So there I was, minding my own business, when I decided to start watching the eleventy-seven hundred movies I've recorded on the DVR thingie. Before hitting "play", however, I decided to pick up Cherry Cordial to see if I could make a major push toward home on this one while watching "P.S. I Love You".
Mistake. Big mistake.
Jeffrey. Dean. Morgan. In Ireland. With an accent. And stubble. And artsy fartsy rings and bracelets that I normally wouldn't like on a man, but oh hubba hubba, these somehow worked for me and I had to go get a cold compress for my head.
So I've decided that I need to move to Ireland because I am convinced that there's a Jeffrey Dean Morgan waiting for me in one of the pubs and that he'll take one look at me and say "Now there's the woman I've been waiting for my entire life", and "I bet she'll really love living on my thousand acre estate that includes a needlework shop and rose garden. And indoor swimming pool."
In the event that you haven't noticed, I go into a stream-of-consciousness overdrive whenever I talk about men that make my heart go pitty pat. I'm not sure if it's the Spinster in me, or the particular place I presently occupy in the vestibule to menopause hell, but let's just say that my typing can barely keep up with the thoughts racing around in my head (and boy are they racy) and I get all flustered and sweaty and then I have to go sit down quietly until it passes.
And how stupid is it that my comment on this movie was over Jeffrey. Dean. Morgan. and not the lovely story or the weepy-ness of it all. Am I losing my sentimental edge?
But I will say this for ya', Ireland.....y'all sure have some pretty scenery over there. If your country is half as beautiful as it looked in this movie, I can't imagine why anybody would want to live anyplace else. I, for one, think I would especially like it there because it looked cool and damp. I do pretty well in cool and damp. It's the hot and humid that gives me the vapors.
So not much stitching to report, folks, but I do intend to turn off this silly machine and get back into that Happy Chair this afternoon and go to it. I might even put "You've Got Mail" on the TeeVee so that I'm not tempted to sit and drool the day away.
Oh Wait. "You've Got Mail" makes me drool over her apartment. And her life. And her perfect little twin sets and skirts and her great haircut.
Maybe I'll just listen to the radio.
Stewey will be out of his doghouse (tee hee! dog house! he's a dog!) soon. He brought a lovely breakfast tray into me today, complete with a damn good cup of coffee and a lovely scone. Methinks he's finally got the message that....EYES DE BOSS AND HEES DE BOSSEE.
Happy Cinco de Tuesday!