So my new years resolution this year was to lose weight. Not a lot really just a few pounds to get my BMI down to 21. An excellent starting place for this would be to cut out the unhealthy snacks that I consume each day but I seriously know that would never happen. I think I would just end up eating the fridge at meal times if I were to do that. So hey I decide that I'll start going to the gym and to the public swimming pool. This week was the first healthy living week as I am now calling it and I have been very good. In total I have done 78 lengths of the pool, 5 minutes on the cross trainer and ten minutes on the cycling machine (you can clearly see here that I prefer the pool to the gym here). Can you imagine my surprise when I hop on the scales to find that my weight has indeed changed. But not in the way I had planned. In fact I have gained 5 pounds! What the heck is this craziness?
It's all okay though! I have figured the perfect solution for achieving my desired BMI...If you just lie and add an inch to your height the whole situation is resolved! Who wouldn't like to know that fact!
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Why is it always me that attracts the total weirdo’s? There I am standing at the bus stop being perfectly normal waiting for the bus to
when some old lady approaches me. She starts with the usual ‘’is this the Cardiff bus stop’’ To which I think ‘Bloody hell I hope so’ but being polite I answer her question with a simple ‘’yes.’’ Assuming my answer was enough I step back and continue to text *****. The next thing I know the lady is back in my face telling me how all the buses are spasmodic these days and how I shouldn’t trust any of them because the drivers told her they are all too spasmodic to be trusted. I have to say at this point I did start wondering about her sanity but there we have it. Clearly she wasn’t going to leave me alone so it was just a case of waiting there like a nodding dog until she left for a different bus. Cardiff
Now I daresay you are wondering about *****, as you clearly have nosyitis reading somebody else’s journal. ***** is my boyfriend! Yes, you read that last sentence correctly I do in fact now have a boyfriend. How did I go about it? Well, over Christmas I was incredibly bored and just a little bit miffed that I didn’t have anybody boyfriendy to share it with so I signed up to a website called plenty of fish. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. I’m not as much of a crazy tool as people may think. I started speaking to a few of the guys on there and they all turned out to be complete and utter jerks, either that or they had a very small brain capacity. Flaunting lack of spelling and grammar knowledge or showing off their torso (that probably wasn’t even theirs) wasn’t exactly the kind of thing I had in mind when I signed up. I was about to give up hope of finding anybody decent when I received a message from *****. After reading his profile and pondering over whether his pictures were him or not I decided it was worth a shot and messaged him back. All over the Christmas period and into January we messaged backwards and forwards before he gave me his number. Several texts later it was decided that we would meet up in
and go for a drink before moving on to the ice rink. Cardiff
The day of our meeting came and I was absolutely dying inside with nerves. When he walked up and said ‘’Hello ****’’ I couldn’t even speak. I knew he was tall…After all I read his profile which stated he was six foot three but when there’s six foot three worth of person standing beside you it seems a whole lot more than tall. Our date went well though apart from the misfortunate event at the ice rink involving my hand and his crotch. We were skating around holding hands, as you do, when I tripped on my toe pick and launched forwards. Being the nice person that he is, ***** pulled me back so I didn’t fall and supported me but it was too late. I swung around and somehow my left hand grabbed his crotch area. I have never wanted to die so much in my life as I did that moment. I could feel people’s eyes boring into my back as they stood giggling. To this day he still teases me about it but it’s all in good humour so I should forgive him I guess.
6.30am comes and goes. Only when It reaches 6.55am do I realise I actually need to leave the house in the next 5 minutes. Never have I got ready so fast in my life. Usually my mornings consist of waking up and lying in bed for thirty minutes before bundling my self out of bed and dragging myself to the bathroom. From here I usually spend a good fifteen minutes foraging in the wardrobe for something to wear. Luckily for me I had the sense to pick my outfit last night. As I throw on my jeans and a jumper I find myself sneaking like a ninja into my little sister’s room in search of a matching coat. There are definite bonuses to sharing a dress size! Ever stealth like I grab a coat and head off down the stairs, bag, coat, makeup and toothbrush in tow. I figure I’ll do the rest when I get to my uncles.
On arrival I receive the same brief as usual, meal times, where to find food for the baby, where to find snacks for my self et cetera et cetera. I can’t say I was really paying attention due to the fact I was stifling yawns the entire time! Then the crying starts. As soon as my uncle’s girlfriend left the house for work the baby began to scream. My solution? Rice cake! One possibly drugged rice cake later the baby falls asleep and I put him to bed. Time for a sleep myself I think.
Finally my mother arrives at 10am with another baby in tow and the day begins! First stop, the farm! On arrival we are handed a bucket of feed and some very trendy and childish purple stickers which the adults, yes the adults, had to wear the entire time. I have to say the day evolved pretty quickly and time flew by as we saw the goats, the cows, the sheep, the pigs, the poultry and finally the horses.
I have to say the farm wasn’t exactly how I remembered it. When I was young I was able to go in the pen with the animals and they would use my fingers as pacifiers or curl up and fall asleep in my lap. These days its more of a look from the other side of the gate experience which is not nearly as fun but still some how ****** managed to get his hand up a shire horse’s nostril. I’m not entirely sure who was more surprised at this, him or the horse. Anyway it resulted in one almighty sneeze on the horse’s behalf and a snot covered baby for me. Lunchtime was a welcome break, as we were very cold and the babies were hungry, even if we did have a live episode of the ‘Charlie bit my finger’ video!
****** now has four razor sharp teeth and knows how to use them. **** being the more inquisitive of the two somehow managed to insert his finger into ******’s mouth resulting in a sharp bite from ****** and a piercing scream from J****. Everybody in the place was looking at us judgementally!
All in all today has been fun and hectic and after dropping the babies home I will be all set for a well earned sleep!
And once again my Sunday night has been entirely interesting but for a whole different reason! Usually my Sunday consists of waiting. Waiting around for everybody else to return to the flat and jumping like a hyper child when somebody walks through the door. Not today. Today I’m travelling home to
to see my family and so far my journey has been a riot. For some reason unbeknown to me I booked a train ticket from Newport South Wales to Birmingham Chester Road with a change at Bristol Parkway in addition to the change at Birmingham New Street. What was I thinking in facing myself with such an arduous task!? I’m not sure either to be honest but it was definitely a different kind of travelling experience.
The first train pulled up, the train to London Paddington and it was the abnormal old fashioned kind where you have to roll down the windows and open the door from the outside to get out. Getting on wasn’t a problem as the amount of people in the queue to board before me was immense but getting back off the train was a whole new ball game which I’ll get to later. Anyway, so I board the train and make off down the aisle of coach D to find seat twenty five which had been reserved for me. Low and behold my seat is at a table of four. Assuming the empty seat at the table was mine I ask the person in the aisle seat to let me past and I begin to get comfy. She didn’t tell me that somebody was already sitting there and so you can imagine my surprise when an angry Welsh lady returns with a face like thunder. After five minutes of me arguing how I reserved this seat she points out that actually the reserved ticket doesn’t say that I did. I look at the ticket and plain as day it states the seat is number twenty nine. It turns out my seat was actually opposite me but somebody had taken it. I look across to the girl in my seat and she’s sleeping so I have no idea what to do about it. I notice her tickets for travel lying on the table and it turns out she was travelling to
Slough. Now I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the British version of road wars on pick TV, but they always seem to be filming crime in that city so the last thing I wanted to do was wake the girl up and ask her to move. Eventually realising the angry Welsh lady is still standing huffing and puffing I apologise and offer to move, but apparently it was too late she found another seat and just wanted her things. That was the last I saw of her on that journey and I was glad about that I can tell you!
Thankfully before many people can glare at me and talk about me it’s time to disembark from the train and change to a second. Imagine my horror when I can’t get off the train. I did what I have seen countless people do before, rolled down the window and leaned out to push the handle down to release the door. It didn’t work. I was stuck. After several failed attempts at opening the tricky door somebody finally gives it a good yank from the outside and my case and I case are free to fall onto the platform like a sack of potatoes.
My ordeal isn’t over yet though as I still need to find the next platform and train. All I have to go on is that my train leaves at 18.40 but I have no idea where it’s headed. By process of elimination I figure I must need the
Leeds bound train from platform three which luckily I was already on. I need to find coach G when finally boarding the train and so I head down the platform until it gets to the point that nobody else is around and I think I’ve gone too far. I was very wrong. In fact I hadn’t gone far enough as when the train arrived I still had to walk the length of four full carriages. The tea and chocolate digestives that I paid crazy prices for, however, cheered me up no end.
Finally, on a successful exit from that train, despite the same tricky doors, it’s time to wait thirteen minutes in the freezing cold for the final leg of the journey.
Just when I think things couldn’t possibly get any worse, some teenage chav decides I would very much appreciate him sending me rude gestures. I think it’s safe to assume I’m not in the least appreciative of that. After all this I think the promise of a McDonalds from my mother is very much anticipated.
Is it normal that I’m genuinely excited about getting up at 6.30am tomorrow to go over to my uncles? I need to baby sit before taking my little cousins to ash end house farm with my mother. Looks like I need a good nights sleep…I wonder if I will get one!
I have finally realised the perks to living in my flat on a weekend. Hardly anybody is here so usually I get free run of the television. The result? A strict schedule consisting of All Star Family Fortunes, X Factor and Casualty on a Saturday night. Again what is it about me that is different to everybody else my age…A Saturday night is usually a time for going out and getting drunk but no here I am inside again. ******* was here this weekend which made things a little more interesting. I wasn’t exactly impressed however to find the television commandeered by him. There is only so long that you can watch ‘Natural World’ with a guy that finds chasing llamas fun when he’s drunk, or states that his floppy fish fingers look like they’re wearing pyjamas, before your mind starts to wander slightly. I stare at the Christmas tree first, picking out faults, the baubles that are too close together, the beads that are too droopy, gaps that need filling with tinsel or streamers or the wonky tree topper. Then I move onto staring at the floor, just looking at the dirty bits of food that people have dropped during the week that haven’t yet been vacuumed up. I notice a piece of courgette that’s been lying on the floor by the stove for the last week, just left there to go mouldy because whoever dropped it couldn’t be bothered to pick it up. This leads to inspecting the chore rota and sending accusatory glances across to ******* for not vacuuming but all I get in return is the vacant expression of somebody mesmerised by a bear and fox hunting together on the television.
Just when I think my evening had hit a rock bottom low **** walks in unexpectedly straight from work. My knees instantly become weak as he looks so smart and handsome in his work suit. I try not to drool or stumble over my words as he walks in but it fails and my ‘hello’ becomes ‘helbla uh hey’. I just watch for 5 minutes as he goes about his business around the kitchen, all the time aware of the fact that I probably look weird watching. I can’t help it! There is something about him that just makes me want to watch his every move.
This Diary, journal, rant book or whatever it may turn into is the product of a long, boring and lonesome Friday evening. What nineteen year old female stays in her room by herself whilst most people her age are out in a club pickling their livers and getting hammered? Me. I’m ****. My full name is ******* ********** but most people only use anything longer than **** when they are angry or disappointed in me. I, like many other people my age, am studying at university, for a degree that will probably count for nothing in later life. The long and short if it is that right now, I don’t have a whole lot of other options. I have A-levels, that much is true but what can you do with two D grades and an E? I always said that maybe I should give up on becoming a Midwife and just become a professional Labourer. Not the manual labour kind that involves getting dirty, just the kind where I pop out baby after baby to give the midwives of the world something to do. Although the benefits, a free house and child benefit for life, outweigh the flaws of that plan in terms of numbers, the flaw is pretty major. To be a professional labourer I would need a male to help me out, after all, it would be pretty difficult to conceive twenty or more times completely alone. The male involvement in my life right now is an entirely different kettle of fish.
While most people my age have dabbled in the art of being a hoochie or a man whore for at least a few weeks of their life, or maybe even just a drunken holiday, I find myself being the anomaly. It is certainly not very often that a girl my age can count her male encounters on one hand.
First, there was *****, a ginger boy with freckles and a weirdly skinny frame. I will remember our first and only date purely for the awkward fact that whilst we were sitting in the back row drinking Pepsi and eating gummy worms, his parents and little sister were sitting three rows in front to keep an eye on us. We were ten.
Next was ***** and we met online. Yes I can hear your warnings already but what can you tell a fourteen year old social phobe that is blinded by what she thinks is true love? My mother went with me to meet him that first time. I saw him in the distance, not much taller than me, dark curlyish hair and a slight premature beer belly. I was with him for three years on and off although looking back on it today I often wonder why. The first time he dumped me was when he was convinced I was cheating on him with somebody named Graham. I didn’t know a Graham then and still don’t to this day so he must have clearly lost his mind. The penultimate dumpage was admittedly my own fault. The lesson I took from that is to never tell your boyfriend’s sister that she’s a horrible person. You can guarantee it will always be turned around to something along the lines of ‘‘She called me a fat cow.’’ Finally after three years of being on and off we broke up due to his adolescent obsession with sex. What is it about the male population that makes them think about sex all day every day?
A few months after *****, came ***. We met whilst on holiday in
, Pembrokeshire, the most beautiful place on earth. The coastal walks, the beach, the harbour…everything about Newport is perfect. After sharing many holidays there, *** eventually came to Newport to visit his sister at university. Naturally I invited him to stay at mine for a few nights. Nothing really happened until the last night when sex was the only thing on his mind. I haven’t seen him since. Birmingham
Finally, bringing my total count up to four, there’s ****. Tall(ish), Dark hair, Handsome…just what every female dreams of right? The day **** moved into flat twenty three I was shocked. I was beginning to think that there wasn’t a single attractive guy in the whole of my accommodation building. You can imagine my dismay when he took an interest in my flat mate, *****. Halloween night I sat there in a club and witnessed them canoodling and dancing and flirting between themselves for hours. Knowing ***** didn’t want anything more than a friendship from him I began to flirt around him. People were beginning to notice me and **** getting closer and becoming more involved and then one night it happened. I was sitting in his room keeping him company whilst he did his online training and pow.. Things have seemed different since that night, not awkward, just a little strained. I hope things don’t become awkward as I have to spend the rest of the academic year sharing a flat with him!
And so, late on a Friday night I find myself reflecting back on the last few years and have only one question for myself. Am I a normal nineteen year old or could it be that I am in fact an anomaly?