Meg's Blog

Do Some Good/Happy Bday, HWSNBNITB

Did you know over 3,000 people sign up to win the six free copies of my books that I give away here every month? Which isn’t to say you shouldn’t keep trying, but you might want to even out the odds a little. Anyone wanting to get their hands on an autographed advanced reader copy of Big Boned or Princess Diaries 9 will get it on October 15…and the money will go to help victims of Hurricane Katrina (yes…they still need our help)! Click here for more info.

Last night I watched the latest episode of Gossip Girl and…I didn’t hate it. Although so far not a single thing has happened in it that did not happen in my own high school, which was located in the Midwest. I mean, we had gay parents, drunk girls, manipulative boys like Chuck (one of whom I dated), suicide attempts, pre-marital sex, and rich people, too. But seeing the shots filmed on locale in Manhattan is great.

I still don’t understand why Blair hasn’t dumped Nate, though, who had sex with her best friend. And in real life, if a limo ever tried to tail a girl who was walking along a Manhattan sidewalk like in this week’s episode, the driver would be bodily pulled from the car and punched to death by irate cabbies for going so slowly. Still, the show is fun.

Almost as fun as this. But not quite as fun as this. And nowhere near as fun as the first ten minutes of this week’s The Office….

Meanwhile, in honor of Gossip Girl so lovingly showing so many of NYC’s finest landmarks, here’s a photo tour of the pertinent points of interest in my NYC apartment, home to some of my most prize possessions, including my Star Wars memorabilia collection, which features:

My 1977 R2D2 Cookie Jar, as well as my

1977 authentic Chewie tankard, and my

autograph by Carrie Fisher, all of them gifts from my inlaws. Pretty groovy gifts, right? Way better than the slipper socks inlaws usually give for Christmas.

Finally, we have Henrietta: As you can see, she has quickly re-accustomed herself to her old stomping grounds.

Although this photo is, in fact, misleading, as she can no longer get up to this windowsill on her own (I put her up there so she could enjoy the view).

In fact, at fourteen years of age, Henrietta now needs help even climbing onto the bed, which necessitated the purchase of this:

Henrietta was a little insulted because those are dog pawprints, but they were out of cat paw stairs. However, it was this, or her sitting on the floor shrieking to be lifted up at 3 in the morning, so we thought the dog paw stairs would suffice, and they have.

Today is He Who Shall Not Be Named In This Blog’s birthday. I was 16 when we met at a party, and he was 22. His first words to me were, “Aren’t you out past your curfew?” Obviously, after that fine introduction, we didn’t actually start dating until 8 years later, when one day I looked at him (he was always hanging around) and was like, “Oh %#&*! I love him!” I was so shocked at the realization, I just blurted out how I felt.*

And we’ve barely been apart a day since (except for book tours).

Happy birthday, HWSNBNITB, even though you will never read this since you don’t read this blog (thank God).

More later.

Much love,


*Fortunately he felt the same, but this is not something I would normally recommend doing, as guys sometimes freak out upon hearing that you love them, and run away like startled fawns. Or cats: