Whew! University of California College online applications are in, just in the wee nick of time. (Only had a few more hours to go. …)
Ricky applied to three, so we’ll keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best. He did great — He’s so motivated he did the whole process by himself. Now it’s just time to keep fingers crossed, fingers crossed, fingers crossed. …
I don’t remember the process being quite so elaborate in my day. Do any of you remember applying for college? I don’t recall writing essays for it, or mailing it in (with stamps!), being nervous, or anything. I vaguely recall sitting with my counselor and talking about possibilities, but that’s about it. Maybe it’s a bigger deal for the parents than for the kids. … 🙂
Or maybe I’m just getting old.
(Always a possibility.)
This is Part 9 of the story of How I Met Superman. To get caught up, you can find the preceding chapters here.
As soon as I untangled myself from Orly’s embrace, I realized my terrible mistake.
He looked at me with surprise, but mixed with just enough triumph to make me understand the gaffe. In rapid succession, I realized three things: He wasn’t even close to Edward Darcy; he seemed to think he’d “won” something; and Superman probably didn’t know this was happening.
I glanced into the kitchen where I’d last seen Chris, but he still wasn’t there. I knew I’d blown it. This was his friend. I wondered if Orly would tell him he kissed me. I wondered what Chris would think, and if he’d ignore me now forever – assuming I was fickle or silly or easy or simply interested in any male who happened to be standing in front of me at any given second. I slowly backed away from Orly and his sweater just as the last strands of a Styx song were ending. The song hadn’t ended yet, but it was close enough.
“Thanks for the dance,” I said quietly.
Orly gave me a crooked smile and asked if I wanted to dance again, but I just shook my head. I had no words. I’d blown it. Continue reading
Here’s to hoping we don’t repeat any of these ’80s hair fashions ever again, and to enjoying the next 21 years of wedded bliss as much as we’ve enjoyed these first 21. …
For the last couple of nights, I’ve been staying up late, cozy under my covers, “clicking” page after page on my Kindle as I read.
And the book that’s keeping me up is Laura Kinsdale’s The Shadow and the Star.
I fell in love with Laura Kinsdale when I first read Flowers From the Storm a few years ago. I chose that book because it’s consistently voted one of the top three romance novels of all time on AAR’s Top Romance list. (Of course, who can resist that? I had to see what it was about!)
I read it (along with the other two books in the top three), and I have to say, they were all excellent. But Laura Kinsdale really stood out. Her writing is outstanding — leaning much more into literary writing, with stripped descriptions, interesting characterization, and strange historical tidbits that she delivers in just the right doses. Flowers From the Storm won me over when I realized the hero was a man who had had a stroke — Only Laura Kinsdale could make a stroke victim super-sexy! (Now that takes talent!) The time period she chose was interesting too, since they didn’t even know what a stroke was — in fact, the character ends up in a mental institution. (When the heroine gets him out of the mental institution, their story begins.) Continue reading
This is Part 8 of the story of How I Met Superman. To get caught up, you can find the preceding chapters here.
It’s not like it was some red-carpet event, but getting invited to certain parties could be tricky. This one was tricky because it was so small. It’s not like Patrick was going to miss the fact that I’d arrived uninvited, given the tiny space and so few people. It was for about 20 friends, and at his parent’s house, and he would definitely notice if I were there.
I arrived with Dawn, though, only because Keith and Dawn assured me it was okay. There were lots of snacks, M&Ms, darkness, beanbags, good music, and my Homecoming picture with Patrick propped up on the china cabinet in an 8×10 gold frame. That last one I didn’t expect at all. I stood in the dining room, staring at it, with a Coke in my hand. In the photo, I had a bundle of baby’s breath pinned to the side of my head.
“It looks like you have popcorn in your hair,” said a deep voice behind me.
I whirled toward Patrick’s chest. He was looking past me, at the portrait, and offering a pained sort of smile. “I meant to take that down. I knew you were coming.” Continue reading