I Know It's Not About Looks, But...

It's nearly 5:00 a.m. in sunny Florida, where I've been hanging with my family for the last few days, thanks to Patrick. It was an impromptu trip. I've never really liked Florida, but I have enjoyed the getaway from my frozen little village.

Jeanette gave me a workout regimen before I left. I've followed it to a T. We're staying at a mongo resort where everything looks the same--it's like the resort version of the intro to Weeds (first season). And, since all of the little bungalows look the same, someone decided it would be a great idea to give all of the "streets" similar names. Orange Lake Road. Orange Lake Boulevard. Orange Lake Circle. I take a map with me every time I walk out the front door for fear I would end up in walking into the wrong house.

It amuses me that no one walks here, except on the treadmills in the fitness center. What is that about?

While in the fitness center, I jumped on the scale. Yikes. It's worse than I thought. I won't tell you the number because, well, that would suck. Just trust me--the mountain is high and the road is long. So. Very. Long.

The Bradbury's like to take a lot of pictures. I've been able to stay out of most of them, but yesterday Patrick took my picture eight million times. (He was playing with his new Hipstamatic camera app on his iPhone.) I know it's not about looks, but damn, I really want to lose weight so I can stand to look at my own picture.