Have you ever had chile rellenos? Not the kind of casserole that some people call chile rellenos, but real ones? Ones that look like this?

Yeah, I had THAT for dinner last night. Except that mine were all covered in MORE cheese (they're stuffed with it, too) and red chile. 

Yeah, I'm still excited about it? What of it? The most exciting part was that this morning was weigh-in morning, and instead of gaining another half-pound, I actually LOST a pound. All caps. That's right.

So, altogether, since I started the crazy "exercise-like-a-psycho-and-cut-calories" way of life two months ago, I've only lost five pounds, but I've also lost two inches off my waist, so I'm pretty happy about that.

What did I do differently this week? Well, my friends, I ATE MORE.

I ATE MORE.

Wow, that is a beautiful sentence. It wasn't my idea...someone else told me I might not be eating enough, and I read about it, but after last week's disappointment, I took the whole weekend off the diet (not the exercise part, just the food counting part) and then added 100 calories a day during the week.

How did that even work?

And then, the night before weigh-in, I went out and had that glorious deep-fried goodness you see up there. Geez Louise.

This morning is my favorite.

My husband shared something with me yesterday that makes me worry about the next generation just a little bit more than I already did:  The Katy Perry video where she has, ahem, "The Eye of the Tiger."

Rawr.

Anyhow, will someone please explain the appeal of this crap? It's horrible. I know all about horrible, because half the stuff I listen to is horrible, as well. This kind of horrible is worse. though, because no one seems to recognize that it's horrible. I actually saw a comment where the person wrote, "Katy Perry is GENIUS!!!" All caps and three, count them, three exclamation points.

No, Survivor were genius when they came out with their song. Katy Perry is an effective entertainer. Not genius. Yes, again with the entertainment value being put way above artistic value. I realize that it's pop and it's for fun, but the melody was so annoying it almost made my head blow up. I've heard some of her other songs and they don't bother me nearly as much, although I'm convinced that if she wasn't cute, there's no way she could've gotten famous. Her voice is so...hmm...bleh. Not good, not bad, highly computer-altered and straight. No character, no nothing.

Like Britney Spears' voice, except less baby-like and therefore less irritating overall. Also, the video had less boob than I was expecting, so that's good.

But still, she's no Survivor. THIS is Survivor. Enjoy it, and may your day be as fierce as their hair and their tight-crotched jeans. Rawr for reals.

Since when does having a good attitude about anything not make it better?

Well, really, since now.

I've been having a good attitude about this whole, "I'm fat, but I'm working on it." thing, but it's not working out too well. It's hard to go walk that walk of doom every day when I know that during the weeks I exercise I don't lose any more than the weeks I don't. Also, it's hard not to eat cake when I know that during the weeks I'm really careful and don't eat crap, I won't lose any more weight than during the weeks I go out and drink beer on Friday.

Wait...it's Friday...does that mean beer?

Sadly, probably, no. But at least it's Friday. I was all psyched for weigh-in this week because I killed it. I mean, KILLED it. I exercised every stinking day, even on performance days, and I was very careful with my food, coming in under my calorie target every day but one, and only exceeding that day by 200 calories, which I then offset with extra exercise.

Gained half a pound.

What. The. Hell. I keep thinking I should just give up and go eat an entire bag of Doritos, but I know I won't because if I'm just staying in this same little area even though I'm working so hard, I will end up gaining twenty pounds if I even look at the Doritos.

And maybe smell them a little.

And maybe lick the salty cheesy goodness off of one of them.

And then maybe drink a regular Mountain Dew (I know they're horrible, but for me they're the pinnacle of soda-like refreshment...I haven't had one in ages).

Mmmmmm. Bacon.

I think my thoughts about food are actually making me fatter. Oh, well. It's Friday....except I'm painting all weekend and working extra shifts all next week, so, yeah. 

Ugh.

Maybe the answer, for this weekend, at least, is a cheat day. Maybe that's more effective and then I'll have less calories all week. Or I'll try a new diet plan. I've done Atkins, and it worked, even though it was the only time in my life where the thought of food made me nauseous.

Or maybe I'll just decide that I don't care.

Totally going with that one. For right now. It's going to last approximately five minutes, but for those five minutes I'll feel so free and alive. Then I'll get back into frustrated mode.

Did I mention I think I may have issues? 

The thought of Doritos and a Mountain Dew, however, may just get me through today. 

I am not the most fashionable person in the world, but I do have some handy hints to help out those of you who may be even more sartorially-challenged than I happen to be. After the last week or so, I am convinced that the world needs even more of help than I've been giving it, so I've decided to just go ahead and shoot my mouth off. Or my keyboard. Whatever.

1. First of all, I've said it before and I will probably keep saying it until I die: Leggings are not for everyone. If people keep asking you where your pants are, you might want to invest in  a different type of leg-wear. The idea is to try not to look like you're smuggling a gallon of cottage cheese in your slacks.

Hahaha. Slacks.

2. If what you've spilled on your outfit looks and/or smells like barf, you're probably better off changing rather than going into the bathroom and trying to rinse it off and failing to do more than just smear it around and make it look like wetter barf. If changing isn't an option...well...make it an option. Or take that bad boy off in the bathroom and scrub. Because barf (or whatever that is) tends to make other people barf, and before you know it, we all have barf on our shirts, know what I'm saying?

3. Dressing in extra foofy stuff doesn't make you look more trendy and/or feminine. It just makes you look like an old lady. If extra frilly stuff was trendy, then it might work, but I haven't seen this kind of outfit in a while. Don't do it.

(I have to admit that my first reaction to this outfit is always going to be, "Wow! She's bitchin!" because when I was 10 this was who I wanted to be. I blame my mom for keeping me from true high-haired glory and never buying me a fringed jean jacket. Gee, thanks, mom.)

4. Visible underwear was never really acceptable. Don't do it.

5. Finally, if you're old enough to have signed up for AARP during the Reagan administration, you're too old to wear a miniskirt with no pantyhose or tights. I don't care if you work out, and I don't care how thin your legs are.  They look like a close-up road map of Manhattan, and no one needs to see that. And, really, no one needs to have to worry about a slight breeze popping up and treating us all to a showcase of your goods. Just, no.

No.

Thank you for listening. I hope you took notes. 

So it's been raining for ages now, an amount of rain I've never seen, and while we're not having the flooding of epic proportions seen in Colorado, my front yard does have two little ponds in it. We also have a few little tiny leaks, which freaks me out, but my husband doesn't seem too worried about it, so it's probably okay.

How does he know which stuff is okay and which stuff is really bad? For instance, last night we noticed water dripping into the chimney and down into the fireplace (a teeny little bit). How does he know that that's okay and we shouldn't call somebody? (Although, really, it wouldn't do any good...no one could go out on a roof in this.) This morning, there's a few little tiny drips coming from where the furnace and water heater vent into the roof. How is that okay?

So, yes, I've arrived at Crazy Town, and my husband's like, "No biggie. Just check the towels every hour or two." How did that happen? We usually worry together....it's like special bonding time for Type-A personalities. I'm kind of on my own on this one.

Alright. I'm sure it will be okay. It is Yom Kippur this evening, after all, and we all know that nothing bad ever happens on holidays. Right? RIGHT? 

Right.

Plus, there's cake in the fridge, so that can save the day if I need it to. I'll save it as a last resort. I could also make cookies, except I'm supposed to just relax all day before I sing at the temple. Yep. But, cookies. Just thinking about cookies has improved my mood dramatically....okay, all good now.

P.S. In the last 15 minutes, one of the ponds in the yard has grown substantially. If it doesn't stop raining soon, I may have a massive spaz attack.

So I walk three miles or so a day, and I try to do those three miles in 48 minutes or less. I'm not bragging, I'm just...wait, I totally am bragging. I can walk pretty gosh darn fast when I'm alone and have good songs on my iPod. (I'm chubby...let me have my moment.)

Anyhoo, I have a new annoyance to complain about. I realize I seem like some sort of human complaint machine, but I'm pretty sure my parents raised me to be this way on purpose. Or maybe I just want someone else to blame. Or maybe I didn't get enough sleep last night and I'm now all jacked up on Honey Nut Cheerios and two extra-large cups of coffee. At any rate, I'm mad.

Mad at the sidewalk-hogging couples.

I'm going down the sidewalk, which is built for two people to walk side by side, NOT THREE. No way. Not even three tiny little people (I'm imagining leprechauns, but you go ahead and imagine whatever you like). I am obviously focusing and very, very sweaty, so you can plainly see a neon sign above my forehead that says something like, "You are standing between me and my ice cream sandwich. MOVE."

It doesn't always say that. It's really just a metaphor, but I think it gives a better mental picture of what my demeanor is while walking. I'm pretty terrifying.

So these couples just keep walking, side by side. It's as if they think that walking in single-file for five seconds is going to break up their marriages.

FOR REALS?!? You can't move? Last night, I was doing the walk (it's the big loop in my town, so a lot of times I see people twice, as they're doing it in the opposite direction, and I'm way, way faster than them....with their little feet and short legs...ha ha ha, suckas) and ran into the same couple twice. Both times, they forced me off of the sidewalk and into the street.

Normally, I go into the street anyway when I'm by myself. It's easier and it doesn't make anyone but me have to move. When it's getting dark, though, and there are a lot of cars parked in the street, I'm not going out there. I really enjoy having my entire body intact, thank you.

Next time, I'm going to say, "EXCUSE ME!" and see if that does anything. It's like cars that hog the passing lane and don't actually pass when you're stuck behind them, trying to get to Baskin-Robbins before they close (or in some other emergency situation). Except there's less cussing and crying.

Actually, next time, I probably won't say anything. Maybe I'll be able to crop dust them or some other hilariousness. That will teach them that maybe they should give me some space, and maybe they'll go out in the street.

Or maybe they'll realize that their love is strong enough to withstand that 5-second separation. I hope.

SINGLE-FILE, children. Single. File.

I did not get a Coffee Roll on Wednesday. I did not get one yesterday, either (although I did get taken out to lunch and had tapas and red wine in the middle of the day, suckas).

Lame.

I did, however, weigh in this morning, and, after a really good week in which my armband metabolic monitor said I had an overall deficit of 7000 calories, I was proud to see that I .....what?

GAINED TWO POUNDS.

What. The. F?

I understand about bloat. I understand about hormonal fluctuations. I also understand that, even during my weekend anniversary trip with my husband, I worked out and counted my calories.

This is so flipping stupid, I can't even stand it. I guess I should go down to 800 calories a day? Or maybe work out two hours a day, EVERY DAY, instead of just the one? Because, seriously. I may break my monitor (which I wear, faithfully, twenty-three hours per day).

I almost punched my Wii icon thingy in the face when it got fatter this morning. Little turd. Being all smug in your white workout pants (Would I ever wear those? No. Therefore they are not realistic.), asking me questions about why I gained weight....if I knew, I wouldn't tell you. I would keep that secret and laugh in your face, little machine person.

I guess there's nothing I can do about it.

Wait...there's always beer. May have one of those. I hear they're good for the bloat.

Sigh.

Today represents the start of all of the High Holy Days craziness. I realize that sounds a little weird because usually holidays are a nice, fun thing, but it's not nearly as fun when you're participating in making the services a better experience for other people.

I think that's why I get so uptight about performing, and I have a hard time just relaxing and letting my voice do what I've been trying to force it to do for years and years. I want to make people have an experience, not hear some songs and be all, "Gee, that was swell. Let's go get some ice cream."

Well, they should probably go get ice cream, because it is awesome and I love it. But really. Gee? Come on.

This year, I am trying something different:  I am going to not worry about whether or not I suck. Or, at the very least, I am going to try to enjoy it a little bit along with the worrying. These are some of the most lovely people I've ever worked for and they really do seem to not hate what I'm doing.

(That's as far as I can go with the, "Oh, I'm so amaaaaazing" portion of this blog. I was born without a singer's ego, thank goodness. I think that portion of my brain is taken up with an overactive sarcasm center.)

Anyhow, I hope that if any of you ever get a chance, you'll attend a Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur service. They are really beautiful and even those of us who come form different religious backgrounds can appreciate the meaning behind the ceremony. Plus, they have an instrument that sounds kind of like a kazoo, and that is super cool. Also, afterwards, you can make your husband stop at Dunkin' Donuts and buy you a Coffee Roll. 


Mmmmmm. Coffee Roll. P.S. I got this picture from somebody's Weight Watchers blog. Hahahahahahaha.