jwaneeta

*sigh* It's not easy being me, though some times it's good for a sad chuckle. I've been sickly, so yesterday I took the day off, and convinced myself that fresh broccoli soup was my one true cure. So I crawled to the store and, in a fairly typical spasm of brain freeze, bought the wrong kind of cream. Or added it in the wrong manner.

In all events I ended up with a cuisinart full of whipped cream and broccoli bits. Yum. Not.

On the unpacking front, I can't find my "good" sweats. The ones that aren't full of holes and covered with oil paint stains. I suspect I used them to wrap one of the big plates I haven't taken out of a box yet. What? Bubble wrap is pricey.

Also can't find my red winter gloves, the ones that match my red winter purse. The holidays are coming, and I believe certain tacky color choices are not only permissible, but required. We may be having an epidemic for the holidays and I may be hiding out in my basement with my two month's worth of canned chili, bottled water and cat food (my God, why haven't I laid up some booze? Am I crazy?) needing no gloves of any hue, but maybe not. We could have a global miracle, and I just want to know where my damned gloves are. I put them in the red purse, all efficient-like, and the fairies have stolen them away, and that's just wrong.

The script for the latest book is marvelously written, professionally organized, and lavish of reference. There's even a DVD of the subject. Go, Trina! It's such a pleasure to work with people who know what they're doing. *happy tear*