Ah, geez, could I be any more of a downer? If I’m not boo-hooing over how much I miss my dad, I’m griping about my inability to find time to write, delicious food I’m not eating, and how tired I am.

So–why mess with success?

I’ll be taking a break–just for a few days–so I can concentrate on middle school stuff, and lots of other things that are CONVENIENTLY SCHEDULED FOR THE EXACT SAME TIME.

But today is World AIDS Day, which is important to remember. Everyone has had someone in their life touched by AIDS; in my case (and I’ve talked about it here before), it was my uncle Paul. Not only was Paul gay, he was frequently unpleasant, incredibly intelligent, combative, selfish, manipulative and actually crazy. I didn’t like him. He caused problems between me and my dad, difficulties with other members of the family and was a burden on his siblings. But, for all that, he deserved the chance to live a long life, not to die of AIDS back in–I think it was 1986. I wish he could have had the chance to get well, stay on his meds, get a professorship somewhere, finally decide on which of his boyfriends he wanted to stick with and stop drinking my diet soda.

Please stop a moment and think of all the lives lost. For me, what is most painful about the disease is that the initial stigma made working on a cure much less of a priority. Imagine how far along science would be if we had attacked finding a cure with the same alacrity we’ve had for other, less controversial, diseases.

Megan

*An X song. You know by now, don’t you, that I can find a song to suit every occasion?

Too busy, not to mention insanely dull, to post actual words. But I did down/up load some pictures, so I thought I’d share:

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.

So normally this spot is a place for self-deprecation, not self-aggrandizement. But today that is all changed, because–

TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY!

I am 45, and pretty okay with that. A few weeks ago, we had a Dance Party Fiesta to celebrate the birthday, and my nearest and dearest came over to the house and celebrated. Here’s a picture of me with the Super-Smart Lawyer (the female one) and frequent commenter Hatrack (the male one).

The party was fabulous, with loads of dancing fun. The funniest part–which the Super-Smart Lawyer’s Awesome BF noticed, and made due fun of–was that every time a new song came on, I gushed, “Ooh! I love this song!” Well, duh, Megan, you assembled the entire playlist, and of course you love all the songs.

I am still in Minnesota, so the Thoughtful Spouse texted me last night, and then called me first thing to wish me a HB. He sent a card, too, which I got yesterday. Tonight the Minnesota relatives are bowing to my demands and we’re having steak for dinner. Yum! And mushrooms in wine sauce, double yum!

Okay. Tomorrow, back to insecurity and angst. Today, we’re having birthday cake.

So this weekend was nutty; first, I went to Book Expo America, where I wandered the conference hall with Andrea Pickens, a wonderful, smart Regency-set historical author (her new books from Grand Central will be pubbed under a different name, which I will report when I can find). I met up with Amanda McCabe and Diane Gaston at the Met, where we oohed over the Decorative Arts exhibits and had lunch at the cafe. I felt very Ladies-Who-Lunch that day, it was cool. Then, my cousin arrived from San Francisco, and the 9 Year-Old and I went to pick him up at the airport. He was in just for the weekend, wanting to a) hang with us b) see New York c) shop for sneakers and d) catch up with old friends, not necessarily in that order.

Saturday we all went sneaker-shopping, checking into New York’s various cool sneaks shops, places where I was totally intimidated, way too old, and definitely not cool. We stopped at Economy Candy, where we got chocolate-covered halvah and the 9 Y.O. bought more jelly beans than I should have allowed.

We ate dosa–Indian crepes–at a Soho joint, where the Star-Struck, and Slightly Faint Spouse saw Carla Gugino. Then the cousin went off to see Mos Def and Talib Kweli, and we trucked home, where the Still Faint Spouse and I watched Taken, which was surprisingly not cheesy.

Next day, we did errand-y things, but then–!–I went out to meet Amanda, Diane, Hope Tarr and Kwana, the P-I-C, for dinner. It was so lovely to hang out with them.

Monday I took the cousin to the airport, got stuck in some wicked traffic, came home and met the Picky Vegetarian for a day of Chinese food, overwrought cupcakes and much talking. And THEN–no, I’m not done–I went out to Lady Jane’s Salon, where Amanda and Diane were doing readings from their new book.

But today I have a respite. I hope not to talk to anybody for a few hours. I was happy with myself that I didn’t get a panic attack at the thought of seeing and hanging with so many people, that I didn’t get stupid (it happens), that I made good choices and plans.

And back to work, first freelance, then some fiction. Later in the week, a much-needed hair cut. And then more weekend fun, starting with an evening with the Picky V., who is willing to come out to Brooklyn to get her Megan on. Yay!

So the long Birthday Weekend was lovely, much to my surprise (things here at Casa Frampton are not always as shiny-gleamy as they look from the outside. Sometimes people are stressed. Just saying.). The Spouse de Cuisine grilled a whole turkey, which he’d marinated for 24 hours prior, and others remarked that the turkey was “life-changing.” Plus he grilled pork belly, which was just sinful. And I made ginger cake with crystallized ginger frosting, which turned out great.

I’m therefore oddly energetic, something I don’t say very often, and I am hoping to a) kick ass and b) take names. The Book Expo America is this week, and friend and fellow Risky Amanda McCabe (along with RR Diane Gaston) is coming to town. Plus my cousin visits for the weekend, which will be awesome fun.

Hopefully some fiction writing will occur, too, since this story isn’t going to write itself. Even with me helping, it might not get done that well. But, you know, nothing will happen if I don’t write.

And I’ve worked out eight days in a row, which is just crazy. Still weigh the same, but see what I’ve been eating, above, and marvel that I’m not a house right now.

When I was little, we lived in New Hampshire, in a tiny town (population: 1000) about 30 minutes north of Hanover, New Hampshire, home to Dartmouth College.

We lived in a huge house, the former vicarage of a church, which was conveniently placed to our right. Huge–I had two rooms, one of which had a jungle gym in it. Our bay windows looked out over the big circular drive leading into the church.

So one year, my parents had some sort of stubborn detente (my mom is the Most Stubborn Woman in the World, btw, my dad was commuting weekly to Boston, working 14-hour days and then collapsing on the weekends), and NO-ONE took the Christmas tree down. It sat, forlorn and dropping needles, as January fed into February into March and finally into April. If I had been older, like not eight, I would have done it, if just to show myself as the Best McLaughlin.

The only reason one of my parents caved–I think it was my mom, because she was more sensitive to these things–and took the tree down was because the following week was Easter, and it woulda been tacky to keep up the birthday things for the guy when he was dead. Never mind that neither of my parents were religious. The neighbors would be able to see the dying throes of the tree, and know the worst about my family.

I think of moments like that and realize no, I did not have a normal upbringing. I don’t always like to share stuff like that, because it seems self-aggrandizing, as in ‘look how weird I am!,’ but it’s my reality. Which is probably why I am itching to take the tree down on January 2.

And I think about it every year as Easter approaches.

Most of you know my dad died a little over a year ago. In that time–and due entirely to Dad’s death–my uncle and I have grown very close. I can just hear my dad now, growling: “I had to die for this to happen? Well, next time I’ll make sure I do it sooner.”

Today is my uncle’s two-year anniversary of sobriety. I am so, so proud of him–it’s hard being an Irish workaholic who always thinks someone is smarter than they are (even if they are SO NOT). He stopped drinking due to my dad, and he and I both knew he could never take it up again after Dad died. Dad would be really pissed.

My uncle is coming to visit this weekend, and I look forward to getting that big McLaughlin bear hug I loved getting from my father. My uncle and dad are very similar, down to the senses of humor and the great belly laugh, and hanging with him has made me miss Dad a little less.

I love you, Jon.

Love,

Megala
PS: Left to right: My dad, my aunt, her daughter (peeking over shoulder), her husband (although not, surprisingly, her daughter’s dad), my uncle.

I went through the sobbies on Friday, not too many, but still, and Saturday the dreaded Back Spasm appeared, which it usually does the day after a traumatic event (note to Spouse: Do not pick fights with me. You’ll have to be tying my shoes for a week).

But yesterday we got our tree, and had the first snow, and got stuff done, which is always good. Today I am kinda hobbling around, but still able to move things from one place to another.

I am enthused about returning to work on this contemporary thingie I’ve had banging around in my head, and will be doing so at the Alpha Sparkle Dog’s house this Tuesday. Meanwhile, my agent remain on the case, but nobody is buying anything lately these days, and we just gotta wait until after the inauguration, she thinks, for something to happen.

My family talked amongst itself on Friday, and boy, does my family rock. They are tremendous people, and I love them all to bits. Especially my uncle Jon, who hurts more than I do, since at least I have the Nine Year-Old to distract me. And the P-I-C commented here, and the Picky Vegetarian sent me a lovely email, and boy is it great to have such amazing friends.

The 9 y.o. and I went and saw Twilight, which I thought did as best as it could to translate a teenaged girl’s fantasy onto film. Because, of course, each of us have differing fantasies, so how could one universal image ever satisfy? But that Robert Pattinson was a darn good Edward. My only quibble was Jacob, I thought the actor who played him was too young and mushy-looking, but that’s minor. And I’m not a teenaged girl.

Oh, AND, we bought and won a vintage blow-mold Frosty the Snowman, which will be adorning our back deck!! I am beyond thrilled!

More later. Meanwhile, thanks for stopping by.

The birthday was wonderful! Thanks to everyone who stopped by and spared a kind thought, even if you did not post a comment.

There was dim sum, big cocktail rings, hoisin sauce, pix, awesome gifts (go, Netflix!), sushi, hugs, tear-worthy cards, delish dessert, sake, more hugs, more pix, and lots of non-stress. A good day.

The only thing missing was Clive on my doorstep, but pursuing your dreams is what makes you push forward in life, right?

Today looks to be good as well, with some writing planned. Actually planned!

Yay!

(Yes. It does feel weird for me to be so content. My brain is looking for some potential area of stress. Whatever. It’s all good).