Aunt Chrissy and that little twerp Bosco were here for dinner last night, and although I was hoping they would have spent the evening watching French films and then discussing them afterwards, they turned on the TeeVee and watched "America's Got Talent" instead.
Apparently we live in a cave, because we hadn't tuned in to it this season, but last night was the big finale' and we watched with rapt attention as the last four contestants did their thing with the hopes of winning a million dollars and a Vegas act.
(As one who has intimate knowledge of headlining in Vegas, let me just say it's not all that it's cracked up to be. You can only eat at the 99 cent buffet so many times before you decide that life in Hoosierville isn't so bad after all. Know what I'm saying?)
So there I was, sitting on my Mommie's lap, when the most wonderful, magical, splendiferous, and fantastic thing happened to me...
I discovered exactly what I want to be when I grow up.
Can you believe it? FINALLY! Somebody that shares my sensibility with regards to style. And what joy de veeve! The hair! The makeup! The costumes! I haven't been this smitten with anything since I don't know when.
So if you're out there, Prince Poppycock...please know that right here in Hoosierville is a little dog that thinks you are the most amazing thing on the planet and that you should win much much more than some silly contest on television. You should be called to Geneva for the Nobel! To the White House for a Presidential Medal of Freedom! To the Vatican for whatever it is that they do at the Vatican (besides make my mo-ther feel so damn guilty about everything).
All I know is that I am going to burn up the phone lines today to see if I can get in on the ground floor of some serious Prince Poppycock marketing. Halloween is only a month and a half away, people! I've got some serious work to do....
So for now I will say POPPYCOCK FOR EVERYBODY! and get back to my sewing machine.
With love from your pal,
(Stewey has left the building...now you're stuck with me, the boring old Spinster Stitcher.)
Hi all. I see that Stewey filled you in on his latest obsession. If I told you that he kept me up all night wanting to discuss every single detail of Prince Poppycock and how his persona relates to humankind on a larger scale, would you believe me? I finally drifted off about 3am, but not before I watched my little nine pound bundle of joy futz and futz and futz with his wig and smoking jacket to get just the right look for his debut as the President and Chief High Exalted Ruler of the Official Prince Poppycock Fan Club.
Methinks this is going to be a thing for a while and I should just go with it.
(But can I just say that I thoroughly enjoyed watching that silly show last night and that I cried like a baby when they announced the winner? Both Aunt Chrissy and I totally agree that American made the right choice. The other three acts will go on to contracts and gigs and fame pretty easily, but that kid that won would never have the opportunity to catapult to the heights quite so quickly. He's good...but how many singers out there have toiled away in obscurity for years without every getting the big break? So we're happy with the results and will watch for further news of upcoming appearances.)
So on a housekeeping front...(no, not THAT kind of housekeeping)...my Super Secret Service detail contacted me last night with some concern over the fact that I put pics of my house on this here blog and that from a safety and security standpoint it probably wasn't the smartest idea I've ever had. (Hey Kavanaugh!) After giving it much consideration, I have come to agree with him, so I wanted to take a moment to point out a few things.
I forget that when I write this damn thing I'm sending it out to the whole entire universe and not to the six people who happen to stitch and are patient enough to put up with me and my antics. I just always pretend like we're sitting around the kitchen table with our needles in hand...blathering on about this and that and that y'all "get" me, so I keep right on talking. I never think about the fact that there could be somebody reading this here blog that doesn't have a clue about stitching or spinsters, but has designs on breaking into my house and stealing my stuff and/or doing me grave bodily harm.
Well, let's just get a few things out of the way right now that might discourage said non-stitchy person from doing such a thing.
First of all, you should probably know that all of the crap in my house is at least a hundred and a half years old and not worth the trouble it would take you to clean it up and haul it to the pawn shop. The only antiques in this place are my television and stereo, which I'm pretty sure have been around since Fred Flintstone designed them. Seriously...you're welcome to come take a look, but I guarantee you that it wouldn't be worth the gas money it would take to get here.
Secondly....although I am not armed 24/7 per se, I do pack a very mean attitude and I am not afraid to use it. Also, I'm what you might call a bit "sturdy" and am pretty sure that, when provoked, I could bench press a Buick if it meant protecting myself, my dog, my sister, my nephew, or my needlework stash. In short, please note that if you eff the bull, you'll most definitely get the horns.
And finally, you see photos of Stewey and laugh at his little overbite and his propensity for sipping his tea from a dainty china cup. Well let me tell you something that will save you a lot of trouble, pain, and embarrassment....if you piss him off and he noodges you in the solar plexis with those buck teeth of his, you will drop to the ground like a bag of hammers. I'm not kidding. He might look like some kind of deranged bunny rabbit, but this dog protects me and his stuff to the death. And if you don't believe me about that little tidbit, please allow me to show you the extra insurance coverage I have for when he bites the arm off the mailman.
So if you're out there and not a member of "this thing of ours" (that would be my Stitchy Family or one of my faithful readers that thinks I'm a total nut job and comes here to read all about my stupid little life to see that theirs is, in fact, not so bad after all)....I say mind your p's and q's and don't do anything stupid.
(Nope. Not a threat at all. Just a promise that I can be a real pill when somebody takes advantage of my good nature.)
(Oh...I also come equipped with some pretty scary looking alarm company protective options, more than a few big burly guys who carry guns, and neighbors who would be only too happy to call the po-lice department to see what the hell I'm up to now.)
So, back to us chickens...
I'm still plugging along with Quaker Diamonds and watching the West Wing. I would show you a progress pic, but everything that I stitched last night has to come out. I got distracted by Bradley Whitford and couldn't get the image of a romantic dinner with him out of my head. (This, of course, gives me great pause. He's not at all my normal type, so I am assuming that I have turned some kind of "I love men with British accents and/or grey hair and who have their very own set of professional chef's knives and/who happen to be named Anthony Bourdain, Eric Ripert, Robert Irvine, or Kevin Costner" kind of corner).
I threw Kevin Costner in there at the last minute. Sorry about that, but how can you forget about Kevin Costner? Or George Clooney? Or Gerard Butler? Oh wait! My God! I totally forgot about Gordon Ramsey! How could I forget about Gordon Ramsey?
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Now I'm going to have to spend some time today flipping through my "special book" to see who else I've forgotten. If any of my men are reading this (see above), please don't be offended by the oversight....I'll rectify it immediately and will never ever forget that you are my one and only. Truly. Completely. Forever and for always.
OK, enough of that nonsense. I better get a move on and see what the hell Stewey is doing up in the studio. I hear the sewing machine humming along and my drapes seem to be missing, so I suppose that it's time to enroll him in the Montessori Puppy Academy before he starts with the bedspread.
I hope that wherever you are is exactly where you want to be today!