Yesterday, my cousin* and I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where I was lucky enough to see my favorite painting ever, John Singer Sargent’s Madame X. It was so nice to just wander through the museum, I loved seeing all the different exhibits (and I squealed when I saw the decorative rooms).

I’m kinda again with the crappy today, but yesterday was good.

I think I need a week or two to crawl into a warm, dark hole. But since that is not in the offing, I am going to work on what’s bothering me. Bleh.

Megan

*I introduced her to North & South last night. She was suitably entranced.

So I am trying to get off my dependence on Q-Tips. I have been using them–in my ears, where they shouldn’t go–for over 20 years. They get so itchy! But the NPR-Listening Spouse heard a report about how Q-Tips are bad because they remove all the helpful stuff and leeave the ear canal dry, which makes them itchy. Ergo, I have been stoking my own itchy ears for years. And, of course, there are all those other dangers of Q-Tippiness.

But man, is it hard to stop doing. I think it’d be easier for me to give up my nightly beer than this. I am on Day Three. I hope to make it to four.

Visit Marianne Mancusi and Liz Maverick to see me in pure idiocy. And to see very nice pix of MM, LM, EKM and Leanna, whose birthday we were celebrating.

I don’t feel so bad anymore, though, ’cause of your nice comments, and the ebbing of time (Cindy, the story about your friend asking for more is just mind-boggling. WTF? I don’t think I’ve ever been so rude).

I sent my agent the partial of Road to Desire/On Bold Adventure on Sunday; we’ll see what she says. It’s much more traditional romance-y than That Subtle Knot/Road to Passion, but it’s still edgy.

I started reading Lover Enshrined yesterday. Already love it, already have rolled my eyes in several places. Isn’t that what a guilty pleasure is all about?

Hey, Valentine’s Day is this week! Now I finally have a legitimate excuse to wear heart socks, heart tees, heart hair barrettes, my heart earrings, and–yes. I am secretly a muttony mall rat kind of gal. Not that I don’t wear the heart gear at other times, but now I won’t look cheesy but current. Go, me!

Valentine’s Day isn’t a big deal here in Frampton-Land because of the Eight Year-Old, who clamors for SOMEONE to stay with him in the evenings. Geez, kid, learn how to operate the stove on your own! Mommy needs a cocktail!

So usually the Not Traditionally Romantic, But Puts Up With His Gooey Wife Spouse and I have something specially nummy to eat, open a bottle of something, and watch a movie. Sounds dull? Yeah, YOU try being exciting after 19 years.

[We did buy a potrack this weekend. Next up, lamps for the dining room, hallway and foyer. See above for one of the choices. Ah, wedded bliss!]

What are you doing this year?

For your pleasure, a Tiffany lamp:

Who would want this in their home? And if there is someone out there, NEVER INVITE ME OVER.

The Eight Year-Old is back (reluctantly) to school, the Spouse is about as reluctantly back to work, and I am back to whatever passes for normal in my life.

Which means:

1. Stop eating. Just, like, stop already.

2. More exercise.

3. More writing.

4. Less hand-wringing.

5. Fewer neurotic “episodes” (as in, ‘why isn’t he/she getting back in touch? I know, he/she hates me!’)

6. More makeup. Stop looking like a Mom.

7. Less time-wasting. I’m talking to you, Bloglines!

8. More vegetables. I love veggies, but the pesky fridge keeps being too hot or too cold! Luckily, I have me a new fridge come March. Le bliss.

9. Just as much devout attention paid to Clive Owen (the hero for Road to Passion).

10. And an equal amount to Sean Bean (the hero of the next book)

So I have this thing where, if I don’t make it to the gym in, say, three or four days (it’s been since WEDNESDAY!), and the MIL is arriving, pizza-slice costume in tow tomorrow, so I won’t get to go while she’s here (because am I going to just sail off and go the gym for two hours, leaving her on her own? I am not that bad of a DIL), so I wonder why bother going today, when I really have to clean the house, because the MIL is coming, she of the scrupulously clean house, me of the CDs in piles everywhere house, and I have to vacuum, that’s exercise, isn’t it? and now I’m depressed since I won’t be able to work out until Friday.

So I’ll get fat and depressed. And therefore eat more.

Knowing all this doesn’t make me not do it. I hate that about me.

One of my closest mom-friends I’ve known since our sons were in pre-K. They’ve been friends ever since, and now they are both finally in the same class again.

It was just her birthday, and the Hates To Socialize With Stupid People, so Likes These Folks Spouse and I went to the friend’s house for her celebration. I brought her a copy of the Introvert and the Extrovert In Love, which I thought was funny, because she is Miss Chatty, and her husband (whom I like a whole heckuva lot, too) is Mr. Dour.

Apparently, I thought it was funnier than they did. I am so in the doghouse. He is not an introvert, it seems, just a moody Irish faux- bordering on near-alcoholic. My bad.

I shouldn’t be allowed to parties after all.

. . . Makes Me Really Sweaty.

There’s a writing theory that says you should figure out what your hero and heroine absolutely, positively would not do, and write a plausible reason for them to do it.

Me, I’m going to be presenting a workshop in public at a writing conference. The New England Conference next Spring. And, if we are approved, I’ll be presenting three additional workshops, two at National, one at the Beau Monde Conference. There I’ll have friends accompanying me, so it won’t be so terrifying. As terrifying.

I did conference planning for years so I wouldn’t have to do anything more than introduce people at panels. I get terrified (and really sweaty) at the thought of being around more than a few people (hence the occasional drunken lapse, which I attribute to a) nerves b) low tolerance and c) I like the way alcohol tastes).

What would make you do what you never, ever would? Like, say, delurk at some neurotic author’s blog?

I know it’s all kinds of wrong–to Austen purists, as well as anyone else who loves the book–but I still like the 1940s version of Pride And Prejudice starring Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier. Yes, the costumes are all wrong, yes Lady Catherine never did that in the book, etc., but it was the first Austen I saw, and I saw it a lot back in the day.

I even made my captain-of-the-football-team boyfriend watch it with me. Shows you how desperate he was, huh?

Anyway, I just taped it to see if it stood up to my memories, and it does. So there.

That does not mean, however, I will be pulling out my old gaucho pants, pink Chinese slippers, Shalimar records, Bundeswehr tank tops, Judith Krantz books, ‘two wild and crazy guys,’ or a huge boombox to test the theory on those items.