And counting

This is my fifth Saturday night spent with my ass trying to absorb the couch. Which is a fancy, if slightly icky way of saying that I have not gone out for five Saturdays in a row. Roxanne, if you are reading this, its time to start drinking on my behalf. I would, but I'm pretty sure I have developed some sort of allergy to alcohol which prevents me from being able to finish even ONE GLASS without wanting to crawl into a nuclear hole and DIE the next morning. I know you expected more from me, but what can I say?

It's amazing how when you spend this much time doing nothing, you have all the time in the world to count.
Number of days spent basking in the cool glow of DsTv: 6
Number of times Choef has used a random shoe as paper ball storage: 4
Number of times Paul and I have marvelled at the weirdness of Choefs behaviour: 11
Number of days I have ignored the broken blind on the balcony: 2
Number of channels changed in the last six minutes: 52
Number of decor magazines I have plowed through today: 3
Number of Pizza's eaten: 2
Number of yawns and stretches: infinite.
Number of times Paul has called me sweet after reading this post: 1

God, I love my life.