So, Week 0 approaches inexorably. It looms over the horizon, a massive wave of maths and queer and debating and university and life and stuff and things to do. SO MUCH STUFF.
After trying to be manly about my illness (read: stupid), I decided to actually get medical advice. Incredibly painless, actually. They have a walk-in clinic. Opens at 8:30. You walk in, they take your name, and then you wait your turn to be seen. I waited about 5-10 minutes to be seen.
The doctor listened to me breathe, stuck things in my ears, made me say "aaahhhh", had a good look all over me, mumbled "39" and "bronchitis" and "here you go". I now have a course of antibiotics and instructions to have paracetamol every four hours to keep my fever under control. Apparently, 39 degrees is too hot for a grown up to be. In fact, it's too hot for anyone to be. (And I thought I was hot because of my parents' ludicrously warm house...!)
In total, this week, there have been four working days. I have worked four hours of these four working days. Grand total of £20 there. Spent a third of that on antibiotics, and probably spent the rest on soup and mouthwash and Ribena (I am drinking A LOT of Ribena.)
However, there are some upsides. For example, I have discovered Wogan's Perfect Recall. I quite enjoy this quiz show, actually. It's hosted by Terry Wogan (long term childhood crush, blame Eurovision) and the format is that you start of with 4 contestants, and the number whittles down in each round. Now, the answers are the same in every single round; it's the questions that change. So, if you can remember what the answers were, then you'll do quite well. Obviously, you need to be quick on that buzzer, etc.
I've taken to have two showers a day now. By the time it gets to about 2pm, I've been sweating so much that I just want to take another one (I take my first at 7:30). So, I'll be doing that. I think I'll wash my hair too. I'll make sure I dry it very very well, don't want to get even more sick.
Showing posts with label I have a body. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I have a body. Show all posts
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Bleeding!
So, some of my Facebook friends have developed a curious corollary to follow the "I went to the shops" type status. Something along the lines of "I'm having a period and I don't like ittttttt."
What am I supposed to say in response to that?
"Ibuprofen, you dolt."
"Wait a few days, then you'll be fine."
"Cut your womb out. It'll hurt less... oh wait."
I'm not ashamed of my body, and its willingness to provide me with varying amounts of icky and pain. I don't like it, but, it's my lot, and I accept it. I don't feel the need to tell everyone about the state of my ladyplaces. Frankly, I don't think anyone particularly wants to know.
On top of that, telling everyone on Facebook you're on the rag and as such will be irritable is like saying "I'm in a bad mood, and I refuse to do anything to make it easier for people. I'm a bit of an ass."
Lots of women suffer much so much more than you. For example, I read once that when women undergo female genital mutilation of the most "complete" kind, the whole area is basically sewn up bar the tiniest little hole. So, there's all the usual womby contractions, then on top of that, there's the risk of infection, and the pain of that little hole. There's also endometriosis (Noelle from Cycle 3 of ANTM has it), which does generally suck pretty bad, and gives you a good chance of infertility too.
Healthy Western women are so lucky. We can basically ignore everything going on apart from approximately half an hour each day, when you pop a paracetamol or go to the bathroom. Just stop whining, take a painkiller and go for a walk.
TL;DR - Man the fuck up.
What am I supposed to say in response to that?
"Ibuprofen, you dolt."
"Wait a few days, then you'll be fine."
"Cut your womb out. It'll hurt less... oh wait."
I'm not ashamed of my body, and its willingness to provide me with varying amounts of icky and pain. I don't like it, but, it's my lot, and I accept it. I don't feel the need to tell everyone about the state of my ladyplaces. Frankly, I don't think anyone particularly wants to know.
On top of that, telling everyone on Facebook you're on the rag and as such will be irritable is like saying "I'm in a bad mood, and I refuse to do anything to make it easier for people. I'm a bit of an ass."
Lots of women suffer much so much more than you. For example, I read once that when women undergo female genital mutilation of the most "complete" kind, the whole area is basically sewn up bar the tiniest little hole. So, there's all the usual womby contractions, then on top of that, there's the risk of infection, and the pain of that little hole. There's also endometriosis (Noelle from Cycle 3 of ANTM has it), which does generally suck pretty bad, and gives you a good chance of infertility too.
Healthy Western women are so lucky. We can basically ignore everything going on apart from approximately half an hour each day, when you pop a paracetamol or go to the bathroom. Just stop whining, take a painkiller and go for a walk.
TL;DR - Man the fuck up.
Friday, August 06, 2010
Bulging brides, snap solutions.
I've been watching a show about women who buy their wedding dresses a little too early, and snack like fiends, so they put on weight. Oh no! So two exercise demons from health hell itself come to get our "bulging" bride down to size before the Big Day.
The first time I saw the show, the lady was a former figure skater. She wasn't actually overweight! She was just a little plump on the hips, which isn't a sin. Worse still, her measurements were tiny, and they tutted over her having a butt worth a damn. Maybe Exercise Demon Girl was jealous because she has no boobs and boy hips.
The show basically encourages the brides-to-be to restrict their diet for six weeks, and combine that with really hard work outs. So, salad leaves for lunch, chicken with one teaspoon of rice for dinner, 5k run.
It's not sustainable. I know, it's not supposed to be. It's supposed to be a quick-fix to get you into that perfect shape for the day when all eyes are on you. But, I know that these women will immediately pile on all the pounds once they reintroduce all the carbs, cake and wine they missed out on their 6 weeks of hell.
How about a show when you say stuff like "Stop eating Doritos *all* the time. Just have a little bowl, and leave the packet in the kitchen".
Or perhaps "Eat less cheese, but you can still have it".
Shock, horror, you could even say "Cake is not banned! Just don't eat a whole cake."
I simply don't believe that you need to get rid of all cake and wine and pasta to be able to stay fit. To get a seriously athletic figure, I admit, you'll probably need to get yourself some sort of plan designed for $28123o by some Dr Whatever in London, or LA. But, if you're just a regular sort of person looking to be a size 12 again, I reckon cutting down on the bad stuff, not eliminating, would be sufficient, as well as exercising, of course.
I've got the first half down. I'm eating normal sized portions again rather than the huge American portions I ate Stateside. Most of my old favourites are back, but I'm not eating cream cheese every day (delicious sacrifice, sadface).
Now I need to get the exercise bit in.
~~~
Turns out the show Bulging Brides have a Wikipedia page. Something tells me that there may have been some editing here.
Right on!
The first time I saw the show, the lady was a former figure skater. She wasn't actually overweight! She was just a little plump on the hips, which isn't a sin. Worse still, her measurements were tiny, and they tutted over her having a butt worth a damn. Maybe Exercise Demon Girl was jealous because she has no boobs and boy hips.
The show basically encourages the brides-to-be to restrict their diet for six weeks, and combine that with really hard work outs. So, salad leaves for lunch, chicken with one teaspoon of rice for dinner, 5k run.
It's not sustainable. I know, it's not supposed to be. It's supposed to be a quick-fix to get you into that perfect shape for the day when all eyes are on you. But, I know that these women will immediately pile on all the pounds once they reintroduce all the carbs, cake and wine they missed out on their 6 weeks of hell.
How about a show when you say stuff like "Stop eating Doritos *all* the time. Just have a little bowl, and leave the packet in the kitchen".
Or perhaps "Eat less cheese, but you can still have it".
Shock, horror, you could even say "Cake is not banned! Just don't eat a whole cake."
I simply don't believe that you need to get rid of all cake and wine and pasta to be able to stay fit. To get a seriously athletic figure, I admit, you'll probably need to get yourself some sort of plan designed for $28123o by some Dr Whatever in London, or LA. But, if you're just a regular sort of person looking to be a size 12 again, I reckon cutting down on the bad stuff, not eliminating, would be sufficient, as well as exercising, of course.
I've got the first half down. I'm eating normal sized portions again rather than the huge American portions I ate Stateside. Most of my old favourites are back, but I'm not eating cream cheese every day (delicious sacrifice, sadface).
Now I need to get the exercise bit in.
~~~
Turns out the show Bulging Brides have a Wikipedia page. Something tells me that there may have been some editing here.
No woman wants to be a bulging bride! (except those women who are confident in themselves, and believe the marriage ceremony is not about looking like a pretty princess, but instead about two people joining their lives together)
Right on!
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Hold your hats, folks!
At some point, I made a calendar of the last three weeks of term. I had planned for a couple people to come visit, as well as the Pride-y, debate-y things I'd hoped to do. Attend all the socials, read and gym in the gaps between.
What actually happened is some Tristan time, and lots of other random things creeping in. LGBT Midlands Coalition meetings, WSAF gigs, meetings with David Preiss (DAVID PREISS!), and so on.
In particular, the last five days have been particularly challenging. I suppose I didn't realise quite how challenging until last night, when, in a delirious haze of exhaustion and headpain, I made a cake and then fell asleep almost instantly.
So. This is what I have done recently.
Thursday: Meeting with David Preiss about 4th year project. To get ready for this, I'd had to read a 12-page document, and then read as much as I could about integration in general. On top of this, my brother had given me a piece of work to do too (writing some text for a website), due for Friday. So, already, the week had been quite full of writing and reading. The meeting went really well, then as soon as it was over, Tristan and I drove madly down the motorway to get to my brother's prize giving. After mingling and wine and dinner and "look this is the family house", we drove all the way back.
Friday: At some point in the early morning, say 3:30, we fell asleep. (I don't have a great deal to say about that bit apart from that it was both fun and amazing.) Woke up, eventually, got my brother's work done and emailed to him by the deadline, then rushed into the shower to see my housemate's band play their final ever gig, at WSAF. Came home, made food, went back out, Crash time. Oh, Crash. Drunken, dance-fuelled madness. Nick, Richard, Zal, Mash, Buzz, Engineering Matt, faces and crowds and wonderful things.
Saturday: Entirely unwonderful things, to start. Including lots of chundering. (I did party extremely hard). Hangover started to subside at about 4 or 5, just in time to rush into the shower AGAIN and get to campus in time for dinner in the Duck and watching more bands play at WSAF including the very fun Lilac Joke, and the ever-awesome Hot Magenta. Then, onto Last Exit. More bands, more dancing, and GUITAR HERO which was really good. I chose to play King Crimson. Seven minutes of guitar noodling at an almost impossible pace. Then, Matt and Buzz played Rush, "The Spirit Of Radio". LOL. That was hilariously awful. But, impossible to play. In the end, it turned out that Matt and Buzz had been looking at each other's corners, so they were playing the wrong stuff :P (Matt still won though). After a while, Tash and I crashed out, so Mash and I went home.
Sunday: A relatively relaxing day. Bus trips around the Canley area to pick up icing pens, since my local supermarket doesn't sell them big enough, and it was too hot to walk around, hence the bus. Finally got home, made some chocolate cake, watched England get thrashed. Iced the cake, decorated the cake, went to campus and back to give Katie a disc for the last acronym film social. Early bed time in time for the day ahead.
Monday: 6:45am start, for a 7:45am taxi onto campus, arriving minutes to 8, to await my lift. Why this horrifically real-person start? To teach debating at a school in the Banbury area! A full day with a group of Year 12s. I had a crib sheet, and it worked pretty well. I was nervous at first, but I grew to feed off their enthusiasm and really enjoyed watching the quieter girls grow in confidence over the course of the day. Lunch was 25 minutes, break was 10, the whole day finished at about 5 or so. Got to campus again at about 6 ish. Went to see Tristan. Began to feel kinda tired. Realised I had a cake to make for him. Took a taxi home, collapsed a bit. After resting for a while, I dragged myself outside to get Chinese takeout and then came home and ate it. I felt a bit better, so made the cake bases. By now, it was approaching 10. I realised I didn't have enough icing sugar. Left the house again to get it. Called home; a family member had died. I'm borrowing some of Mom's black clothes to wear for the funeral. (My first ever funeral, occurring the day before we go on holiday.) Mom'd also been to A&E, for some really bad allergic reaction she had. Got home eventually, icing sugar in tow, fell asleep for about 30 minutes. I couldn't help it, I was just so tired and hurty. All the lights and sounds of the house were just throbbing in my head and my eyes. However, I got myself up, took some Norah Jones downstairs on Audrey and dimmed the lights in the kitchen and iced the cake. After this epic set of manly endeavours, I went to bed and passed out.
I'm not sure exactly what possessed me to ignore everything my body was telling me, so I could finish that cake. It's like I found a strength somewhere. I'm glad I did it though. Not sure I'd have forgiven myself if I hadn't. Cake is SRS BSNS.
I guess people do crazy things when they're in... summertime. Yes, when they are in summertime. (That is clearly the word I want to use.)
What actually happened is some Tristan time, and lots of other random things creeping in. LGBT Midlands Coalition meetings, WSAF gigs, meetings with David Preiss (DAVID PREISS!), and so on.
In particular, the last five days have been particularly challenging. I suppose I didn't realise quite how challenging until last night, when, in a delirious haze of exhaustion and headpain, I made a cake and then fell asleep almost instantly.
So. This is what I have done recently.
Thursday: Meeting with David Preiss about 4th year project. To get ready for this, I'd had to read a 12-page document, and then read as much as I could about integration in general. On top of this, my brother had given me a piece of work to do too (writing some text for a website), due for Friday. So, already, the week had been quite full of writing and reading. The meeting went really well, then as soon as it was over, Tristan and I drove madly down the motorway to get to my brother's prize giving. After mingling and wine and dinner and "look this is the family house", we drove all the way back.
Friday: At some point in the early morning, say 3:30, we fell asleep. (I don't have a great deal to say about that bit apart from that it was both fun and amazing.) Woke up, eventually, got my brother's work done and emailed to him by the deadline, then rushed into the shower to see my housemate's band play their final ever gig, at WSAF. Came home, made food, went back out, Crash time. Oh, Crash. Drunken, dance-fuelled madness. Nick, Richard, Zal, Mash, Buzz, Engineering Matt, faces and crowds and wonderful things.
Saturday: Entirely unwonderful things, to start. Including lots of chundering. (I did party extremely hard). Hangover started to subside at about 4 or 5, just in time to rush into the shower AGAIN and get to campus in time for dinner in the Duck and watching more bands play at WSAF including the very fun Lilac Joke, and the ever-awesome Hot Magenta. Then, onto Last Exit. More bands, more dancing, and GUITAR HERO which was really good. I chose to play King Crimson. Seven minutes of guitar noodling at an almost impossible pace. Then, Matt and Buzz played Rush, "The Spirit Of Radio". LOL. That was hilariously awful. But, impossible to play. In the end, it turned out that Matt and Buzz had been looking at each other's corners, so they were playing the wrong stuff :P (Matt still won though). After a while, Tash and I crashed out, so Mash and I went home.
Sunday: A relatively relaxing day. Bus trips around the Canley area to pick up icing pens, since my local supermarket doesn't sell them big enough, and it was too hot to walk around, hence the bus. Finally got home, made some chocolate cake, watched England get thrashed. Iced the cake, decorated the cake, went to campus and back to give Katie a disc for the last acronym film social. Early bed time in time for the day ahead.
Monday: 6:45am start, for a 7:45am taxi onto campus, arriving minutes to 8, to await my lift. Why this horrifically real-person start? To teach debating at a school in the Banbury area! A full day with a group of Year 12s. I had a crib sheet, and it worked pretty well. I was nervous at first, but I grew to feed off their enthusiasm and really enjoyed watching the quieter girls grow in confidence over the course of the day. Lunch was 25 minutes, break was 10, the whole day finished at about 5 or so. Got to campus again at about 6 ish. Went to see Tristan. Began to feel kinda tired. Realised I had a cake to make for him. Took a taxi home, collapsed a bit. After resting for a while, I dragged myself outside to get Chinese takeout and then came home and ate it. I felt a bit better, so made the cake bases. By now, it was approaching 10. I realised I didn't have enough icing sugar. Left the house again to get it. Called home; a family member had died. I'm borrowing some of Mom's black clothes to wear for the funeral. (My first ever funeral, occurring the day before we go on holiday.) Mom'd also been to A&E, for some really bad allergic reaction she had. Got home eventually, icing sugar in tow, fell asleep for about 30 minutes. I couldn't help it, I was just so tired and hurty. All the lights and sounds of the house were just throbbing in my head and my eyes. However, I got myself up, took some Norah Jones downstairs on Audrey and dimmed the lights in the kitchen and iced the cake. After this epic set of manly endeavours, I went to bed and passed out.
I'm not sure exactly what possessed me to ignore everything my body was telling me, so I could finish that cake. It's like I found a strength somewhere. I'm glad I did it though. Not sure I'd have forgiven myself if I hadn't. Cake is SRS BSNS.
I guess people do crazy things when they're in... summertime. Yes, when they are in summertime. (That is clearly the word I want to use.)
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
America's Suitehearts...
I've been watching a lot of Supersize vs Superskinny lately. There's a lot of it on the Channel 4 archives, and it's a good way to spend 40 minutes without too much pain. Basic premise: someone eats too little and is underweight; someone eats too much and is overweight. Swap their diets!
In this latest series, they have a video clip sent from Stateside to the overweight/obese person on the program to remind them that fat kills. You get the shots of them not being able to put shoes on, being washed by careworkers, sitting and looking depressed when their kids run around in the garden without them.
Sadly, there's only so much TV you can watch without just feeling your brain turn to mush, and you desire something else.
There have been occasions when I've almost wanted to be at home. At least talking kitchen with Mom was a conversation.
I've not been a total hermit anyway; I've seen a few people over the few days. Sunday was dinner with some old Christian friends. I am considering seeing them on a more regular basis; they're a good bunch of people, even if their lives are focused around something I can't comprehend right now. I saw Clare and her house on Monday, had a curry with them. I actually had enough leftovers for a full plate the following day too (with rice to spare!), so that was pleasing.
I've been thinking a lot about food lately. There's not a great deal happening here: I wake up, I fritter time on the internet, I eat, I shower, I try to revise, I eat lunch, I revise a little more, I eat dinner, I watch TV and movies and talk to the odd internet person until it's 11:30 and I can go to bed without waking up at ridiculous o'clock the following morning.
Sigh. Lazy Wednesday...
In this latest series, they have a video clip sent from Stateside to the overweight/obese person on the program to remind them that fat kills. You get the shots of them not being able to put shoes on, being washed by careworkers, sitting and looking depressed when their kids run around in the garden without them.
Sadly, there's only so much TV you can watch without just feeling your brain turn to mush, and you desire something else.
There have been occasions when I've almost wanted to be at home. At least talking kitchen with Mom was a conversation.
I've not been a total hermit anyway; I've seen a few people over the few days. Sunday was dinner with some old Christian friends. I am considering seeing them on a more regular basis; they're a good bunch of people, even if their lives are focused around something I can't comprehend right now. I saw Clare and her house on Monday, had a curry with them. I actually had enough leftovers for a full plate the following day too (with rice to spare!), so that was pleasing.
I've been thinking a lot about food lately. There's not a great deal happening here: I wake up, I fritter time on the internet, I eat, I shower, I try to revise, I eat lunch, I revise a little more, I eat dinner, I watch TV and movies and talk to the odd internet person until it's 11:30 and I can go to bed without waking up at ridiculous o'clock the following morning.
Sigh. Lazy Wednesday...
Friday, April 09, 2010
Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes
This title is... insane! The actual song has nothing to do with disloyalty, ordering, water OR buffaloes. But, you know, let's see where we go from here:
Disloyal...
I've been practising being single. Sort of. It's more practising "not having a person around all who does the cooking and the cleaning". Which is entirely different, now that I think about it.
What I have with New Guy is very different to what I had before. It's friends with benefits, but with exclusivity. Sounds a lot like a Relationship, except he's given it a fairly firm expiry date, which... you know, a Relationship doesn't have one of those. Of course, if it turns out he actually sticks around, I'll be pretty thrilled and it'll be interesting to see how it works out. But, I'm not holding out for it. I'd be a fool to.
Order!
Being in the house alone has been quite a nice thing, actually. I play Fall Out Boy as loudly as I like, I always know how much milk I have at all times, I don't have to worry about setting the alarm on anyone, I don't have to be home for anyone. I've been steadily cleaning the house. Bathroom was last night, kitchen was this morning. Over the weekend, I plan to find to vacuum. So, the house will be all shiny and clean and pretty for everyone to come back to.
I'm actually enjoying looking after myself. I got so lazy before, I really did. I am totally capable of buying my own milk and beef, and carrying it home myself, and cooking for myself, and cleaning up after myself, and other things. I don't need anyone to do those things for me, and I really should do them myself.
Water.
My appetite's been a bit off lately. I only managed to eat half of my pasta bol last night, I had to tupperware the rest away. I ate one carrot stick and half a pitta bread dipped in hummous before giving up (I just wasn't hungry). At least I finished dinner today. I don't think I'm sick or anything, it's just a bit weird. I've been going into campus to work 11-3 the past few days. Maybe a bit more walking, and I'll feel okay... :)
Buffaloes!
"Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo." That is all.
Disloyal...
I've been practising being single. Sort of. It's more practising "not having a person around all who does the cooking and the cleaning". Which is entirely different, now that I think about it.
What I have with New Guy is very different to what I had before. It's friends with benefits, but with exclusivity. Sounds a lot like a Relationship, except he's given it a fairly firm expiry date, which... you know, a Relationship doesn't have one of those. Of course, if it turns out he actually sticks around, I'll be pretty thrilled and it'll be interesting to see how it works out. But, I'm not holding out for it. I'd be a fool to.
Order!
Being in the house alone has been quite a nice thing, actually. I play Fall Out Boy as loudly as I like, I always know how much milk I have at all times, I don't have to worry about setting the alarm on anyone, I don't have to be home for anyone. I've been steadily cleaning the house. Bathroom was last night, kitchen was this morning. Over the weekend, I plan to find to vacuum. So, the house will be all shiny and clean and pretty for everyone to come back to.
I'm actually enjoying looking after myself. I got so lazy before, I really did. I am totally capable of buying my own milk and beef, and carrying it home myself, and cooking for myself, and cleaning up after myself, and other things. I don't need anyone to do those things for me, and I really should do them myself.
Water.
My appetite's been a bit off lately. I only managed to eat half of my pasta bol last night, I had to tupperware the rest away. I ate one carrot stick and half a pitta bread dipped in hummous before giving up (I just wasn't hungry). At least I finished dinner today. I don't think I'm sick or anything, it's just a bit weird. I've been going into campus to work 11-3 the past few days. Maybe a bit more walking, and I'll feel okay... :)
Buffaloes!
"Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo." That is all.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Today...
Woken up at 8, asked what should Dad buy for me in the supermarket. Decided to roll out of bed, grab clothes, and just go with him. Dressed entirely like a boy (except for the skinny jeans). Bought lots of stuff.
Later in the day, I dressed entirely like a girl. Cute t-shirt, ruffly cotton layered skirt. I had hips like a goddess, which makes a change, cos my hips are actually pretty damn narrow. (Thank goodness for my butt.)
Excellent food day: Weetabix, hot milk and chopped banana; hummous, pitta bread and carrot sticks; grapes and dilute juice; cream cheese on bagel, cup of tea; Chinese take out; slice of toast.
Lazy study day. Made some progress. Easing myself into things. Doing Lie Algebras right now.
Discovered Sesame Street videos. Laughed until I cried. Flailed my limbs about in pure joy. Found a great video of Natalie Portman, dressed as an elephant, dancing with an elephant dressed as a princess. So fucking cute.
Talked to Tristan and Dave about things and stuff. Nothing too deep. Linked them to all the Sesame Street stuff.
Watched a gymnastics movie with a Fall Out Boy soundtrack. Kickass.
Had a two hour nap while the Budget was on the TV. Woke up to see Nick Clegg asking politicians to cut the crap and tell the truth.
Listened to Dancing With Myself, and Imagine (the originals, not the Glee covers).
"That's very smart, Banana, very smart."
Today was a pretty good day. Doesn't quite beat the day in the Bullring with a Krispy Kreme, though.
Later in the day, I dressed entirely like a girl. Cute t-shirt, ruffly cotton layered skirt. I had hips like a goddess, which makes a change, cos my hips are actually pretty damn narrow. (Thank goodness for my butt.)
Excellent food day: Weetabix, hot milk and chopped banana; hummous, pitta bread and carrot sticks; grapes and dilute juice; cream cheese on bagel, cup of tea; Chinese take out; slice of toast.
Lazy study day. Made some progress. Easing myself into things. Doing Lie Algebras right now.
Discovered Sesame Street videos. Laughed until I cried. Flailed my limbs about in pure joy. Found a great video of Natalie Portman, dressed as an elephant, dancing with an elephant dressed as a princess. So fucking cute.
Talked to Tristan and Dave about things and stuff. Nothing too deep. Linked them to all the Sesame Street stuff.
Watched a gymnastics movie with a Fall Out Boy soundtrack. Kickass.
Had a two hour nap while the Budget was on the TV. Woke up to see Nick Clegg asking politicians to cut the crap and tell the truth.
Listened to Dancing With Myself, and Imagine (the originals, not the Glee covers).
"That's very smart, Banana, very smart."
Today was a pretty good day. Doesn't quite beat the day in the Bullring with a Krispy Kreme, though.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Weekend of...?
This weekend, after lectures, I'm going home, then going to London.
My parents are renewing their vows.
One of the best speakers in debating asked me if I'd like to compete with him in Leeds, and I had to turn him down. Of course, something this important to my family is more important than a competition, but still, it'd have been really great to speak with him that much.
I hope it won't be too awkward. I have lots of new paperbacks now, of varying sizes, so I can slip a couple thin ones into my bag and it might not be so bad.
VERY busy week to look forward to though. Pride Q&A panel stuff, movies, Hornblower, more movies, meetings, socials, lectures, all that jazz.
On top of that, it seems like I should get started with revision in earnest quite soon. Four weeks of term left, five weeks of holiday before the exam slaughter begins. I've been reading through notes, revisiting notation, relearning definitions. My plan is to start to seriously look at example sheets and move onto exam papers, and looking at important exam-condition-provable results from the course.
So, there's lots and lots going on. So far, I'm just running around madly between everything I'm doing and getting tired but still enjoying everything. It's a good thing I'm an optimist with a seemingly endless Supply of Emergency Joy to call upon.
In other news, swimming has made my arms look sexier. SCORE!
My parents are renewing their vows.
One of the best speakers in debating asked me if I'd like to compete with him in Leeds, and I had to turn him down. Of course, something this important to my family is more important than a competition, but still, it'd have been really great to speak with him that much.
I hope it won't be too awkward. I have lots of new paperbacks now, of varying sizes, so I can slip a couple thin ones into my bag and it might not be so bad.
VERY busy week to look forward to though. Pride Q&A panel stuff, movies, Hornblower, more movies, meetings, socials, lectures, all that jazz.
On top of that, it seems like I should get started with revision in earnest quite soon. Four weeks of term left, five weeks of holiday before the exam slaughter begins. I've been reading through notes, revisiting notation, relearning definitions. My plan is to start to seriously look at example sheets and move onto exam papers, and looking at important exam-condition-provable results from the course.
So, there's lots and lots going on. So far, I'm just running around madly between everything I'm doing and getting tired but still enjoying everything. It's a good thing I'm an optimist with a seemingly endless Supply of Emergency Joy to call upon.
In other news, swimming has made my arms look sexier. SCORE!
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
It's not rape o'clock. It never is.
According to the BBC, there's quite a lot of women who think that rape victims should take some responsibility for being raped under certain circumstances.
Let's have a look at this, and get some stuff out there.
Here is a (non-exhaustive) list of things that doesn't immediately mean "It's okay to have sex with me":
On a side note, how many people actually say, "Do you want to do this?" every time before actually having sex? How many guys really want to hear the true answer? Everyone's had that time when you're desperate to get laid, and your partner is like, "well, I'm not really up for it..." and you're just stuck, aroused as hell in the dark with a sleeping lump of person next to you. It's not fun... but, sex is just much better with consent. So, you can see where I'm going with this.
So, what about this responsibility issue? I think that girls should be careful, of course. Going home with a man you don't know is probably not the best way to stay safe, and incapacitating yourself through drink is, again, not wise. Neither action immediately implies consent to sex.
However, getting into bed naked with a guy you met hours ago could give the impression that you're "up for it". Being too drunk to realise you're pawing at a guy's clothes could give the impression of consent. I think girls should realise the power of actions. They speak louder than words, after all. I am not defending the rapist for "getting it a bit wrong." Clear consent is the only type of consent that's worth having. A slurred "yeah sure, go for it" isn't really consent.
TL;DR - girls should try not to give off the wrong signals, but guys should never use those signals as an excuse.
(I realise this post is pretty hetero-focused. I apologise; I don't know enough about queer rape issues to be able to comment on them. If anyone does know of news articles, etc, I can read, that'd be good.)
Let's have a look at this, and get some stuff out there.
Here is a (non-exhaustive) list of things that doesn't immediately mean "It's okay to have sex with me":
- Talking to a man flirtatiously
- Wearing next-to-nothing
- Drinking an entire bottle of tequila, or equivalent
- Kissing a guy in a bar or club
- Going home with a guy for a coffee/drink
- Talking about sex with a guy
- Getting into bed with a guy
- Being naked with a guy
- Doing foreplay with a guy
- Saying "It's okay to have sex with me".
On a side note, how many people actually say, "Do you want to do this?" every time before actually having sex? How many guys really want to hear the true answer? Everyone's had that time when you're desperate to get laid, and your partner is like, "well, I'm not really up for it..." and you're just stuck, aroused as hell in the dark with a sleeping lump of person next to you. It's not fun... but, sex is just much better with consent. So, you can see where I'm going with this.
So, what about this responsibility issue? I think that girls should be careful, of course. Going home with a man you don't know is probably not the best way to stay safe, and incapacitating yourself through drink is, again, not wise. Neither action immediately implies consent to sex.
However, getting into bed naked with a guy you met hours ago could give the impression that you're "up for it". Being too drunk to realise you're pawing at a guy's clothes could give the impression of consent. I think girls should realise the power of actions. They speak louder than words, after all. I am not defending the rapist for "getting it a bit wrong." Clear consent is the only type of consent that's worth having. A slurred "yeah sure, go for it" isn't really consent.
TL;DR - girls should try not to give off the wrong signals, but guys should never use those signals as an excuse.
(I realise this post is pretty hetero-focused. I apologise; I don't know enough about queer rape issues to be able to comment on them. If anyone does know of news articles, etc, I can read, that'd be good.)
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Catch up!
Two debating competitions: the IV for university students, the school tournament for school kids. Predominantly reasonably cute sixth-form grammar school girls in the schools tournament. That was nice.
Junk food week of DOOM. Tuesday, Ben and Jerry's fest. Wednesday, Pizza Hut with Dave. Thursday, Curry Night. Friday, chinese takeout with Tristan. Saturday, chicken and chips. There's plans to eat at Varsity on Monday. My poor fat-clogged arteries must be begging for mercy now.
Glitterball was a big worry until it happened and nothing went wrong at all. I was quietly organisational, people noticed, I kissed my lovely boyfriend, everyone got home safe, the food was great, my dress fitted me.
Battle of the Bands. My housemate and his band came THIRD (travesty!) despite the crowd feeling they'd at least come second. Such is life. Again, cue the lovely boyfriend. Sometimes you forget how nice it is to just kiss for ages and ages and cuddle a little bit.
Debating confidence wiggles. The IV kinda kicked it out of me a bit (one of the DCA's didn't exactly take a shine to me), but Schools made me feel good about myself again. I called it right, I chaired a room, I gave warm and sunny feedback to ALL the children.
Sleep. The plan was: stay at Tristan's, eat junk food, watch a movie, go to bed fairly early and get to Schools on time. We ended up going to bed quite late and not actually sleeping until 3 or 4. Waking up at 7 wasn't very fun. But, going to sleep on Saturday night, after Tristan coming over to eat junk food and watch Clueless with me while drinking Strongbow and gin, was bliss.
The sky is perfectly blue. There's a little bit of a breeze. I'm listening to Lady Gaga and Robbie Williams. I have spent the past few weeks trying to make various people feel good about themselves in various ways (myself, debaters, Priders, Tristan, schoolkids). Sheraz gave me a cuddle and told me I wasn't awful at all, and in fact quite alright.
I got the calls right in rooms! I justified my decision and actually agreed with myself!
I have lots of plans, short term and long term. I might even have time to read some maths, or perhaps just read for pleasure. Although maths seems more sensible.
Honestly, I don't think things have been this busy and THIS GOOD for such a long time.
The best part is something that kinda made me feel sad this morning. I woke up alone, and it felt very strange. It didn't feel right. The more I think about how my life's going, it's all become possible because of him. He's the lynchpin of my confidence and success... I don't think I could do all this stuff without him. I'm pretty excited to see him again tonight :)
Junk food week of DOOM. Tuesday, Ben and Jerry's fest. Wednesday, Pizza Hut with Dave. Thursday, Curry Night. Friday, chinese takeout with Tristan. Saturday, chicken and chips. There's plans to eat at Varsity on Monday. My poor fat-clogged arteries must be begging for mercy now.
Glitterball was a big worry until it happened and nothing went wrong at all. I was quietly organisational, people noticed, I kissed my lovely boyfriend, everyone got home safe, the food was great, my dress fitted me.
Battle of the Bands. My housemate and his band came THIRD (travesty!) despite the crowd feeling they'd at least come second. Such is life. Again, cue the lovely boyfriend. Sometimes you forget how nice it is to just kiss for ages and ages and cuddle a little bit.
Debating confidence wiggles. The IV kinda kicked it out of me a bit (one of the DCA's didn't exactly take a shine to me), but Schools made me feel good about myself again. I called it right, I chaired a room, I gave warm and sunny feedback to ALL the children.
Sleep. The plan was: stay at Tristan's, eat junk food, watch a movie, go to bed fairly early and get to Schools on time. We ended up going to bed quite late and not actually sleeping until 3 or 4. Waking up at 7 wasn't very fun. But, going to sleep on Saturday night, after Tristan coming over to eat junk food and watch Clueless with me while drinking Strongbow and gin, was bliss.
The sky is perfectly blue. There's a little bit of a breeze. I'm listening to Lady Gaga and Robbie Williams. I have spent the past few weeks trying to make various people feel good about themselves in various ways (myself, debaters, Priders, Tristan, schoolkids). Sheraz gave me a cuddle and told me I wasn't awful at all, and in fact quite alright.
I got the calls right in rooms! I justified my decision and actually agreed with myself!
I have lots of plans, short term and long term. I might even have time to read some maths, or perhaps just read for pleasure. Although maths seems more sensible.
Honestly, I don't think things have been this busy and THIS GOOD for such a long time.
The best part is something that kinda made me feel sad this morning. I woke up alone, and it felt very strange. It didn't feel right. The more I think about how my life's going, it's all become possible because of him. He's the lynchpin of my confidence and success... I don't think I could do all this stuff without him. I'm pretty excited to see him again tonight :)
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Nine stars!
During the summer holidays, I started going to the gym in between my days of working in Sporting Hell Inc. I started to enjoy it, and in my yearly budget for the academic year, I set aside £130 for a membership to the university's sport centre and gym, with a little extra for sports clothing.
One term went by; I went twice. Equivalent to paying £65 per workout. Ouch.
Last term, I made a lot of excuses:
This term's timetable was much nicer. Most days ending at 2, with only one 9am lecture and one 5pm end. There were some 2 hour gaps, and I felt incredibly annoyed at the idea of so much money going to waste. So, I bit the bullet, and tried to fit in the workout in two hours.
Turns out that a round trip (Maths dep't to gym then back to Maths) takes two hours if you really dawdle. Usually, I arrive about 10-15 early for the lecture after a gym trip and collapse in a soft chair somewhere.
So, my schedule became gym between lectures on Monday morning, and gym in between Pride and debating socials on a Wednesday. I am on campus for reasons other than the gym on those days, so I will definitely be on campus
My ideal gym pattern is Mon-Wed-Fri. Problem is, the only gap is the two hours between lectures and debating, 2-4. Due to the layout of the lectures beforehand, this really should be lunchtime. I couldn't fit a gym workout and lunch. Problem. Then Rachel came! She goes swimming at 3 when it's Ladies Only swim, and relatively quiet. So, I go with her.
Once I established an easy-to-maintain pattern, I got a reward chart. One red star for every gym session, one blue star for every swimming session. The chart gives you space to put rewards after an amount of stars of your choosing. I chose:
It's Week 3. I've been to the gym six times, and I've been swimming three times. That is nine stars.
I've started measuring myself on Sundays, and it seems encouraging, although I'm just enjoying having the time to exert myself physically and not think about anything.
Now I can order the Gilmore Girls boxset I've worked hard for! :)
One term went by; I went twice. Equivalent to paying £65 per workout. Ouch.
Last term, I made a lot of excuses:
- It's too hard to fit a workout in two hour gaps!
- I'm too tired at the end of the day to work out after lectures.
- You can't work out before a 9am lecture. That's absurd!
- I'll just not schedule working out for the weekend. That's a trip to campus just to come back.
This term's timetable was much nicer. Most days ending at 2, with only one 9am lecture and one 5pm end. There were some 2 hour gaps, and I felt incredibly annoyed at the idea of so much money going to waste. So, I bit the bullet, and tried to fit in the workout in two hours.
Turns out that a round trip (Maths dep't to gym then back to Maths) takes two hours if you really dawdle. Usually, I arrive about 10-15 early for the lecture after a gym trip and collapse in a soft chair somewhere.
So, my schedule became gym between lectures on Monday morning, and gym in between Pride and debating socials on a Wednesday. I am on campus for reasons other than the gym on those days, so I will definitely be on campus
My ideal gym pattern is Mon-Wed-Fri. Problem is, the only gap is the two hours between lectures and debating, 2-4. Due to the layout of the lectures beforehand, this really should be lunchtime. I couldn't fit a gym workout and lunch. Problem. Then Rachel came! She goes swimming at 3 when it's Ladies Only swim, and relatively quiet. So, I go with her.
Once I established an easy-to-maintain pattern, I got a reward chart. One red star for every gym session, one blue star for every swimming session. The chart gives you space to put rewards after an amount of stars of your choosing. I chose:
- Gilmore Girls: Season 3 after 9 stars
- A nice date with Lovely Boyfriend after 18 stars
- Making my favourite cake after 27 stars
It's Week 3. I've been to the gym six times, and I've been swimming three times. That is nine stars.
I've started measuring myself on Sundays, and it seems encouraging, although I'm just enjoying having the time to exert myself physically and not think about anything.
Now I can order the Gilmore Girls boxset I've worked hard for! :)
Thursday, December 17, 2009
That's not what the NHS is for!
You see quite a lot of these stories in the news, especially on slow news days. They are invariably of the sort:
"Little Jack needs 3 million dollars for high-tech brain surgery that will give him four extra years of life. Oh, why won't the NHS fund this? Jimmy is a human being, and therefore deserves all the life that we can give him."
The NHS works like this, as far as I can tell:
Once upon a time, things were a lot like the US, in terms of health care. If you were reasonably okay for money and you got sick, you could easily be bankrupted. If you were poor, you couldn't afford treatment, unless you were very lucky, and able to find treatment in one of the few establishments helping people with no money. If you were rich, life was as good as can be. At some point, the UK thought, "This isn't really quite right," and decided that everyone deserves a free minimum standard of health care for two reasons - one, because it makes us productive and generates wealth, creates equality of value of life, rich or poor, etc, and two, because it's a Nice Thing to do.
The key word here is "minimum standard". The reason for this is that the NHS has finite resources and oh-so-finite money supplies. If they could give absolutely everyone who needed it a liver and a bed, they would. But they can't.
A key example of people forgetting the NHS's purpose is that liver drug. You know, the one that gives advanced liver cancer patients an extra 12 months or so.
First of all, how much good is this to the patient? 12 months of lying in bed, too weak to do much more than that. I may be exaggerating, I may not be, but quality of life is an important factor in these sorts of life-prolonging-not-actually-curing sorts of drugs.
To be heartless for a second, if their quality of life is poor, then they can't exactly come back to join society, work, pay taxes and contribute back to the State that has given them the money to get better. However, the State isn't always heartless. It recognises that it's okay to let people not of immediate utility to use resources. Still, it's something to think of.
More pressing is the amount of money this treatment costs. How many organ transplants, hip replacements, open heart surgeries, stitches and eye drops can we fund with the amount we'd spend on one person having an extra 12 months of (not necessarily quality) life? I don't know the answer to this question. The question is merely here to highlight that there is SO MUCH that the NHS has decided is part of a minimum standard of care. With all these things that are deemed to be essential, we don't have a great deal of money left over for things which are borderline.
By having a "minimum standard" existing, it means that certain treatments are not considered essential enough for the State to fund. That's why you can't get your boobs Jordanized for free. However, life is pretty precious. It's so precious that something about "right to life" is one of those human rights thingies. That's what makes this so hard to judge. Is prolonging life worth any cost? Some may say yes. (These people clearly have never been Chancellor of the Exchequer, balancing the books of the whole nation, not just the ill bit.)
I've not ever had a relative denied treatment on the NHS because they deemed it to be too dear, or too risky, or too *something*, so, I guess I'd be far more emotional and irrational talking about this if I was invested.
Still, I feel that no matter where you draw the line with free healthcare, someone will always be on the wrong side of that line, and they will always be upset. And that is how the world works, kids.
So, when you are on the wrong side of the line, go ahead and raise money, ask politicians nicely, get funding from some creepy rich business tycoon, but don't go to the Daily Mail and say "The NHS should fund this all for me because, because, because!" That's not what's it's there for. Sorry.
"Little Jack needs 3 million dollars for high-tech brain surgery that will give him four extra years of life. Oh, why won't the NHS fund this? Jimmy is a human being, and therefore deserves all the life that we can give him."
The NHS works like this, as far as I can tell:
Once upon a time, things were a lot like the US, in terms of health care. If you were reasonably okay for money and you got sick, you could easily be bankrupted. If you were poor, you couldn't afford treatment, unless you were very lucky, and able to find treatment in one of the few establishments helping people with no money. If you were rich, life was as good as can be. At some point, the UK thought, "This isn't really quite right," and decided that everyone deserves a free minimum standard of health care for two reasons - one, because it makes us productive and generates wealth, creates equality of value of life, rich or poor, etc, and two, because it's a Nice Thing to do.
The key word here is "minimum standard". The reason for this is that the NHS has finite resources and oh-so-finite money supplies. If they could give absolutely everyone who needed it a liver and a bed, they would. But they can't.
A key example of people forgetting the NHS's purpose is that liver drug. You know, the one that gives advanced liver cancer patients an extra 12 months or so.
First of all, how much good is this to the patient? 12 months of lying in bed, too weak to do much more than that. I may be exaggerating, I may not be, but quality of life is an important factor in these sorts of life-prolonging-not-actually-curing sorts of drugs.
To be heartless for a second, if their quality of life is poor, then they can't exactly come back to join society, work, pay taxes and contribute back to the State that has given them the money to get better. However, the State isn't always heartless. It recognises that it's okay to let people not of immediate utility to use resources. Still, it's something to think of.
More pressing is the amount of money this treatment costs. How many organ transplants, hip replacements, open heart surgeries, stitches and eye drops can we fund with the amount we'd spend on one person having an extra 12 months of (not necessarily quality) life? I don't know the answer to this question. The question is merely here to highlight that there is SO MUCH that the NHS has decided is part of a minimum standard of care. With all these things that are deemed to be essential, we don't have a great deal of money left over for things which are borderline.
By having a "minimum standard" existing, it means that certain treatments are not considered essential enough for the State to fund. That's why you can't get your boobs Jordanized for free. However, life is pretty precious. It's so precious that something about "right to life" is one of those human rights thingies. That's what makes this so hard to judge. Is prolonging life worth any cost? Some may say yes. (These people clearly have never been Chancellor of the Exchequer, balancing the books of the whole nation, not just the ill bit.)
I've not ever had a relative denied treatment on the NHS because they deemed it to be too dear, or too risky, or too *something*, so, I guess I'd be far more emotional and irrational talking about this if I was invested.
Still, I feel that no matter where you draw the line with free healthcare, someone will always be on the wrong side of that line, and they will always be upset. And that is how the world works, kids.
So, when you are on the wrong side of the line, go ahead and raise money, ask politicians nicely, get funding from some creepy rich business tycoon, but don't go to the Daily Mail and say "The NHS should fund this all for me because, because, because!" That's not what's it's there for. Sorry.
Monday, September 07, 2009
Gym-tacular!
I woke up yesterday morning at 9 am, to enjoy my first day off work with nothing planned to do. Since it was a Monday morning, that meant that by noon, I was supposed to be thinking of getting ready to go to they gym for 1 pm.
By 11:30 am, I had finished watched America's Next Top Model, and was lying in bed, lazily watching what was up next, checking out Spotify, practically falling asleep.
I was still in bed at 12:30, just lazing. I managed to get myself out of bed eventually, and made it to the gym by 1:30, which was good.
No gym on Wednesday, I don't think. I'm working (12-3), and I'll be too tired.
I have work today. Hooray! On the "this is what you'll be paid" sheet, I was missing five hours, so I need to check that out with the manager. I have... ten hours of work this week. So, it's not dire, but it's not great either. Such is the lot of a part-time worker earning more than £3.50.
By 11:30 am, I had finished watched America's Next Top Model, and was lying in bed, lazily watching what was up next, checking out Spotify, practically falling asleep.
I was still in bed at 12:30, just lazing. I managed to get myself out of bed eventually, and made it to the gym by 1:30, which was good.
No gym on Wednesday, I don't think. I'm working (12-3), and I'll be too tired.
I have work today. Hooray! On the "this is what you'll be paid" sheet, I was missing five hours, so I need to check that out with the manager. I have... ten hours of work this week. So, it's not dire, but it's not great either. Such is the lot of a part-time worker earning more than £3.50.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Wednesday, unrelated to Sheffield.
Today I used snooze on my alarm clock when I woke up for the first time in ages. Since going to the gym, I've had more energy in the days, and not had a nap since I joined, but if I go to bed too late, I'm still tired in the mornings. So, as soon as I've done this post, I will be going to bed.
I am lucky; tomorrow, my shift at work doesn't start until 2pm, so I have time to have a leisurely breakfast, watch America's Next Top Model and eat a light lunch, since my shift isn't long enough to take a break.
I like this cycle of Top Model that's on Living at the moment. I think that, since while I've been on holiday, I have watched from the very beginning of Cycle 1 all the way through to today, which was the third episode of Cycle 4. This is the cycle in which Tyra goes insane when a girl laughs off her elimination, as opposed to having an instant nervous breakdown. If you're really bored, go to Youtube, and search "Tyra goes crazy". Pretty easy to find. This is also one of my favourite cycles because of Kahlen, the shy girl who loses out to the winner for not quite pulling off "the Covergirl look". She's given up the modelling gig, and she is a bartender.
I was looking through Facebook pictures, and I saw some of the time David's sister came to visit him, and we had a laugh in his hall's kitchen/dining area. I really miss him... I miss not being able to sit with him quietly and just look at him and feel happy. I talk a lot sometimes, and forget just how nice it is to just exist next to him. For some reason, it makes me feel very happy, even though it's not something physical to hold like a gift, or something that's happening, like a birthday or something exciting. It's just... nice.
I got bit by insects; once on the side of my face, next to my ear, once on my neck.
There was some football violence yesterday in Upton Park, where West Ham were playing. This meant that Mother went to Finsbury Park instead to buy hair products, and they were more expensive there, but she was worried that there'd be a lot of mess from the rioting and chaos.
I went to the gym. I slacked off on the bike, and I should really try harder. There's two different types of stationary bike at the gym, and I think I might try the second type tomorrow, to see if it's any better for me.
I have stabbing needle pains in my gut, my arms, and my legs.
It's midnight-ish. I am going to braid my hair, and then go to sleep so I can wake up in time for Top Model tomorrow morning at 10am. Besides, getting up past 10am is pretty decadent, isn't it?
I am lucky; tomorrow, my shift at work doesn't start until 2pm, so I have time to have a leisurely breakfast, watch America's Next Top Model and eat a light lunch, since my shift isn't long enough to take a break.
I like this cycle of Top Model that's on Living at the moment. I think that, since while I've been on holiday, I have watched from the very beginning of Cycle 1 all the way through to today, which was the third episode of Cycle 4. This is the cycle in which Tyra goes insane when a girl laughs off her elimination, as opposed to having an instant nervous breakdown. If you're really bored, go to Youtube, and search "Tyra goes crazy". Pretty easy to find. This is also one of my favourite cycles because of Kahlen, the shy girl who loses out to the winner for not quite pulling off "the Covergirl look". She's given up the modelling gig, and she is a bartender.
I was looking through Facebook pictures, and I saw some of the time David's sister came to visit him, and we had a laugh in his hall's kitchen/dining area. I really miss him... I miss not being able to sit with him quietly and just look at him and feel happy. I talk a lot sometimes, and forget just how nice it is to just exist next to him. For some reason, it makes me feel very happy, even though it's not something physical to hold like a gift, or something that's happening, like a birthday or something exciting. It's just... nice.
I got bit by insects; once on the side of my face, next to my ear, once on my neck.
There was some football violence yesterday in Upton Park, where West Ham were playing. This meant that Mother went to Finsbury Park instead to buy hair products, and they were more expensive there, but she was worried that there'd be a lot of mess from the rioting and chaos.
I went to the gym. I slacked off on the bike, and I should really try harder. There's two different types of stationary bike at the gym, and I think I might try the second type tomorrow, to see if it's any better for me.
I have stabbing needle pains in my gut, my arms, and my legs.
It's midnight-ish. I am going to braid my hair, and then go to sleep so I can wake up in time for Top Model tomorrow morning at 10am. Besides, getting up past 10am is pretty decadent, isn't it?
Sunday, August 16, 2009
This post is about my body!
(So be warned.)
I had my one-on-one gym induction today. Expecting a Ben-Stiller-from-Dodgeball kinda man, it was a slight surprise to find my instructor, Matt, was a guy who looked pretty normal, and not scary at all.
We talked about goals. He did all my measurements; I decided not to look until just before I go back to uni, see if progress has been made. He took me through a workout routine - it was hard. I'm so madly unfit, it's quite embarrassing. After five minutes on bike, treadmill and crosstrainer, and a small set of reps on a couple weight machines, I was ready to go home already. I only did a half workout as well. Tomorrow, my first proper workout, will be challenging.
It's about a mile from my house, the gym. So, walking there and back is two miles extra walking already, and that's before I've even worked out. The plan is that I'll be able to keep up with the boys walking to lectures without moaning!
I have a headache. I wish I had some cake. Victoria sponge, perhaps. Or, a regular vanilla nutmeg loaf. Should I make a cake now? I'm not sure I can be bothered, sadly. Cake is a joy.
I had my one-on-one gym induction today. Expecting a Ben-Stiller-from-Dodgeball kinda man, it was a slight surprise to find my instructor, Matt, was a guy who looked pretty normal, and not scary at all.
We talked about goals. He did all my measurements; I decided not to look until just before I go back to uni, see if progress has been made. He took me through a workout routine - it was hard. I'm so madly unfit, it's quite embarrassing. After five minutes on bike, treadmill and crosstrainer, and a small set of reps on a couple weight machines, I was ready to go home already. I only did a half workout as well. Tomorrow, my first proper workout, will be challenging.
It's about a mile from my house, the gym. So, walking there and back is two miles extra walking already, and that's before I've even worked out. The plan is that I'll be able to keep up with the boys walking to lectures without moaning!
I have a headache. I wish I had some cake. Victoria sponge, perhaps. Or, a regular vanilla nutmeg loaf. Should I make a cake now? I'm not sure I can be bothered, sadly. Cake is a joy.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Veet, *this* is what beauty feels like.
Veet, for the uninitiated, is a brand of hair removal products, creams and wax strips.
Basically, you slap the cream or wax strip on your legs, arms, underarms (not recommended for hairy faces or muffs!), then wait. In the case of the cream, you're waiting for the hair to dissolve. The time required also gives you a chance to reflect on how you've just put something that dissolves HAIR onto your bare skin, and whether that's a wise move. In the case of the wax, you're just waiting to pluck up the courage to inflict pain on yourself. Then, you scrape off the cream and rinse, or rip off the wax strip and cry a little.
There are far more painful ways to remove body hair, such as epilators (I spell-checked this word; it suggested mutilators. Ha!) These handy little gadgets rip hair out of you with little barbs and claws and stuff. They look like fun on the adverts, but that's because the advert has calming feminine music, not the musical range of curses that really accompany this product.
I get quite excited talking about feminine stuff. Probably because sometimes I think about the hundreds of products the average woman uses in her lifetime to fit an social norm she's either expected to maintain, or an ideal she's expected to aim for, and I reflect on how it makes me feel, and whether it's worth making yourself feel like crap for "beauty".
The new slogan for Veet is "What beauty feels like." So, basically, once again, we're being told that female beauty is a hairless leg. Bollocks.
Confession: I haven't shaved my legs for several months now. I made this decision shortly after going out to see a friend last summer, and I was planning on wearing a really pretty floaty white knee-length skirt, since it was quite hot outside, and I fancied something light. However, I'd cut myself shaving on my knee (knees are so fiddly, I always cut myself there) and it wouldn't stop bleeding, so I had to opt for a pair of jeans and die of heat-related heat.
After that, I thought "What is the point of shaving?" I mean, women do it to feel beautiful, don't they? You get nice shiny smooth pins for two days, then the stubble comes in, and you feel a bit irritated but you can't really depilate with wax or creams unless you've got some decent growth first, and shaving every two days is rather time consuming. So, you wait, and you just feel ugly until it's time to remove the hair. Lather, rinse, repeat.
So, I've just stopped with the whole palaver. I am probably quite lucky though, in the sense that I have dark hair and dark skin, so unless you happened to be stroking my leg, you probably wouldn't notice I haven't shaved, so it's not like people pick up on it and stare at me when I wear shorts.
For some reason, I think that if my mother found out I'd stopped shaving, she'd probably feel disappointed in me. Maybe it's because I'm just a pair of dungarees away from becoming a Full-On Raging Lesbian. (This is partly a joke: to be a lesbian, you'd have to define as a woman, and frankly, I'm not up for that.)
So, to those who churn out slogans for Veet: take a look at my legs, if you can bear to stand it. I think they're beautiful. I'm sure others do. And they're not hairless like a child's. They are natural. A pair of naturally beautiful legs.
Ha!
Basically, you slap the cream or wax strip on your legs, arms, underarms (not recommended for hairy faces or muffs!), then wait. In the case of the cream, you're waiting for the hair to dissolve. The time required also gives you a chance to reflect on how you've just put something that dissolves HAIR onto your bare skin, and whether that's a wise move. In the case of the wax, you're just waiting to pluck up the courage to inflict pain on yourself. Then, you scrape off the cream and rinse, or rip off the wax strip and cry a little.
There are far more painful ways to remove body hair, such as epilators (I spell-checked this word; it suggested mutilators. Ha!) These handy little gadgets rip hair out of you with little barbs and claws and stuff. They look like fun on the adverts, but that's because the advert has calming feminine music, not the musical range of curses that really accompany this product.
I get quite excited talking about feminine stuff. Probably because sometimes I think about the hundreds of products the average woman uses in her lifetime to fit an social norm she's either expected to maintain, or an ideal she's expected to aim for, and I reflect on how it makes me feel, and whether it's worth making yourself feel like crap for "beauty".
The new slogan for Veet is "What beauty feels like." So, basically, once again, we're being told that female beauty is a hairless leg. Bollocks.
Confession: I haven't shaved my legs for several months now. I made this decision shortly after going out to see a friend last summer, and I was planning on wearing a really pretty floaty white knee-length skirt, since it was quite hot outside, and I fancied something light. However, I'd cut myself shaving on my knee (knees are so fiddly, I always cut myself there) and it wouldn't stop bleeding, so I had to opt for a pair of jeans and die of heat-related heat.
After that, I thought "What is the point of shaving?" I mean, women do it to feel beautiful, don't they? You get nice shiny smooth pins for two days, then the stubble comes in, and you feel a bit irritated but you can't really depilate with wax or creams unless you've got some decent growth first, and shaving every two days is rather time consuming. So, you wait, and you just feel ugly until it's time to remove the hair. Lather, rinse, repeat.
So, I've just stopped with the whole palaver. I am probably quite lucky though, in the sense that I have dark hair and dark skin, so unless you happened to be stroking my leg, you probably wouldn't notice I haven't shaved, so it's not like people pick up on it and stare at me when I wear shorts.
For some reason, I think that if my mother found out I'd stopped shaving, she'd probably feel disappointed in me. Maybe it's because I'm just a pair of dungarees away from becoming a Full-On Raging Lesbian. (This is partly a joke: to be a lesbian, you'd have to define as a woman, and frankly, I'm not up for that.)
So, to those who churn out slogans for Veet: take a look at my legs, if you can bear to stand it. I think they're beautiful. I'm sure others do. And they're not hairless like a child's. They are natural. A pair of naturally beautiful legs.
Ha!
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sigh.
I have work tomorrow. 10:30 start!
I also failed at "house, etc." I want to apologise to people, but feel it's not really enough of an issue to apologise. I feel a bit rubbish though, if that's satisfactory.
It's too hot.
I have a new charger. If this one breaks, I'll get very upset with the good folk at Maplins.
I wrote down all the Sims careers in my notebook, and noted the pay of the highest position for each. Hacker is the best. Also good are Music, Entertainment and Pro Athlete. Crime pays better than Law Enforcement (by a significant amount!) and the worst careers are Slacker, Military, Law Enforcement and Politics. Just like real life then. I'd like to be a Mad Scientist; they get paid $1000 a day!
Made the error of weighing myself. I am Officially Fat, like, according to NHS charts and whatnot. But, thank you Madame Heatwave for being too hot for me to exercise. Maybe I'll sweat myself thin.
There's far too many carbs in this house, and not enough meat or vegetables. We had a barbeque yesterday, so we've got leftovers from that; pasta, rice, chow mein, curry sauce, chilli sauce. There was quite a bit Vegetables Ahoy! left, so I ate that with sweet potatoes.
Bleugh... Wednesday!
I also failed at "house, etc." I want to apologise to people, but feel it's not really enough of an issue to apologise. I feel a bit rubbish though, if that's satisfactory.
It's too hot.
I have a new charger. If this one breaks, I'll get very upset with the good folk at Maplins.
I wrote down all the Sims careers in my notebook, and noted the pay of the highest position for each. Hacker is the best. Also good are Music, Entertainment and Pro Athlete. Crime pays better than Law Enforcement (by a significant amount!) and the worst careers are Slacker, Military, Law Enforcement and Politics. Just like real life then. I'd like to be a Mad Scientist; they get paid $1000 a day!
Made the error of weighing myself. I am Officially Fat, like, according to NHS charts and whatnot. But, thank you Madame Heatwave for being too hot for me to exercise. Maybe I'll sweat myself thin.
There's far too many carbs in this house, and not enough meat or vegetables. We had a barbeque yesterday, so we've got leftovers from that; pasta, rice, chow mein, curry sauce, chilli sauce. There was quite a bit Vegetables Ahoy! left, so I ate that with sweet potatoes.
Bleugh... Wednesday!
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Breasts?
This post is going to be about breasts, but might wander.
I've just watched Kirsten's Topless Ambitions, and it was all about how, after 12 years of SMart and children's TV, she's ready for bigger and better things, and lots of presenters "graduated" from children's TV by having fairly sexy photoshoots. She's funny, and she decided to keep her breasts inside her clothes, and work on more stand-up comedy.
Breasts are... nice on other people, I have to say. Soft, round, warm, strokeable. (I had the pleasure of seeing some knitted breasts on the internet the other day, but the pattern to make the nipple was too difficult!) Being gay is really funny, because I really like breasts, but I can't seem to like my own, even though on someone else, I might find them quite appealing.
Most of the trans people I've met have differing relationships with breasts. Some want some, others don't want the ones they have, and there are some who are pretty okay with having breasts, or not having breasts. I met a transgendered person on a workshop, and they had larger breasts than I do (given I'm an E cup, this was quite epic), and they talked about how it was really hard for people to accept them as being transgendered, not just female.
How I feel about my own really does depend on how I feel each day. Sometimes, I have a day where I feel really womanly, and sexy, and having breasts like mine means I can wear the right tops, and just feel like a million fantastic-sexy dollars. Other days, I wake up, and I want nothing more than a big t-shirt and slouchy jeans to hide any sort of figure I may have.
I've never really *liked* them. I remember, being 11 years old, changing for games in the junior room, and, with the arbitrary social groupings, being nearest the door. I remember one day having a perfectly adequate vest, then next day, there were just *breasts* and I was a bit scared, and didn't know what to do. At the same time, another girl thought she had breasts too (but hers were puppy fat, which made everyone laugh. She got her revenge later, but that's another story).
From girls who were "late bloomers", I've heard a lot of "I was jealous of the girls developing first, they were so sexy and the boys loved them," but that was just the opposite case for me. I was massively uncomfortable with my body (and would continue until the age of about 18) and add this to the fact that I was a massive swot, and it's not the image of a sexbomb.
So, breasts. Mine specifically. They're not the ones you see in mens' mags, but I'd be really scared to touch a girl with breasts the size of beachballs and nipples the shape of bullets. It's not really that sexy. Natural is sexy. And, mine are most definitely natural!
They're okay.
They're not *bad*. They've got a size to them (an understatement, many might say!), and they're... pretty good. People do say they're nice.
I remember the first time I went to Marks and Sparks to get my first bra without my mother. Up to this point, we'd only ever shopped in Peacocks, so I'd get a cheap bra in the wrong size, because 8 years ago, breasts for women with D cups and above who shopped in Peacocks and Matalan didn't seem to exist. So, I went, and they told me I had a much smaller back size, and a much larger cup size, I was just amazed at the result.
I don't think any of my readers without breasts could really appreciate what a good fitting bra does for your figure, or your confidence. Clothes fit better, that's probably the first thing you notice. Then, once you've bought it, and you're wearing it out, you just feel... lifted. Your mood is lifted because you are wearing something that fits you and makes you look and feel good.
So, my verdict on breasts is this: they're pretty good. And, I have two. That's pretty good too.
I've just watched Kirsten's Topless Ambitions, and it was all about how, after 12 years of SMart and children's TV, she's ready for bigger and better things, and lots of presenters "graduated" from children's TV by having fairly sexy photoshoots. She's funny, and she decided to keep her breasts inside her clothes, and work on more stand-up comedy.
Breasts are... nice on other people, I have to say. Soft, round, warm, strokeable. (I had the pleasure of seeing some knitted breasts on the internet the other day, but the pattern to make the nipple was too difficult!) Being gay is really funny, because I really like breasts, but I can't seem to like my own, even though on someone else, I might find them quite appealing.
Most of the trans people I've met have differing relationships with breasts. Some want some, others don't want the ones they have, and there are some who are pretty okay with having breasts, or not having breasts. I met a transgendered person on a workshop, and they had larger breasts than I do (given I'm an E cup, this was quite epic), and they talked about how it was really hard for people to accept them as being transgendered, not just female.
How I feel about my own really does depend on how I feel each day. Sometimes, I have a day where I feel really womanly, and sexy, and having breasts like mine means I can wear the right tops, and just feel like a million fantastic-sexy dollars. Other days, I wake up, and I want nothing more than a big t-shirt and slouchy jeans to hide any sort of figure I may have.
I've never really *liked* them. I remember, being 11 years old, changing for games in the junior room, and, with the arbitrary social groupings, being nearest the door. I remember one day having a perfectly adequate vest, then next day, there were just *breasts* and I was a bit scared, and didn't know what to do. At the same time, another girl thought she had breasts too (but hers were puppy fat, which made everyone laugh. She got her revenge later, but that's another story).
From girls who were "late bloomers", I've heard a lot of "I was jealous of the girls developing first, they were so sexy and the boys loved them," but that was just the opposite case for me. I was massively uncomfortable with my body (and would continue until the age of about 18) and add this to the fact that I was a massive swot, and it's not the image of a sexbomb.
So, breasts. Mine specifically. They're not the ones you see in mens' mags, but I'd be really scared to touch a girl with breasts the size of beachballs and nipples the shape of bullets. It's not really that sexy. Natural is sexy. And, mine are most definitely natural!
They're okay.
They're not *bad*. They've got a size to them (an understatement, many might say!), and they're... pretty good. People do say they're nice.
I remember the first time I went to Marks and Sparks to get my first bra without my mother. Up to this point, we'd only ever shopped in Peacocks, so I'd get a cheap bra in the wrong size, because 8 years ago, breasts for women with D cups and above who shopped in Peacocks and Matalan didn't seem to exist. So, I went, and they told me I had a much smaller back size, and a much larger cup size, I was just amazed at the result.
I don't think any of my readers without breasts could really appreciate what a good fitting bra does for your figure, or your confidence. Clothes fit better, that's probably the first thing you notice. Then, once you've bought it, and you're wearing it out, you just feel... lifted. Your mood is lifted because you are wearing something that fits you and makes you look and feel good.
So, my verdict on breasts is this: they're pretty good. And, I have two. That's pretty good too.
Saturday, October 04, 2008
More morning blog action.
Checking out Olli's blag, found a post commenting on a programme about an 8 year old anorexic.
When I read the post and reflected on it, it made me think about my own weight issues. I think that pretty much all women have had at least *some* issue with weight, or food - not necessarily life-crippling, but maybe a passing thought.
My mom started gymming it a lot in my Upper Sixth year, three/four times a week. She'd come home from work, exhausted, pack up a gym bag and walk straight out again, come back in a few hours time, super exhausted and shiny, and she would eat. Tofu and rice, or macaroni cheese, or some of the leftover Chinese take-out that we have on a Wednesday, or maybe a nutritious fried egg'n'chips. [For a vegetarian, she really doesn't eat many vegetables.]
She complains quite often that she's never losing any weight. First, she gyms. She might be gaining muscle. Second, is an all-carb diet the best way to do things...? [But, as she often says, what do I know? I'm just a university student, I don't know everything/anything.]
My father is... well, a clueless man, when it comes to dealing with sensitive teenage girls and body issues. I remember years of him calling me "Slim" as a joke, and setting up the decrepit rowing machine in corners of the house once in a while, encouranging me to use it. The last time he did that was about a year ago. He set it up in the garage, put a radio in there, and told me to do that for ten minutes a day and I'd start to look really good, cos I was a bit fat.
He is also quite weird when it comes to dealing with food. He loves to mention how I should eat a little healthier - "Why don't you try some salad?" - but he insists on filling the house with croissants, biscuits, muffins, Nutrigrain bars, Rocky bars, simple carbs, snacky crap. Mixed messages, anyone?
I'm not too good with food myself. I have a tendency to think bizarre things, like I don't deserve to eat, which is ridiculous, but I still think it. I also look at myself, and, of course, I do think I'm fat. And, I'm not too good at exercising... so, I eat less. And when I do, it feels like a Big Deal, cos I have to Watch what and how much I eat.
When I'm at school, or university, my timetable tends to let me place eating in a slot. I eat at x'o clock, where x takes 3 values a day, plus/minus an hour, so I can ignore the fact that it's Eating, ZOMG, it's just another thing to do in the day, and it's a normal human thing to do, and I can get on with it.
I can't do that on weekends, or in holidays. The lack of structure screws my sleep up, and my eating.
When I started my job at the warehouse over the summer, I didn't have a nice motorised truck to pull my cages around like I did towards the end. I had to push and pull heavy cages laden with all sorts all around the huge warehouse, then out to the marshalling bays, and repeat, for 8 hours a day. The drinks were the worst. Imagine a cage 2m high, filled with cans of lager, or 2 litre bottles of pop. Imagine me pulling that. It was really really tough.
I was also suffering from a lack of routine. My shift started at 2pm and ended at 10pm, and if I woke up at about 10-11am, I could easily waste this time, and end up leaving the house without eating at all, or having just some toast. There was a tea break in my shift; I liked to take it at 6pm. I ate a small Quiche Lorraine and drank water exclusively in that break for the first month.
Strenous work + hardly eating = Sarah losing just under a stone in 2-3 weeks.
Dad was pretty pleased. I'd never seen him smile so much. I'd come down the stairs to watch TV or have a cup of tea, and he'd say, "You look good. You're losing weight!" and nod, because he got me the job, and it's therefore his good work that made me look so *awesome* because I was so fat and horrible before.
Mother also commented that I looked better too, and so did a few other random people.
I felt like shit.
I was tired from my job, I was hurting from my job, I was stressed because I was crap at my job, and, to top it all off, it turns out that I was fat and ugly before I got the job, but a bit of unhealthy weight loss makes it *all better*.
After a while, I got trained on the truck, and started to make myself eat at least two good meals a day. Towards the end, it became three small meals and a bedtime snack. I started to put on a little weight gradually, and I felt happier, because my trousers weren't falling down anymore.
Dad still thought I looked brilliant though, because I was skinnier.
Now I'm back at uni, I live with D and I eat with him at dinner time mostly. Lunch is packed in my bag, and breakfast is part of the routine. It's harder to fall into bad patterns. And, I like to eat with D, which makes it easier to stick to.
~~~
I'm not entirely sure what point I was trying to make with this post. I guess it's just a happy little insight into my personal story.
When I read the post and reflected on it, it made me think about my own weight issues. I think that pretty much all women have had at least *some* issue with weight, or food - not necessarily life-crippling, but maybe a passing thought.
My mom started gymming it a lot in my Upper Sixth year, three/four times a week. She'd come home from work, exhausted, pack up a gym bag and walk straight out again, come back in a few hours time, super exhausted and shiny, and she would eat. Tofu and rice, or macaroni cheese, or some of the leftover Chinese take-out that we have on a Wednesday, or maybe a nutritious fried egg'n'chips. [For a vegetarian, she really doesn't eat many vegetables.]
She complains quite often that she's never losing any weight. First, she gyms. She might be gaining muscle. Second, is an all-carb diet the best way to do things...? [But, as she often says, what do I know? I'm just a university student, I don't know everything/anything.]
My father is... well, a clueless man, when it comes to dealing with sensitive teenage girls and body issues. I remember years of him calling me "Slim" as a joke, and setting up the decrepit rowing machine in corners of the house once in a while, encouranging me to use it. The last time he did that was about a year ago. He set it up in the garage, put a radio in there, and told me to do that for ten minutes a day and I'd start to look really good, cos I was a bit fat.
He is also quite weird when it comes to dealing with food. He loves to mention how I should eat a little healthier - "Why don't you try some salad?" - but he insists on filling the house with croissants, biscuits, muffins, Nutrigrain bars, Rocky bars, simple carbs, snacky crap. Mixed messages, anyone?
I'm not too good with food myself. I have a tendency to think bizarre things, like I don't deserve to eat, which is ridiculous, but I still think it. I also look at myself, and, of course, I do think I'm fat. And, I'm not too good at exercising... so, I eat less. And when I do, it feels like a Big Deal, cos I have to Watch what and how much I eat.
When I'm at school, or university, my timetable tends to let me place eating in a slot. I eat at x'o clock, where x takes 3 values a day, plus/minus an hour, so I can ignore the fact that it's Eating, ZOMG, it's just another thing to do in the day, and it's a normal human thing to do, and I can get on with it.
I can't do that on weekends, or in holidays. The lack of structure screws my sleep up, and my eating.
When I started my job at the warehouse over the summer, I didn't have a nice motorised truck to pull my cages around like I did towards the end. I had to push and pull heavy cages laden with all sorts all around the huge warehouse, then out to the marshalling bays, and repeat, for 8 hours a day. The drinks were the worst. Imagine a cage 2m high, filled with cans of lager, or 2 litre bottles of pop. Imagine me pulling that. It was really really tough.
I was also suffering from a lack of routine. My shift started at 2pm and ended at 10pm, and if I woke up at about 10-11am, I could easily waste this time, and end up leaving the house without eating at all, or having just some toast. There was a tea break in my shift; I liked to take it at 6pm. I ate a small Quiche Lorraine and drank water exclusively in that break for the first month.
Strenous work + hardly eating = Sarah losing just under a stone in 2-3 weeks.
Dad was pretty pleased. I'd never seen him smile so much. I'd come down the stairs to watch TV or have a cup of tea, and he'd say, "You look good. You're losing weight!" and nod, because he got me the job, and it's therefore his good work that made me look so *awesome* because I was so fat and horrible before.
Mother also commented that I looked better too, and so did a few other random people.
I felt like shit.
I was tired from my job, I was hurting from my job, I was stressed because I was crap at my job, and, to top it all off, it turns out that I was fat and ugly before I got the job, but a bit of unhealthy weight loss makes it *all better*.
After a while, I got trained on the truck, and started to make myself eat at least two good meals a day. Towards the end, it became three small meals and a bedtime snack. I started to put on a little weight gradually, and I felt happier, because my trousers weren't falling down anymore.
Dad still thought I looked brilliant though, because I was skinnier.
Now I'm back at uni, I live with D and I eat with him at dinner time mostly. Lunch is packed in my bag, and breakfast is part of the routine. It's harder to fall into bad patterns. And, I like to eat with D, which makes it easier to stick to.
~~~
I'm not entirely sure what point I was trying to make with this post. I guess it's just a happy little insight into my personal story.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Shallowness, and health.
I was watching Maury again; no babydaddy drama this time, it was about Opposite Couples. There were a few short-tall couples, young-old ones [we're talking, college-geriatric here]...
There were a few men who were dating morbidly obese women, and they were both just talking about how sexy their women were, and how Big IS Beautiful.
When you get that big, it's unhealthy. I don't think it's always beautiful.
I am shallow, I admit that. I've dated people and just wished they were a *little bit* cuter, or taller. I've never actually really thought that I was dating someone that was too heavy. I kinda like a little cuddliness when it comes to potential partners. Too skinny, and it's just like hugging bones.
But... still, healthy is beautiful. I know, it must be difficult to be obese, and being told by society that they are second-class citizen that caused their own problems. I wouldn't look down on someone because they're overweight. But... to see a morbidly obese woman in lingerie on national [US] television, letting everyone know... It's not sexy, or beautiful to me. To be fair, ANYONE doing that on Maury, hot or not, isn't going to rate highly in my books.
I'll just stick to watching the babydaddy episodes. Nothing better than a bunch of people being a million percent sure that X or Y is the father, and then realising that it's neither.
There were a few men who were dating morbidly obese women, and they were both just talking about how sexy their women were, and how Big IS Beautiful.
When you get that big, it's unhealthy. I don't think it's always beautiful.
I am shallow, I admit that. I've dated people and just wished they were a *little bit* cuter, or taller. I've never actually really thought that I was dating someone that was too heavy. I kinda like a little cuddliness when it comes to potential partners. Too skinny, and it's just like hugging bones.
But... still, healthy is beautiful. I know, it must be difficult to be obese, and being told by society that they are second-class citizen that caused their own problems. I wouldn't look down on someone because they're overweight. But... to see a morbidly obese woman in lingerie on national [US] television, letting everyone know... It's not sexy, or beautiful to me. To be fair, ANYONE doing that on Maury, hot or not, isn't going to rate highly in my books.
I'll just stick to watching the babydaddy episodes. Nothing better than a bunch of people being a million percent sure that X or Y is the father, and then realising that it's neither.
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