Tuesday, November 30, 2010

November faves

I will not sing praises to Costco (yet again) but, I dare you to not become addicted to their spinach & parmesan dip. When you add in a giant bag of the Stacy pita chips, you too will feel your jeans feel a bit snug...*cringe* 

This summer, thanks to my mom, I became hooked to Ocean Blossom. It's fragrant without being too girly (nod to my hubs) and it's subtle without overpowering your senses. Since August OB has been out of the shelves and I despair to think that it may not return this summer! The last of my jars is currently scenting Mildred, so I'm enjoying its last whiffs. *sniff*

On our flight back from CT I stopped by Hudson News and picked up Morning Glory with low expectations (the pickings were slim). Fast forward a few hours later and I was eagerly blazing through the pages. Sweet, laugh out loud funny and romantic: it was a quick, light-hearted read. I am looking forward to watching the big screen version.

Ignore the movie on the left (yuck). At the age of eight, I read the Ramona series out loud to my little sister at night (captive audience or not). The movie adaption had me a little nervous. After two hours of smiles, tears and entertainment: I know Ms. Cleary must be proud. The screenwriters did a wonderful job of taking a bit from each novel and putting it up on the big screen. The movie is now on my Christmas wish list (hint, hint). If you watch it, you will want a 25 cent ring and backyard wedding (or, in my case: vow renewal). Trust me.

Speaking of my sister...every time she stops by Mildred she leaves a teeny mark. This time it was a spotted puppy. You never know what will come next.






2 comments:

Leila! said...

(1) I can't wait to see Morning Glory.
(2) I had no idea they made Ramona into a movie! Thanks for that info!
(3) I am very amused by your sister's marks. I want to start doing the same thing when I go visit my sister's house!

Oscarelmexicanopics said...

Is that what you want for Christmas or your wish list is larger?

Hugs, love
Dad