I had a rather epic gym session this morning. And I’m not talking about the usual brand of epic. In case you’re wondering what that is, it basically involves:
a) Making it through the door (doesn’t matter how little exercise I do once there, you definitely lose weight just from “going” to the gym, right?)
b) And staying for more than 20 minutes without:
i) falling off treadmill
ii) having internal meltdown at sight of lycra-clad 100 pound nymphettes
Continue reading “Did things get really crap, or did I just get old?”
Call me Captain Obvious, but I really have only recently realised that being a girl is bloody hard work.
I’m not even referring to anything to do with periods, childbirth, body image or wage inequality. Na. Forget all the bleeding and hormones and cushiony bits of our bodies and the fact that we still live in a world where a female CEO gives us an involuntary jab of the warm and fuzzies because one of our kind has been ‘given a chance’.
Actually, my issue with being a girl is trying to bloody look like one.
Continue reading “Being a girl is hard”
This morning I woke up, padded to the kitchen and put the kettle on for my morning cup of tea. Nothing very unusual there, compared to the average morning.
Except, I then ate a … I’m not quite sure what it was, actually. All I know it was made out of pastry, sugar, chocolate and deliciousness. A big yard of sickly, chocolatey deliciousness. And it was so good I promptly put another in the microwave and gobbled up its molten, toxic stickiness. Then an hour later I snarfed down a few handfuls of Cheetos. Then later I lunched on a large, rubbery hotdog in white French bread followed by more bread covered in pate. Then more Cheetos. And now I’m writing this, drinking a beer, feeling bloated and thinking about starting on some chocolate.
Now I promise, this is a bit unusual for me, because I do try (and there is a lot of emphasis on the word try) to eat healthily. I generally snack on fruit, eat salads for lunch and eat bread, pasta and other carbs as little as I can. I also usually like my food fresh and containing vegetables.
So why the sudden overdose of crap today? Well, I am on the third day of Being On Holiday. And, although I don’t usually look as fit as the girl on the left of the picture above, I am starting to feel like I vaguely resemble the ladies on the right.
Continue reading ““It’s ok, I’m on holiday!””
I have a confession to make. And it’s one I’ve been very reluctant to come right out and say. Because I feel people may judge me for it.
I haven’t been eating cupcakes on the toilet at night (recently, anyway) or having a pang in my knickers whenever I think about Boris Johnson. It’s much worse than that.
My confession is this. Every Thursday I pay some of my well-earned money for some complete strangers to enter my home and clean up mine and my boyfriend’s mess. Once a week I go to work in the morning, safe in the knowledge that when I come back, the carpets will be vacuumed, the toilet and bathroom cleaned and any residual dishes that have been left in the sink will be washed.
And now, after an unfortunate event with said cleaners of which I have wanted to publicly moan about, I realise how ashamed I am of of this. I’m a 21st century social network addict, moronically moaning about my first world problems via the mediums of Facebook and Twitter on a regular basis. However, this time I felt the need to hold myself back because I’d probably rather admit to bringing in the cleaners in the mafia sense than announce that I actually have to pay someone to help keep my place habitable. And to publicly complain about the problems that arise from this would just be wanky to the highest sense.
Continue reading “The shame of bringing in the cleaners”
It’s been a while, but if anything was going make me come back after an 18 month silence, it was going to be something related to Lady Gaga’s vagina. And imagine, the days when I posted regularly were when we all speculated whether she actually had one!*
Basically, the world’s self-appointed freakiest pop star has been burned, badly, by a far lesser known South African group – and not only have they left her licking her wounded ego, they have alerted us to the fact that they effortlessly do what she has always tried to do; give out some strong political messages while simultaneously freaking the shit out of people.
I admit, I probably only knew who Die Antwoord were because I have a South African boyfriend. But I’m under the impression that most people who are really interested in music and the weird and wonderful genres it brings us will have heard of them. If you haven’t, just imagine a big bloke who looks like he should have been cast as an extra in The Hills Have Eyes, rapping and gurning, while a little blonde pixie creature jumps around squeaking the F word a lot.
Continue reading “Lady Gaga got burned by Die Antwoord”
When the world first learned that Prince William and Kate Middleton were to ramshackle themselves to one another for all eternity I was one of those people that rolled their eyes and carried on with her lives because: “Who actually cares?”
Fast forward to the day before the wedding and my first thought on waking up this morning was: “Oh my God, I wonder how Kate is feeling right now?! She’s getting married TOMORROW. Oh my god, what will she wear? What shall I wear? What time should I leave the house? Should I get champagne?!!”
This wasn’t a sudden infection. I wasn’t attacked and bitten. Instead, it slowly seeped into me via osmosis and my membrane is now completely and utterly saturated with – well, acknowledgement that this wedding is a pretty big deal, at least in terms of history.
Continue reading “I’ve been infected with royal wedding fever”