I'm on book deadline.
Again.
That's why I haven't been around here much. Sorry about that. I have a very short period in which to get this one done so by the time I hit my goal every day, the last thing in the world I want to do is sit at my computer any more.
(Fortunately I bought a fancy chair a few books back. The first three memoirs were written on this stupid wooden IKEA desk chair that didn't bend, flex, swivel, or give in any way. Hate that chair. Hate that chair SO MUCH. Yet when I finally got an Aeron, Fletch wouldn't let me throw Ol' Woody away, claiming that someday it would go in the Jen Lancaster Museum, next to my Barbie head and good burying shovel.)
(I am currently unaware of any pending museum plans.)
(I think he may have been drinking when he mentioned it.)
Anyway, in my last post, a couple of things were going on - I was deeply engrossed in a stupid hidden object game and I didn't have a new literary agent. Now I have a fine new literary agent and I'm still deeply engrossed in a stupid hidden object game only now I'm on Level 32. (Am very impressed with my own ability to find hidden lotus flowers and yachts.)
What else?
Fletch has grown a beard so I've been quite busy actively hating it for a couple of weeks now.
Dogs are fine. Libby ran off with a chicken breast while Fletch was cleaning out the fridge yesterday and I'm pretty sure that was the greatest day of her entire life.
Speaking of meat, I've become a pescetarian. Kind of a long story and there's no payoff to it, save for the fact that my hair seems shinier and I sweat less.
Also? There are those who believe deeply detailed blog posts about the new way they've been eating are interesting.
They are wrong.
I've discovered Downton Abbey and I cannot shut my piehole about it. If you're not watching it, you're missing out on one of the best shows ever produced. Everyone says the show is costume porn, but they are mistaken. Actually, it's antiques porn. Please know I would kill every one of you to possess the flower show trophy. (No offense.)
Cats are fine.
Relatively speaking.
When last I updated about the New Girls, no one was getting along and I hadn't been able to mainstream the Girls into the rest of the household.
The level of animosity between both groups has since escalated from that of the Bloods and Crips to those of the Israelis and the Palestinians. And our house is the Gaza strip. Not sure which side is going nuclear yet, but it's going to happen. Bank on that.
So I'm kind of like the UN here (except, you know, effective) and I've made sure that the cats are happily living separate lives in different sections of the house. The only thing is sometimes the Thundercats get all SEAL TEAM SIX and rush the doors to where the New Girls live, so I've taken to hissing every time I put my hand on a doorknob. This precaution is actually working quite nicely, except now it's kind of a bad habit and I've since frightened the FedEx guy.
I think that's it, unless you want to know more, oh so much more, about the pre-made honey-teriyaki sea bass I particularly enjoy.
(My guess is no.)
Please tune in later this week because I'll be making some fun announcements about a couple of book events you won't (I hope) want to miss as well as doing at least one book giveaway!
And I may post a photo of Fletch's new beard.
If I don't shave it off in the night first.
