Okay, so it’s been FOR-freaking-EVER since I posted here, to which all I can say is: Honestly, there’s so little going on you’re just as happy I’ve been quiet.

I have been writing, perhaps a few words a day, which is an improvement from before. Not sure what I would do if I had to write more than, say, 100 words, but at least I am opening the document and moving forward, albeit at an infintesimally slow pace.

Work is great. I love my job. It is very busy–I bring my lunch, for a host of reasons, but the upshot of that is that I am at my desk, nearly non-stop, from 8:00am to 2:30pm, eating at my desk and stepping away only to microwave food and other such business.

School is winding down, for which the Spawn is quite grateful. He seems to have finally adjusted to middle school, just in time for it to be over.

I saw Thor, which I greatly enjoyed. I want to see it again.

I rejoined Weight Watchers (see that ‘always sitting at my desk’ thing, above), so I am committed to not buying new clothes, at least not unless I can buy smaller ones.

And…that’s about it. Sad, right?

I’m looking forward to warmer weather, but not to how some NYC women decide to dress for the climate. A tip from me: We don’t want to see as much as you want to show. Just saying.

1. My back is way better, thanks!

2. My synopsis? Not so much. Wah.

3. The 10 year-old has days off, so I won’t be posting or writing much. I will be heading to the Museum of Natural History, yay, and to Shake Shack, double yay!

4. My steampunk romance piece in Marie Claire has been pushed to the March issue.

5. I ADORED the final epi of Mad Men; I cannot believe what a horrible mother Betty is. Removes any sympathy I ever had for her. Don is a better parent. Yikes. Poor kids.

6. As always, I am sleepy.

7. Our backyard firepit is da bomb.

8. As are my husband’s Southwestern Bloody Marys (chipotles instead of horseradish, yum).

9. Back in a few days; hoping to get this synopsis done and relatively okay so I can start to write actual chapters. Trying a new tack in terms of plotting.

10. Blergh.

So my Best Friend from seventh grade through high school called today. He’d been talking to his sons about their yearbooks, and found our eighth grade yearbook. Apparently, what I thought I’d be in the future was an “English historian,” and that I was likely to be found, at any given moment, reading. My hobbies were reading and “record-listening.” And my nickname, it says, was Meegy, which I don’t think anyone but–no, actually, I don’t think anyone called me that. My freshman roommate (and her sister) called me, and still occasionally does call me, Meegie-Wumps, but that is just a weird freshman roommate thing. Did not catch on, and no, don’t start with it now.

Geez. But that career and hobby stuff is not so far from what I am like or am doing now, is it?

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.

1. I like the weekend.

2. People are tipsy.

Wait, three: I know, totally un-PC, but soft-core porn actor Evan Stone makes me laugh.

If you’ve got HBO, and there’s a late-night film with him it, give it a try (if you’re not skeeved out by porn; otherwise, skip it). What can I say? I like to watch him doing it.

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.

The P-I-C tagged me, bee-yotch, so now you all have to suffer. Here’s the meme:

Post the rules on your blog.

List 6 unspectacular quirks you have.

Tag 6 bloggers by linking them (so not doing that!)

Leave a comment on each person’s blog to let them know they’ve been tagged (so not doing that either!)

And my unspectacular quirks:

1. I know that the only two Finnish words that have made it into the English language are ’sauna’ and ‘pastrami’.
2. I can drink coffee without sugar, but not without milk.
3. One of my favorite words is ’sequoia,’ because it has all five vowels and only two consonants.
4. I love watching bad, like really bad, action movies. Roadhouse, anyone?
5. I don’t like reading literary fiction that much because of the unhappy endings, but I love noir, which always has a morally ambiguous ending, happiness not usually included.
6. I don’t like meeting famous people I admire. I figure they’ll just disappoint me in person, or they’ll think I am nothing special.

All internet-speak:

Hubby
hugs
DH (because there is no way my ‘H’ is ‘D.’ Never has been, never will).
cyber champagne
cyber anything, actually. If you want to give me chocolate, just give me chocolate.

I also don’t use emoticons, just ’cause. No dis against those who do, but I’m not comfortable with them myself.

Me: If God exists, why did He let Watergate happen?

So I have some really fantastic relatives, case in point the aunt and uncle who are putting me and The Son up for over two weeks. I mean, who wants to have people stay in their house for two weeks? Three years in a row (and counting?). This morning, my aunt took me to yoga class at her Y, which was great. I am really inflexible, not just in spirit and spontaneity, so I needed it.

My aunt went through a lot of difficulty growing up, and has developed a philosophy of parenting and life in general that sure sounds good. She and my uncle (my mom’s youngest brother) have an amazing relationship, one that I envy being all passive-aggressive/neurotic/oblique as I can be at times (yes, asking the Spouse is moot, since we all know he’d agree). My uncle is the most blunt-spoken person I know, but also one of the kindest. Of course they, in particular she, have a lot to say about my parenting, but they do think I’m a good mom. If over-protective. Which I have to reluctantly agree with, I am overprotective of my guy, for sure.

Which is a long way to go for saying I feel weird today, mostly ’cause I stayed up too late last night, and my carefully-laid plans for the evening were disrupted when another one of my uncles returned from Brazil (he lives in the Philippines normally, is here for the summer? Not sure; he’s another brilliant-but-odd relative), a young friend of my uncle’s was here getting tutoring and my Son was devastated that his uncle was caring about another boy. Can anyone say ‘only child?’

So instead of settling down to quiet and a book, I had to console a sobbing child, deal with many tired relatives who had less patience for my boy than I did, and then top the night off with a . . . discussion . . . with the Spouse.

I took a nap today, but am wicked fuzzy after. These days happen, for sure, but I wish I didn’t feel so woozy and depressed. Feh.

In the good news department, however, I’ve firmed up plans for Friday, the Son’s birthday. Am I the best mom ever, or what? I’m taking him to the Mall of America to go to the indoor amusement park, making him bacon at some point in the day, taking him to see Hellboy II, and giving him three Miyazaki movies. I rock. I will consume much caffeine that day.

Megan