I shamed myself sufficiently by that last entry to get my ass onto the treadmill.

So I turned on the TV and the DVD player � (I watch an episode of The West Wing while I walk �) and I couldn�t get the fucking TV to recognize the DVD player. I spent, I swear to Christ, fifteen fucking minutes on the floor, hitting every fucking button on the remote, trying to get the TV picture to recognize the DVD.

The West Wing music was playing on the stereo � thus, the DVD player was working. And I hit every fucking button in every possible fucking combination on the TV remote to change the input to DVD.

Oh my god, I�m highly educated, I�m working on my second Master�s degree, here, people, I should be able to figure out a television set. Especially since before I was in nursing, I worked in high tech and I�m married to a technology bigwig.

In the past three months, Blue has used the treadmill TWICE. And he fucked up my television settings in the process. That bastard.

So now my exercise has been sabotaged (I�m far too upset to figure out the TV now, and I�ll be damned if I treadmill without my Bradley Whitford).

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck!

And South Beach says I can�t have any wine. FUCK!

UPDATE.