My favorite week of the year is upon us, Thanksgiving week! We’ll be getting in the spirit of the holiday by listing some things, big and small, that I’m thankful for.
Today, it’s that November kicks off beard season! What can I say, a man with scruff will not be thrown out of bed for drinking scotch around here. And just in case you have a gent in your life (or are said gent) who is nervous about the ins an outs of beard ownership, GQ has a handy guide to all things scruffy.
Obviously I’ve picked my man (big kiss Mr. President!). Vote like your lives depend on it ladies. (Spoiler alert: they do.)
No matter who you’ve chosen today, please go out and vote. It is both a duty and a privilege, let’s honor it and the women who fought for our right to voice our choice.
Happy Election Day!
Can you believe it’s November already? I say that with every new month, but really, I think someone has pressed fast forward on life lately. Nothing to do but roll with it and enjoy. Pass the schnapps!
What’s that? Back to regular programming? Sorry, but, I seem to have come down with a rather severe case of Post Olympic Despondency Disorder. It’s not quite as bad as the mean reds, but it still requires a proper sulky mope and a cookie or twelve. Might pull the phone out of the suitcase this afternoon, but really can’t make any promises.
photo of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s
photo of Marilyn Monroe
When Andy Murray lost to Roger Federer in the Wimbledon finals my (expletive laden) rant included a wish for Andy to, shall we say, “forcefully place” a gold medal in Roger’s ”personal space”. If you know what I mean. Now I find myself in a classic be careful what you wish for situation.
My affection for Mr. Murray is overshadowed only by my fascination with his girlfriend’s hair (will some magazine please interview her about that situation? what product is she using? is there a blow dryer involved, hot rollers, what?) so I’m not entirely sure I’ll make it through another Murray – Federer final. Wimbledon just about did me in, and truth be told my subsequent despondency was pretty insufferable.
I’ll be crossing my fingers when I’m not using my hands to cover my eyes, cheering entirely too loudly, and making a large pitcher of Pimm’s. Sure it’ll only be 9 am here, but it’s 2 pm in London so technically it’s not that scandalous. Or maybe it is, but I’m telling you tea is just not going to cut it for this match.
