Cel-e-brate!!

Friends, this is a day for the history books!

One that I will remember until I forget!!

A day that brings Corey & Stacie to the masses!!!

....

No really, this is huge.

Well, I mean it's huge for a certain population.

Like, um, those who are concerned about the appearance of their upper arm area.

But I'm sure that is soooo many people.

Try this (don't worry, it's 85% safe), Google "arm fat crease."  Who do you see??

Hmmm?  I'll give you a minute.

....

So??

Who is it that pops up right under a probably very reputable and informational site on the subject of arm fat?!

It's this girl!!  So exciting.  On the subject of arm fat creases I have found my way up the ladder to the number two position of authority on the condition.  It's not something to take lightly, folks.  People look to me before they look to someone else after realizing that I am, in no way, a professional, and that is the highest form of flattery.

So today I'm going to give myself a little pat on the back, let myself know the journey to the top isn't over, and then set off to work on bringing "brownie turd" up to it's rightful number two spot.

Onward.

Things are happening here

Hello friends.

After very little deliberation because I tend to make impulsive decisions I've decided to take a new direction with the blog-thing:

Jewelry.

...and antics.

With videos.

...and antics.

And a splatter of tutorials.

...and antics.

Obviously I can't escape the day-to-day shenanigans at home; a certain someone I am married to is going to dance around in his underwear and socks, and a certain blogger is going to get her hair caught in a blender.  I can't, in good conscience, keep this to myself, so there will be an element of "married life" to my new gig.

But this new "gig" won't be starting up anytime soon.

I work at a comfortable pace.

So until we're all up and running, just hang on to your britches, giggle to yourself because it looked for a second like I said b*%$ches, get a good belly laugh in there when you think of how that phrase would have sounded if I had typed b*%$ches, and well, just wait because, um, there really isn't much else to do.

I'll see you knuckleheads on the flip side.

Which will be tomorrow, because I have a very disturbing question to pose.

A penny saved is a penny for my wardrobe

I ended a relationship last Wednesday.

...

A four year relationship.

With my smartphone.

It was like giving up an appendage.

Or cable TV.

Or chocolate.

But I exaggerate, really.  It wasn't hard and I rarely notice a difference.  Sure I can't immediately post my thoughts on the economy or the importance of grapefruit to Facebook.  And I can't catch up on celebrity gossip while I wait for my coffee at Coffee Planet.  But I wouldn't consider any of that enriching, anyway.

What is, you ask?

Saving $30 a month...it's en-riching!

See what I did there?

No data plan on my phone bill also frees up several minutes in which I can spend actually communicating with those around me.

Like the girls at Coffee Planet:

"Um, are the bagels good here?"

And Corey:

"Soooooo....."

And even the dog:

"Stop licking that."

The only downside is that I have this ridiculous looking phone.

The Pantech Jest 2; it's the size of the palm of my hand and takes excellent pictures if I do not intend for them to be seen.

I've also butt-dialed myself and many others several times.  It's a sacrifice we all have to make for the sake of my wardrobe...because that's what money saved is for: Frye boots and coral skinny jeans like Kate Middleton's.

That's how I would prefer to be enriched, anyway.  Who needs hand-held access to junk mail when you can have coral skinny jeans?

A question we should all be asking ourselves...

At least I can read stop signs now

Hey.

Wanna see something funny?

Walk behind me when I go up or down stairs.

It's hilarious.

I just picked up my new glasses today and my prescription was tweaked slightly; for whatever reason my eye doctor decided I needed to see my feet as much farther away than they really are.  The ground, too.

So when I left the doctor's office I practiced walking with my new, longer legs.  It was like walking for the first time all over again. 

Although, I don't remember the ground making me nauseous the first time.

The joys of being imperfect.

Hello, handsome

I have a new love.

Tall.

Dark.

Incredibly handsome.

And preferably in a size 8, please.

People, this is the boot of my dreams.  Pioneer Woman is giving one pair of the new Fryes away today and I'd prefer it if you did not go over and enter; you'd really spoil my chances.

I just wanted to show you my obsession for the moment.

That's all.

Have a nice day.

...

But don't enter PW's contest.

Thank you.

Conversation is a lost art

I was at the other end of a rant last week.  A rant that did not involve me, but was a little heated and I do believe there were fudge-bombs.  I don't remember why the ranter was ranting but it was a topic that deserved proper rantification so I stood and listened until the following:

"Bippity-boppity stuff that makes me mad, bleepin' bleep!"

"Mmmhmmm, girrrrl."

"And so such-and-such and diddly doo-wop."

"Preach it sista."

"And she probably had her degree in something stupid like Communication."

"Um, my degree is in Communication."

"Of course it is."

Hilarious.

The early years

Hello friends.  Happy Wednesday! 

Or, if you're like me, Happy Tuesday and Happy Thursday!

My, um, calendar ran out on me yesterday and I'm completely lost without it.

So to celebrate Wednesday, and February, and the fact that it's waaaay too stinkin' warm for winter I'm going to post somethin'.

Lucky you!

I found a few pictures at my parents' house recently:

These two crazy kids fully embracing the styles of the late 70s are my parents.   Young, and in love, and fully unaware that within 10 years they will have three very loud, yet amazingly well-behaved children.

I love old pictures.

I love my parents.

I love my dad's face in the top right picture.

That's what he does.

He also mistakenly pronounces "exacerbate" in a very embarrassing way.

My parents worked at a boy's academy when I was young as house parents in a barracks full of seventh graders. 

Handsome couple.

Needless to say, I was the center of attention.

Oh the memories.

Eventually these two adorable yahoos came along.

I love old pictures.

...and reminiscing.

...and bowl cuts.

...and mama's old aprons.

...and my family.

In grosser news....

I found a little caterpillar stuck to one of my edamame beans.  It was just inches away from my mouth.

Ewwwwwwwww.

I showed one of my co-workers.

"Awww, are you going to grow it?!"

I'm pretty sure the freezing and microwaving stunted its growth.

And its life.

But it makes me wonder: how many of those suckers have I eaten already....?

One of life's tough questions.  Hmmmm.

Pinterest? No, thank you.

So, word on the street is there's this fancy new thing to do on the Internets called Pinterest.

The following is what I know about this site:

• It can be found on the World Wide Web.
• People really like it for some reason.
• My friend Alyssa found a bunch of recipes.
• Little buttons are now popping up in other websites that say "Pin It".
• It is a black hole of stuff that sucks you in and turns your entire day into one big long interweb search of everything you didn't know you didn't know.

But I may exaggerate.

After all, I have never been to the site.

This is what I've heard:

"I learned how to do such-and-such on Pinterest."

"You can find lots of cool ideas on Pinterest."

"I spend a lot of time on Pinterest."

"OMGosh Pinterest is so addicting."

"Seriously, I was on Pinterest for hours and hours."

"I just. can't. stop...."

"Hey Stace, you should really try Pinterest."

Here's the deal friends, I am currently neglecting most aspects of my life already.

I don't have time to prepare healthy meals.

I only fold laundry when we are having to dump a full basket of clean clothes onto the bed in order to find a sock match.

I have enough time to make jewelry to stock one store.  Partially.

And I'm not entirely sure what Corey looks like these days.

So if there is just one more thing out there that is going to fill me with all kinds of ideas of fun things I can do or make and cause me to spend a full Saturday crafting or baking or sawing things out of wood with very little experience doing so I'm going to have to politely pass.

Because that Saturday was probably already designated for something else.

Martha Stewart Living is where I draw the line.

...but only because I paid for the entire year.

Tidbits

Here are a few nuggets to start your (hopefully short!) work week:

1.  My hair smells like vinegar.

It's, um, a natural conditioner.  Or so I've heard.  Right now all I know is that I have a mason jar full of something that looks like pee and smells worse that I have committed to dunking the ends of my hair into after every wash.

2.  I still have the jitters from a coffee I drank yesterday.

And it wasn't even a good coffee.

3.  Our weekend revolved around smells: my breath and Oliver's butt.

That's a story that doesn't need telling, there is no happy ending.

4.  Yes there is, the foul odors have been eliminated.  The End.

But just so you aren't picturing strange things happening at my house, let me assure you my breath and Oliver's butt are in no way connected.  I just happened to be emitting a "hickory" scent (as Corey described it) from my mouth while Oliver had a few glandular issues.

Butt glands.  He had butt gland overflow.

Sorry.

5.  The coffee also made me dizzy and nauseous and hungry.

6.  I am still dizzy and nauseous and hungry.

7.  I am only working two days this week. 

My brain has started vacation early.

Like, today.

A Plea To All My Girlfriends

Hey ladies, can we stop trying to kill chivalry here?

Srsly.

I know we all think we can do anything the boys can do and we don't need nobody treating us like sissy girls who need a man to kill spiders and open up those tricky mayonnaise jars.

But, um...I can't do everything the boys can do.

And, uh....I would prefer to be treated like the hormonal, irrational, physically weaker girl that I am.

Boy am I glad to get that out!

Yep.  I have scrawny little arms more suited for whipping up meringues than pouring concrete.  Were I required to join a profession that called for manual labor I would fall behind.  That's just a fact.  I can show you my arms, they're pretty worthless.

So, as I am oh-so-secure in my daintiness,  I would appreciate a little recognition of the hours spent making said desserts with a door held open.

"Why thank you sir, and may the Lord bless you with a wife, mother, daughter, niece, nice lady neighbor, etc. willing to share her lady skills like listening to you complain about your job, complimenting your new hair cut or bringing you hot chocolate as you shovel snow."

I also, as a girl, suffer from the little known ailment: raging hormones and enough estrogen to cause me to cry like a baby during Cheaper by the Dozen and While You Were Sleeping.  I view the world with my emotions and I am moved easily. 

With that said, I would like to be spoken to like the fragile thing that I am, on the verge of cracking....which I may or may not be depending on the day.

Or hour.

I like to be offered a place to sit.

I like the bacon brought home.

And I like protection from the dark, serial killers, and zombies.

So whoever is spreading the rumor that none of us gals like to be treated like gals please leave your generalizations in your pockets so I can be who I am; hormones, weak arms, chocolate hoarding, and all.

Thanksomuch.

My Thoughts, Exactly: Sandals

The opinions below are 110% my own, no one has paid me to say all kinds of nice things about these sandals, they were on my feet at the time, I realized how much I enjoyed them, and I thought I would share.

I don't often splurge on...anything.

I'm a "thrifter" as Corey called me this morning.  I live for hand-me-downs, garage sale finds and consignment stores.

However, every now and then I do come across some items that are worth spending a little extra on.

Like these:

Patagonia Bandha Sling sandals in Dried Vanilla.  Also known as my birthday present this year.

I realize it is a tad late to be talking about sandals, now that we've officially moved on to fall, but I anticipate a sale (you're welcome), plus, not all of us are blessed with four feet of snow by Thanksgiving and can get away with sandals all stinkin' year.

I hate you.

But I don't.

I came across these beauts at a downtown outdoorsy store early this past summer and by looks alone I was head over heels:

• They're simple.  90% of the time I wear simple outfits and need a shoe to compliment.  The other 10% a slipper will do.
• The leather and skinny design of the straps classes 'em up.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not above a flip-flop, just the opposite; these babies take me where no regular flip-flop can.  Like work meetings.
• Back strap.  Something different, something functional.  Because now that I'm kissing my twenties goodbye I should add some rationality into my decisions.

The only hesitation I had when buying them (clarify: when Corey bought them) was the price.  For $90 I could by 180 paperback books at the next book sale, I could go on a date with hubs, I could pay one half of my last driving-on-cell ticket.  But, I reeeeeally like them, and thought they might be worth the risk.  So on my feet they went.  And I've worn them almost every other day since July.

My feet have thanked me.

Just so you know.

Coming Together For Hope: check

Remember that thing I was talking about last week?

You know, that little event keeping me from blogging, and working, and keeping up with friends, and eating normal meals at normal hours of the day?

Well, that little event is over.

(enter huge sigh of relief here)

It darn near killed me, a fact Corey can attest to after seeing me nearly face plant in my french toast the next day, it definitely fried me, and I needed a full three days to recover.

My best friend with a red beard, Pete of PJN Photography, was our official photographer.  I know you're dying to see pictures of the thing.  Especially after reading my weekly rants of waning sanity, and then not reading because I was always just too busy.  I promise I'll post some when I get them

Yeah, just like how you posted pictures of Kimberlie getting snotted on by that alpaca.

Ok, that was an entirely different situation depending on my mom, who does not have a professional reputation to protect, getting me those pictures which are still floating around somewhere.

But I digress.

The day was good.

Crazy, hectic, and long, but good.

Here are some bullet points with words after them:

• The event was about bringing people to Jesus, and thankfully there was no actual going to Jesus when two of the larger-than-a-two-bedroom-house bounce houses deflated.
• Or when some of the vendors packed up early and drove their cars straight through the field.
• We'd do things differently next time.
• I suffered from swampy feet all day.  Note to self: bring extra shoes when dew is involved.
• Additional note to self: remember that you actually have extra shoes while wishing you had extra shoes.
• I will from now on leave notes for myself: Is your zipper where it should be?
• On the occasions when it is so important for it to be up, it is usually down.
• Two words: Christian rap.
• Three more: I like it.
• Now four words: Anthony Kohlhepp is cool.
• You'd think churches would be all over a church-type event.  They weren't.
• (shrugs shoulders)
• Our planning committee was awesome and now that we aren't meeting every second of the day I kinda miss them.
• I got to carry a walkie talkie. 
• My dad wore a Mickey Mouse shirt because he goes by Mick.
• My dad is goofy.
• (shakes head)
• Up next: serving breakfast to thousands at 5am to raise money for the same soup kitchen. 
• With all this work we should at least get a discount on our meals.
• That was a lame joke.
• The executive director and his wife are on my "Nicest People I Know" list.
• They showed me where the secret stash of chocolate is in the basement.
• I needed it.

Chew on that for now, folks, until I get some pictures up and running.

Oh, the anticipation!!!

Help me out here GE

With all the new technology coming out that supposed to make our lives easier, why are we still burning popcorn?  Where in the world is the microwave that tells me when it's done?

It's simple math, people.  The number of kernels per second multiplied by the moisture in the air, divided by the motion of the ocean equals perfectly done popcorn.  Blamo.

If that idea is not already in the works, it should be.

And that's all I have to say about it.

Thank you.

My favorite things....right now

In order to make up for what is lacking in my posts these days (substance), I'm going to try to feed you little tidbits o'stuff.

This first one is about the junk I really like at the moment.

Enjoy.

...

Farmers market spinach: green, firm and not slimy.  I never knew this is how spinach is supposed to be.

Corey talks in his sleep too: "Hey Corey, you should probably get up, we need to leave soon." "Will you please stop talking?!  You come in here like a hurricane and....sorry Beetle, I'm only half awake."

Trivia night at the bowling ally: if it looks country, sounds country, then it must be country.  I don't care.  I do trivia in a bowling ally and I love it.

Corey's secret chicken recipe: can't tell you what's in it.  Secret.

Falling asleep to Matlock. 

Falling asleep to Matlock via YouTube on my phone when Matlock is not more easily accessible.

Oliver: even though he attacks other dogs because he is a grumpy old man.  This implies there are moments where I don't like him.  That would be correct.  I don't like him when he attacks other dogs.

Buying new pens: I love office supplies more than you'll ever know, my friends.

...

Until the next tidbit, tah-tah!

Desperate Plea

Oh my gooooosssshhhh.  Fellow bloggers: please stop.

Seriously, can you give me, like, 20 seconds to catch up before you post anything else??  I've been away from my computer, unable to soak in every word, ponder the conundrums of breast pumps and bottle rocket wars, and make thoughtful (yet odd, sorry) comments.

And I want to do all those things!  I need too.  Your news is my routine, and like my daily celebrity gossip fix, a la People online, it's as precious to me as wearing shoes in a public bathroom.

Can I tell you how gross I feel just standing in a public bathroom?  Don't even get me started.

But I digress.

Can you just feeeeeell the whining here?  Do exaggerated vowels convey that tooooone?

I'm doing my best to read it all, like actual read.  Which means I can only do a little at a time.  So, if you all were able to take, oh let's say, a half-day blog siesta that would do me a world of good.  Thanksomuch.

...

PS. Can someone fix Blogger so I can resume commenting?  For some of you I still am not able to leave my feedback, which I know is crucial to the development of your blog.  Please advise.

Free Stuff

Here's a contest you might like, but if you find yourself short on time and unable to enter and reduce my chances of winning I will not be offended:

Our Dandelion Wishes is giving out a bunch of goodies, some of which may or may not be gift cards to Target.

With which I may or may not use to purchase this dress

I have one in black and practically sleep in the thing.

So in conclusion: vote for Stacie, winner of ODW prizes.

Or visit her blog and try to win for yourself.

Thank you.

Jewelry and math problems

I've mentioned this before, but I feel like diggin' it up again, probably because I'm lacking sympathy...

...kinda like how preggos eat dirt because they need more iron in their diet.

Or worms.

I make jewelry in my spare time.  Which at this moment means every spare minute in which I am not at my "real" job or sleeping...or eating, or folding laundry every third week.

It started a few years ago, I stumbled on a fun little craft and decided to give it a try.  I've always had my hands in tons of different mediums, so why the heck not shear a few sheep and make cutsie little beads out of their sweaters?

So I snagged a few different colors or wool at my local craft store, messed up a few beads, emailed a professional, learned the right way to do it, learned not to use craft store wool, learned that craft store wool made me itch something fierce, and so on.

Let's not make this a normal Stacie post.  Go with the Reader's Digest version today.

Oh dear, I guess I do tend to get carried away with the details.

So let's fast forward to last fall: for some reason I decided to try making money with these little felt thingies.  I took 'em to a store near Albany and much to my surprise people bought my stuff!  There is a felt ball niche; it's small, but there.

Then I thought, "if a few people in Albany like my goods, why not try a craft fair?"  Then I said to myself, I says to myself, I says, "But, not just any dinky little thing in the park where you show up for a few hours and families stroll by on their way to get ice cream, but a real, 30,000 attendees, rules and regulations, entire weekend kind of fair."

What were you thinking?

What was I thinking??

We've paid a quarter of a million dollars in supplies and fees (slight exaggeration, I admit), and my daily quota is to roll 20.6 felt balls (I generally round up, it's not quite that easy to tell when a ball is only .6 felted...) and construct 3.5 pieces.

That sounds reasonable.

Pppppshhhh. 

20.6 felt balls...I mean 21 felt balls takes about 45 minutes.  And just one of a certain style of necklace takes 3.5 hours.  Do the math, friends.  That's 3.5 + 3.5 + 3.5 + (3.5x.5) + 45 = STRESS.

And 57.25.  But that's not taking into account the minutes and hours thing where you convert the hours to min....never mind, I've lost track of myself again.

(Warning: even more whining ahead)

People, I am tired: I space out on my drive to and from work.

I have no life: the stinkin' sun is shining and all I can do is look at it from my window or while walking my psycho dog.

I am getting sick of felt: I find it on all of my clothes, my furniture, my FOOD.

I want to not whine about something that I used to enjoy!

...sigh. 

And that's all I have for you today. 

No funny business.

Just pure ranting.

It's like I'm planning a wedding, sheesh.

But just so you know the "wedding" is June 11 and 12, so I should be back to normal after that.

I mean, after I go through a week of decompression.  Like the scuba divers do.

Hopefully then I will be able to stay on topic.

Breakfast

For those of you who took one look at the length of my last post and said, "I just don't have the energy to tackle that," here is an itty-bitty post.

Enough to get your Corey/Stacie fix for the day.

Or week.

Or year if you reeeeeally dislike us.

It's on the subject of love.

Or guilt.

I haven't decided.

Yesterday Corey was not on his best behavior.  The day both started and ended with things not so pleasant.  Luckily this time he knew what was best and did not push the issue as I crawled into bed.

We don't mess with this lady's 8+ hours.

So this morning as I was in my little reading nook, getting some quiet time in before work I heard movement downstairs in the kitchen.

First the microwave, then rummaging through storage containers, followed by liquid poured into a cup.

Next thing I knew I was being handed a bowl of oatmeal, just how I like it, minus walnuts because I ran out, and a cup of orange juice.

Nothing said, just a presentation of breakfast and hasty retreat.

This man gets on my very last nerve, but at least he knows what to do to make it right.

The End.

Weekend in Review: lots of stuff you didn't know you wanted to know

So far in May (and part of April) my weekends have been full of sunshine.

But not literally.  It rains a lot here in the spring.

Last weekend was a healthy dose of laser tag and serious girl bonding over pizza and ice cream.

This weekend was just a hodge podge of random goodness.

First, there was some serious scheming between the girls in my mom's sewing class on Saturday.  They figured out what they want their next project to be, when they are crashing my apartment for a sleep over, and what activities will take place in said sleepover:

"We can sneak into your bedroom when Corey is asleep and put make-up on him!!"

"Oh really?"

"Wait, is he a heavy sleeper?"

"Not at all."

"Ok.  Then we'll give him some sleeping pills, drag him into the bathroom and pierce his ears!!!"

It was too adorable for words.

From there I went out in search of a large silver platter.

See, I have this big craft show coming up and I decided to display my business name (s.j.l. original) on a chalkboard affixed to the inside of a silver platter.  Problem: no silver platter.  Solution: peruse Saratoga garage sales and estate sales.

My first stop was this old brick mansion on the east side of town.

We have old 1800's mansions just hangin' out in the neighborhoods in my town, by the way.  I would show you pictures but you would drool all over your computer and plan extended vacations that would turn into permanent vacations and I just don't want to risk you snatching up my dream house.

Nothing personal.

So I stopped at the mansion and it started to rain.  Some of the goods were covered by thick green tarps so at first glance I wasn't sure if this place would end up a dud.  At one end was an uncovered section of a makeshift table.  On it a tray with a sign that read, "Everything 10 cents."  And on the tray: a mayo jar full of wine corks and old wooden spools of thread.

This means nothing to you, I know.  But to an old junk hound like me I was thrilled.  Not only do I get a whole jar of corks, for which I have no idea what I am going to do, but also a little knick-knack to display with my other knick-knacks for only TWENTY CENTS.

Oh the joy.

But I still needed to look for my platter.  I move on and find two small silver serving trays.  Dang.  Not what I needed.  But there were still several tables covered by tarps.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a large silver platter.  I saw that you had two smaller ones and I didn't know if...."

She lifts up one of the tarps and there, stacked seven deep, were large silver platters.

Jackpot.

Beyond that: old silver plated flatware.

Score.

I left with $10 in goodies.  Treasures.  Supplies.

Corey calls it crap.

He's not yet able to see the potential in others' trash, er, disposables.  We're working on that.

Next I took a quick trip to the grocery store for toilet paper.

It's sort of a staple in our house to, you know, get rid of the dog's eye goopies.

I was a little hungry so I picked up some fixin's for my lunch: mozzarella with tomato and avocado.

Oh dear, sweet, baby puppies was it delicious.

It was the kind of meal you write home about.  And I did.  In a text.

Later on that night was the Kentucky Derby.  Kind of a big deal in a horse racing town like Saratoga.  A local racing hot spot, Siro's, (the same Siro's mentioned in Clare Boothe Luce's The Women, btw) opened for the day to everyone who wanted to be at Churchill Downs but couldn't come up with the $12,000 box fee.

A steal, if you ask me.  But I digress.

I wasn't thrilled to be there.  I'm more of a pjs and barcalounger type and tend to avoid fancy clothes and stand-in-uncomfortable-shoes situations.  But what made it all worth it was the free burrito and enchilada buffet.

People, I will forever possess the poor college kid mentality that you take whatever freebies you can get.

And this was not only cost effective, but darn tasty.

The rest of the night came and went, as did a few dozen felt balls, and then we woke up to Mother's Day.

I love my mom.  She likes to be all up in my business about a lot of things but I don't mind because she's usually right.  Annnnnnd she makes sure I'm safe.  And happy.  And healthy.

"Ok, so you can take the train out of DC and you'll be in Albany in only seven hours and it will only cost $250."

The dear knew I did not enjoy my extended stay in the Washington DC airport.

She takes care of me.

So we took her out for breakfast after church at this cute little cafe that serves a mean cinnamon raisin bread.

I filled up on peach pancakes.

I'm noticing all of the good moments of my weekend surround the food I ate.  I may or may not have an eating problem.

Afterward Corey and I went north to Lake George where we met his parents for lunch.

Yes, this was immediately after breakfast.  Needless to say neither one of us was hungry.

Until it was time for dessert.

Again, I may or may not have a problem.

My mother-in-law is pretty special too.  She never had a daughter so I try my hardest to fill the gaping void having one very active, sometimes troublesome son leaves.

Corey has some stories.

Like knocking over gas pumps, and swiping lawn ornaments, and running shopping carts into glass doors.

Lord help me when I have his babies.

The rest of the day was less about food and more about relaxation.

And laundry.  But that's always a Sunday thing.

The weekend ended with putting fuzzy wool earrings together on the couch while watching Obama talk about nailing the nastiest man in Stacie's 28 year history.

And that, my friends, was my weekend.  A great end to a busy week.

Or is it a great beginning to another busy week...

It was great.  That's it.

...

Bachelor Mansion.

A block from my house.

You can stay here when you come.