Sunday, January 17, 2010


Mae and Lenny said they're tired of Ernie getting all the face time.

I'm sick of winter already. Grey skies and icy patches of pavement do not make for the cheerful disposition. Neither does PMS. We've eaten Thai food twice this weekend and I'd have it for supper if I thought John would capitulate. I'm working out like a fiend and I'm not eating crap and somehow I'm really not tempted by any of the junk crap. Yet, tomorrow is weigh in number three and I dread it like a beating.

Enough of that though. What I'm reading, "The Man With a Load of Mischief", by Martha Grimes. What I'm watching, "Cranford" on Masterpiece (still). What I'm wearing, "the same pink aeropastle lounge pants and hand-me-down grey sweatshirt I was wearing last year at this time". What I'm drinking, "iced coffee from the bakers dozen minus the free donut because neither one of us knew the answer to the trivia question, which was: How many years is considered a term for the Director of the FBI? The answer is ten. We said eight. I wouldn't have eaten the donut anyway". What I'm working out to, "Either Billy Blanks or Amy Bento. Ran three miles Friday night and nearly stroked out. Took me close to 40 minutes but I'm a chunk-ass so just back the hell off".

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