The best laid plans of mice and men....

Gang aft agley

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Thank fuck - YES!

Are we there yet?
No

Are we there yet??
No

Are we there yet???
No

Are we there yet?!
No

Are we there yet?!?
No

Are we there yet?
NO

Are we there yet??!!
NO!

Are. We. There. Yet???????
NO!!!!

Are we there YET?
DON'T MAKE ME COME BACK THERE!

.....

Are we there yet?
Thank fuck - YES!


My goodness but that was a long flight.

Monday, October 16, 2006

3 letter word starting with 'F'...

In conversation with someone who only met me recently, they made some remark about fat girls that I found a little offensive.

They then tried the ‘well why don’t they do something about it’ school of tedious self justification for what was, essentially, a very unkind and frankly stupid remark.

He accused me of only making a big deal out of it (I wasn’t even aware that I did make a big deal out of it – I simply called him a shallow fuck) because I wanted to be all ‘PC’ about it and that I didn’t really feel sympathy for them or have any true empathy for their situation or what might have caused it – basically, he called me a poser.

I conceded that to some extent, he had a point - part of me does ask myself IF they can do anything about it because I know it can sometimes be done.

The look on his face.....

Priceless.


When I was 18, I weighed 65kgs. I could have lost a few kilos, but I wasn’t fat so it wasn’t a big deal and frankly, I couldn’t give a fuck. My weight was static, I put no effort into maintaining it, let alone lowering it – I was comfortable and that’s all that mattered. Size 12 wasn’t a crisis for me.

Then I started taking drugs.

At my peak intake period, I was eating once a week (I am working on the theory that a potato scallop a week counts as eating… and to be fair, sometimes I varied it and had a piece of cake or an iced-chocolate or something….) and I weighed about 53kgs.

And you could count my ribs.

And my spine.

Then I met PB and life went to hell in a hand basket and I discovered the joy of comfort eating – no need to think. A hangover from my childhood dictates that food = love. (Side note – I still will not cook for people I don’t like, to this day, I will only cook for people I care about, interesting, no?)

At that peak intake period, I weighed about 86kgs, which, for someone my height is a fucking lot.

From there, life became an interesting series of ups and downs – I lost some of it, I put some of it back on. I never hit 86 again but I never got back to 65 either.

When I came over here, I was a size 18 and I made a deal with myself – I went out and bought a pair of jeans in a size 10 and promised myself that come hell or high water, I was going to fit in those jeans before I went home. I figured that as I was going to start breaking patterns, I might as well start with that one.

I dropped to a size 10 in about 4 mths and it was the hardest thing I have ever fucking done. Eating 8 times a day resulted in my being totally fucking sick of food. Sometimes I would think that if I ever saw steak, turkey or fish again, I would vomit. As for wholemeal pasta and brown rice… don’t get me started….

Walking became jogging became swimming became kickboxing – every time I started to plateau, I simply took on something else – I had to, because the second I lost momentum, I just wanted to give it up as too hard – no processed foods – no bread, no cakes, no sugar, no alcohol, no fruit juices, soft drinks etc – my idea of hell in other words, but I also knew that if I broke even once, it was all over.

I think it was the sheer size of the task that kept me at it, I also knew that the older you get, the harder it is to drop that kind of weight and I was fast approaching the point of no return …And I simply wasn’t comfortable with the idea of spending the rest of my life at a size that was clearly unhealthy for me.

So I got there and I don’t mind admitting that that was a very happy day for me – putting on those jeans was a fucking great feeling – pure satisfaction at achieving what I set out to do and in such a short space of time. I even stayed away from junk food for months afterwards because I simply wasn’t used to it anymore and therefore, had no desire to eat it.

Then of course, I discovered Krispy Kremes… and Haagen Daaz…. *sigh*

Bloody things.

After that, I hovered – anywhere up to 5 kgs extra wasn’t a disaster, but it was cause for concern, however, so long as I could fit in my jeans, all was well.

Then I ripped the jeans.

Alcohol + a picket fence + being chased by a friend wielding a bottle full of water + laughing too hard to jump all of 2 feet high = Ouch + big rip. (I should have just taken the drenching).

And since then I have been fucked. My talisman is gone! *sob* and my weight has been slowly creeping up. This stresses me out a little.

So after that conversation, I was talking to MH and she suggested that I pick out a new ‘Inspiration’ which I have done – it’s one of my fave dresses and it’s satin so it’s also very unforgiving (should have picked a Grecian one) but it is very inspiring.

On all sorts of levels.

Or I could go buy something new – the whole point of ‘inspiration’ clothing, surely - and have 2….

Hmmm…..

Errrr.... *cough*



Are we sure Russ doesn't work for the NHS???

Sunday, October 15, 2006

YEAH BABY!

So, on Thursday, I attained freedom, although not without some remorse.

I got up as usual, did all the usual stuff and then, as soon as Mrs C came out of her bedroom and saw me, she burst into tears.

I was frankly appalled - I wasn't having that bad a hair day ffs!

She was crying because I was leaving.

She cried all the way down the hall.

She cried all the way through breakfast.

I finally managed to get her to stop crying before I left to go get the new girl from the station.

How fucking guilty do you think I felt????

I think I would feel about the same leel of guilt if I beat a puppy for wagging its tail or something. I just felt bloody terrible.

Anyway, I collected the new girl, cooked lunch, made sure she was settled in and Mr & Mrs C were both quite calm and then headed to the station and London.

Dinner for my birthday followed tradition - dinner at my fave chinese restuarant, followed by Haagen-Daaz (you know they do cocktails made with their ice-creams??? VERY bloody good!). What was not tradition was the visit to the strip clubs and the 2 lap dances I got while there.

You'll note that that is not a complaint.

I couldn't pick between the redhead or the brunette, so I got given a dance by each of them.

Home by about 2 (I think, I am not entirely sure)

Friday I was supposed to get up early and go do a whole lot of things but stayed and played instead (I felt it was important to reaquaint myself with my vibes, I'm sure they missed me while I was away)

Then met SS and got my stuff out of storage and then off to visit AL & her hubby.

Fri night we were too shattered to go out, Sat was shopping (oh, how I went shopping!), Sat night I cooked and we drank wine and talked, today we lazed and this afternoon I had a nanna nap (I am a big fan of nanna and kindy naps!)

Off to Oxford tomorrow to see SS and go shopping with her as well then back to London.

Time is running out - so many things to do and just not enough time to do them.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Bleh

I couldn't think of a title.

My birthday was not too bad - surprisingly enough.

No presents but I did get cards.

And money.

And the girls have bought me a present but I don't get it until I get back to London.

K2 bought it so i can be sure its in good taste.

I ate half an orange cake in celebration.

Oops.

I threw the rest of it out yesterday because I couldn't stand the temptation.

I finish up here on Thursday - I will actually miss the old folks. I am however, leaving them with a freezer full of my cooking (they love it) and a very clean house.

I have also promised that I will write to them and funnily enough, I mean it. As crazy as she drives me sometimes, I am remarkably fond of them.

Thats about it for now. Just killing time until I finish up....