GARLIC AND CINNAMON AND HOUSEWIVES, OH MY

Oey. I am nursing a hangover of epic proportions today.

Now before you think that I've gone round the bend and developed some form of Merlot addiction, please allow me to explain that my hangover is the result of roasted vegetables, an unfortunate choice of Yankee Candle, and Danielle Staub.

So there I was, minding my own business and trying to recover from my escapades in the garden, when I decided to make chicken and roasted veggies for dinner. Aunt Chrissy and I started making roasted veg last winter, and since I hadn't had them for a while I thought it would be a tasty break from the salads and tomato bagels I've been eating for four months.

Potatoes, shallots, and garlic. Olive oil. Salt and pepper.

Roast in a hot oven (like 425-450 or so) for about a half hour and viola! you've got yourself some tasty eats.

Unless, of course, you're me and you put about eighty cloves of garlic in amongst the other things and then you forget to spray the cookie sheet with the damn Pam and everything sticks and burns and crisps very nicely, but stinks up the house bad enough that you and the dog contemplate sleeping in the car.

And then you glue yourself to the Tee Vee to catch the first part of the Real Housewives of New Jersey debacle and feel compelled to call Aunt Chrissy every ten minutes to say "OH MY GOD! I THOUGHT THERESA WAS GOING TO THROW ANDY COHEN ACROSS THE ROOM!" and then you wonder why the hell you didn't just watch the thing together in the first darn place and the dog pees on the drapes and then hides under the bed.

Such is life here today. I am completely bobcomdistulated and wondering what I did with myself before I got wrapped up in silly (yet somehow completely compelling) TeeVee dramas. And I'm doing all of this while trying to de-stink my house by burning a "Sparkling Cinnamon" Yankee Candle that I found in the back of one of the cupboards that I've yet to clean and organize because I just can't seem to get my act together and start the Spring Cleaning once and for all despite the fact that it is now Autumn and who the heck ever heard of Autumn Cleaning anyhow?

(pause for breath)

I used to do things like read books and go to movies and think profound thoughts. Now I just stumble through the day wondering if Kim G will join the show next season or when Aunt Chrissy and I will take a trip to Italy to see Santa Cosulino and ride the gondolas in Venice. I ponder the daily menu selections at the Brownstone (do they have sangweech?), will Albie get into another law school? When will Ashley and Derrik get married? I fantasize that Theresa and I are the best of friends and that we come up with a plot to rid New Jersey of Danielle once and for all and then Caroline and Jacqueline make cookies and we all sit around and wait for Dina to come over with leopard print bathrobes while we get our nails done.

Eye yai yai, but I need to re-evaluate my evening TeeVee viewing habits. There's just too many good things out there that I'm NOT watching so that I can get myself all twisted up in knots over things that I AM watching.

I ask myself: Is it the story lines? The characters? The intricate pairing of culture and scandal that makes for suspenseful plots and back stories?

What the hell is it about these people that makes me want to know more and then spend hours and hours and hours discussing it with a little sister who now knows for sure that I am in need of some very serious psychoanalysis.

I suppose that these are questions for the ages, and that...

um....

Sorry. Got distracted there for a minute.

So as I was saying....

Oh, bloody hell. I've got to go. I just caught sight of today's line up, and I see that Jackie Warner is doing something interesting in the kitchen with her mother and her girlfriend's family. I didn't even know Jackie was back! I thought that Thintervention didn't premier until next Monday! I need to figure out if this is related to that or if....

(A little dog walks into the room, takes one look at his stupefied mo-ther sitting with rapt attention in front of the television and decides that some things in life just aren't worth getting bothered over. He peens on the drapes, emits a loud sigh, and heads for his little fort under the bed where classical music plays softly in the background and the stuffed animals gather for riveting discussions of Jonathen Franzen's latest book and the alarming trend in the political world for inflammatory rhetoric and national discord.)

PAGING MS. CRAWFORD, MS. JOAN CRAWFORD

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's on the bathroom floor in a crumpled heap, waiting for the Tylenol to kick in. She has just returned from a trip outside to Aunt Chrissy's garden, and based on the amount of blood, sweat, and filth that she's tracked in with her, methinks this is not going to be at all pretty.

OK, let's start on the patio. My daisy looks pretty good. I can see that she watered it thoroughly and trimmed off a few of the wilted blooms. Some of the leaves look a little forlorn, but we are back in the throes of heat and humidity, and this is to be expected:


Now let's take a look at the rose bush.....

Oh, dear God in heaven! What the hell did she do to this poor thing?! I know that there were a few leaves that looked like they had been eaten by a few little bugs, but Holy Crap Batman (!) this is completely nuts!

Forgive me, as I put my paws over my eyes as we head to the garden. Just last night I inspected it carefully and noted that the tomato plants were about eight feet high and the three cucumber plants were a solid mass of leaves, cucumbers, and vines. The peppers were a little stunted in their growth, but I don't like peppers anyways and could care less if we get a good crop or not.

OH NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! Who gave this woman a hack saw! How did she sneak out without me hearing her ankle bracelet going off!? Why were sharp garden implements within her reach? What the hell am I going to tell my Aunt Chrissy???!!!!!!

I swear, as God is my witness, I am going to throw the old lady in an institution and be done with it. She's simply gone too far this time....taking such liberty with a garden that Aunt Chrissy and I have lovingly tended and watered and cultivated for three months now.

Oh, I'm so freakin' mad I could spit my Puppy Chow all over the place. Why couldn't I have been adopted by a NORMAL person and not some nut bag who thinks it's perfectly normal to go outside in a crazy get-up shouting "Christina!! Bring me the ax" while the neighbors secretly dial the police.

I'm completely stumped. I really am. The only thing I can think is that somehow Mom got it into her head that trimming the garden back to within an inch of its life would somehow make it grow better and that she would be able to harvest tomatoes the size of baseballs by Thursday. I guess the intention is good....after all, she has done NOTHING to help us with the garden this year. But did she have to go so completely PSYCHO?


Changing topics, I thought I would show you a pic of the stitchy project Mom's been working on. I personally think it's very lovely and that it will look smashing in the living room once it is completed and framed. Mom seems to really enjoy stitching it, and all I know is anything that can keep the old lady quiet and out of jail for more than fifteen minutes gets my vote every time.

Life here at Chez Spinster is quiet and happily awaiting Autumn's arrival. I've sent all of my cool weather gear off the the laundress so that when the first cold day arrives I'll be all set with my Snuggie and a cuppa' tea. I'm auditioning various flavors, but it seems that I am becoming partial to Earl Grey. That and a little cookie at 3pm each day and I'm fortified for whatever comes my way.

Except, maybe, crazypants spinsters armed with garden tools and a bad attitude.

I hope that life is swell in your little corner of the world!

With love from your pal,
Stewey

HURTLING HEADLONG INTO THE WEEKEND

Nothing much to report from Spinster's Corners today. Stitching continues, but at a snail's pace. Stewey remains firmly ensconced on his perch. And Aunt Chrissy and Bosco will come for dinner and a movie or two.

We had a short reprieve from the heat and humidity, but I fear that it will come back again with a freakin' vengeance the moment I get my fall wardrobe down from the top shelf. Stupid Mother Nature.

Updates soon. I promise.

SISSY DATE NIGHT

Aunt Chrissy and I went to dinner at the fancypants sushi place, then we went to the CVS so I could get a twisty thing for my hair that I saw on the Tee Vee, then we went to the Michael's so that Aunt Chrissy could get a new big ass basket for her stitching, and then we went to Borders so that I could sit in a chair and look at all the books.

Bliss.

(More on the twisty thing later, but methinks the folks at Goody are geniuses....FINALLY! something that allows me to pile my hair on top of my head without having it pulled so tight I get a raging headache before 9 in the morning.)

(My hair is very very long and very very heavy. It's kinda like having a sweaty, forty pound squirrel on your head.)

I'm humming right along on Quaker Diamonds. Stay tuned for photographic evidence.

Back to the studio....

PPPPSSSSTTTTTTT......

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's over at the Borders looking for books that will tell her how to be a better mo-ther. This means that I have all day to do whatever the damn hell I want to, including play on the 'puter and have potty mouth.

Y'all were so nice to try to make her feel better, but let's face it folks....she's not exactly what one might call the coolest cube in the tray. She frets over crap that most people wouldn't bother wiping off of their shoes, let alone bleed from the colon over. She's always been this way, though...high strung and easily to tears.

Case in point:

Last night I was happily snoozing away in my little fort under the bed when I heard Mommie Dearest on the telephone with my Aunt Chrissy. "Can you come over, " she sniffed into a hanky, "I really think (hic) there's something wrong (hic) with Stewey, and I just (hic) don't know what to do. Oh, Aunt Chrissy (hic) , I think I broke my little sweet wonderful (hic) perfect little dog (hic) and I am the worst (hic) person (hic) on the whole (hic) entire planet (hic hic)."

(My mom hiccups when she bawls. It would be really funny actually, if it weren't for the big fat tears that run down her face and the fact that her nose runs and she dabs at it delicately with Kleenex until you just want to rip her eyebrows off.)

I could practically hear the sigh of disgust as Aunt Chrissy hung up, told Bosco she was going over to the Cracker Factory, and put her shoes on.

You know, some things you can get away with when it comes to Mommies. But with Aunt Chrissy? Fugged-abow-dit. I've known my Aunt Chrissy for five years now, and despite the fact that we share a certain sensibility when it comes to my mo-ther/her sis-ter, she's had my little number from the get go. I've tried almost everything I can think of to win her over and make her swoon and gush and baby me, but she usually just puts her hands on her hips and says "Now Stewey. Do you REALLY think that's the way for a big boy to act? Go get the laundry basket and take those drapes into the laundry room before I give you something to pee over."

She's tough that way, my dear Aunt Chrissy. And it doesn't help that my stupid pesky little cousin Bosco gets all of the attention. "Watch out for the baby!" was all I heard for about the first eighty-billion years of his stupid pesky little life. Twerp. I had a good thing going over here before he came along. Now it's all "share your toys" and "don't pee on your cousin" and "why can't you just play with him for five minutes and then you can go back to your magazine". I swear, one of these days they're going to find a ransom note and an empty roll of duck tape.

But I need to get back to the story. (My therapist and I are working on that....my unmitigated hostility toward my cousin and the "energy of angst" that it produces in my universe. I'm trying to channel that into happier thoughts, but sometimes I forget and get totally p***** off.)

So Aunt Chrissy comes over, takes one look at me, and tells my mom that I'm perfectly fine and that she should stop the damn crying already and just let me be a damn dog for once. What gave me away was my tail. Damn thing wiggles and wags every time it sees my aunt. No matter how hard I try to act all indifferent and smug, my tail sees Aunt Chrissy and practically wags itself right off my butt. So I played on the floor for a few minutes with her, looked as pitiful as I knew how to look, and then obediently hopped up into mo-ther's lap for a little pre nightnight cuddling. I even managed to score a nice piece of turkey bacon for all of my efforts, and the old lady let me have the blanket all to myself last night in the big girl sleigh bed.

Hmmmm. If I would have known how easy it was going to be, I would have had a hangnail a lot sooner.

So thanks again for all of your well wishes and voices of support for Mom. When she gets back from the bookstore, I'll let her read a few chapters before I gaze deeply into her eyes and tell her how much I really do love her pitiful, wretched, bumpkin-like, little heart and that I won't spend any more time in my fort than is absolutley necessary.

I just hope she doesn't see the drapes.

That's all for now. I remain, as always.....

Your pal,
Stewey

WHY I'M A TOTAL PUTZOLA AND WHY MY DOG SHOULD HATE MY FREAKIN' GUTS

I am hanging my head in shame today and feeling like the absolute worst person on the whole entire planet.

My little dog is injured and it's all my fault.

After telling the world that he was a little "ripe", I harnessed him up for the short ride over to the v-e-t for his pedicure and waited for Aunt Chrissy to pick us up. He was fine, but absolutely miffed that I had to tart him all up in that red contraption.

(When we take the boys in the car with us, we put them in their little harnesses and then clip them into their car seats for safety. We prefer to clip them via harnesses so that there is no danger of hurting their little tiny necks by clipping them into their seats via their collars.)

But I regress.

When Miss Nekka came out for the first victim, I happily handed Stewey over to her and took a seat in the waiting area. I knew that he wasn't too happy about it, since I caught sight of him pulling and tugging away from her as if she were going to do something awful to him.

And, rather than say "Oh, dear, Miss Nekka. Why don't I pick the little fellow up and carry him along to the exam room and then hold him tenderly while you clip his tiny little toenials?", I shook my head and muttered something about the damn dog being a big fat sissypants and that he had better just suck it up and be done with it or I was going to leave him there permanently.

When it was all over, Nekka said that he did very well and that she didn't have to muzzle him or anything, but she did say he kind of went into a tizzy fit at the end and became very snappy.

I, of course, didn't think anything of this, since my dog is usually snappy when it comes to anybody other than Aunt Chrissy or me getting all up in his grill.

But there I go....regressing again.

Long story short (I know, I know....too late for that)....I think that Stewey really hurt his little self during his freak out. When we got home he went directly to his fort and then spent the entire evening crying himself to sleep in his little bed. When I went to cuddle him, he winced and screeched and got big fat tears in his eyes and I wanted to go drag a butter knife across my throat for being such a putz.

Aunt Chrissy thinks that he might have bruised his little underside when he tugged on the harness, and I'm sure that whatever it is will be better after some rest and a few baby aspirins, but I still could just die from the shame of my neglect.

Can I just say that I am the most awful, sucky, dreadful, nasty, incompetent, lousy, stinkin Mommie on the planet? All I do is bitch and moan and complain about this little dog peeing on my drapes, and all I should be doing is telling him every single minute of every single day how much I love him.

I'll keep you posted on his progress. For now, I'm going to go soak my head and make him something special for dinner.

I wonder if I'll be able to fit under the bed to deliver it to his little fort?

MONDAY MONDAY

Stewey can't come to the blog right now. He's too busy pouting in his fort. Mommie Dearest here made a rather pointed comment to him moments ago regarding his overall attitude around here and his general demeanor of unhelpfullness, so he's throwing a tantrum and refusing to come out to play.

Little does he know that in about an hour it will be b-a-t-h time and then a 3:00 he's getting a pedicure. For the first time in his entire five years on this planet, he is actually smelling a little bit like Eau de Dog rather than like Johnson's Baby Wash, so I am thinking we should rectify this before seeing the lovely Miss Neeka over at the v-e-t. Aunt Chrissy and Bosco will join us, so it will be quite the family affair. Yee haw.

I'm still stitching away on Quaker Diamonds and really enjoying it. I've had some questions about the Valdani threads....the ones that I'm using for this project are overdyed cotton floss, much like Weeks Dye Works or Gentle Art. Yes, there are some tangle issues, but I'm being super careful and not pulling knots too tight or getting my panties in a twist that this isn't silk. It's working up a little slower than I originally thought, but I find that the transition from counted canvas work to counted cross stitch has forced me to slow down and really make sure I'm in the right place on the linen. On Daisy Chain there were a lot of repeating moteefs, so once I got the general idea down I was able to move along pretty quickly. This one, however, requires me to rev up the ole' pea-sized intellect and pay attention to what the heck I'm doing.

Things are swimming along for a Monday. I managed to get the house spic and span yesterday, so all I have to worry about today is the laundry. Will somebody please explain to me how one single person can generate enough laundry to fill eleventy-seven hundred loads of wash? You would think I'm some kind of clothes hound and change outfits every ten minutes, but the truth is that if I could get away with it, I'd be in the same damn pair of bike shorts and tee-shirt until the cows came home. (Funny, isn't it, how my brain immediately goes to "COW" the moment I think of myself in bike shorts.)

So that's it for today. I'm thinking that it's time to hit the Happy Chair with the stitching and a diet Coke or two for company. What are you going to do today?

MOVING RIGHT ALONG

Please forgive my craptastic photographic skills today. Methinks I had one too many cups of coffee and my hands were all a-quiver or something.

Oh, before I forget....THANK YOU for all of your lovely comments about my finish. I know that some of you expressed concern that a purse would become snagged, soiled, ruined, etc., but please let me assure you that if I made that piece into a purse I would only carry in in the safety of my very own living room.

I'm not kidding.

When I think about all of the crap that I should have at my immediate disposal every waking minute of my life, I sometimes wonder why I don't just slap on Ye Ole Fanny Pack and be done with it. Besides...have you ever seen the Queen of England without her pocketbook? (I know, I know, walking from my bedroom to the kitchen to the living room and then back again isn't EXACTLY as long a trip as she has through Buckingham Palace, but hey...sometimes a girl just needs her freakin' purse.)

Aunt Chrissy and I went for sushi again last night. I, of course, had NOODLE BOWL (!). It was dee-lish and very much enjoyed on such a stupidly hot day. Today I'll go get some provisions for the weekend so that if the NOODLE BOWL (!) mood strikes me I'll be good to go with veggies and such.

After dinner, Aunt Chrissy asked me if I could take a look at some recent things she's added to her Fall Stitchy Basket. It seems that she is in a very Quaker mood, and has kitted up some positively gorgeous projects for the months ahead. Sometime I'll have to sneak over to her house and snap a few pics of her studio and stitching. She is, after all, the entire reason for my being here in the Stitchy Universe, so you can only imagine how perfectly lovely her stuff is. (Yeah, yeah, that was me admitting that my little sister is actually a much better stitcher than I am, and yeah yeah, it does sting a little on my heiniey that there's one more thing that she surpasses me with.)

But I regress....

When I came home I suddenly got the urge to do a little Quaker sumpin sumpin myself, so I fished around in the old stash and came up with Quaker Diamonds. And despite the late hour, I sat right down and put a few stitches in to see if this was what I was in the mood for.

Yup. Filled the bill quite nicely, thank you very much. I'm stiching this on 29 count Cafe Mocha linen and am using the Valdani threads that the chart calls for. I've never used them before and have to say that I'm really loving them. And I REALLY love the way you just use them "as is" right off the ball and don't have to strip and lay each stitch.

We're off like a herd of turtles to the weekend. Considering that the weather is still rather warm, I think we're looking at some serious Happy Chair time. I know that I need to do a thorough housecleaning in the morning, followed by a long talk with Sir Stewey about his propensity for watering all of the furniture, but that shouldn't' take too long. I fully expect him to do a "Talk to the paw, mo-ther" and then retreat to his fort for the duration.

Wherever you are is where I hope you want to be! Stay cool and safe and dry today! Woo Hoo!

FEE NEE

Daisy Chain

Laura J. Perin

18 ct. mono canvas in eggshell

Watercolours, DMC #5 perle cotton, YLI ribbon floss

Woo Hoo! I finished Daisy Chain last evening and have been sitting the Happy Chair loving it ever since. I really enjoyed every stitch of this one and am now in hard-line concentration mode working on how I would like to finish-finish this one.

I'm thinking....purse.

How 'bout you?

Nothing else to report today. We're HOT HOT HOT here in Hoosierville, so methinks Stewey and I might just stay inside the A/C and watch the TeeVee.

WELL SLAP ME SILLY AND CALL ME SHIRLEY

Y'all are just too too kind to be so sympathetic about this whole "Gee, Spinster Stitcher, it's too bad but I'm afraid that your knee is now out of warranty" crisis. Truth be told, I'm actually quite fine and know in my heart of hearts that I will be back to my ornery self real soon. Too bad about that career as a world class triathlete, though.

Not one stitch was stitched last night because Aunt Chrissy came for Noodle Bowl (!) and then we went to the grocery store so that I could buy the following combination of items that made even the cashier wonder what the hell is wrong with me:

two Snickers cupcakes
a half of a blueberry pie
a bag of Jordan almonds
a bag of York Peppermint Patties (because I was hot and convinced they would cool me off)
a bag of extra thick Reese's peanut butter cups
diet Coke
Icy Hot gel in a special new applicator
Icy Hot roll for knees, ankles, and elbows

This particular shopping excursion rivaled those of my youth when I would slap a pack of ciggies, three bags of peanut M&M's, a bottle of wine, and an extra large package of "feminine needs" onto the conveyor belt and then dare anybody to ask me how I was doing. But alas, there was not one bit of P, M, or S last night. I just got some weird idea that what Chez Spinster needed was more junk that will sit on the counter for a month and then get thrown away.

Noodle Bowl is a new event that has been introduced into my ridiculous little life because of the SoHo Japanese Bistro down the street. Aunt Chrissy absolutely adores sushi and we've gone to this freakin' restaurant about a billion and a half times in the last two months. (See? Told you I exaggerate). Anywhoose....I can't do the whole raw thing, so one of the last times we were there I ordered a noodle bowl. It was lovely, so I did what any self-respecting spinster would do. I obsessed about it for two days and then dug out the wok and started making it for myself every night for dinner (and 10 p.m. snack time, unfortunately).

Although I would love to tell you that I know what I'm doing with this particular concoction, truth is that I just chop up a ton of veggies like celery, carrots, shallots, peppers, and whatever else is in the bin and then I stir fry it all up with soy sauce, Lipton onion/mushroom soup mix, teraki marinade and beef broth. The final crowning glory comes when I dump the entire thing over a pound of thin spaghetti.

Noodle Bowl. There you have it. (*)

That's the report for today. I'm planting my behind in the Happy Chair tonight, so hopefully I will have some pics of progress for you toot sweet!


(*) Stop that retching. Aunt Chrissy ate it and said it was pretty darn good, so consider that your Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval!

IT IS FRIDAY, ISN'T IT?

Well, well, well, It would seem that my last post caught y'all by surprise that I could be so damn perky in the midst of a terrible day. Trust me when I tell you that almost nothing that I report on this here blog is as bad as it would seem. I embellish. It's my thing.

I do have an effed up knee and I am going to have to think about what to do about it in the long term (do you suppose that they actually MAKE a Chanel artificial knee?), but that will be another crisis for another day. For now, Tylenol and happy thoughts are my friend and as I grind away bone on bone hauling my fat heiney around it is a constant reminder to eat a salad every now and then.

(OK, OK, I know that it should probably be a healthy green salad and not a big 'ol Cobb salad that could rival the size of my first apartment, but alas, I am always a dreamer when it comes to food.)
(Speaking of which....methinks it's time for a club sandwich.)

So please don't fret, folks. You can always count on me to maintain a wry perspective on the whacky shenanigans that define my feeble little existence here in Hoosierville. I've always thought that life is just too damn funny not to be amoosed by it, so let's just chalk THAT up as the reason why I could be hanging from a bridge, ready to fall into the rushing currents below while simultaneously wishing that I would have thought to get more pedicures.

I'm just plugging along on Daisy Chain. I actually think that I have purposely slowed my pace on this because I just don't want it to end. Have you ever done that? Paid attention to every single stitch in something because you're just in love with the pattern or the threads or the colors or the linen? It's as though your hands are working independently of your brain and you sit there....transfixed by fingers moving a needle in and out of a project.

And then you start to think that it would have been great if you would have thought to get more manicures.

DAMNIT, GUMBY! OR WHY KEVIN COSTNER NOW OWES ME $642

I suppose that I should begin at the beginning, as most all things do.

The day started with me deciding that my tree trunks would need some serious de-barking before going to the knee doctor. So I hopped into the shower with my brand spanky new razor and went to it. This would not have been a problem were it not for the fact that I did not have my contact lenses in place, nor were my glasses anywhere near my big fat face as I hacked away.

I ended up with what can only be politely referred to as crop circles. Yup. The pattern of smooth shiny legs contrasted with the pattern of stubbly neglected legs will have scientists guessing for ages. At least I'm pretty sure. I didn't see said crop circles until I was in the exam room and had hiked my pedal pushers up so that the nurse could get a good look at my poor knee before hauling me off to the x-ray room.

All she said was "Oh. My."

I'd love to tell you that the orthopedist was a kindly old man with sensible shoes and wire rimmed glasses, but the guy I saw was about as warm and fuzzy as a bowl full of lime jell-o. Now, it's not that I have anything against lime jell-o per se. As a matter of fact, I happen to love lime jell-o. But in an orthopedist? Not so much.

All I heard after the x-ray and a cursory exam was "For a woman that is the approximate size of a small condominium, I'm surprised that you have any knees left at all", and my particular favorite "Yeah. You're young, but you might as well prepare yourself for the fact that you're going to need artificial knees pretty soon."

And then he stuck a ridiculously long needle into me and sent me to the check-out desk with a ridiculously big bill.

So the long and short of it is that I have arthritis and a bone spur on the inside of my left knee, and I've probably also torn the be-daylights out of the ACL, MCL, AT&T, VIP, and any other series of three letters that means "Big fat sweaty girls should really not dance about their homes in their underpants without considering the long term consequences to their lower weight-bearing parts." If I was still in New Jersey and was still swearing, this is right about the time that I would issue a succinct f*** from my big fat potty mouth and just get on with it. As is it, you'll get a damn, drat, and phooey, and I'll fret over this for the next two weeks while we see if this bloody shot worked.

But I would like to go on the record right here and now and firmly attest that the only thing artificial going into me will be the packet of Truvia I put in my coffee each morning, and the lovely new stripper boobs that I intend to get as soon as I can coax my current boobs from my shoes. (What can I say? Nature and this whole getting older thing has NOT been kind to the girls.)

The second highlight of my day was when Aunt Chrissy and I went grocery shopping, and I elected to use the scooter-thingie so as not to bitch and moan and complain about how much walking around a grocery store hurt my knee. So there I was in the produce section....minding my very own business, when I innocently asked Aunt Chrissy to pass me a package of celery hearts. She did so, but not before muttering "If you have to have your knee replaced, you damn well better hire a freakin' nurse", and then I got all weepy and felt like a boob because I just happened to be sitting there thinking "Gee, this really sucks, and if I have to have this damn knee replaced, I better damn well hire a freakin' nurse", but then I saw the look on Aunt Chrissy's face and decided to just suck it up and motor onward.

Let's just say that methinks I've worn out the whole "I'm pitiful and need your help, dear little sissy" routine, and I had better learn to just suck it right up.

(Now here is where I am supposed to tell you that Aunt Chrissy really is the very best caretaker a girl could ask for and that she would never lock me in an attic and/or refer to me as Baby Jane or any other creepy old movie character that gets gas-lighted by exasperated relatives. She just had a moment. Yeah. That's it. She had a moment and she is more that entitled to do so.)

So there.

We rounded the corner and hit the deli counter and that was when we were made aware of some jackass on his cell phone over in the wine store bitching about the fact that people kept cutting in front of him at the deli counter.

Funny, but he wasn't AT the deli counter. He was in the damn wine store.

So I ordered everything I could think of to really tork the guy off because he had to wait so long for me to get my thinly sliced Virginia ham and yellow American cheese, thank you very much, and I heard our lovely deli lady say "You know, I'm not sure what that gentleman's problem is. I tried to wait on him about three times, but he just kept walking away to talk on his cell phone." So Aunt Chrissy and I proceeded to the butcher store (all of these places are in the same damn place, mind you, but I love the fact that our grocery store has "Ye' Olde' Wine Shoppe" and "Ye' Olde' Butcher Shoppe" etc etc.), when I hear the cell phone guy hollering at the deli lady!

Now please understand that by this point in time I have firmly committed myself to the scooter, and I'm guessing that since it was hot in the store and I had on polyester stretch pants, NOBODY needed to see me stand up from the damn thing, but stand up I did and I even put my hands on my hips for effect as I marched right smack over to the cell-phone guy and said (in kind of a screetchy voice I have to say) PARDON ME SIR, BUT DID MY SISTER AND I TAKE YOUR PLACE IN LINE?!! DID WE?!! HUH?!! HUH?! DID WE?! WELL, IF WE DID, PLEASE ALLOW ME TO BE THE VERY FIRST TO APOLOGIZE TO YOU (and here's where I muttered "your highness" under my breath) BECAUSE WE WOULD NEVER INTEND TO HAVE OFFENDED YOU IN ANY WAY.

Stupid prat just sputtered something like "Oh, no, it wasn't you....having a bad day...not necessary to apologize....etc. etc. etc." as he practically ran through the seafood section "Ye' Olde" Seafood Shoppe" to get the hell away from the crazy fat lady in polyester pants who was standing next to a grocery scooter like it was some kind of souped up motorcycle.

I love a good bar fight in the middle of the grocery store.


The evening ended with me settled in the Happy Chair with my stitching and a little Bull Durham on the TeeVee for company. It's not that I actually really particularly like this movie or anything, but the scenes with Kevin Costner dancing around in a robe and tube socks and then painting Susan Sarandon's toe nails and then the whole bathtub scene and then.....

Well, let's just say that I sat through that whole damn entire movie waiting for those scenes, but tragically, I did not realize that I was watching this movie on some type of man-channel that only shows things related to sporting events, fast cars, or Viagra.

Scene: The spinster glances up and notices that the movie is approaching all of the "good parts", so she stashes her stitching to the side, pats her litttle dog to let him know it's time to cover his eyes, perches her stitchy glasses on top of her head and then.....

I SET MY GD HAIR ON FIRE AGAIN.

And the worst freakin' part of the whole entire thing is that this stupid man-channel DIDN'T EVEN SHOW ANY OF THE GOOD PARTS THAT I WAS SO DESPERATELY IN NEED OF THAT I FORGOT TO TURN OFF MY DAMN STITCHY LAMP BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW THAT WHEN I SIT UNDER MY DAMN STITCHY LAMP WITH MY STITCHY MAGNIFIERS PERCHED ON TOP OF MY HEAD I SET MY HAIR ON FIRE.

So, Mr. Costner, if you're reading this, please send a check payable to the Spinster Stitcher for a) some new sitchy glasses that won't melt themselves into a clotted heap of plastic and then attach themselves to my already sparse sprouts of hair on top of my head and b) the resulting little tiny hair extensions that I am going to have to ask for tomorrow when I bolt into the salon asking if there is anybody there who knows how I can continue to rock the 80's bangs with only four strands of hair left on my head.

Don't cry for me, Argentina. You'll be happy to know that Stewey took prompt action this time and peed on the drapes before heading under the bed. Damn dog.

I have made tremendous progress on Daisy Chain, but will you forgive me if I don't get up of my big fat burnt heiney and go find the camera and then take a really bad photo to share with you? Just this once, please feel free to use your imagination as I close up shop for the night, grab an ice pack or two, and head for the big girl sleigh bed.

Trust me. It's been a day.

WELL THERE'S TWO HOURS OF MY LIFE I'LL NEVER GET BACK

Aunt Chrissy and Bosco came for a light Sunday evening supper, a rousing game of Doozie Ball, and then I settled in with some stitching and a movie for company. Mistake. Big mistake.

Now, please understand that I will watch just about everything when it comes to movies, and if there's a hunky handsome man involved in the overall plot I'd probably watch paint dry if it meant I got to see Kevin Costner in a robe.

I suppose what I'm trying to say here is that I'm not a movie snob. I'm really not at all. As a matter of fact, if you ask me what my top ten movies would be the list goes something like this:

1. Ghostbusters.
2. Out of Africa.
3. You've Got Mail.
4. Cinema Paradiso.
5. Jaws.
etc. etc. etc.

So when my dvr thingie suggested that I might like to see Basic Instinct 2 I figured "Hey, I like Sharon Stone. And I love a good plot twist or two, so how bad could this be?"

Well, let me tell you that I could not tear my eyes away from the damn thing and it had nothing to do with the fact that I was interested in the story or that I thought the location was fabulous (hello, London!) or that the clothes were beautiful. I kept watching the damn thing because I fully expected Sharon to turn to the camera and say "Surprise! I thought I'd star in the National Lampoon version of Basic Instinct and since these nice people paid me all of this money and all, I thought I'd show a nipple or two and be done with it".

Eye yai yai yai yai. Bad, I tell ya. Just bad.

Stewey was so disgusted that he turned his back to the TeeVee and decided to channel his inner snooze. He was completely tuckered out from his Doozie session with his Aunt Chrissy, and he thought I was a complete boob for not turning the damn thing off already and just reading a book or something.

So I'm working happily along on Laura J. Perin's Daisy Collage. I am in the home stretch now and think I might complete this one by the end of the week at the rate I'm going. I still love love love it and am thinking about what I might do with it once it's stitched. Pillow? Box top? A fabulous summer tote? I'll keep you posted.

The only other news from here in SpinsterVille is that I seem to have done something completely catastrophic to my right knee. I don't know what that means exactly, but let's just say that I'm envisioning a trip to an orthopedist this week. As it is now I'm hobbling around with a Target brace thingie on it hoping that the diagnosis does not involve the letters A, C, or L. Drat.

I know, I know. It's not like I'm an athlete in training or anything and this will set my schedule back for completing that triathlon next month. But when I head to the kitchen for something that I shouldn't eat, would it be too much to ask that it not hurt so much to do so?

That's the report for this time, kids. We're off to August like a herd of turtles! Do you suppose that it will be any cooler than July?