Buckwheat and hip-hop in QUOTIDIEN

So I made some 'galettes au sarrasin' tonight. Galettes are thicker and drier than crêpes, but thinner and more pliable than pancakes. Best way to eat them is buttered and rolled up. But, because I haven't ever made them before (mom made them), they were totally screwed up. Pathetically, and to satisfy the craving, I collected the pieces, buttered them, and gobbled every last piece. They are gluten free, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that this won't be a staller.

Yesterday was office day. Not sure what happened at about 1pm, but suddenly it was like someone disabled the hydraulic system in my spine. My frame became exhausted and there were no comfortable positions. I came home, ate, and was in bed by 8:30.

I suspect it has something to do with ONE of our animals peeing in my body pillow, forcing me to rely on an old, tiny square pillow. Threw me off something fierce. Hubby, who has this amazing Redemptive ability, stayed up and did laundry.

I have seen this commercial for Hip-Hop abs now about 2,245 times over the course of two days. Hey, just dance the weight away. Because of the thumpy music and flashy-whiz-pop lights, I never gave it a second look because that combo guarantees I'm flat on my back convinced that the room has become a tilt-a-whirl.

But this time...just this once, I looked. Do you know that every person on there was greased up like a pig at a county fair and so damn tight you could bounce a brick of 'em. Why? Why is that?! Because only people with six-packs want to work out? Is this supposed to encourage me? Unless there is a fifty-plus tubby woman there in the back row, tripping over her feet as I likely would, struggling to follow the dance moves because, dammit, she has the rhythm of a white woman (like me), I'm not interested. Sheesh! Seriously!