Gym bunnies: a term so ubiquitous that even many non-exercisers know it, despite never having encountered an actual example. They are the ricers of the workout world; the ones who are utterly preoccupied with how good they look while exercising, while caring little to nothing about actual performance.Scarlett's descendants waltz gently through the gym, never picking up any but the lightest of dumbbells because, as they'll tell you, "I'm just here to tone my muscles." Meanwhile, they scope out the male exercisers, and when they find one that suits their needs, suddenly it's time for them to try to bench-press the bar...and of course, they need a large, manly spotter to help them.

I'm never certain what amazes me more: the fact that women feel the need to resort to acting like brainless cream puffs to get the attention to men, or the fact that some men actually take the bait.

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I was going to go to bed. Really. I'd just finished up a web-design session with a friend and my eyes were starting to get bleary, and another window popped up. Some usernames just don't bode well on yahoo. "love2lickyoutoo" is one of those.

Not only does this particular transcript speak for itself, I suspect it's one of the more quoteworthy transcripts I've posted in the past year. Judge for yourself.

Ever have this sinking feeling that says, "Don't take this for granted?"

I've been promising myself that I'd write some kind of two-month summary on the workouts. Admittedly, the weight loss is sliding in right before the deadline, but changes really do happen in sixty days. My blood pressure and resting heart rate have dropped (the latter, significantly). I've dropped two full dress sizes. My hair and nails have begun growing with a vengeance that I have not seen in many, many years.

Conversation today:

Me: "Hey, it's, like, a moral imperative that I get new shorts to work out in."

Misty: "Did your pants fall off at the gym today?"

Me: "Almost! I looked down and there was this nice big stretch of purple and I thought, 'Oh, that's REALLY not supposed to be there.'"

(Black shirt, denim shorts, nothing purple in the outerwear list, you get the idea.)

I love to cook, but I love my laziness more. Most of the time, this intersection of personal interests yields little of interest, but every now and then, I have a eureka! moment that's worth sharing.

In the past couple of years I've come to appreciate the goodness of an off-the-cuff pan sauce. A bit of stock, a bit of wine, some aromatics, and then a bit of thickening agent (either some kind of fat, or arrowroot starch dissolved in water) for a good mouthfeel. Reduce, plate, eat.

I take a great deal of satisfaction in saying that I think Jeff and I have finally found the trainer that we need to be working with. Only after I communicated this fact to a few friends did I realize how worried they were for me as I struggled to make it through the workouts of trainer #2, Becky. They were afraid that I would assume that my bad experience with Becky was my fault, not hers, and quit two months in.