Tights, television and my pending doom.

(Insert sentence lamenting how it's been SO long since my last post, etc., etc.) I bought tights over the weekend. Yes. That's the most important thing I've had to say in about two weeks. I haven't worn tights since I was approximately 7-years-old, and now that I have them on, I can't think of one good reason why it's taken so long.

They turn summer into fall just like that. And patterns! They're so NEAT. I feel like a whole new woman.

Shut up, it's the little things that make me smile, OK?

I'm happy to report that all it took to kick my nasty habit of blowing off running was finishing my marathon. Now that it's over, I run almost every day. And I - gasp - ENJOY it. I needed to smile for 26.2 miles to remember why I do it in the first place. My body feels good, my legs feel strong, and it's going to be a lovely off-season.

Oh, let's see, what else can we talk about?

Oh. I KNOW. Dexter.

I'm finally caught up with the current season. I still love him. LOVE HIM. I want one of my own, preferably of the Michael C. Hall variety. I have no words. Other than - Julia Stiles better not screw this up. There was a time when I loved her to death. That's not to say I still don't enjoy her, but man, she's always been a horrid actress. So this guest role of hers better be fantastic. So far, so good.

In other news, my friends are slowly crawling out of the woodwork again with "so, I know a guy. You guys would really get along." And that's cute and great, but, uh, I can't help but do a preemptive *face palm* at the idea. These things hardly end well. At the same time, who am I to turn down the suggestion? I trust my friends. I trust their judgment. And if you're my mother, you're already convinced that at the ripe old age of 28, my shelf-life for potential suitors is diminishing by the day.

No time to waste!

SOON ALL THE MEN WILL BE GONE!

G-O-N-E!

I giggle at this now, but I bet I won't be giggling when she turns out to be right, and I'm 35 years old, sitting at home at night with two elderly cats in my lap. Harley will probably still be shitting on the floor at that age.

Oh, I'm doomed.