OH SYLVESTER, HOW I LOVE YOU SO!

I swore up and down that this would be the year that I would stop throwing my crazy out there into the universe and just make this a stitchy blog, but then I realized that my wiring requires that I blather on aimlessly and there's no way I will ever be "that really lovely civilized woman who takes such pretty photographs and who writes with such eloquence about her stitching", and I got over myself.

(I also swore that this would be the year that I assemble a relatively decent sentence that doesn't make you want to gouge your reading eyes out, but I'm pacing myself people. I'm pacing myself.)

Sylvester Stallone was my very first crush. The year was 1978 and I somehow convinced my parents to let me see Rocky. When they finally relented (in 1984 or so), I fell madly, deeply, head over heels in love with him. He was everything I ever wanted. Sure, I liked the way he looked, but it was his character's undying love for a girl that could have been me, were it not for the fact that I didn't wear glasses and was afraid of pet stores.

Over the years, I discovered that the real life Stallone is actually a very smart guy and that he read books and enjoyed painting when he wasn't hanging from a helicopter someplace trying to save the world. This juxtaposition of brain and brawn completely blows my skirt right up, and to this day I am determined to marry a man who is rough and tumble on the exterior, but who will understand the importance of good skin care and who isn't afraid to settle in for a Meryl Streep movie marathon on a winter Sunday afternoon. You know the type...is as comfortable in a ballroom as he is in a bowling alley....can recite hockey stats in addition to Shakespeare....and who will be as happy with boeuf bourguignon as he will be with meatloaf.

It suddenly occurs to me that this explains a LOT about my obsession with a dog-loving, book-reading Jeffrey Dean Morgan, as well as manly man chefs who also have the ability to write prose that makes me swoon.

That last one is Anthony Bourdain, by the way.

But I'm sure that Robert Irvine would be equally as adept at constructing a rather good story or two.

And what about the fact that Gordon Ramsey cooks AND played professional football in his younger days?

All of this explains the sixteen hours spent sitting in the Happy Chair watching of all of the Rocky movies, as well as the two hour Biography Channel special commemorating the 35th anniversary of the original.

What can I say? I have a box set and I wasn't afraid to use it.

Progress on Lizzie Kate's Winter Alphabet continues. This is definitely a fun one and stitching up much faster that I would have imagined!So that's the report from Chez Spinster today, my friends. Stewey has retired to his fort under the bed and won't come out until I promise to put the inside Christmas decorations away, so methinks I better get to it. He can be a real pill if things aren't exactly in the right place on a Monday, so I might as well forget about getting any peace and quiet around here until the last box is packed and stored away for next year. Damn dog.