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.

Okay. Going to post about Miley Cyrus, kind of. Well, about that whole genre, in particular. I can't help myself, and since no one's really asked for my opinion, I figure I should force it upon everyone who reads this, as you've kind of asked for it by navigating to the wasteland of my brains. Here goes.

Everyone's all pissy about Miley acting like a hoochie on-stage, and I get it, it provides a terrible example for young girls, but I actually think it's a good thing. Why? Because it was so over-the-top offensive that you can use it as an example. If I had a child (boy or girl, it doesn't matter), I would probably say something along the lines of, "Look, Jemima (Yeah...boy or girl, my kid's being named Jemima...don't hate, it's my favorite name)! See how that woman is trying to make herself more valuable by degrading herself in a public forum?" At this point, I would hope my kid already knows where I stand on this kind of crap, and he'd be like, "Okay. Whatever. Why did you name me Jemima, you crazy old lady?" I would then proceed to explain that it wasn't the fact that Miley was being sexual, as that is sort of a person's prerogative and some people prefer to be more public with their nookie, but the fact that Miley was acting like an idiot, which is unforgivable. And that whole thing, including the song, was just tacky, although I think that about a lot of music nowadays.

These are the scenarios being played out in my head.

Anyway, did we expect art or entertainment at the VMAs? They are two very different things, and it is evident that art is valued very little in our country, and entertainment is top priority. This is why people like Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber get contracts and world-class musicians have to work three jobs just to avoid being homeless. That's the way the free market works, and I, for one, think that's kind of how it goes and you have to take the good with the bad. I hope our children see the ridiculousness and choose to support real music and art rather than the crap that is on TV.

Seriously, though. Why can we not get past the point where women gain value in society by showing off their tatas? I mean, if a woman wants to show off her tatas, that's cool and it's her business, if she's an adult, but why don't men have to do that to be valuable? I mean, yeah, I guess a lot of guys wear pants all saggy so I do get to see a fair amount of butt crack, but that does not, in any way, increase their value to me. Unless they're fixing my toilet or something like that. THAT is like gold, right there. 

I just wish that some day, the woman would do the singing and a man would be gyrating around in a tube top and Daisy Dukes. That would entertain me. Oh, oh, oh...and by the way, the show was the VMAs. I knew I wasn't going to like it, so I didn't watch. Maybe if we all didn't watch, that kind of crap would go away. Or not. Depending upon popular opinion. I'm down with that. If you think it might bug you, DON'T WATCH. 

And, yes, I did watch me some Murder, She Wrote while having a popsicle and crocheting a blanket. I like to spend my evenings old lady style. And I was not wearing a beige vinyl get-up. I was wearing a hot pink one. My beige one was at the cleaner's.

I have a great picture to end with, though. It's of one of my favorite celebrities, who totally does prance around in a tank top and short shorts ALL THE TIME except in this picture...he was classin' it up for the TV...and I love him.

Failure is inevitable. Of course. However, I seem to be making it some sort of an art form, and that is not my favorite.

Sigh.

Lately, I seem to be having a very low success rate with my endeavors. I'm not quite sure why, but it really sucks. I'm not really okay with defeat, and this is not just one or two times. It's everything. Kind of lame.

I had a rehearsal last night where I wanted to hide my head because I was embarrassed about sucking so bad. The hard part is that it's not from lack of work. If it was, it would be easier to take.

Everybody talks about how hard life is for the C students. I'm here to tell you, it's just as hard for some of the A students. Number one: Some of us have poopy social skills, due to extreme shyness and introversion, so that doesn't work too well. Number two: Some of us are too goal-oriented and we put way too much of our self-worth into the things we do, so when we fail, it's very personal. Number three: Knowing that you failed, not because you didn't put enough work or time into it, but because you're just not good enough, is not easy for anyone.

It sucks.

Ah, well. Try again tomorrow, I suppose. Or, I guess, today. I wish I could be more resilient and have a positive attitude, but I kind of fail at that, too.

Should've been a cheerleader. My number one skill is my ability to be perky, so, yeah. Oh, no, wait. That's not perky. Perky makes me puke. I forgot. At least I have my sarcasm to keep me warm.

I'm starting a class today, and I'm pretty excited about it. Ever since I was sick in elementary school and missed the unit where we were supposed to get to work with clay, I've been dying to take a pottery class.

I'm going to get my sculpture on, yo.

Seeing as how I don't even have to worry about the grade or anything, this may actually be fun. I'll be the person over on the side, with my tongue sticking out, trying to make an inch-tall sculpture of Peter Griffin while simultaneously burning the crap out of my head. On accident. I will try not to set my hair on fire, but you never know.

Stranger things have happened.

I think we'll probably make smaller objects, but I would love to sculpt a life-size statue of a flamingo for my front yard. We just need that little touch of class to make our yard really stand out.

As long as I can avoid serious injury, I think it'll be a really good experience. Or I'll be horrible at it and cry all the way home. 

You never know.

Life should be more like a cereal commercial. You know, where everyone laughs a lot and then they go for a bike ride while talking to an animated character about nutrients.

It might be a little creepy at first, but I think we'd all get used to it, especially since we'd all be eating so many vitamins and minerals and getting our daily allowances of fiber.

Fiber can change your life.

I think cereal commercials are the way to go, if I had to pick a kind of commercial, because the only other ones I like are the car insurance ones with Flo in them. I think she may be my long-lost twin.

Not because we look alike. We (the Flo character, I mean, not the lady who plays Flo) are identical spaz twins. she does all the things I would do if I was less self-conscious and more comfortable in my surroundings.

However, I wouldn't want life to be like those commercials, because the people in those commercials look at Flo like she's crazy and I think they suck. They would probably look at me like that, too, if they could see my sweet karaoke skills.

She's just being herself, you guys. Come on. It's fun. Don't you ever daydream about stuff while selling car insurance? Sure you do.

Anyway, cereal commercials are definitely much more fun and non-judgmental. I would be down with that.


This cereal commercial, however, I would not be down with:  

http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/3c03c1ff03/ba-boom-cereal

Just, no clowns. Ever. That is all.