kvetch

I could handle the stay-at-home moms with Kate Spade bags and designer shoes. I actually like seeing Mercedes Benzes, Porsches, and BMWs on the road every day. I got used to the nipped, tucked, tanned blondes coiffed and toned to perfection. But one thing that really burns me up about living in an affluent Dallas suburb are the bratty preteens. Particularly the squeaky ones with pink braces and matching iPod mini, whining on their pink RAZRs about how they really want to go to the mall after this stop at Wal-Mart.

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They do this every year. I should be used to it by now. Every January the store shelves are emptied of string cheese lite, frozen spinach, zucchini and vitamins. And every January gyms and fitness clubs fill with new participants and high hopes for the new year.

Please go away, n00bz. You won't last till Valentine's Day anyway.

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I was actually supposed to go back to Phase One of the South Beach Diet this week, and maybe whittle my way down to the 110 lbs I was aiming for previously. I've been putting it off for the past week, yet weighing myself daily. On odd days I am 125 lbs, and on the even days it's either 127 or 128. Go figure.

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Today's my last bitch-and-whine for a while. I've resolved to be a nicer, sweeter person starting tomorrow.

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Spring's coming up patent leather ballet flats. I wish I could find another pair of red Rampage d'Orsays. Am seriously considering buying Old Navy's Women's Faux-Snakeskin Pointy-Toe Flats in both colors for work.