I didn't write a single word today, other than a couple of emails and this blog post (which is still in progress as I type this, obviously, and could turn out to be complete crap - which seems likely, given how I've started it). I woke up around 8:30 and worked on publishing related stuff until it was time to leave for my gym session with Alyssa. I was a few minutes late due to the rain, but it was good to see her. The gym was super crowded today because the 1%-ers who train there had the bank holiday for Veterans' Day -- while I was getting dressed after showering, I was listening in on a delightful conversation in which one woman was gleefully telling another woman how she'd gotten invited to some dude's house in LA for Thanksgiving, and he has a butler and everything, etc. Great. Still, Alyssa was good, and I'm glad I saw her.
After I made myself cute (and Alyssa saw me after I was cute, which is rare since she usually has a client after me; she seemed startled at my showered, made up appearance), I went to Joanie's and had some eggs while thinking about what I need to accomplish over the next couple of weeks. Then I promptly threw the list out the window and went across the street to get a manicure. I picked a bold red (Affair in Red Square), since I have a ridiculously early in the season Christmas party tomorrow night, but it turned out to be a tragic choice for reasons which I shall enumerate shortly. Still, eight of my nails look great, so I suppose I'll take it.
After the manicure, I sat around and wasted a bit of time, and then met up for coffee with a Palo Alto author (Meg Waite Clayton, who wrote THE WEDNESDAY SISTERS and THE FOUR MRS. BRADWELLS). Alan, my old old boss (i.e. before the big boss) had been trying to get me to meet with her for ages, and I'd kept politely declining out of a combination of shyness and knowledge that we write very different stuff. But, he finally convinced me, and I'm so glad he did. She was quite lovely, and we talked for over an hour about what worked for her and what didn't in terms of publicity, interacting with readers, etc. It's always great to meet other writers, and it was a wonderful way to spend a rainy Friday afternoon.
When Meg and I parted ways, I checked my phone and discovered that tonight's dinner was suddenly at 5:30, so I sped over to Vive Sol and met up with Heather, Salim and Durand. They were all in fine form, and we generally reminisced and entertained each other over margaritas and a variety of Mexican delights. I got home around nine, and Terry and I watched this week's episode of "Bones"; I still haven't caught up on the last couple of seasons, which means every episode carries with it the chance that I'll find out who died at the end of last season, but I was v. pleased to see that one of my top three guesses (the prosecutor) wasn't the person who bit it.
However, in the middle of the episode, tragedy struck. While having coffee with Meg, I was fiddling with the lid of my tea and accidentally cut grooves into the paint on my thumbs, which was dry enough not to smudge but not dry enough to withstand cutting. Since I have my own bottle of that exact shade (Affair in Red Square, which I will repeat so that you grasp the impending horror), I decided to patch it tonight. I'd put on a coat, then let it set for a bit, when I reached for the bottle to give it a second coat. However, I hadn't screwed the cap back into place (which is rare, since I usually seal things like that), and so when I picked up the bottle, I accidentally flung it across the table and dropped it on the floor, where it rolled under the couch. Disaster, right? There were streaks of polish on the arm of the couch, down the side of both the couch and the end table, and on the carpet (luckily on my rug, not the condo carpet). Terry ran for the towels, and luckily my fingernail polish remover was gentle enough that we were able to wipe up the polish before it set in. So the couch and the table are fine, and it wasn't as awful as it could have been -- but I hope it warms up tomorrow so we can open a window and air out the fumes.
And now, I must go to bed; I have a romance writers' meeting early tomorrow morning, I intend to come home and watch the Stanford/Oregon game, and then I have to go to this Christmas party (ridiculous). Goodnight!
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