Today is my first day of "diabetes education," where Lila the certified diabetes educator will answer all my questions with, "You'll have to ask your doctor about that."
It runs from 1 to 4:30, just long enough to ruin my day and cause the entire class to go into glucose comas during rush hour on the freeway.
Looks like Survivor Amazon will start on February 13. I am not divulging any secret plans, but I plan to watch it with Aviva in a very cold location just north of the eastern United States.
With the Sopranos, Six Feet Under and Survivor on hiatus and a girlfriend 2,030 miles away, I realized I really have no life to speak of besides TV and the Canuck.
I stopped watching pro basketball. My team (the Spurs) are like a high quality wristwatch that loses ten minutes a day. They make me crazy with their inconsistency.
Every time I trim my toenails, I have a morbid fear of cutting myself and having to check into a wound healing clinic with a bunch of fat old men with impending gangrene.
I have lost four more pounds since Aviva left, so the black jeans I bought in a smaller size may now fit me without having to lie down to zip them up.
I am going to color over my gray hair with a lighter brown than my remaining brown hair so I can look like wKen (without the goatee).
I just remembered this writer's workshop I was in where we were asked to write about things we did for others during the holidays.
This woman said she bought a case of Mad Dog 20/20 and drove around on Christmas Eve, handing it out to lucky winos.
She said, "But I never buy the good stuff, it's too rich, it would upset they stomachs."
Aviva continues to beat me in Scrabble, but it's now just a 7-1 ratio instead of a 100 to 1 ratio. I keep waiting for her to accidentally slip a "u" into a word like color so I can challenge it and make her lose a turn.