I don't know what the heck is wrong with me today. I've been walking around the house with a dietCoke in my hand pretending to be Dean Martin. If I had a ciggie and a microphone, I'd be all set to become a lounge singer.
I don't smoke and I can't sing.
Oh well, at least I've got my stitching.
(But first...did you know that the bevvie in Dean's glass was usually iced tea or apple juice and that he very rarely drank alcohol despite his demeanor as a happy party guy? I saw an interview with his daughter in which she said that her father was always worried that his RatPack buddies would figure out that he wasn't much of a drinker and that they would tease him, so he learned how to act a little tipsy to keep 'em from giving him a hard time.)
(Don't you love that about him?)
(And by the way, what ever happened to that type of guy? Do we really expect Mr. George Clooney to carry on that suave tradition all by himself?)
I pulled out my Orna Willis cyber class piece called Cirque de Fleur and worked on it diligently over the weekend. It took me a few minutes to get back into the grove of doing the Jessica stitch, but eventually all was well and I was off to the races:
From what Aunt Chrissy tells me, we are expected to get about a foot of snow, so I suppose that means I have to make an emergency run to the Martin's for sustenance. Forget the fact that I have enough food in this house to feed a small army....if I don't go buy milk and bread and an extra can of something for the pantry I'll panic for the next week and a half (and nobody needs to see that).
How's your week going so far?