I would love to read - and do a Q&A - at Holli's school. I'm delicately hinting to the friend at Yale who chairs (I believe she chairs) the creative writing department for an invite, but we shall see. In any case, I love classrooms.

(edit: sorry, my finger hiccoughed, there.)

OK, even I can tell I'm having a hard time coming to the point here...thinking about tattoo stuff brought up other stuff which maybe doesn't belong in this particular thing(I don't even know what it is yet. But here's more of it!) I get a boyfriend. Finally. He's mostly my ally and my support, but he wants to dress me too. I let my "O'Connell cut" grow out, because that's what gals with boyfriends do, right? Please them with their appearance? He tells me he wants to run his fingers through it, which I think shorter hair would be better for. Uncoordinated fingers might need a shorter trip. But what the hell, it grows like weeds.I suggest he do the same for me, just a little, despite the conviction I now have that my opinions count for squat, and I'd best endeavor to have as few as possible, like gas. He works at a school, he tells me, people wouldn't understand

He starts not to like the person I've become, with the "I don't care. What do you think?" to every question in the world. Which confuses me, cause I thought that was some male fantasy.I'm insecure, confused, and afraid to mix things up in life or my closet. We kiss and have long discussions about "my self esteem problem." One memorable night, we do both at once. He doesn't understand.

Cereal: Deb, check out the new tag. Of course, it's all in the delivery, but I was all moody gal yesterday, so it fit.(He had wet feet and vending machine candy for breakfast.)

How can I not love the tag? I miss Munch, damnit.

Me too...they dropped him on his head at Special Victims, and nope, not that one.

suhNERK. Poor John.

I want to get some writing done today. Damn it. Two books I want to work on and the brain is seething and I have some changes from writers group the other night and the only thing stopping me is timing, today. Why would I have scheduled the damned mammogram for mid-afternoon?

I don't know...Mom wouldn't, because she'd be insane going without deodorant that long. She's insane about floss, deo, and mouthwash. My brother and I joke that we'll know she's dying if she doesn't care about them any more. Or it could be like "Detective, Mom's out of floss. This was no accident!"

WHOOOOOOHOOOO!

Crossposted with Bitches - the first official reviews of Weaver:

Kirkus, after a (somewhat flawed, as in they got some basic names and stuff wrong) summary, ended the review with:

"....Although unthreatening ghosts produce low-voltage thrills, pastoral warmth and sunny prose from Grabien (Plainsong, 2000, etc.) entertain.

And THANK YOU, CHIKAT! today's Library Journal review:

"Filled with charm, personality, and wit, this is the first entry in an intriguing new series featuring the ghosts of characters in old English ballads. Strongly recommended for most collections.

YeeeeeHAW!

Aw, that's marvelous. Congratulations, Deb!