hands on hips, pout on lips

Credit Crunch

2008-09-06T16:10:00.003+01:00

Today, I joined the library. It's all part of my credit crunching debt repayment move out of home travel the world plan. I'm kinda slowly coming round to the idea that relying on a £92 million Euromillions win could backfire on me. So instead, I'm budgeting. Today I also worked out how much I actually spend repaying debts each month (I still feel a bit dizzy from seeing it all there in black and white), and phoned Vodafone to find out if it would be worth downgrading my price plan. It turns out it's probably not worth it, but I also found out that my contract runs out in December which is sooner than I thought so I can start thinking about finding a better contract. Yesterday my sister was applying for a credit card and I quickly jumped in before she started and made her go through Quidco, so I get £25 from that. Woohoo. Yesterday I also found a fiver in my jeans that I'd forgotten about. These are all good things. I also contemplated colouring my own hair, but when I thought about it I would really need to get my hair cut somewhere cheaper too to make it worthwhile, and credit crunch or no credit crunch I need to have good hair. As a compromise, I'm going to start plucking my eyebrows again instead of getting them waxed and of course continue to push my mantra of 'nights in are the new nights out' to all of my friends.

L is for Loser

2006-08-17T16:42:00.000+01:00

So my life is a bit of a fuck up at the moment. I have a mountain of debt, a scummy telemarketing job, and a 2:1. The 2:1 is good, obviously, but what's the point in having it at the moment except to say 'I got a 2:1'? The old age pensioners I phone every day don't give a shit. My employers don't give a shit. I have no real job. I need a real job. But I don't want one. I hate my job right now though. I'm not very good at it because I will not trick pensioners into buying a fully fitted kitchen. I won't. And I hate the people who work there. They're all fat and yesterday they put a sign up that says 'Your'e rubbish is your'e responsibility'. God I need to win the lottery, fast.

Over.

2006-05-22T16:15:00.000+01:00

It's a bit scary to have literally fuck all to do with the rest of my life. I need to get a job. Urgently. Fly to la US of A in like 5 weeks and I couldn't even pay for 1 night in a hostel at the moment. I need a job. And a new credit card.

Taxi

2006-05-11T12:54:00.000+01:00

I got a taxi down to the vet because I wanted to see my cat one last time before they put him down. I hadn't been expecting to have to do that and I was trying not to cry in the taxi but not really succeeding.

"Do you work at the vet?" asked the driver.

"No"

"What are you going down for then?"

*sniff* "I just need to see the vet"

"I take my dogs there"

"Oh"

"So...you do work there?"

"No"

"Well why are you going down to the vet?"

*voice shaky* "I just need to see the vet"

"Oh, right" *pause* "Aye but do you work there?"

"No"

*another pause* "Because I was going to say, my dog, he's a year old now"

"Oh" *actually crying now*

"And his, you know, testicle. It hasn't dropped.

*silence*

"That's £2.60, thanks"

Thunder, Lightning, STRIKE

2006-05-04T21:27:00.000+01:00

One of my favourite things to do is lie in bed curled under the blankets and listen to the rain. I'm warm and comfortable but outside it's hellish. There's a thunder storm right now. The rain is literally pouring from the sky. I'm in bed with the blinds open so I can see the lightning and the TV is down low so I can hear the rain and the thunder. I love it.

Uh Oh

2006-05-03T11:59:00.000+01:00

Can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe exam in 2 hours can't breathe can't breathe. Oh fuck. I'm really so badly deeply in the shit with this one. Whhhhhy do I do it every time? It's not funny this time. I remember a month ago I planned to start studying. To get organised. Fast forward a whole month and I've done fuck all. Now it's the day OF MY FIRST EXAM and I could not be less prepared. And it's not like it's just any exam, is it? No. It's my first fucking final. I am so dead. It's at times like this that throwing myself under a speeding car seems like the easy way out. Oh Lord. I'm getting a third. A third at best. Noooo! I can't handle this. I've already eaten a bag of Quavers and a Milky Way this morning because of the pressure. Great. 2 hours. In 2 hours I will be in that fucking exam hall. Ugh. Pens, papers, desks, silence. Shi-i-i-i-it. I'm going to get a third and it's going to be all my own fault.

Can you keep a secret?

2006-04-30T18:54:00.000+01:00

If a secret is told to me first hand by a friend, usually (usually) I can keep it. I've never told anyone about R's boyfriend cheating on her and her forgiving him, or M being on antidepressants. But if something's told to me second hand, even with a mandatory 'Don't tell anyone, but...', is it even a secret? Or is it gossip? If the person hasn't had the decency to tell it to me themselves, then I find it physically impossible to have the decency not to spill all to the next person I'm talking to (starting with 'Don't tell anyone, but...', of course). That's the way secrets work. Somehow someone finds out and tells someone else but they're not allowed to tell anyone else and the other person promises that they won't breathe a word, even though everyone involved knows from the beginning that the person being told has no intention of keeping it to themselves and the person doing the telling shouldn't be telling them in the first place. Lalala *look at me using my hands to make a rounded tummy while whispering 'abooooortion' glancing pointedly at E*. Coughcoughanorexiccough. I kinda wish I could keep a secret but I love gossip too much. Is that a character flaw? It's not like I tell everyone secrets, it's usually just one or two carefully selected close friends. The opportunity to dissect details of another person's life is too good to pass up. He hit her!? Is she staying with him? WHY is she staying with him? V's dad is a sex offender!? Are you tellin the police? Does V know!? He gave her GENITAL WARTS!?!?!? And she forgave him!? It all demands discussion and debate.

You have to be careful who you tell your secrets to if you want it kept secret. If you go around blabbing the deepest, darkest details of your life to a bunch of randoms who you have no reason to trust, then I think you deserve to have them discussed behind your back. People need something to talk about in the pub - why shouldn't it be you?

Animals

2006-04-29T01:01:00.000+01:00

I thought I'd be nice and so took la dog on a long adventure walk in the woods. After a brief but stern lecture on the things he was not allowed to do (get dirty, wet, or run away) I let him off the lead and he ran off to explore. It took him around 3.5 seconds to discover the dirty, stinking, swampy stream running alongside the path. It took him a further 0.4 seconds to make the decision to wade right on in. Little fucker. I could tell he was planning a swim and he glanced back at me as if to say 'I know what you're going to say but I'm going to go in anyway. Don't hate me'. I knew he'd ignore me but I tried a last second 'NOOOOOOO!' but as expected it was in vain. He just plunged in to this disgusting pond that stank of sewage and looked like a mixture of shit, mud, petrol and rain water, as if he was going for a pleasant leisurely dip in the local pool. Aaah, how refreshing. I was a tad hysterical at that moment. A crazy power walker storming through the woods with two ski pole things looked at me disapprovingly when I cried, 'If you don't get out this instant I'm leaving you right here and you can live on the streets for the rest of your life!'. Eventually he clambered out and shook himself, as if that was enough to make him clean and dry and ready to continue with the walk. I started ranting at him, 'Oh my god you fucking idiot, you ungrateful dog, WHHHHY did you do this to me?!...' etc etc. He's an expert at playing deaf and he does this blank stare off into the distance thing whenever you're trying to communicate something that he's so not interested in hearing. So he did that, and then just as I reached over to put him back on the lead he decided he was having far too much fun and sprinted off into another swamp. Another swamp. After that I really did consider going home without him. He's more trouble than he's worth sometimes. But...he's also pretty cute, so I waited for him angrily and he eventually got out again, shook himself dry and looked up as if 'Let's get going then'. I dragged him back to the car, hoping he realised just how much he'd pissed me off. There were towels all nicely laid out on the back seat which he promptly kicked out of his way so he could wipe mud all over every available surface, ingraining his stench into the fabric forever. I turned my Mystery Jets album up really loud because music irritates him and I was in the mood to irritate him. In an attempt at winning me round he sat up on the back seat and rested his chin on the back of my seat. Clearly this was more than a bit cute, but also it meant that his dirty slabbery mouth left mud all over another surface. Maybe that was his plan all along.

He would've been 18 next month.

2006-04-24T23:34:00.000+01:00

I'm not going to write about what I was going to write about today because today, my cat died. It was the kindest thing to do, the vet said, and I'm sure it was but that thought hasn't stopped me seeing the rest of the day through tears.

He was my 5th birthday present. He was my baby. He never did anything cute except sometimes he'd come running through if you whistled on him. If he could have talked, I know his most commonly used phrase would have been 'fuck off and leave me alone'. He was never very affectionate, but once in a while he'd jump up to lie on someone's lap. The things he loved most were tuna, and sleeping. He had his own armchair in the living room but wherever he wanted to sleep he took the best seat. When he was a kitten he would rub himself against our legs asking to be fed. Sometimes he stuck his tongue out at me. He hated playing. He hated his big little brother (my dog) who has a waggly tail that used to hit him in the face, and who never looks out for little cats before he excitedly storms into a room. When he was a kitten we used to push him around in a pram. When he was older, everything looked like such a struggle for him.

I'll miss having to move him out of the living room at night and out of the conservatory if I'm going out. I'll miss shouting goodbye to him every time I leave the house. I'll miss not being able to open a packet of cold meat without him getting under my feet. I'll miss his fuzzy little head, and the way he'd look up at me and close his eyes happily, his purring, his little nose and his whiskers, and his bloody irritating 'feed me this instant, can't you see I'm starving!?' miaow. God, I miss him already.

Take a picture, it'll last longer

2006-04-20T22:17:00.000+01:00

People keep staring at me. Seriously, I think I understand partly how people with proper disfigurements must feel. Yesterday my lip was even fatter than it was the first day. It just grew overnight. I had to go out even though I really didn't want to, and people just stared. On the train, in the street, at uni. They'd look then look away then look then look away again. I wasn't even just imagining it, they were definitely staring. OK I did look hideous but for fucks sake. There's no need to be rude, people. Today it got so much better but apparently was still stare-worthy. I did a quick Primark stock up and when I dumped all my stuff on the counter and said 'Hi' cheerily to the woman, she looked concerned and replied, 'What happened to your face, hen?'.

Today I also got a contraceptive injection thingy. It was a very stressful event but at least there's less danger of any more face smashingly painful cramps. I hate injections and the whole idea of them make me feel faint. This one worried me more than most because I spent all last night reading all of the internet horror stories and there definitely are a few potential scary side effects. Oh god I feel faint again just thinking about all of this. Ugh.

If everybody looked the same, we'd get tired of looking at each other...

2006-04-18T19:01:00.000+01:00

I'm looking so sexy at the moment. Soooo pretty.

I've lost 16lbs now so feeling pretty good. Things were going well. Something had to fuck it up, didn't it? So I smashed my face off the bathroom floor and now I'm accessorising my new slimmer look with a scabby bruised nose and the fattest lip I've ever seen. How depressing.

I ran out of pills this month so, with hardcore period pain a distant memory and still no boyfriend, I thought a month off would be fine. Until this morning when I woke up in agony with cramp... spent half an hour in the bathroom, couldn't get up because it hurt too much to straighten my body and I felt too dizzy. Here's the really attractive bit - I fainted on the toilet. Niiice. I'd like to have seen that on film. I fell face first onto the tiles, came round a few seconds later wondering who was crying, realised it was me and thought I'd woken up in bed having a dream, opened my eyes and saw the floor and the blood and felt the pain and...yeah. I look horrific. I look like a battered wife. People are going to ask me what happened and I'll tell them and they'll think I just can't admit the truth. People will feel sorry for me and give me leaflets for women's refuges and things. I wish I'd been drunk then I could've made it into a hilarious story but as it is... I can't even laugh because it hurts too much.

I can't believe this has happened. As long as I live, I'll never come off the pill again. Well, as long as I menstruate anyway. So it looks like I won't be having kids. Oh well.

In case I forget

2006-04-09T23:13:00.000+01:00

1. Graduate
2. Go to America
3. Come home
4. Move to London

She's a Perfect 10

2006-04-07T21:51:00.000+01:00

So anyway, I lost a stone. That's a good thing, obviously. I'm slightly happy, but I'm not really happy. What would make me really happy would be never having had a stone to lose in the first place. I feel like all I've done is moved things closer to how they should be. I should be a size 10. That's who I am. I was always a thin girl in the wrong body. I am a size 10 in mind, if not in body, and I always was. How can I get too excited about simply restoring the natural order of things? People always congratulate others on weight loss but they never congratulate thin people on never getting fat in the first place. That's the hard thing - staying thin. They should be congratulated. Not people who have sat on their lazy arse eating Ben & Jerry's in front of Friends DVDs for years and then one day get up and decide to stop it.

Anyway I still have nearly another 2 stone to go, but then I will be a size 10.

I waited until the cheque cleared before I posted this

2006-04-07T01:02:00.000+01:00

I always knew it probably wasn't my best idea, but I could see the benefits. The money. The calories burnt. And then there was the money. But the two days I spent delivering leaflets now has the unenviable position of being the number one worst job I have ever done, or probably will ever do, in my entire life. I've never worked so hard. I should've realised how hard it would be but all I thought about was getting paid and paying for my flight and I never took into consideration things like letterboxes that are inexplicably below waist level, my funny knees that can't handle anything out of the ordinary, overly enthusiastic bouncing dogs, and the sheer unbelievable weight of a bundle of leaflets. I don't do hard work. I can take shit off customers in call centres or pubs all day long but I can't spend a shift doing anything that requires me to be fit, or strong, or lift anything heavier than a telephone or a pint. Actually one of my main reasons for leaving my last bar job was because they kept making me lift tables. I like jobs where I can sit back and read a magazine and don't have to deal with the rain. I have a renewed respect for postmen (except my postman because he's a useless drunken fucker).

The first day I spent forever wandering the streets in the pouring rain wishing for blocks of flats to sprout up in front of me because despite there being (I'm estimating) 500 or so addresses in the area and me not being able to access around 25% of these addresses without a resident letting me in (short of breaking and entering), they still expected me to get rid of 1000 leaflets. When I said that I was running out of places to deliver to, the guy asked if I'd posted to any businesses. I almost hit him. No, I hadn't posted to any businesses. Because if I could just refer you to paragraph 8 of my fucking instruction sheet which clearly states 'these leaflets must not be delivered to business addresses'. But oh no, he now wants them delivered to businesses. He claimed there were 'loads' of offices nearby. Yeah, loads of offices if I fancied crossing a few picket lines. 'Excuse me, I know you're fighting for your rights out here but if you'd just let me past I'd like to leave a few promotional leaflets'. The offices that weren't council buildings all had their entrances blocked by hoardes of smokers huddling in building entrances having a cigarette, cursing the start of the smoking ban. Obviously I was too embarrassed to fight past them when I had absolutely no business being in their building and no idea where to go once I was inside. I went and sat in a juice bar for half an hour and threw the rest of the leaflets in the bin.

The second day, I had to dump some leaflets ('some' being almost half of them) in a bin and go home early. I just couldn't. I actually walked around crying for a while, it was that bad. I thought I was just being a drama queen making a 'I'm going to burst into tears' face but then I did actually start crying (which still makes me a drama queen, but I must stress that I was a cold, wet, tired drama queen wearing inappropriate shoes and carrying a very heavy bag). That was right after I realised I'd delivered 20 leaflets to an old peoples' home (as if I care, a letterbox is a letterbox). I must've looked crazy. I'd walked too much, the bag was too heavy, it started raining...the train station (not the train station I'd got off at - I'd walked so far I was at the next station along) was nearby (and by that point, half a mile away did seem nearby)... I just couldn't go on (I'm writing this as I watch a documentary on Captain Scott's trip to the South Pole and I realise that my two days leafleting probably weren't quite as bad as his expedition, so maybe I should stop dramatising). Are you getting the picture that the whole day was sheer hell? My instructions said optimistically 'you may take a 45 minute lunch break'. Yeah, right. The instruction sheet writer has obviously never spent any time in this area (lucky fucking desk job 9-5 bastard). There was literally not one single place to stop for anything to eat. There wasn't even a bench I could've sat on had I thought ahead and brought a carefully chopped fruit salad from home (my kind of lunch these days) or stopped off at Tesco for sandwiches before embarking on a 3 mile walk away from civilisation. I was kind of hoping someone would take pity on me and invite me in for lunch. I went into the ultimate Old Man's Pub for a drink after I almost dehydrated wandering round some endless estate, where 3 Old Men were sat around the bar like they probably do every single day of their lives talking about bird flu and their wives, but after that there was nowhere to be seen for miles. Literally, fucking miles. No one mentioned walking 5 miles when I signed up for this job. In fact, the phrase 'local area' was very much stressed. The only thing that kept me going was The Libertines on my iPod. When I wasn't crying I was singing along pretty loudly and fuck anyone who overheard because without music it would have been impossible.

I can't emphasise enough how absolutely hellish those two days were. I definitely need to get my knees seen to because I can't bend my legs properly or straighten them. I knew they were a bit dodgy but having never been pushed quite so much before, it's not usually a problem. I have a blister on my toe that actually has taken over my entire toe. A workman let a huge metal gate fall beside me and it missed me by like 3 millimetres. Oh dear lord god I saw a dead rat. Lying on someone's wall... it was huge and fat and it's fur was all straggly and wet, and it had massive ears and a big (I feel sick) thick tail. I almost went home after I saw that because of the trauma, and that was only 15 minutes into the job.

I might (might) laugh at this one day, when the stiffness in my legs has disappeared and been replaced with new muscles, and I'm getting drunk in Chicago and this is all a distant memory, but right now I wish I hadn't bloody bothered.

I'm Wicked Excited

2006-04-04T01:25:00.000+01:00

Part of the reason I love travelling is the spontaneity of it. I love waking up in the morning and deciding to get on the next bus to anywhere. I love waking up hungover and stumbling down to reception to ask if it's OK to keep the room another night because we can't be arsed packing our bags. Despite this, I've spent a significant amount of time lately planning my US trip (I have to find something to fill my crap life as it is right now. I've also been making a lot of soup). And although it's partly because I don't have enough time to mess around while I'm there, it's mostly because I'm a bit scared. Scared of being on my own and lost or stranded or without a bed for the night. I'm hoping that by doing this alone I'll get more confident of doing things alone. I guess I'll have to, really. I think it's important for me to do this. Especially since my London Plan is still very much my main plan. People say that if you can travel across India, you can travel anywhere. I think that if I can travel across America for a month on my own, I can do anything on my own. I think it's important to be able to survive independently and I have to learn to do it.

I've planned pretty much a complete itinerary, down to things like '18/7/07 - 1:05pm bus to Memphis'. My itinerary changes almost daily but it's my plan to have it completely worked out before I leave. Is this cheating a bit? How hard is it to follow a schedule? Oh god. I'm so excited about this trip. I'm excited about everywhere I'm going and seeing L again. I just want to make the most of it and I'm torn between just landing in Chicago and seeing where I end up after that, and going with my original plan of the Complete Itinerary. At least with the itinerary I know I'll get to see the main things and places I want to see without running out of time, but sometimes the main things aren't the best things. With the wandering plan, I get to feel like more of a 'real traveller' and just go with the flow for a change. No pressures, no schedule.

I guess I'll compromise with a loose itinerary and maybe a couple of internal flights booked. Greyhound don't take reservations anyway. I can book hostels a few days in advance, I'm sure. Yeah. I think that's my new plan. Sorry for thinking out loud.

Feel the fear and do it anyway.

2006-03-27T00:19:00.000+01:00

I have been thinking some more about this trip to the States. I probably should have done the thinking prior to booking my flights but I usually find that my impulsive decisions work out to be the best decisions in the end, despite the unbelievable amount of 'cons' compared to 'pros'. And there are a lot of cons for this trip. Number 1 in capital letters, bold, underlined and in size 24 font is 'I have no money'. Number 1a is 'I have to deliver leaflets in order to pay for my flight'. Dear Lord. Whenever I find myself doing a ridiculously shite job it's because I have a flight to pay for. Delivering leaflets about the smoking ban is likely to be right up there around number 2 on my lifetime list of shite jobs. Right after the job where I had to sell free kitchens. It's only for 2 days, though. It'll pay for a quarter of my flight. It'll be good exercise.

Number 2 on the list of cons, is 'What if I get lost and/or murdered?'. How capable am I of taking a variety of buses and trains 858 miles across America on my own? And it's more than 858 because that would be directly from Chicago to Boston. I have to go via just about every city and random place of interest that's nearly on the way. I was born to travel the world, I think. Because wherever I am, I know it's near somewhere else. And what's the point in going all the way to America and not going to Memphis? And now that Memphis is on the route, is there any point in not going to New Orleans? Sadly I haven't been able to justify New Orleans as yet, and I'm pretty gutted about that. It doesn't seem do-able but hopefully I can find a way to fit it in. I suppose it's impossible to get lost when you're travelling on Greyhound. They're everywhere, aren't they? Except I have a crap sense of direction and can never find my way back to bus stations. That's what R was good for. She always remembered where the bus station was, and she could read maps. Oh fuck. I'm going to get lost. I'm a bit worried about the possibility of murder but I should be OK if I'm sensible, right? When am I ever sensible?

And number 3. What if I get really lonely? I've never went anywhere on my own. Except that time I went to London for a night and was too self conscious to even go into a restaurant so I got stuck eating Subway for dinner and watching Eastenders in the hotel. I was different back then, though. I've changed. I'll meet people. I'll be thin, as well, so I'll be all confident and beautiful and everyone will want to talk to me. Or murder me.

I can't get over the thought of Number 4... 'the Return of the Backpack'. I thought I'd got rid of that fucking thing for a while, but it seems that I'll be getting it back out of the loft sooner than everybody expected. It has pretty flags sewn on it from last summer so at least it'll look a bit nicer, and everyone will think I'm an experienced world traveller, and be impressed. I can buy a US flag too. At least I have learned some lessons and it will no longer be subject to excess baggage charges. I will be casually throwing it over my shoulder and running to catch buses instead of having to do warm up exercises every time I want to pick it up. Another trip also means the return of the *shudder* travel towel. I might have to buy a new one. It still smells a bit and we were stupid enough to insist on saving about £1.50 to buy a medium instead of extra extra extra large. Which would've been normal towel sized, instead of face cloth sized.

OK so there's a few cons. But now that I've went for it and confirmed the flights, paid my deposit and bought a Lonely Planet, the cons are irrelevant. Despite them, I am still going to do this. It's only a month, and I'll only be alone for under 3 weeks of that. I think it will be important to me. I think it will improve me and make me more confident. I think it'll be fun, and exciting, and interesting.

I can't wait.

When I go on this trip I'll be a size 10

2006-03-21T00:32:00.000+00:00

An itinerary I just made up:

Glasgow - Chicago (American Airlines)
day trip to Memphis, Tennessee (I know it's a million miles away, so in reality it'll be a day-and-two-night trip)
Chicago - Toronto
Toronto - Niagara Falls
Niagara Falls - Buffalo
Buffalo - Cleveland
Cleveland - Pittsburgh
Pittsburgh - Lancaster
Lancaster - Philadelphia
Philadelphia - Washington DC
Washington DC - Baltimore, Maryland
Baltimore - New York
New York - Hartford, Connecticut
Hartford - Rhode Island
Rhode Island - Boston
Boston - Glasgow (annoyingly via Chicago)

Two countries, nine US states, eight that I've never been to before.

Some places seem slightly random but I'm a bit like that when I travel. I read one obscure fact about a place and I go there, hence the trip to Connecticut just because Mark Twain's house is there (and also a little bit because it's where The Babysitters Club books were set and, you know, I have every single book from that series ever published stored in the loft...well, every single one published until I was 12 anyway...), Memphis obviously to see Graceland, Pittsburgh because my penpal when I was 12 lived there and I'm sure I have a good reason for the Baltimore stop but I've forgotten what it is. Some of the places are just stopovers to break up the journey and places I have to go through to get somewhere else (See, Buffalo). The majority of the trip will be on the Greyhound buses with one little Amtrak journey slotted in. Flights are reserved for me, all I need to do is take a deep breath and confirm them with a £75 deposit. Je suis scared. But mainly excited. I've never went anywhere on my own before except a night in London and I was too scared to go anywhere. That was before I changed, though. I can do it now. God, I love to make plans.

Especially when I should've been writing an essay.

The Wonderful Thing About Tiggers

2006-03-15T11:00:00.000+00:00

In the spirit of my new improved more active life, I bought a trampoline. A small, aerobic trampoline. The following instructions are a sample of what the manufacturer's believed to be vital information that should be passed on to the potentially over-enthusiastic new owner:

1. No somersaulting

Yeah. Because that's likely.

2. No jumping under the influence of alcohol or with cigarettes

I'll remember that next time I come home drunk and it seems like a realllly hilarious idea to jump on a trampoline.

3. No jumping in the dark
4. It is not to be used as a takeoff trampoine
5. No jumping onto the trampoline from other objects

They're trying to take all the fun out of this, aren't they?

But my favourite is...

6. It is forbidden to linger under the trampoline

Even when I've had my trampoline for a few months and have slimmed down to a size 10, I will not be able to fit under the trampoline. My cat is too big to fit under it. Even if I was under it, it is extremely unlikely that I would be lingering around long enough for someone to unknowingly start jumping on it and consequently causing an injury.

So there you have it. All these rules are almost enough to make me give in and adopt the trampoline as a footrest but I am a new me. I am an active person now. I exercise. As soon as This Morning is finished, I'll get off my arse and start bouncing.

I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman

2006-03-09T23:04:00.000+00:00

Excuse the Britney quote in the title. As much as I adore Britney, that wasn't one of her best songs (clearly that was "You're toxic I'm slippin' under... *shout it out* With the taste of the poison paradise, I'm addicted to you, DON'T YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE TOXIC!?") but I think it's fitting.

People at the pool keep referring to me as 'that woman' or 'the lady'. For example parents say to their kids, 'Stop splashing the lady' (yes, please stop splashing the lady. Before she fucking drowns you.). It's getting a bit worrying. At least one person has said it every single time I've been swimming (and I've actually been sticking to the Swim Plan, and more importantly it seems to be working). Every single time. And nobody has referred to me as 'that girl'. Not one person. One woman did call me 'that lassie', which leans more towards the girl side but is a bit ambigious.

It's worrying me slightly. I'm only twenty twooooo. I'm just a girl (a No Doubt quote - maybe that should've been my title). I think. When did I start looking like a woman? Maybe I'll start needing Botox soon. Anti-ageing creams. Maybe I am an adult. Maybe when I graduate and get a real job I won't look so out of place. I won't look like a student pretending to be a marketing graduate. I don't want to grow up and I especially don't want to look like I've grown up.

These thoughts scare me, but would scare me slightly more if I hadn't got asked for ID buying a bottle of vodka last week.

Alcohol may affect your ability to make sensible decisions

2006-03-06T16:17:00.000+00:00

Last night, after 1 and a third bottles of wine (740 calories. Shite), enthusiastic agreement to the question 'Does everyone want doubles?', lots of dancing, laughing, singing, and jumping (yay - exercise!), much admiring of the beautifulness of Dirty Pretty Things, a whole series of events of which I can only remember sketchy, blurry details, an argument with a wanker of a taxi driver (I still don't know what his problem was...I was sick OUTSIDE the taxi, not all over his seats or anything. And I would've given him directions as soon as I woke up), and a little bit of crying, I believe I accepted a lift home from a stranger (I say 'believe' because, as I said, details are sketchy).

Luckily he turned out just to be a nice guy and not a murderer, but I'm honestly scared of my own stupidity. I practically gave him an invitation to rape me. An extremely drunk girl stumbling along a deserted, unlit street on her own... Jesus. I hate when I can't remember what's happened to me because usually no matter how drunk I am, I still remember (although that can be both a good thing and a bad thing...). Last night is mostly one big fucking blank.

I went to uni this morning with my hair matted and sticky from beer, with a bag full of mascara stained scented windscreen wipes which I'm assuming were provided by the helpful stranger. Niiiice. It took strength I didn't think I had to lift my head off the pillow but I had a meeting I had to go to. It turned out to be a waste of time and could all have been done via email which pissed me off, so I went shopping to make myself feel better. It worked.

I have to get out of here.

2006-03-05T16:45:00.000+00:00

Driving in your car
Oh, please don’t drop me home
Because it’s not my home, it’s their
Home, and I’m welcome no more

- The Smiths, There is a Light That Never Goes Out

Travelling Expenses Day

2006-03-03T16:19:00.000+00:00

I wish I was a celebrity so I could demand that shops were closed to the public while I browsed. Particularly Primark, because that's always full of people who walk too slowly and take up whole aisles while they uummm and aaaahh over every £3 black t-shirt they walk past (just fucking buy it!). The public ruin every shopping trip I go on. Someone recently pointed out to me that while a person can be nice, people are always cunts. Very true.

There was a stripy skirt I wanted. Typically it was on a rack that was practically floor level, all the hangers were tangled up together mixed in with 10 other types of non-stripy skirts. I hate when shopping gets too much like hard work. It's why I hate sale racks. Shopping should be easy and leisurely, no effort required. But...I wanted the skirt. So I had to get down on my hands and knees and prove to the Gods of shopping just how much I wanted it. It wasn't easy, trying to hang on to my other bags and the big handful of clothes I'd already randomly selected on the way round (I really should start using a basket in that shop). It was a struggle, but eventually I stood up triumphantly with the last size 14 (hopefully the last size 14 item I ever buy before my slimming takes off) stripy skirt clutched to my chest. After all that I kind of expected all the other shoppers to have been watching the action, silently cheering me on, and as I looked around, dazed by the bright lights, I wondered for a second why they weren't breaking into applause. Of course, they hadn't even noticed.

Hmpfff

2006-03-01T14:13:00.000+00:00

I didn't lose any weight this week. Not impressed. How does this work? I thought I finally got this weight loss thing, but evidently not. Last week I went 1852 calories over my allowance and lost 4lbs. This week, I only went 22 calories over (how saintly) and did more exercise than the week before, and I've lost fuck all. What's going on!? I was gutted.

Another interesting point: I burned 50 more calories on Friday night at Babyshambles than I did swimming for an hour the day before. I'm considering changing the Swim Plan to the Gig Plan. Much more enjoyable, and I prefer smelling of smoke, beer and sweat than cholorine, although gigs are a bit more expensive than my local council swimming pool. And the alcohol consumption kind of cancels any calorie burning effects out. This weight loss thing is pretty fucking frustrating. I'm sticking with it, though. Unless I haven't lost anything by next Tuesday...

Last Night

2006-02-25T17:52:00.000+00:00

My voice is hoarse, my arms are covered in small cigarette burn blisters, my feet are bruised, my top is still soaked with sweat, and my boots are ruined. Generally those are signs of a good night, and I think I did have a good night. Not an amazing night, but good enough.

Babyshambles at la Barrowlands... by 10:45pm I was expecting a 'Pete's not here'-type announcement closely followed by uncontrollable riots, but thankfully they didn't (completely) disappoint and the booing and 'Get out here you fucking junkie bastard' cries stopped when they appeared on stage in a last minute 'must live up to our rockstar reputation' rush. I thought they played a good set, which lasted over an hour, although it was let down by Pete looking like he'd rather be asleep somewhere than on stage. I guess he can't be expected to be all happy happy joy joy at the moment, but I was disappointed that he looked so sad slash drunk slash ???, and he didn't talk to the crowd at all (except to mumble an apology and make one attempt to stop his fans being crushed to death against the barrier). They played Time for Heroes though, which made my night, day, week, and month. The crowd were, for the most part, a bunch of inconsiderate Sun-reading Fuck-Forever-singing drugs-related-insult-shouting wankers. But apart from that, I had fun.

I went home stinking of beer with sweat induced frizziness of the hair and I've been hungover all day. Yeah, it was definitely a good night, then.

Week One

2006-02-22T15:51:00.000+00:00

I lost 4lbs this week. I don't think I've ever tried to lose weight and actually done it. Or at least I haven't known about it, because I never weigh myself. So I'm very proud of myself. See, you can lose weight and still eat Tim Tams - I knew it.

My food diary is helping very much, as is my new job thing where I have to scan the barcode of all the snacks I eat for some company to analyse. It has ended the possibility of secret snacking, which is good. The food diary helps because it reduces everything down to mathematics, it seems so logical and makes sense. It also helps to really know what I'm eating, and to have to think about it. It does seem a bit obsessive to me, keeping track of everything I eat, but it's not really. It's sensible to be more aware of what's in your food when you're a chocoholic like moi.

I can't decide whether to go swimming today or not...I really should but my period just started and you know. Bleugh. Also I think I'm getting a sore throat, caused by swallowing too much chlorine. I really must preserve my throat so I can sing along to Babyshambles on Friday night. Actually thinking about it, I should lose another 4lbs from all the jumping and dancing I'll be doing on Friday, so maybe I can have a day off from exercise.