"Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go, I owe my soul to the company store"

What better way o start a post than with a photo a dog so fluffy you'd think hiss life is a permanent spin cycle in a dryer? If he were mine I'd carry him around as pillow.

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It took me a while o realize September is here and it is not planning on leaving until all the liquor is gone and there are no more clean dishes in the house. Just sitting there on the couch staring at me as I stare at it with my ruffled up feathers and cup of coffee.

Things are feeling disarranged and unhinged and bouncing around like a rubber ball on a frenzied rampage. Sending the blame to weather changes and all the crumpled paper living on every available flat space. Thank god for cuddles, Mad Men marathons and a newly discovered Skittles obsession. And Absolut Vanilla vodka.

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A sunny day and a garden usually mean improvised photoshoots with The Boy. Or, when lazy bones are taking their revenge, it means watching Mad Men on the couch. But from time to time it's nice to tell the lazy bone to shut up and just go and enjoy the sun and all that vitamin D.

Nothing brings out the child in you like a swing.




Contrary to popular belief, even if I do have zero balance when just standing around on terra firma, I still did not fall flat on my face. Barely.




I am no longer a redhead. You can call me Faded Carrot Top from now on.


The puppy is the fluffiest thing ever (even fluffier than certain unicorns) but he doesn't show any sort of reaction to anyone's presence, always being far more interested in random twigs or imaginary Chupacabras he thinks are hiding in the back garden.


Not even a nod of recognition when I ended up running after him. He must be the life of the party.


Not even my pouty face could make him stay.

Wearing: Mango dress, Zara blazer, Musette booties, Dior sunglasses.

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Song of the Day: Tennessee Ernie Ford- Sixteen Tons