So we watched The Voice last night and I have to say, it's possibly the most infuriating TV show I have EVER seen. Danny's incessant jumping on chairs like he's had too many blue M&M's, Jessie J and her I'm-so-ghetto-I'm-keeping-it-real-and-love-jutting-my-chin-back-and-forth-in-a-sharp-frantic-fashion-to-show-I-just-love-music-and-I'm-so-bad-and-ting attitude, Tom Jones and his bland, boring boring BORINGGGG stories, were all enough to make me fast forward through 80% of the programme, leaving the 20% which actually showed the contestants! The only good thing that show has going for it, is Will.I.Am. Will, I hate to tell you this but you should have gone for the X-Factor instead mate. No amount of swivelling around on that chair - regardless of the pose you may have adopted, will bring the ratings up on this god awful show. Ditch it. Seriously.
And just a quick note to those who say I look, or even worse SOUND like Ms Jessie J. Up yours! I do not find this complimentary and you should know that every time someone says this to me, a tiny piece inside of me dies...
Anyway, back to me sorting my life out. I'm off to buy myself some new garms blad cos I'm gettin large, ya get me fam.
Happy Chops x
Sunday 31 March 2013
Saturday 30 March 2013
What's brown and gooey....?
As I slowly unwrapped the foil on the delicious, perfectly egg shaped, not dented at alln Cadbury's Cream Egg, I could hear the soft, smooth sound of the voice over man from the advert ask me the number one question - 'How do you eat yours?'... For a couple of seconds I thought about what my next move should be and came to a decision - Shove it all in. Yep, get it all in there and enjoy. Who cares if the pleasure is over too quickly, it's quality, not quantity. Happy Easter everyone!
I intend for that Cream Egg to be the last piece of chocolate my ever growing stomach will need to digest for a good while now. It's at this time of year people really start to think about their physical state and Easter, for me, is when the gluttony that one has become accustomed too must end, before one looks like a beached whale on the imminent family holiday. Three months ago now, I took an oath to treat my body like a temple and as I've mentioned, I may have taken a few wrong turns on my road to Skinnydom, which mainly led me to the pub but I WILL NOT beat myself up about this, because it's not too late. It's NEVER too late. I shall find the right road once more and refrain from trespassing, just over the way there, on what looks to be slightly greener grass and stay on the dry, bland grass.
There is another way I could achieve my desired goal of physical fitness and general reemness but the thought of it brings back some unpleasant memories. I'm talking about going to the place that was the setting of two of my 'Most Embarrassing Moments Ever in My Life'. I'm talking about....joining the gym...
*Insert day dreamy/flashback wavy lines here*....
In January 2001, I joined my local gym to lose the baby weight I'd gained while pregnant with my daughter. I was fat, had stretch marks, had no clothes that fit me properly and my self esteem was at ground level. I had to do something. I went to the obligatory Induction - with a rather fit Instructor called Dean or Dave or something - and after 45 minutes of learning how it all worked, I was ready to take my fledgling flight into the world of the buff. With determination I walked over to the stretching area, past a sweaty man and over to an empty mat. I placed my brand new water bottle decisively by the edge of it and sat down. Less than two years before, I was doing dance lessons practically every day at college - how hard could this be? It was time to 'warm up'.
I was shown what to do with the aid of a poster on the wall just above me. It showed a kind looking lady in various poses, each intended to stretch out different muscles in the body. She did them well, I'll give her her due, but she looked bloody bored. I however, added a bit of colour to my performance starting with a slight reddening of the face, followed by some louder than intended exhalations. In no time, I was looking the part and already feeling the endorphins flood my blood stream. It felt good! Then a really slim lady came in and ruined it all. It irked me to see her slender form, her toned arms and her legs which didn't meet at the top like mine. Judgementally, I assumed she must have some kind of body dis-morphia because she SO didn't need to be in the gym! What a cow! It soon became apparent that this lady was a real pro. She knew exactly what she was doing and moved seamlessly from one stretch to another. Who was she??? Acting like she owned the place! How could she be so cruel, making a fool of the fat girl like that! I did not like her and I especially didn't like it that she could stretch her leg back past her head while in a standing position.
This was war.
I needed something powerful, something hard hitting.... I went for the stomach crunches. I was scared to do the first one because I wasn't sure if I could even lift my pea head up without groaning but with the might of a woman scorned, I did my first crunch. It wasn't too bad! I'd give her a right run for her money. Who'd she think she was swanning in here, assuming that because I'm podgy I should be in a wheelchair or something? She was going to eat her words! God KNOWS she needed some kind of nourishment. I carried on, 15..16...17...18...19...ooh what was that?...20...Ouch!..20 WOOOUCHHH!! I was having a heart attack! Mid crunch, the pain was excruciating. F@CK! I couldn't breathe. I managed to roll over on to all fours. 'Help'...I whispered. No one was listening! Barbie was busy doing box splits now, leaning forward onto her forearms. BITCH! 'Help'. The pain was immense. I slowly crawled over to The Sweaty Man who was twisting at the waist, looking the other way. I grabbed his ankle like a psycho, my hand slipped on the wetness of his skin. I grabbed again and god knows what he must have thought but before I knew it, he was down on the floor shouting questions at me which I couldn't answer. 'Whats wrong? What's happened? Are you ok???'
'I'm dy...ing...' I said, thumping my chest.
'What's you're name? Quick! Get some help!' he shouted to Her.
'I can't..bre..' the words wouldn't come out!
'What were you doing? Oh my god, are you ok? Just calm down. Breeeeeeeathe.'
'I was...sits..' I roughly pointed in the direction of my mat. This was ridiculous. The pain in my chest was too much to take, I was actually dying.
Sweaty Man sat with me, his only way of helping was to keep telling me to calm down. The tears wear coming thick and fast and I sensed I had a builders bum. I grabbed his shoulder to stress to him the magnitude of the situation, when in ran Barbie with Ken in tow. Ken wore a t-shirt stating that he was an Instructor, thank God. He rushed over to my hunched form, like a doctor.
'What's happened?' he asked Sweaty Man.
'I think she was doing some sit ups or something but I think it's her chest, she's very breathless.'
'She was really going for it!' chirped in Barbie. Ha! So she noticed.
'Ok, I need you to try and sit up straight ok? I know it hurts but it'll help.'
I did as I was told. I followed his instructions (he was a good Instructor) and sat up, leaned back a bit to stretch my tummy and after a minute or so, it eased. I was alive. Turns out I would never have actually died. I wasn't having a heart attack after all. No. I'd got cramp. Which then turned into a panic attack.
5 minutes later, I was back in the cold air and while I sat at the bus stop I called my mum to tell her of my near death experience. 20 minutes later I was still sitting there and out came Barbie, who luckily didn't see me. 25 minutes later out came Sweaty Man, who did see me but had the god grace to just ignore me. He knew I'd suffered more humiliation than any girl could stomach for one day. He was a good man.
It was another 7 years before I dared frequent the gym again. And it was another 11 until my next 'I want to die right now' moment. It was 2011, I'd not long had my son and I decided that I would once again try to tackle the flab. Again, it didn't work. Put it this way, if you wee a little when you sneeze, you are NOT, in any way, shape or form, ready to go on a treadmill.
Upon reflection, I think it's Air sandwiches all round!
Signing out with renewed vigour,
Happy Chops x
I intend for that Cream Egg to be the last piece of chocolate my ever growing stomach will need to digest for a good while now. It's at this time of year people really start to think about their physical state and Easter, for me, is when the gluttony that one has become accustomed too must end, before one looks like a beached whale on the imminent family holiday. Three months ago now, I took an oath to treat my body like a temple and as I've mentioned, I may have taken a few wrong turns on my road to Skinnydom, which mainly led me to the pub but I WILL NOT beat myself up about this, because it's not too late. It's NEVER too late. I shall find the right road once more and refrain from trespassing, just over the way there, on what looks to be slightly greener grass and stay on the dry, bland grass.
There is another way I could achieve my desired goal of physical fitness and general reemness but the thought of it brings back some unpleasant memories. I'm talking about going to the place that was the setting of two of my 'Most Embarrassing Moments Ever in My Life'. I'm talking about....joining the gym...
*Insert day dreamy/flashback wavy lines here*....
In January 2001, I joined my local gym to lose the baby weight I'd gained while pregnant with my daughter. I was fat, had stretch marks, had no clothes that fit me properly and my self esteem was at ground level. I had to do something. I went to the obligatory Induction - with a rather fit Instructor called Dean or Dave or something - and after 45 minutes of learning how it all worked, I was ready to take my fledgling flight into the world of the buff. With determination I walked over to the stretching area, past a sweaty man and over to an empty mat. I placed my brand new water bottle decisively by the edge of it and sat down. Less than two years before, I was doing dance lessons practically every day at college - how hard could this be? It was time to 'warm up'.
I was shown what to do with the aid of a poster on the wall just above me. It showed a kind looking lady in various poses, each intended to stretch out different muscles in the body. She did them well, I'll give her her due, but she looked bloody bored. I however, added a bit of colour to my performance starting with a slight reddening of the face, followed by some louder than intended exhalations. In no time, I was looking the part and already feeling the endorphins flood my blood stream. It felt good! Then a really slim lady came in and ruined it all. It irked me to see her slender form, her toned arms and her legs which didn't meet at the top like mine. Judgementally, I assumed she must have some kind of body dis-morphia because she SO didn't need to be in the gym! What a cow! It soon became apparent that this lady was a real pro. She knew exactly what she was doing and moved seamlessly from one stretch to another. Who was she??? Acting like she owned the place! How could she be so cruel, making a fool of the fat girl like that! I did not like her and I especially didn't like it that she could stretch her leg back past her head while in a standing position.
This was war.
I needed something powerful, something hard hitting.... I went for the stomach crunches. I was scared to do the first one because I wasn't sure if I could even lift my pea head up without groaning but with the might of a woman scorned, I did my first crunch. It wasn't too bad! I'd give her a right run for her money. Who'd she think she was swanning in here, assuming that because I'm podgy I should be in a wheelchair or something? She was going to eat her words! God KNOWS she needed some kind of nourishment. I carried on, 15..16...17...18...19...ooh what was that?...20...Ouch!..20 WOOOUCHHH!! I was having a heart attack! Mid crunch, the pain was excruciating. F@CK! I couldn't breathe. I managed to roll over on to all fours. 'Help'...I whispered. No one was listening! Barbie was busy doing box splits now, leaning forward onto her forearms. BITCH! 'Help'. The pain was immense. I slowly crawled over to The Sweaty Man who was twisting at the waist, looking the other way. I grabbed his ankle like a psycho, my hand slipped on the wetness of his skin. I grabbed again and god knows what he must have thought but before I knew it, he was down on the floor shouting questions at me which I couldn't answer. 'Whats wrong? What's happened? Are you ok???'
'I'm dy...ing...' I said, thumping my chest.
'What's you're name? Quick! Get some help!' he shouted to Her.
'I can't..bre..' the words wouldn't come out!
'What were you doing? Oh my god, are you ok? Just calm down. Breeeeeeeathe.'
'I was...sits..' I roughly pointed in the direction of my mat. This was ridiculous. The pain in my chest was too much to take, I was actually dying.
Sweaty Man sat with me, his only way of helping was to keep telling me to calm down. The tears wear coming thick and fast and I sensed I had a builders bum. I grabbed his shoulder to stress to him the magnitude of the situation, when in ran Barbie with Ken in tow. Ken wore a t-shirt stating that he was an Instructor, thank God. He rushed over to my hunched form, like a doctor.
'What's happened?' he asked Sweaty Man.
'I think she was doing some sit ups or something but I think it's her chest, she's very breathless.'
'She was really going for it!' chirped in Barbie. Ha! So she noticed.
'Ok, I need you to try and sit up straight ok? I know it hurts but it'll help.'
I did as I was told. I followed his instructions (he was a good Instructor) and sat up, leaned back a bit to stretch my tummy and after a minute or so, it eased. I was alive. Turns out I would never have actually died. I wasn't having a heart attack after all. No. I'd got cramp. Which then turned into a panic attack.
5 minutes later, I was back in the cold air and while I sat at the bus stop I called my mum to tell her of my near death experience. 20 minutes later I was still sitting there and out came Barbie, who luckily didn't see me. 25 minutes later out came Sweaty Man, who did see me but had the god grace to just ignore me. He knew I'd suffered more humiliation than any girl could stomach for one day. He was a good man.
It was another 7 years before I dared frequent the gym again. And it was another 11 until my next 'I want to die right now' moment. It was 2011, I'd not long had my son and I decided that I would once again try to tackle the flab. Again, it didn't work. Put it this way, if you wee a little when you sneeze, you are NOT, in any way, shape or form, ready to go on a treadmill.
Upon reflection, I think it's Air sandwiches all round!
Signing out with renewed vigour,
Happy Chops x
Wednesday 20 March 2013
International Happiness Day
Hello. So I haven't written for a couple of weeks now because I've been busy being miserable, but as today is International Happiness Day, I thought I'd be doing myself a massive disservice if I let the day pass without writing a single word, considering what I'm trying to do!
So I think I need to have a stark look at the situation. Basically, I have failed Step 1, Step 2, Step 3, Step 4 and all of the other steps that I didn't actually tag as steps. I have been drunk, I have smoked, I have eaten food like it's going out of fashion (never understood that phrase, please explain?) and I have not been to a single rehearsal let alone performed my monologue and 'wowed' my unsuspecting peers. I feel very sad about this. I have been so full of shite! Acknowledging these failings cut me deep and I can only hang my head in shame at the weakness of mind I have shown. Right now there's only one thing I can do. I'm left with no other option than to eat the rest of this 200g Fruit and Nut bar and reflect on where this has all gone so terribly wrong.
In the mean time though, I'd just like to say - Up yours International Happiness Day. You SUCK.
Kind regards,
Happy Chops
x
So I think I need to have a stark look at the situation. Basically, I have failed Step 1, Step 2, Step 3, Step 4 and all of the other steps that I didn't actually tag as steps. I have been drunk, I have smoked, I have eaten food like it's going out of fashion (never understood that phrase, please explain?) and I have not been to a single rehearsal let alone performed my monologue and 'wowed' my unsuspecting peers. I feel very sad about this. I have been so full of shite! Acknowledging these failings cut me deep and I can only hang my head in shame at the weakness of mind I have shown. Right now there's only one thing I can do. I'm left with no other option than to eat the rest of this 200g Fruit and Nut bar and reflect on where this has all gone so terribly wrong.
In the mean time though, I'd just like to say - Up yours International Happiness Day. You SUCK.
Kind regards,
Happy Chops
x
Sunday 3 March 2013
Big mouth horrible cow.
It's Sunday and I am confused. I need a rant.
All day, I have had one question swirling around my head and I really don't know the answer to it. Perhaps you will and wouldn't mind enlightening me? What I want to know is - Am I a big mouthed, horrible, cow?
Now, the first answer that springs to my mind, is no. Well, yes to the big mouth part because I'm well aware of that fact but I don't think I'm a bad person/meany/bully. In fact, I honestly think it's completely the opposite. Yes I'm vocal about the things that I don't like but why is this a bad thing? My mind is seriously boggled with the question. Why do my opinions ruffle so many feathers? Is it really that bad to say when you don't agree with something or like someone's behaviour? Let's assess the facts.
I once sent chips back at McDonald's because quite clearly, I'd only been given half the amount I'd paid for. I once complained to the manager when the woman at the check out in the supermarket practically threw my change at me and didn't give me a chance to pick it up before she started scanning through the next customer's shopping. The Head teacher of my daughter's primary school got an earful from me because she was a condescending idiot and I told that her people skills left much to be desired. And when I was eight, I threatened to hit the kid who hurled racist abuse at my friend, just because she was mixed race. As these facts demonstrate, I do not like injustice and when I see or experience it, I cannot let it go and there are certain things that I strongly believe shouldn't be let go either. But here is where I think the problem lies. There are some things I should let go but unfortunately, I just can't. I've tried believe me! But it's like I get a feeling in the pit f my stomach and I just go for it! Then all hell breaks loose. BAM! Fired. SHAZAM! Red card. WALLOP! Temping agency won't use me again unless they are really desperate. Story of my life I'm afraid. But again I pose the question, does this mean I'm a bad person? I don't think so. Stupid maybe, but not a bad person.
One of my biggest issues and it's the one which is like waving a red rag to bull, is people who think they are better than me. It makes me crazy! I want to knock them down off their self built pedestal and smack them around the head with a reality bat.
These people really get my goat. The fact that they are more often than not, from a privileged background is not a coincidence, this is normally the very reason they are such painful people to be around, but before I go on, I am not saying that all rich/well educated people are hideous beasts. I have many friends who have been lucky enough to be brought up in loving, nurturing homes, who had enough money to enjoy the finer things in life. They are loving, friendly, interesting people who I am proud to call my friends, so this is absolutely not about people having more than I had or have for that matter. This is about the attitude. This is about the ones that feel if they can't get anything from you, it would a waste of time and energy being nice or respectful towards you. This is about the ones that have an unhealthy sense of self worth and don't think twice about shooting someone down, thus reminding others of how great and important they are. Absolute losers in my book. They would probably see this behaviour as a real quality and their peers might admire their authoritarian approach. I would call this throwing your weight around because you're a prat, as are the prats who suck your bum. (Can you 'suck' a bum, or have I just made that up?)
It's not actually their fault, when I think about it. They've probably never had to deal with any real hardship or real challenges their whole lives, so they're simply unaware of the emotions that go with them. This lack of emotional richness leaves them detached from the consequences of their actions unfortunately for others. Poor loves, they're a bit stupid! Awwww.
I'm actually finding it very difficult to chastise myself for being the way I am. The more I think about it, the prouder I am that I'm not afraid to stand up for what I think is right. Fair enough, I might go about it the wrong way sometimes and have a bit of a close shave, perhaps saying it at the wrong time, but I'm happy that I have that fiery side to me. I am a survivor, I don't care what anyone thinks, it's a fact and without this gob of mine...well God knows.
Yep, I've decided. I am a good person. I wouldn't be married to one of the nicest men on earth if I wasn't!
From now on, it's head high and water off a ducks back. Quack! Quack!
Happy Chops
x
It's not actually their fault, when I think about it. They've probably never had to deal with any real hardship or real challenges their whole lives, so they're simply unaware of the emotions that go with them. This lack of emotional richness leaves them detached from the consequences of their actions unfortunately for others. Poor loves, they're a bit stupid! Awwww.
I'm actually finding it very difficult to chastise myself for being the way I am. The more I think about it, the prouder I am that I'm not afraid to stand up for what I think is right. Fair enough, I might go about it the wrong way sometimes and have a bit of a close shave, perhaps saying it at the wrong time, but I'm happy that I have that fiery side to me. I am a survivor, I don't care what anyone thinks, it's a fact and without this gob of mine...well God knows.
Yep, I've decided. I am a good person. I wouldn't be married to one of the nicest men on earth if I wasn't!
From now on, it's head high and water off a ducks back. Quack! Quack!
Happy Chops
x
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