August 26, 2008 at 2:33 pm · Filed under Giveaways
I am not a fan of Crocs. I don’t like the way they look, I can’t imagine I’d like the way they feel, I can’t even bear to try a pair on in the shops. I just don’t like them. On the weekend I saw some Sketchers ones with some rather funky little charms stuck on them but, at the end of the day, they were still rubber shoes. I just can’t get myself to like them.
But then OHMommy was telling us all about her new shoes<. She’s just been over to Poland (amongst other places) for a holiday and, like me, would not lower herself to the crocs level. She needed a pair of classy shoes for her trip.
I simply could not believe it. Except that these crocs have a twist, and now I want some, despite the fact that I’ve never seen them over here.
Luckily for me, OHMommy is giving away a pair on her site. I would suggest you go over there and enter the giveaway too, except that would reduce my chances of winning. Instead, go over there any tell her how much I deserve to win.
August 22, 2008 at 11:37 am · Filed under Uncategorized
Usually I just waffle shit. It makes me happy. It makes me happier still that you guys come back time after time to hear me waffle shit. It’s not often that I write a post that makes me think ‘wow, one day I could actually be a blogger’.
Yesterday I hit that holy grail of the perfect post. And it leaves me wondering where do we go from here.
I can’t churn out stuff like that on a daily basis, I couldn’t even get close, but what I do write is me. No niceties, no holding back, just me laid out for the world to see. If that means I’m waffling shit most days, that’s what it means and that’s what you get. Maybe that’s what makes me a blogger more than blogworthy posts. I don’t know. What I do know is I’m here, and I’m staying.
In the US edition of Marie Claire, there was a contest where people wrote letters to themselves at age 18. Since then, I’ve read quite a few of other blogger’s letters. I’m in one of those moods today where nothing’s going to cheer me up. I’m tired and it’s pulling me down. So, what better way of wallowing than writing my own letter to my 18 year old self.
Dear Little Star
You’ve just turned 18 and I hate to say it, but you’re screwed. These past few months haven’t been easy but it’s only going to go downhill from here. Things have to get worse before they can begin to get better.
Those friends you’ve got around you - look real hard at them and see them for who they really are. Ditch most of them. These are the ones who’ve stuck around for the past three months. Most of them won’t be around in three years time, let alone seven, when you’ve finally started to get your shit together. In fact, in seven years time, when you’re writing this letter back to yourself, you won’t even remember some of those who were at that table. You’ll know they were there, but their names will escape you.
That guy you’re about to meet. Well, don’t go there. It’ll all seem rosy at first, but, when you go back into hospital with scars and cuts on you, when you go back into hospital having lost 2 stone in just over a month from barely eating, he’ll make his support all about him, it’ll turn into how he’ll cope, not how you’ll cope. Remember what the doctor said to you, that it’s all about taking care of yourself now, you need to remember that, because he won’t. He’ll sugar-coat it, make it seem like he’s taking care of you, but really he’s looking out for number one. The trouble is you’ll stick around, because it seems like he loves you when very few others do. Maybe he does, maybe you’ll love him, or maybe you’ll both just love the idea of each other. Either way, it won’t do you any favours to wait around for him to sort himself out because he won’t.
And when his problems start kicking off it’ll be all about him once more. He won’t stop to realise just how ill you are, how you need to head straight back into hospital. He won’t realise that you’re wavering between starving yourself and popping laxatives at every opportunity to rinse out the constant binging because however hard you try you can’t make yourself sick. And when you tell him, he’ll be convinced it’s all a front, a ploy to make him feel guilty so that you’re justified in dumping him. Once again, it’ll be all about him.
Once it’s over be careful how you shower your affections. You’ll rebound from one to the next and the next again and be happy with the lack of effort you have to put in. Remember that when you’re not making an effort, neither is anyone else. Don’t expect much, in fact don’t expect anything at all. No-one will give you anything but trouble.
You may be off the meds, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need them, that you don’t need someone to carry you. You won’t find that someone in the places you’re looking. The people you’re looking to don’t want to be that someone. Know that despite everything you went through, you never really made the best use of the friends you had. It’s too late now, they’ve slipped away. Sure, they’re you’re friends, but they’re not ‘that’ type of friend.
Someone will come along. You won’t understand him. You’ll be scared of him, scared of the past he so openly tells you about. Cautiously you’ll agree to meet him, thinking that he won’t show. You have a back-up plan so that the trip won’t be wasted. Of course you’ll miss your train by seconds. You won’t want to wait another hour for the next one because you do want to meet him, so you’ll lose £50 on a taxi that will only get you half way there.
He will understand you. He won’t care about your past, that you’re fatally flawed. He’ll take all those things and love you anyway. He’ll know early on that you’ll get married, but you won’t believe him. You won’t believe that that could possibly happen.
And some time in your future, you’ll be sitting at your desk, writing this letter to your 18 year old self, knowing how much you’ve grown.
August 20, 2008 at 12:56 pm · Filed under Giveaways
I did toy with the idea of just giving the book to mumof4 cos she was cheeky enough to ask if she could enter twice. But alas, twas not to be. Random.org decided that being cheeky wasn’t enough to win a giveaway and picked comment number 2, SuburbanMum.
So SuburbanMum, send me your address and the book will be winging it’s way over to you. As you can see, Y was kind enough to set me up a nice little contact page to the right so the spammers have more trouble getting to me. And the rest of you, get over to her website, cos she rocks!
August 19, 2008 at 11:23 am · Filed under Uncategorized
It was a big weekend this last one - I think I need another now just to recover.
Friday night I met Y after work and we walked over to the gym. I usually go to the one around the corner from the office, but there’s also two quite close to our house (one’s 500m away, the other 900m). I’ve only ever been to the closer one, but the other is on the way to TB’s new school and as Y wants to join up too, we went over to check that one out.
We went on a tour and then sat down to sort out paying more extortionate sums each month. While we were at it we joined TB up as well so he can go swimming. He pays £15 a month which I don’t think’s bad if he goes once or twice a week. The plan is that we all go on the weekend; me and Y can work out while TB goes into the creche and then we can take him swimming straight after. We got all joined up, I got a free rucksack (which I kindly donated to Y!) and we went to work out. We only did 20 minutes but I think he thinks I was trying to kill him.
Saturday morning Y had arranged for his welcome personal training session at 9am so it was up and out super early for us. Less than half an hour before he had to be there the gym called to say the trainer was sick so we slowed the pace a little but still managed to get out relatively early. Idid my work-out as I’d planned and Y tried to do his own thing. It didn’t take long for him to give up with exhaustion.
Once we’d finished we headed off to V’s for lunch but stopped to bypass the sports store to get Y some proper kit. After spending even longer than it took me to choose my kit, he finally came away with two pairs of shorts, two t-shirts and a new pair of trainers and we were on our way again.
I wasn’t too impressed with V as I’d woken up to the sound of her berating Y over the phone because we hadn’t actually arrived yet. At this point we were reasonably close to there place and it wasn’t even 1 yet (lunch at V’s usually ends up being a sandwich because it’s nowhere near cooked and we have to eat the lunch at dinner). I’d gone back to sleep again (it’s hard work being driven everywhere!) and was woken up to Y panicking because he didn’t know where he was going and thought he was about to be sent down into the Dartford tunnel. Whilst I’d been happily sleeping away, we’d been stuck in traffic for quite some time, then Y had found our exit was closed. We managed to leave the motorway before the toll, but still had some way to get back to where we wanted to be. When V called again (undoubtedly to complain), I was very insistant that Y did not answer the phone.
It also appeared that we weren’t going to be eating the feijoada that had been planned, and they’d reverted to the original plan of a picnic. When the picnic had originally been suggested, I’d told Y that I’d make something for myself and take it along. Apart from the items that would undoubtly be brought along being far from diet-friendly, the chances were that they would only start to give me problems anyway. Of course, I didn’t get to find out that we’d now be having a picnic until we were on our way so I didn’t have a chance to sort out food that wouldn’t cause me problems.
So we arrived at the house rather later than expected to find a very arsey V and a TB who’d clearly missed us by the strength of his hugs. And the picnic? Not to be held anywhere remotely near the house but at Knole Park, about 15 miles down country lanes, a good half an hour drive away. Best of all: if they’d bothered to tell us that was where they were going, we could’ve been there in 50 mins from leaving home and avoided all the traffic and diversions and not taken that second journey.
Once we’d parked up the first order was to eat. And the best place to lay out a tarp to sit on? On a pile of deer poop of course. Because you see Knole Park has rather a large number of deer roaming it’s grounds. Once the picnic was laid out I was not a happy bunny. There was garlic bread (bread explains enough), some sort of pie (full of flour, another thing I’m not eating, a) because it’s not core and b) because things containing flour tend to be a trigger food), sausage rolls (pastry, sausage) and bbq chicken wings (chicken skin, sauce). So off I went back to the car to grab the remains of my breakfast that I’d not been able to manage. What was worse is that Y2 and V were trying to force the food on to me, piling a plate up and giving itto me and making a big fuss about the fact that I wasn’t eating the food. Then desset came out and it was a combination of donuts and muffins.
Once people had dispersed from the picnic I went down to the tea room to see if I could get some fruit. I had to stand in a queue for quite a while passing all manner of cakes and scones. By that point I did not feel strong, and I did not feel happy. I felt even worse when I looked a bit further and couldn’t see any fruit. I was hungry though, so stayed in the queue to ask. Lucily they had some apples, and I grabbed a couple and went back to sit with the others, where it all started again with the birthday cake, which I didn’t want but was given and encouraged to eat anyway.
Of course, deer aren’t interested in chicken wings and pie. What they’re really after is cake. Earlier I’d instructed Y and TB not to try and feed the deer, but Y2 and V weren’t quite so sensible. When a deer approached her, Y2 got off the bench she was sitting on and left the cake for it. And when that same deer went after V’s cake, she just continued to wave it around.
Eventually, and much to my delight, we got to go home, and stopped in Mitcham to visit the funfair. TB happily told us that he shouldn’t go on a number of rides as they were too scary, and Y tried to convince me we should win the boy a fish. While I would happily take a large number of fish out of their fairground captivity, I would not happily take them into my home so that was a no go. TB and I went on the dodgems against Y and aside from a few large bumps he thought it was great. He went on a few other things and Y and I both tried our hands at the shooting, and I’m sure they’ve made the rules more difficult since we last had a go.
Before we left, Y insisted on going on a rather hairly looking ride, and for some strange reason I felt I should go with him. This was not a clever move on my part, especially as I tend to get rather travel sick in cars. Cars are nowhere near as bad as fairground rides. Especially not this one. It essentially was an arm with a wheel on, the wheel being comprised of seats. The wheel spun and the arm lifted up until it was nearly vertical. At this point I was starting to feel a little green. Then the arm started rotating and my stomach started moving in the opposite direction. Needless to say, I was a little unsteady as I exited that ride and had to sit down for a while before relinquishing the car keys to Y as I was in no state to drive home.
Sunday we drove up to Nan’s and saw both her and Aunt A. TB was happy: he got toys and money. I was happy: I got to check up on Nan and catch up on all the gossip. Y was happy: he got fed and got to drive lots.
I also managed to get quite a few clothes and some bags too. A tends to buy clothes, wear them once and then realise they’re too young for her. As I’m the closest size match in the family, they get passed to me. My cousin, G, is otherwise known as Victoria Beckham - they have similar shopping habits (i.e. nearly always) and both only ever seem to wear things once. Unfortunately, she is somewhat smaller than me, so most of the clothes she gets rid of tend to go to B1. I do always have a look before I pass them on though, and this time managed to fit into two pairs of gym trousers (they’d have been way too long for B1 anyway) and a pair of leggings. There was also a sack full of bags. Most of them were rather dated and more than likely from A’s collection than G’s, but I did manage to grab a couple, one of which is a rather large clutch that’ll do the job for C’s wedding. The rest can go to V who will no doubt relish in the fact that she’s being given a sack full of bags and won’t care that they’re not exaclty high fashion.
Don’t forget, that the book giveaway is still running. Leave a comment on ‘I win!‘ by the end of today for your chance to win a copy of ‘The Nanny’ by Melissa Nathan.
August 18, 2008 at 10:52 am · Filed under Uncategorized
If you’re a four year old boy, long car journeys can be very boring. You can play with toys (until it makes you feel sick), watch DVDs (same again), sleep and annoy your parents, but otherwise there’s not a lot to do. This means it’s essential to start any car journey with an iPod armed with an appropriate playlist. TB has more than a few suggestions.
Sheryl Crow - Diamond Ring
September - Cry For You (Otherwise known as ‘you’ll never see me again’)
Basshunter - All I Ever Wanted
Gabriella Cilmi - Sweet About Me
Estelle feat. Kanye West - American Boy
Sam Sparro - Black and Gold
The Hoosiers - Goodbye Mr A
The Saturdays - If This Is Love
Jordin Sparks feat. Chris Brown - No Air
Nickleback - Rockstar
Tihuana - Tropa de Elite
Rihanna feat. Jay-Z - Umbrella (Otherwise known as the one that goes ‘ella, ella, ella’)
Duffy - Warwick Avenue (otherwise known as ‘you hurt me’)
Whenever any of these songs start to play you must exclaim loudly ‘this is my favourite song!’ and then proceed to either sing or lip-synch along. If, for any reason, one of your ‘favourite songs’ isn’t playing at any given time, you must complain loudly and suggest which of the above songs should be played instead.
August 15, 2008 at 12:42 pm · Filed under Giveaways
I never win anything.
When I was younger I used to win all the time. Raffles, tombolas, competitions. You name it, I’d be in there somewhere with the winners. Then somewhere around 10 years old I lost my winning streak. I couldn’t find it.
Yes, that’s right, you heard me. I won! My winning streak has returned and I shall go on to win all manner of things including two weeks’ holiday in exotic locations, the National Lottery and a trolley dash round Harrods. Of course I could just be dreaming.
So, in celebration of my great win, I figured I’d give one of you lucky people a book. Not just any book, but the book I’m reading at the moment and absolutely loving. As I’m reading it, it’s second hand and therefore loved (the best way for a book to be), and of course you know it comes with my highest reccomendation.
Let me know in the comments by Tuesday if you’d like to be in with a change to win
and I’ll see if I can instruct my random number generator to pick you.
I thought it was quiet this morning, no tweets appearing on my phone, but then some mornings are deathly quiet while others are a non-stop cacophany of twitterers.
When I went out at lunch I called Y. He was fine except his tweets had stopped going through to his phone. Simple, I told him. Just text on to twitter and they’re back again. The difference between the two of us? He’d seen that email, I’d not.
Now, if you’ve ever had the pleasure of listening to me tweeting away on a Sunday, when I’d hit the old 250 message limit, you’ll know that the absence of tweeting in my life causes me great distress. I just can’t live without hearing from my friends constantlyon a regular basis.
So what’s a girl to do when faced with the removal of her tweets? ‘Find another option’ I hear you shout. If only it were that simple.
Twitter themselves have provided a number of options: their mobile site (if you’ve ever tried logging in from your mobile you’ll know as well as I that it often takes numerous attempts to log in, and even more to remain logged in if you navigate away from your homepage); Slandr.net (I’ve taken a look and I’m not impressed. Logging in every time will run down my meagre data allowance fairly quickly and it doesn’t display an entire tweet); twittermail (it works on email enabled phones - don’t get me started on my mobile email problems); cellity; twitterberry (I don’t have a blackberry) and Twitterific (I don’t have an iPhone).
So I’m not a happy bunny. My phone contract doesn’t expire until April, so switching to a blackberry or an iPhone isn’t realistic (and I wouldn’t have chosen either of them in the first place). Twitter is blocked at work, so tweeting through their site is also a no-go. Seeing as my favourite friends are UK based maybe many of them will go quiet on the twitter front or even go as far as to change to a now more user-friendly platform. Until then, I’ll just have to continue feeling cut off from my world.
Isn’t it funny how the lack of anything to do all afternoon and the darkening of the clouds outside (not helped by the fact that the lights are off in the offices all around my desk) leaves you having lost the will to write.
I really have nothing much to say.
I wandered out at lunch time and found a perfume I love on sale. I first bought a bottle aged 19, and fell in love. I’m not quite sure if it ever made it back from Brazil with us, or if it did, where it’s disappeared from. I tried some on to see if I still liked it and I’m absolutely hooked again. It’s only £14.99 a bottle now, but I somehow don’t think I’ll be allowed it.
I’m really not sure what to cook for dinner tonight. I’m losing all inspiration. I need to replace the salad that got frozen in the fridge so I’ve got something for lunch tomorrow. I’m really not inspired to eat that either. I’m not really inspired to eat much except brownies and ice cream right now. Would it be ok if I had a few days off? Would it kill too much? I’ll keep going to the gym, promise. See, I won’t give up entirely. Just a few days sans diet pressure. I know what the answer’ll be.
Did I have my medicine this morning? I can’t remember. They came from Sainsbury’s this time and they don’t have the days printed on the pack. I can’t keep track. I know I had one yesterday, mainly because I think I forgot on Saturday and was making extra specially sure that I remembered then. The packs with the days printed on rock!
I felt dizzy this morning. Like really bad even if I sit down I’ll still fall dizzy. A work out didn’t make me feel any better so I stuffed myself with breakfast. I guess that helped a bit. I wish they’d take the strawberries out of the fruit salad and have a separate bowl for them - everyone picks them out and if you’re the third in line for the bowl there’s never any left.
