so much.

Love,

Megala

It is Liz’s birthday today, and last Saturday, Liz’s BFF Marianne arranged a gathering of Liz’s friends and fans. Go here to see photographic evidence.
I gotta say–to don my goober hat for a minute–it’s been so great getting to be friends with Liz in the past few months. Where else could I find someone what hates scatalogical humor, loves Brits and glitter as much as I do, and is willing to shlep out to Brooklyn to crack the writing whip?

Love that woman.

And Liz’s book comes out in a week, so perhaps you’d like to pick it up?

I survived. I cannot go into details–I might feel nauseated again–except to say that apparently I do not enjoy amusement park rides. But I am a very good mom. A very good mom, indeed.

And I loved both Wall-E and Hellboy II: The Golden Army.

And right now VH-1 is showing the MOVIE I HAVE SEEN MORE THAN ANY OTHER MOVIE IN THE WORLD–EVER–WHICH IS THE LAST WALTZ starring The Band. One of my first major crushes was on guitarist Robbie Robertson. Like, major, wrote a fan letter, played all the records all the time, got into so many other groups because of the Band, which remains one of my favorite groups. And the best scene, the one with the Staples Singers, is on now. Sigh. Love that Mavis.

So I am chilling. Yay.

Only another 364 days until Birthday #10. Double yay.

Today I just couldn’t stand myself any longer, and I opened up The Dreaded Synopsis. Yup, still sucky. I tweaked, which mostly meant deleting whole chunks of text, and tried to make it appear as if it made sense.

Who knows if it does? Well, actually, I sent it to a couple of folks who might be telling me soon.

In other news, I went to Target yesterday and bought books (my thanks to Goedi, who mentioned that Minnesota does indeed have bookstores. No thanks for his sarcastic tone). I also bought a new pair of shorts, berry-colored madras, which made my cousin say I always dressed “interestingly.” She did mean it as a compliment, but I didn’t know it was that different. I am not conscious of trying to be different, I used to really dress outrageously, and I thought I was more normal now. It’s kinda cool I’m still not normal.

The Son is at sailing school today, and now that the Synopsis is done finished complete something, I can get back to creative writing. Friday is the Son’s birthday, and we will probably be going to the opening day of Hellboy II to celebrate. I not-so-secretly love that he is into that kind of dark, fantastic stuff.

In other words, and to make a long story short, and to cut to the chase, and other banal time cliches, I am really boring right now. It’s weird not to be insanely stressed.

Okay. More later. Aren’t you thrilled?

Megan

PS: No, the pic has nothing to do with anything. But it’s less boring than the text, no?

So, in a once-in-a-millennium event, I went out last night with a group of friends. It was fun, but the best part mighta been right before the main event:

Bartender, asking me and my friend where we were going next: What’s after this?

Me and Friend: Jekyll & Hyde.

Bartender: No, really. Where are you going?

Us: Really.

Bartender: Where’s your friend from?

Me: You’re gonna say New Jersey or something, right?

Bartender: Or Connecticut. Some place like that.

Us, sighing: Yeah. Jekyll & Hyde.