So I tweeted about this already, but today I bought Quantum of Solace as well as N.K. Jemisin’s Hundred Thousand Kingdoms.

The former because some blog or another had a picture of Daniel Craig kissing a spy’s back, and he had no shirt on, and I wanted to see the scene. Sue me. And the used DVD was less than $5, so at least I’m not paying too much for my salacious interest.

The latter because an author whom I profoundly respect said she had read the book and couldn’t put it down, and then another author whom I also profoundly respect wrote a review at Amazon for it. That was about $10.

All in all, loss of control cost about $15 today.

Is it wrong that I am so excited about the Frampton boys decamping to South Jersey this weekend, leaving me alone in Brooklyn?

Because I am really excited.

So New York City requires that students apply to go to middle school. Let’s repeat: APPLY TO GO TO MIDDLE SCHOOL. That’s sixth grade, guys. Geez. My guy is a fifth-grader, which means Mom has to overcome her fear of paperwork (a long-standing family trait, by the way, as evidenced by my parents’ numerous tax problems. See: Megan Does Her Parents’ Taxes So She Wouldn’t Get Thrown Out Of College, Triggering An Audit).

I have to copy his report cards, set up tours of schools, figure out where we think is the best place for him to go, and then apply. It makes my head ache just thinking about it. Seriously.

But this isn’t anything to fool around with (See: Megan Finds the Original Financial Aid Form from Brown Her Father Never Sent In Months After the Deadline, Even Though Brown Was Her First Choice), so I gotta get over myself.

Yuk.

Today I went to Target. But that is not the point of this post (despite your NEED for me to tell you about the great bargain on shredded part-skim mozzarella cheese I found. Never mind that I got lavender hand wash refills, SCORE!).

As usual, I went to the books section to see if there was anything that was “Bookmarked” and therefore within my miniscule budget. And was hit with a pang of envy* so great I felt ill. Because my first, and only, book came out a long, long time ago, and there are authors represented on those shelves who write what I write, and are good, but of course I think I am as good, or I wouldn’t bother writing. And I got super-envious that they were pubbed, and I am currently not.

That makes me feel like a lesser person, honestly. I am ashamed, and normally I accept that I can be a snarkster of the highest order, poking fun at people I like to judge. But this is something that is dangerously not nice, and I like to feel that I am, at heart, a nice person (I dubbed myself the oxymoronic Nice Bitch in talking to the Alpha Sparkle Dog the other day).

So what do I have to do to get over myself?

Write something that will sell. Be patient with those things that are out there that have not yet been completely measured and judged. Be supportive of all of us authors, even though my heart kerclumps when I hear someone else got another contract. Because, hopefully, someday I’ll be that pubbed person, and I wouldn’t want anyone to be mad at ME when they’re in Target (unless I snagged the last 12-pack of Coke Zero, $2.75, thanks very much).

Megan

*In high school, six of my friends and I went to a Halloween party dressed as the Seven Deadly Sins. I was Envy; oddly enough, no-one wanted to be Sloth.

So this week has been my own week of humiliating idiocy.

First, I was thoughtless and inadvertently hurt someone’s feelings. I feel terrible about it, and spent a lot of last night’s sleep wishing I weren’t such a heel.

Then, today I went to the gym, for the first time in a week, and forgot to bring my usual enormous tank top I put on over my bra top and workout pants. I didn’t want to go home and get it, so I went out to the gym floor with my midriff bared. Aagh! To cap it all off, a woman in the locker room afterward congratulated me for being so comfortable with my body that I wore that to work out in (Clearly, the woman does not know me at all). By which I took to mean, “Hey, you tubby cow, kudos for you for letting your 44 year-old body hang out there. I’d never do that myself, but you go, girl!”

If I had a convenient hole, I would go crawl inside. Chances are good, however, that I’d do something stupid in there, too.

I went to the department store today to look for bargains. And found some! But I also located the source of excess avoirdupois, which is just above my jeans. Aagh! Is that ME?

Yup. Luckily, Resolution Time is just around the corner, and damnit, if I won’t be joining millions of other Americans in vowing to lose weight. Not to mention spend less, write more, and break a few bad habits (beer a night, I’m talking to you!).

So, yeah, the Muffin Top doesn’t scare me as much as it would other times. I lost the Grief Weight last year, I can lose the I Love Life weight this year.

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?