So what did I do this weekend?

Not this:

I love Bond. I read all the books from my parents’ library when I was far too young to do so (and whose parents have ALL the books? Yup. Mine.), I saw the films, only I petered out somewhere around Pierce Brosnan, and of course Timothy Dalton, much as I love him, was execrable.

I will get to see it at some point, when the Son can be disposed of.

Instead, I cleaned the baseboards in our bedroom. AND swept under the bed. And–oh, yes, the excitement is building, I can tell–I cleaned the windows, inside and out. I did feel rather pleased with myself, although not nearly as happy as I would’ve been if I’d Bonded.

Many movies this weekend: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, which I liked, but the heroine’s hair was both hideous and complicated. The Super-Smart Lawyer and I had wine and ground lamb pizza. Much wine. Toby Stephens is hawt. We agreed a dance party at our house is in order. Apropos of nothing, just that we both like dancing (and did I mention the wine?!?)

Then on Saturday, the Spouse and I watched Volver, starring Penelope Cruz, who tops the Spouse’s list, now she’s gotten a little older and is packing on a little weight. It was good, did not veer into magic realism as I’d feared. We drank Spanish wine to honor the country of origin.

And on Sunday, in a rare outdoor-Frampton sighting, I saw Burn After Reading AT A MOVIE THEATRE with the Greco-Sicilian Doctor. She liked it more than I did, which is good, ’cause we were celebrating her birthday.

Yeah, yawn. I’m dull. But well-viewed.

The Alpha Dog and I have made a standing weekly writing date, so yesterday, I managed 1,000 words! And since I’m writing a novella, I’m only about 8 thousand words away from finishing. Where I’ll submit it, I have no idea, but I need to get this story out of my head. Two of my readers–the Delightful Phone Friend and the P-I-C–have both read what I had a few weeks ago, and said it was fantastic. The DPF did say it’s not erotica, so it can’t sell there, and it’s too short and sex-driven to survive as anything other than a novella in a like-minded group of stories, so we’ll see what happens.

And my agent said she’d be open to reading–and if she likes it, representing–my revised Mothering Heights. I want to revisit it and deepen the emotional depth to make it less fluffy (but no less funny, I hope). Not quite sure how to do that, but I bet if I can up the stakes for my heroine and make it less of a straight romance it will have a chance of selling.

This weekend my friend from high school–WHO HAS NO NICKNAME!–is coming to visit. We plan on drinking beer, eating steaks, and making fun of people’s outfits. Maybe see some art, too. And perhaps I will unearth her nickname.

I’ve known her since before I was a compulsive nicknamer; she sat in front of me in French class, and like me, she had long hair. Unlike me, she did something new to it every day (French braid, appropriately enough, side ponytails, twists, barrettes, etc.), so I hated her. Rational, not so much. But when I got to know her, she became one of my best friends, and remains so, even now.

My faux critique partner (also known as the Wise Writing Friend), Carolyn Jewel, has posted the cover of her new book, My Wicked Enemy, out this summer.You can congratulate her on the awesome cover, and pre-order here.

Okay, so Kristie has been on a veritable Crusade (minus the slaughter of non-Christians) to get people to watch the BBC production of North & South (not the thing starring Patrick Swayze).

I watched it Monday and Tuesday, and YOW! Kristie was right. It was full of passion, and history, and well-developed characters, and OHYMGOD Richard Armitage almost makes Clive Owen look soft. Almost, I said.

My heart was in my throat for the last episode, and I got all gooey right at the end. You know when. So, yeah, Kristie is right, and this is such a fantastic deep miniseries. It is very much middle-class Victorian Pride & Prejudice, full of both for both hero and heroine. The workingman’s Mr. Darcy, someone commented about John Thornton. Very apt.

And the random meme Kwana and Elizabeth tagged me for:

7 random facts about Megan:

1. I do not drink coffee when I am hungover. Tea with milk and sugar, please.
2. I know, and am proud of the fact, that I am a great dancer. One of the few things that I am not neurotic about.
3. I own a dress once owned by multi-Pulitzer Prize winner Archibald MacLeish’s wife.
4. My favorite color is black. Seriously. Not just for the shock value.
5. I am a third-generation Ivy Leaguer. Edited to add: My dad went to Harvard, my mom went to Radcliffe, my grandfather to Yale, my grandmother to Smith, and my uncle went to Brown, Yale, and Harvard, not all at the same time (B.A.. Master’s. Ph.D.).
6. For the life of me, I cannot make pancakes.
7. We almost named my son Oakley, after NY Knicks player Charles Oakley (pictured above).