Looking pretty, feeling fine

It's strange, the things that stick with you, like the title of a book for teen girls my sister had back in the early, early 80s (Looking Pretty, Feeling Fine). It was one of those wholesome little rags with makeup tips and who knows what else. How to keep your flybacks in place, I guess. Today we have lovely publications like Bobbi Brown Teenage Beauty, which teaches you to look like a big ole ho. This is supposed to be Bobbi's tips for light, natural makeup for fresh young things, too. I fear what she's suggest for a fossil of three decades like myself. But then, I've always favored colors indistinguishable from the ones God gave me.

Anyway. I wasn't planning to bitch about teenage makeup and mode of dress. That's a whole other blog waiting to happen, since I work on a college campus. Oh, I have wanted to launch into a litany of the strange things I see here (mostly high heels and too much flesh, as if this were a school for strippers), but no. Not today.

What I wanted to say is that it's scary how much of a difference exercise can make in the way you feel. I got a good workout last night for the first time in about a week, and consequently got the first good night's sleep in at least that long. Every day, I've been rolling out of bed stiff, grumpy and barely coherent. This morning, I actually felt as close to great as the early a.m. ever allows.

I even managed to put together a cute, flattering outfit from clothes I've had a good year, but never thought to combine. Happiness all around. Today is my friend Amy's baby's first birthday, so I'm going out to buy her giant crayons. I figure she'll grow into them soon enough.