The condo board where we rent our place wants to restrict the number of renters. This may mean nothing or quite a lot, depending on how the vote goes. As it is, we're supposed to sign a 3 year lease on Saturday to try to get around the new restrictions.

I don't want to worry about it yet because the details are sketchy. I love where we live and we don't bother anybody. It's just ridiculous. They should spend their time fixing the structural problems in the building -- it's sinking into the bay -- or replacing the locks which get stuck or twist up all the time, or keeping our cars from getting broken into... you know, real problems. It makes me angry. We don't give any of them a reason to complain, and here they are, wanting to force us out.

Jer and I could go and put a deposit down on a condo elsewhere, but man, I've had it with condos. You just can't win with these people. It's like a great big dysfunctional family.

So now, all of a sudden, we face the possibility of finding a new place in September. I cannot even express how frustrated that makes me.

I'm still doing the working out thing with the personal trainer. Today was legs.

My current pattern is to meet with the trainer on Saturday morning after 30 minutes on the elliptical, and then to do weight/resistance training for a half hour. Then all day Sunday, I lie on the couch with the heating pad and bitch about how much my limbs hurt. This was my March. Next week I'll have worked out every day (minus Sundays) for 1 month. Go me.

Also, I have a problem with Law & Order: Criminal Intent. My problem is that I can't get enough. Apparently I am a fan of Vincent D'Onofrio and I didn't even know it. It's funny that I've gone through life thus far, blissfully ignorant of this affliction. But now that it has unfolded, it can't be put right, like some tangled road map of obsession.