Santa Baby...

I am sitting here, listening to Michael Buble's Christmas album.

Never mind that Christmas is about two months away.

Never mind that listening to Christmas music alone, in the middle of Greece, with no snow, no Christmas tree, and no smells of cookies baking to fill the air is just.....sort of pathetic.

I don't care. Michael Buble's voice is like smooth dark chocolate. It produces the same affect as a glass of red wine. It sends shivers up and down my spine.

I would willingly be a home-wrecker, if Michael would be amenable to the idea.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

Not really.

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That was completely apropos of nothing.

Basically, I just had to share my joy. My obsession.

Although I will say, with complete reluctance, but in the spirit of honesty, that his "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" has nothing on Bing's. Its true. No one will EVER have Bing's voice.

Sorry, Lover.

I mean, Micheal.

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I keep trying to write what I have wanted to write about all week, what I intended to write about for this very post. But Michael, that charmer, just asked me to fall in love with him right now.

And I might have swooned.

Oh my gosh.

He just said that he is mine.

Must. Breath. Now.

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I can't focus.

This is really ridiculous.

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Damn it all.

Why did he have to marry this girl:

When he could have had this girl, burned nose and all. She would have gotten over her marriage phobia just for him. I promise, because I know her personally.

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Whelp...I might as well end this stream of conciousness right now. Nothing real is getting written today.