Book. Booze. Bubbles.

And thus concludes a perfect Thursday night when the boyfriend is with the guys and you won't hear from him for hours yet. A Thursday night when you fore go the gym in favor of your exercise ball, floor mat, and the first new Grey's Anatomy episode in eons.

While I am on my own path away from the "dark and twisty" I find solitude in reading Julie and Julia, the story of the bedraggled 29 year old who vows to cook every recipe in Julia Child's cookbook over the course of a year. While I'm no connoisseur of French food-I've never even been attempted to try it, save for that one meal of fois gras and potato/leek soup with the fancy name-I do enjoy my time in the kitchen and I have been looking for a way out of this funk that has been my life as of late.

My resolve is to lose the 20 some odd pounds that have attached themselves to my belly and ass over the last twelve months. I was given a little boost today when a friend whom I haven't seen in a mere three weeks said that it looked like I had lost alot of weight since he had last seen me.

Renewed, I manage to get in a great workout-ish, catch up on the lives of my favorite interns-turned-residents, and reacquaint myself with my local BBB. And I'm not talking about an unnamed government agency, Julie Powell.

Erasermate Pens = Noncommittal Lifestyles?

Things seem easier when you don't define it. It's like the definition automatically allows the other person inside the fortress you've built up around you. I don't know about the rest of y'all, but I like my little world without letting in a Trojan horse. Once in, it seems like the warriors start coming out of the woodworks. Why is that? Is it because you let your guard down?

I expect to be hurt. I expect things to turn sour. I expect him to not call. I put on a facade that I don't care one way or the other if he does or doesn't show up...and I'm surely not waiting around for him to. It generally takes me somewhere between 6 and 8 months of dating someone before I'll allow any type of conversation (DTR--defining the relationship) and usually even then I give my standard "I'm not good with labels" brush-off. Usually as the one year mark comes around I loosen up. I told someone that I determine that I usually only realize that I'm welcome to the idea of being called someone's girlfriend when we've been hanging out long enough that one of his friends uses the term and I don't go all Exorcist on him. Not exactly the makings for the most healthy situations, eh?

I <3 April Fools Day. NOT!

Everyone knows I detest Valentine's Day, but let's talk about #364 on my list of favorite days. I am no fan of the day when, during each year of my childhood, my father would wake me up at 6am, screaming into my bedroom--"It's SNOWING!" And my 6-7-or-8-year-old self would spring from the covers and rush to the door, where, le sigh, the sun was shining!

FYI, it was a balmy 82 degrees Fahrenheit today.