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I find myself at work this week with little to nothing to do or at least nothing that can't be put off until Monday after I've taken a week to sit and stare out the window and play on the Internet. I finished season two of The Office last night. And I cannot believe, still, how great this show is. I laughed so hard during the outtakes that I collapsed onto my bed and had to watch the rest lying prostrate. My love for Tim/Martin is escalating absurd heights. I cannot separate the two. It is unhealthy. I love Tim, but I also love Martin's cracking up during the outtakes and singing and cheering while watching the World Cup (or is that supposed to be Tim?). I love Martin berating Ricky Gervais for doing that stupid pointing gesture when he's talking about how Tim could have Brent's job one day. I sincerely do believe that I could watch these DVDs every single night for the rest of my life and never tire of them. I dread the day when I actually have to return this one to Netflix so I can get something else. Perhaps that day will just never come. Now I just need to get my hands on the Christmas specials, because mo pie tells me I basically haven't lived until I've seen them. And apparently Chiara and I might ultimately have to fight for Our Tim. I just printed a cast picture and it is now pinned to my office bulletin board. This is clearly going too far. I watched North Shore last night. Hawaii is pretty. Brooke Burns is a terrible actress. I recognized the kid who played the obnoxious partying teen as Ashlee Simpson's ex-boyfriend over whom she has been crying on her new show. The fact that I know this shows I've probably watched too much television this week. I'm going to see Fahrenheit 9/11 tonight. I'm actually surprised that it's playing here. It's rained for days now and shall rain for days hereafter, and it's so wet that the dogs are going kind of crazy from being kept inside so much. This morning, Zuko snatched a piece of toilet tissue out of the toilet bowl (I had used it to blot my lipstick; the toilet water was clean) and ran around the house shaking it in his mouth, and then he swallowed it, and then he barfed. My mother is coming home tomorrow, and that makes me very happy. I haven't heard from my sister since she left Barcelona and am hoping that she made it to Zurich safely. Because I am sure the world at large will be thrilled to know, for the past three days, I've tracked my points, drunk my water, and taken my myriad vitamins. Note that I have not made it to the gym, but there's always tomorrow. ("There's always tomorrow for dreams to come true." What is that song from? I can hear someone singing it, like a doll or a squirrel or something, so it leads me to believe it's from a children's movie or something. Augh!) Getting back into the reasonable eating isn't so difficult when you realize that not a single pair of jeans you own (having discarded all in previous size when accidentally losing weight last year) can be zipped without strenuous effort (like, say, using a pair of pliers) and that if you don't step away from the cake, cookies, ice cream, burritos, and vats of Thai food, you will have to come to work sheathed in a large bathtowel in lieu of jeans with broken zippers. So points, shmoints. I've been eating the Smart Start and Morningstar veggie sausage breakfast, the turkey sandwich and fat free pringles and baby carrots and dill pickle and Laughing Cow cheese and sugar free popsicle lunch, the fat free pudding or applesauce snack, the stir-fried veggies and almonds and pasta and parmesan cheese and boca burger dinner, and the Smart Ones giant fudge bar for dessert, and miraculously, it's coming out to under 20 points per day. I have no idea. I feel like that's tons of food. (I know I need more protein.) I suppose one of these days I will tire of that monotony and need to branch out. Jesus Christ. I hate tracking points. HATE IT. But if I don't, and I allow myself to eat whatever strikes my fancy, I end up in painted on jeans and with a face that looks like a big red marshmallow. And I can abide neither looking nor feeling this way for one more single day, so ... points. There you go. About this time in ...
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