Yay! Meredith kept my favorite blond -- though the guy with the bad haircut who cooked her dinner sure looked hot in his tight little brown sweater. Thank goodness she finally wised up and ditched the blathering black hole of emotional need.
And when the hell did I get hooked on a trashy heterosexual dating show? (Oh, yeah -- the day I discovered it was filled with hot guys who weren't all queer-ass and weird like the guys on the other shows.)
I think my chest cold has become more than just a little whispered promise of misery. My voice has dropped a good octave, and my coughs ring with the resonance of a drum sloshing full of phlegm. (Wow -- the natural poetry in my writing sometimes even surprises me.)
And my week of 11+ hour workdays hasn't helped much either. But being sick does bring with it a few perks -- like topping off dinner with a huge bowl of ice cream and not a shred of guilt.