So, we are in triage/emergency/family crisis mode here on Cape Cod, going through books, and papers, and books, and clothes, and books, and a parrot collection (don’t ask), mugs, and books, and photographs and all, and, in times of crisis, I THOUGHT people lost their appetite.

Not me. Not only did I LOSE my dad, I am going to GAIN weight. Apparently I haven’t met a snack I didn’t like.

Geez.

But my family is awesome, and you guys, and all your comments have been awesome, and I am so, so grateful to have such a near, far and somewhere else community out there.

Thanks, all.

Megan

Of what I hate:

People who take the time and effort to make recommendation lists on Amazon, then say things like “really good,” “sexy novel,” or “Magical. I couldn’t put it down.”

How, exactly, Ms. List-Maker, do you think you’re actually adding to anybody’s life or reading list with those vague phrases? Incredibly unhelpful. I regret clicking through to your stupid list, never mind that some of you have the SAME DAMN AUTHOR listed many times over in the same list. If I wanted that kind of list, I would check out an author’s backlist.

Not helpful, I repeat; even Carla Kelly and Loretta Chase have written duds in their day.

Okay, so this might be the most inane one I’ve seen thus far: “As soon as I started this, I couldn’t stop till I was done.”

To the woman who spent twenty minutes on the abductor machine at my gym Sunday:

I appreciate that you were enjoying the latest issue of Harper’s Bazaar, even though I stopped reading it myself when they brought in the new Editor-in-Chief, Katherine Betts, I think? (hey! I was right!), and never got back to it even when they replaced Betts with Glenda Bailey (even though I loved Marie Claire under Bailey’s stewardship. Go figure, I’m fickle).

What I don‘t appreciate is that you were sitting on the machine, not working out, which meant no-one else could get on the machine and actually use it for more than just sitting.

I hope your thighs turn into mush. I hate you.

Sincerely,

Megan

*Not the Foxy song; that’s “Gett Off,” anyway.

I am being such a whiner lately.

Snap out of it!

I need someone to come over and kick me in the ass. So, barring that (and no, Goedi, please do not volunteer!), can you suggest a virtual kick in the ass?

Many thanks, dotcomrades.

So this is the backyard of our new house. We are currently living in our rental, waiting for construction to be done. We had to remove the illegal one-story addition and deck, and are replacing it with a legal two-story addition and porch. Since the NYC Dept. of Buildings is as slow as me writing a book, it looks as though it will take awhile.

I can see why people do illegal work; it took us four months to get the permits, then the permit expired because of our contractor’s insurance. Now we’re waiting for the newly-issued permits, only the DOB needed proof the illegal addition was removed. So I took pix of stuff that wasn’t there. Oy.

I will update the news when I can, but meanwhile–just don’t ask. Not for awhile.

Life is way too busy these days, and I just have not been able to get my lame ass back onto the Road To Passion. Freelance work is 2-3 hours, gym is 2-3 hours, Son is in school 6 1/2 hours, which leaves maybe an hour to do something else. Like laundry. Or grocery shopping*. Or blogging (which, as you can tell, takes me maybe ten minutes. Twenty if I want to scout out a REALLY HOT** picture of Clive. Oh, btw, a mom friend is a makeup artist and her friend does Clive’s makeup. How many degrees of separation is that? She offered to see if I could meet him, but I declined. I mean, what would be the point? Besides feeling all weird about it. I prefer to keep my obsessions at a distance). So when do I write?
Aagh. I have to figure it out, the book’s NOT GOING TO WRITE ITSELF, MISSY!

Okay. I have now humiliated myself here by talking like somebody’s mom (caveat: not mine), and admitting I have a problem.
If you’re doing something important to you that doesn’t contribute to family well-being, etc., how do you fit it in?

Megan
*I saw Queer Eye/Top Chef guy Ted Allen at the grocery store yesterday.
**He’s not more than usually hot here, but he is with his wife, who looks normal, which is nice.

My mom is a fruitcake. And, if I wanted to go all Running With Scissors here, I could share stories that would draw the cyber hugs. But since there’s no point, and I’ve realized the woman is, indeed, crammed full of nuts and dried fruit, I’m over it.

BUT she continues to troll Craig’s List, sending me listings for Heywood-Wakefield furniture, which we have an apartment load full of.
So I pointed out to her:
a) We have all the furniture–namely, Heywood-Wakefield furniture–we need.
b) We have no money.
c) The listing is in Providence, RI, and we are conveniently located in Brooklyn, NY, with no car.

I am a good woman.

I say this because I got Borat from the library for me and the Likes Uncomfortable Situation Comedy Way More Than I Do Spouse to watch. I am expecting I’ll spend most the movie grimacing.

Writing is going well, I say guardedly (note: Stephen King said “The road to Hell is paved with adverbs.”).

Reading is not going well. I tossed a book after two chapters because I just didn’t care if these people got together or not. My TBR shelves are mocking me. I am not sure what to choose next.

AND CAN I SAY I AM SO TIRED OF WEARING MY WINTER COAT?!? IT’S APRIL, PEOPLE!
[I know. The weather is a) a boring topic b) not controllable and c) predictable in blogdom. But still.]

Too busy lately. The freelance job is fun, but takes up that hour or so a day I used to have to myself.

Today, laundry. On one of the coldest days of the year (for those of you who don’t FEEL MY PAIN, I have to go outside to the laundromat, humping the granny cart down from the fourth floor. Boo hoo).

But today is also the Delightful Phone Friend’s birthday! Happy Birthday, DPF!

Hm. Off to sort socks.

Megan