Treadmill = torture

So, I was wrong. Hitting the treadmill at home isn't as rewarding as donning presentable workout attire, braving the dark cold, and realizing how wide your butt is in the mirror behind you as you walk on one at the local Y. (While next to you someone is running at break neck speeds and not even sweating. I can tell, I sneak looks at their monitor.)

I cannot stare at a green wall for upwards of 20 minutes each night. Add a little water torture, some light deprivation and I could have a case with Amnesty International. Either we get a television in there or I start going to the Y again and envying all of the skinny, sweat-glistening 20-year-olds.

And, there is nothing grosser than sneezing while wearing your Crest White Strips. Who needs white teeth.

And these new vitamins are sure to choke me to death each morning as I try to swallow something the size of a Sharpie. Who needs bone density.

Wellness isn't all it's cracked up to be.

All in the name of white teeth

It's Day 2 of the white strips fiasco, and I have to admit that it does get ever so slightly easier to take small strips of peroxide soaked Saranwrap and stick them to your teeth while gagging in front of the mirror. However, I bought the strips, I am gonna use the strips. Ragged will have whiter teeth in 2007. Mark my words.

I do feel a little odd trying to talk to Cynical while sporting them, but it's all worth it when he pretends that he can see a difference already. Sometimes all I need is someone to humor me.

I did also redeem myself last night by hitting the treadmill after dinner. We have to reorient that thing or get a television because staring at the bad paint job on the wall just isn't motivating me. However, the new OK Go CD did wonders for my mood as I trudged along.

And so we are into January, a very blah month given all of the festivities preceding it. January evenings make me want to stay inside and pretend I live in a little house in the woods, miles from any place where you can buy Crest White Strips or storebought butter cookies. I catch myself wanting to braid my hair and wear my long cumbersome flannel gown (which I never wear), and sip hot tea while gazing out the window. I want to pretend that our only job is keeping the cold outside of our warm home. I want to read by lamplight. I want to build a fire and stay up all night maintaining it while off in the distance I can hear coyotes singing to the moon. I want to be Laura Ingalls Wilder.

White on

I had a dental appointment today. Bright and early. So, I spent lots of extra time on my teeth this morning in an effort to impress both the dentist and his crew of ladies in scrubs. My goal was to leave hearing their whispers of, "My goodness, I have never seen teeth cared for so thoroughly. We should nominate her for the Patient of the Year and plaster her picture in the waiting room."

What I got instead was, "My goodness you are pale." And, "Have you considered our teeth-whitening system?"

Not exactly what I had hoped for. I wanted to respond to the second question/comment with, "So my smile will match my pasty skin?"

Where did my weekend go?
Our camping trip was short, but sweet. I spent the majority of my Sunday tackling the mayhem that is left each time we head out of town. Laundry, laundry and more laundry. Cat hair covered furniture. Floors littered with, well, litter. Windows with tiny nose prints on them. A bathroom in need of attention. And of course a large tent left to dry out in the back yard.

Cynical chose another route, postponing his largest chores for Labor Day, appropriately enough. So, while he mowed, mopped (don't envy me because my guy can use a mop), and shopped, I spent the day at a yarn sale and knitting away with Kissed Knitter.

In the afternoon we officially welcomed fall with two versions of chili: a spicier, noodle-filled concoction for Cynical, and a less spicy and noodleless version for me. Topped with cheese and accompanied by Fritos. . . there is no better way to wrap up a long weekend and welcome autumn. Yes, I cooked.

On Saturday while camping, we opted to drive into town and eat at a local diner. In my community there is a no-smoking ordinance, obviously something not considered by this little town. Everyone (and I mean everyone) in the place was smoking. On our table was not one, but two ash trays. They apparently expect you to stay a while or chain smoke. We did neither. It seemed an appropriate photograph to include given my pasty skin and apparently in-need-of-whitening teeth.