Goldilocks comes to call

So, I was just taking an afternoon nap when I hear a knock on my bedroom door. I lift up my eye mask (yes, I nap with an eye mask--I know, Dean thinks I'm a freak) and peer up when a complete stranger pokes his head in my room. Ah, the joys of selling one's house. I'd thought Dean and Max were downstairs, but they went to the park and so didn't get the call that an agent would be coming directly to show our condo. "It's like living in a fishbowl, isn't it?" the apologetic agent remarked to me after I dressed and emerged. Indeed it is.

In preparation for the move, we've been getting rid of old things we don't use anymore. One of those things was my grandpa's chair. It was an early version of the lounge chair and was most likely made in 1962. The material was an unpleasant brown plaid full of holes and the stuffing was almost gone, making it feel like I was sitting on rocks. But I was very sentimental about letting it go because it was the chair where I wrote most of my first four books. "Doesn't anyone want it?" I pleaded with my family. "NO!" came my family's rather direct reply. So off it went to the secondhand store. Funny, I don't feel so nostalgic about my first laptop.

(Ooh, I just felt the baby move!)

Saw Superman Returns last night. It's the first night out Dean and I have had in three months. Let me just say, I love Superman. I do. I love Superman. Also Batman. Who said, women want to date Batman but marry Superman? It's so true. And sometimes, I think that somehow I did.

I tried to get The Squeeter Pig out this weekend. I'd gone through about half my list of people who've signed up for it when hotmail shut me down. They think I'm a spammer because I was sending to so many addresses. I'm going to try it again today, but if you didn't get your copy, I'll link to it here tomorrow. And feel free to keep commenting on the past posts about Classics Only vs. Variety of Genres. I think the discussion has been fascinating.