Ruh-roh. I am becoming one of those batty ladies who dismisses things and people out of hand, just because I’ve taken an inexplicable dislike to them (as in, Julia Roberts. What has she ever done to me?)

But in this case, I think it’s entirely explicable. Because really, Mariah, would it kill you to go up a size? Talk about your golden globes:

Plus she does that dumb diva wave thing, where she waves like a three year-old, flapping her fingertips against her palm instead of waving like a normal person.

I took my son down to his grandparents’ yesterday, so I had a whole half a day to myself, which was awesome. I ended up buying a dress:

got to hang out with Alpha Sparkle Dog (aka Liz Maverick) and met the Able to Leave Work At The Almost Normal Time of 7:00 pm Spouse and went out for Thai food and then to see The Hangover.

Oh my goodness. The Hangover was one of the funniest movies I’ve ever seen, so funny, and so incredibly wrong. Just great. I howled during the whole thing, and was a lot more relaxed than I’ve been in a long time.

Today I have to do a ton of advance work so I can take next week off to attend RWA National in DC without losing my daily freelance pay. And then tonight the Spouse and I are going to a Those Darlins show, which should be fun.

So if you review, you will see no writing has been done by me. I am going to have to, again, knuckle down and figure out a better schedule for myself and my writing, since summer vacation is no vacation for one of us. I mean, I love hanging out with my son, and all, but it means I have to jam that much more other stuff into fewer hours.

Oh, and by the way? The pad thai I made turned out really meh. But I twittered about is failure, and my next-door neighbors, who are foodies, gave me their pad thai recipe, which they say is good. And it looks better than the one I used, even just reading the ingredients and their amounts.

Okay, back to freelance.

I went to pick the Son up from school. By then, the snow had turned to a sleeting, icy rain. Not festive at all. Anyhoo, we decided to wait for the bus, which never came, so we walked the 14 blocks back home.

When we finally got home–an hour after school had let out–we were both drenched. So now, before all of you, I must confess. I am wearing:

Purple fuzzy Hello Kitty lounge pants. With sparkle thread.

A thin black silk undershirt.

A pink Old Navy cardigan

A cardinal red Brooklyn sweatshirt.

I definitely look like a Technicolor Yawn. Or my mom, going out for a special night on the town.

If you follow Boing Boing, you mighta seen their post about Baad Sheep, which sells ridiculously hideous sweaters online. Apparently they also host  “Baad Sheep Ugly Sweaters” parties, which would be awesome to attend if one lived in California. Which one does not.

Anyhoo, I was telling the Spouse about it, because he sometimes appreciates my taste for the godawful, and I told him about the Festive Collection, which has those themed holiday sweaters ladies of a certain age wear when going to the mall to get all ooey about Precious Moments figurines, or to pick up the BOGO sale at Bath&Body Works.

“Should we get matching sweaters for the holidays?”

My heart skipped a beat. “Dude, don’t tease me. You say the word, I’ll go to Kohl’s right now and order us some matching sweatshirts. I would love that.”

He laughs, and shakes his head, as much in dismay at my tacky bent as to say ‘no, are you kidding me, woman, it was a joke!’

Maybe someday. Someday when he’s lost more of his marbles and has to drive with his mouth open (notice sometime: All old men drive with their mouths open. Why is that?).

And no, ‘I’m With Stupid’ shirts don’t count.

Any and all opinions are welcome. I love them, especially in that dark blue, but I’m not sure if I’m just channeling my new wave past.

Today I am wearing red snakeskin boots and black velvet pants. Not so much to prove that Shoulder Guy was wrong when he said I looked like a mom in her 40s (meaning to insult me, natch), but because it is cold in the house and I am too cheap to raise the heat just for me. And I’m about to go slog out in the rain, so red snakeskin seem like the way to go. Black velvet is always cozy.

In related news, one of my young-ish relatives (20s) said I had distinct way of dressing. If ‘distinct’ means odd, then I think I do.

First, thanks for the nice responses to my dad post. I really appreciate all of you responding to what can only be termed a prickly post.

Second, I am writing! Consistently! And I think it’s going well, although I’m not sure, of course; every day I think ‘well, that wasn’t too hard,’ which makes me think I’m doing it wrong. I’m almost at 10,000 words, only 75,000 more to go.

Third, I am getting progressive lenses in my glasses. TRI-focals. Anyone have them yet? All I know about them is that they’re wicked expensive.

Fourth–and yes, there is a fourth–why do women wear t-shirts with Betty Boop on them? And these women, just saying, are not women who would look at all good wearing a tiny, flippy skirt anda conspicuous garter? I cannot help but make the comparison between the luscious cartoon character (and I’m not saying I like the way she looks, but ‘luscious’ is an apt descriptor) and the woman wearing the image. And the live woman does not do well in the comparison.

First of all, a caveat: I am incredibly crabby today. See the post below for why.

But second? Second, I DO NOT WISH TO LOOK LIKE A GOTHIC CLOWN this fall. And yet, the makeup companies are launching tons of dark, dark “smoldering” colors for lips and eyes that will make me look like a daguerrotype. PLUS, I DID that look the first time around! I used to wear super-dark lipstick, smoky eyes, blah, blah, blah. People with darker skin can handle those rich colors, but me? I look like Morticia Addams, without the cool-ass dress. And the knock’emdead figure.

And I know myself. I love dark colors, I will get sucked in, and end up buying something that’s called something like ‘witch’s blood’ or ‘burnished crow’s wing’ (oh, for goodness’ sake, one of the MAC descrips is “burnished eggplant.” Kill me now) and then I will wear it, and then what? I WILL LOOK LIKE A CLOWN!

I am not fond of clowns.

Megan

PS: Did you know there is a word–coulrophobia–meaning abnormal or exaggerated fear of clowns?
PPS: I image-googled “fall 2008 makeup” and this is the first picture that appeared. I rest my case.

So if you’ve come by recently, you might think I am just a vain so-and-so what loves to show off her gowns, her family, and her recent ink.

Not so, grasshopper.

So in the WRITING thing, let me just say my new agent is pitching That Subtle Knot to editors this week. And that I am HALFWAY DONE with the super-sexy novella, because I have discovered a new place to write that feels more creative than here in front of the iMac. And, thanks to the Faux Critique Partner, I have come up with a much more complex reason my hero in On Bold Adventure is on his particular mission.

Yay!

Okay, enough gawking at tats and stuff.

Here’s the Bea Arthur dress:

Yes, those are PANTS underneath the two panels of skirt. How crazy is that?!?