Thirty, Burpy and Rhyming

It's been a busy(ish) few weeks, and I've written naff all on here for a while, so I think it's high time I gave you, Faceless Internet, an update. Plus, A has gone away for his first weekend's training with the Army Reserves, leaving me to fend for myself. 

So far, I've eaten nothing that requires the use of an oven, treated myself to another "ahh, go on then!" tattoo, and watched in awe as my mother turned up at the house at 9am on a Saturday, armed with a tonne of cleaning equipment that she's been gagging to use since she learned A was going to be out of town. She's the Tasmanian Devil of cleaning. It truly is something to behold. I'm sitting in the neat and gleaming aftermath of Storm Tina and couldn't be more grateful.

So. A blog post, then. 

I've been test driving this "being a 30 year old" thing for just over two months now, which means I'm an expert at it. Obvs. This is the first year of my life where I'm constantly conscious of my age in any and all situations, and I wanted to share with you what that's been like so far. You know, because nobody else has every turned 30 before. We're breaking new ground here, people! Here we go...

Death is always watching

You know those stickers you see in people's houses that say "dance like no one's watching" etc. etc. (usually in the homes of people who also have "live, laugh, love" on their walls)? Well, someone is watching. And he's got a big, somewhat impractical scythe and wears a comfy, black dressing gown with a hood, even during the summer. Death. Death is always watching. Happy Sunday! 

What I mean by this is (I might be on my own here,because I've always been a smidge morbid) that I've found that the older I'm getting, the more terrified I am by my inevitable demise. An example - for a friend's birthday recently, a bunch of us went to Go Ape. This is where you voluntarily attach yourself to bit of rope on hooks, climb 'nope!' feet into the air and rely on said rope on hooks to violently fling yourself from one tree to the next. It was great, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But, for the first couple of trees, if there weren't any witnesses, I'd have likely have been stood on one of the platforms, shaking like Mr Bean on a diving board, unable to make the jump. 

I definitely wasn't alone in that. Before we set off, our group's collective facial expression was one of pale, grinning "why the fuck are we paying to do this instead of the usual drinking until we fall down?" trepidation. Meanwhile, a 10 year old, who'd dragged his poor mother along for a day out that she clearly hadn't grasped the reality of until the last minute, gracelessly swang, jumped and bounced his way from tree to tree like he was an immortal with rubber bones. Bastard.

I don't look so good. *shrug*

Okay, so I've never been totally over the moon about my appearance (bloody patriarchy *shakes fist*), but my attitude towards it is shifting. I think my body is starting to rebel against any feeble attempts at control that I make:
  

• My metabolism - it's starting to take naps on the job. Back in uni, I survived on a balanced diet of beer and tinned orange stuff with cheese on (my signature dish) and I stayed more or less the same shape and size for the whole three years. Today? Just thought briefly about eating some quiche and I can already feel the stirrings of a third chin. 

• My face - up until last year, I believed that make up was fun goo that you apply to your face as part of a sort of costume, just for nights out, like face paint. Now, unless I smear concealer under my eyes on the daily, the dark, baggy patches of skin make me look like I've seen things, man! Also, wrinkles are fun, aren't they? Instead of lovely laughter lines, I have "confused" and "surprised" lines between my eyes and on my forehead. I have physical evidence etched on my face now of how baffled I am by life. Great.

If these kinds of things were happening to me five years ago, I'd have been hiding under the sofa, only coming out when someone has Maoams and/or a cheese platter for me. Now, I'm weirdly enjoying the near total lack of control I have over this flesh robot that I inhabit. It amuses me. I mean, I still get sad when supermarket staff go to I.D me and then tell me "oh, never mind, you're good" when they clock my evidently haggard and weather-worn face, but at least it still does what it needs to do, which is wordlessly wish a curse on him and his entire family and any future generations to come, all while I'm saying "ha, no problem" and gleefully scanning wine, which I now need even more of, through self service.

Bedtime is the shit

You know what I've done for the two nights while I've had the house to myself? I'll let you guess. Did I:

A. Throw a raging 2 day house party
B. Go on an adventure and sample some of the great experiences the world I inhabit has to offer
C. Watch a minimal amount of Netflix with the pets and then gleefully retire to bed before 10pm, in the starfish position, until the dog kicked me back into the corner of it, where I belong?

The answer was A! Did you get it? 

Of course it wasn't A. I actively look forward to bed time from the second I wake up, and I'm cool with that. Bed is comfy. Bed doesn't ask you to do anything in exchange for money (at least in my line of work, it doesn't). Bed is the only thing in this life that gives without taking, and I love it. 

*looks at watch*

Only 12 more hours before I get to go back in! For now, quiche is calling me and my chins. I will leave you with an image of me being 30 and loving it, despite neither flirty or thriving, as slogans on mugs will have you believe:

"Witness my rebirth! Is it bed time yet?"

 

All the Wrong

My mum found my stash this week.   Don't you just hate it when that happens?

Nothing as cool as drugs or porn.  She found my stash of old photos that I've hoarded since my teenage years, and I'm so happy she did.  They're terrible!  I'd be embarrassed if it wasn't tickling me so much.  Look at the state of this pasty creeper!

 

"No, I don't know who stole the last yogurt and no, I'm not wearing a tent made from recycled bagpipes!"

...Cool hair, bro.

Naturally, I fell into a nostalgia hole.  I assume this is like a K-hole, but you remember more at the end and have less dribble on your clothes.

I wish I could share all the contents of my special box (heh) with you in all its beautiful, spot-ridden, angst infused glory.  Because who doesn't like a spotty, angsty box?  Like most people, I have mixed feelings about The Hormone Years.  School wasn't exactly a weekday party of coolness and sports for me.  I was an intense, stressed out introvert who avoided most social scenarios that didn't involve a gallon of the old confidence lube (ew.  Beer. Why couldn't I just call it beer? What is wrong with me tonight?).  I know, I know. Stark contrast to the Beyonce-esque, swan-like creature I am today. 

By swan-like, I mean white and prone to hissing when threatened.  Legend has it I can break an arm if I flap hard enough.  

Has a swan ever actually managed to break someone's arm?  Someone Google it for me.  I'm too lazy to click one tab over.  

As I was reflecting (giggling) upon my past, I couldn't help but think about what I would say to Teenage Becky if I met her now.  Maybe I would tell her to stop worrying so much about what people think of her.  Perhaps I'd break the news that she would stop growing at the age of fourteen and have to hang off bars by her elbows to be served in some pubs in her twenties.  Mostly I think I'd tell her that she is an idiot and wrong about things.  SO many things.  Here are some of the things that Specialpants McHormones believed:

1.  Dying your hair several different colours in the space of a couple of a few weeks will make it look cool and awesome.  You won't try to dye your hair bright blue, accidentally turn it grey-green and have to spend 3 days obsessively trying to wash it out.  Nor will you give up on that and then dump a load of Hyper Value's finest black dye on top of it.  The result?  See below: 

Also: Chinese dragon T-shirts from Tammy Girl will always be cool.  Everyone will be wearing them in 2015. 

2.  Yep.  Everyone cares so much about you that they're noting your every profoundly uncool move.  They are in fact judging you and only you, and not at all just getting on with their own shiny new internal chemical shitstorms while you paralyse yourself with anxiety in the corner.  Good logicking, narcissist!

3.  NOBODY loves your bands as much as you and your friends do. NOBODY!!!! They don't know all the words!  They don't GET THEM like you do!  GAH!! So many feelings!  I Wanna Fuck a Dog in the Ass by Blink 182 is about SO MUCH MORE than just sexually violating a pet (spoiler: It's not)!

4.  This? Cracking idea.  You can totally pull it off!  Even if it is upside down and looking a bit infect-y.

 

Look, but you can't touch, boys...because it's sore and I think I saw pus.

 5.  Exercise sucks and I will lose ALL of the weight EVER by going on the Special K diet with my mum.  Eating sawdust and pretend fruit in milk for two out of three meals a day is much more sustainable and fun than going outside in trainers and moving a bit.  Ew.

6.  Always trust a van of hippies at your friend's illegal rave in her barn when they offer you shots.  You are drinking a delicious minty substance.  Not alcoholic, herbal viagra. 

7.  This is an excellent look.  Much mysterious.  So goth.

Deep thoughts can be had when you're in mesh sleeves.

8.  You and your first proper boyfriend need to be attached at the face at all times, otherwise no one will know how much you LOVE EACH OTHER AND NO ONE ELSE UNDERSTANDS ANYWAY, WHY HAVE I GOT NO SKIN LEFT ON MY CHIN HAS ANYONE SEEN MY CHIN SKIN?!  

...To cut her some slack, though, teenage me did get the occasional thing right:

1.  This lot will be in my life til we're all in adult diapers, poking each other on whatever the future equivalent of Facebook is from our respective care homes:

I'm the one donning the helmet made of static...

2.  It is possible to stick the big cookie in your mouth whole:

Never be defeated by the big cookie, people!

G'night! 

xxx

Marathon Training Week 6/Evidence That I'm An Adult

Happy chocolate coma bonanza weekend!! Or "Jesus-Is-Back, hooray!" weekend, if your leanings border more on the spiritual than the gluttonous.  Something for everyone, is Easter! I've had a bit of a crappy week running-wise, so I'm not going to go into too much detail on that subject today.  Been over thinking everything from my speed to stupid things like how I position my thumbs, making the experience a bazillion times harder for myself.  I ran, walked and dragged myself around thirteen tough miles this week.  How I'm going to do that distance twice over in one run in June is beyond me.  But, knowing me, a bad week wod usually followed by a good one, so we'll leave it at a summary of my week, move on and hope for a better one next week!

Mon     Rest day
Tues    5 miles
Weds   Rest day
Thurs   3 miles
Fri        13 miles
Sat       Rest day/hang over (what? It's Easter!)
Sun     4 sicky, too hot-nightmare miles

Now that's out of the way, the topic I'm going to be covering today is grown-upishness.  I am twenty seven years young (sonny Jim!), and now that Spring is ...err...springing (?), my Facebook feed is turning into a combination of two different kinds of status update.  The classic Disney film Bambi was right all along.  Spring gets everybody twitterpated.  For those who haven't seen Bambi (what? How haven't you seen Bambi?  Did you not have a childhood?!):

 Here are the two statuses that I've been subject to:

Status One: Holy shit, we've made a human out of our combined DNA!

Status Two:  Hurrah! We are contractually tying ourselves together as a public display of our enduring affections!

No complaints about the presence of these statuses.  Number one blows my mind because it  amazes me that people can make people out of themselves and number two is always good news because parties!  Big, glamorous parties with dancing and friends!

It just weirds me out that my friends and I are at the age where spawning and conjoining are normal things that happen now.  I am still a teenager in my mind, and have no bigger responsibility than keeping myself alive - a task monumental enough on its own.  I'm hard work!

So, I've been thinking (oh dear).  There are many, many more than two ways to feel like a grown-up. Despite my enduring love for sweets and near total lack of attention span 

Hey, look, there's a dog outside!  Hahaha, stupid dog...

...I can't avoid that I am getting older.  I may not have a human in my pipe works, or a contractual agreement to like somebod indefinitely, but I am terrifyingly, undeniably climbing the ladder to adulthood. Evidence:

  
1.  I have a pension!  I have no idea how much I put into it each month or how it works.  I could have signed up for the big boss to feed rolled up wads of my cash to their chihuahua once a month for all I know, but it makes me feel like a functioning adult to say I have one. 

2.  I am ridiculously hypersensitive about how everything I do/think/eat affects my health.  This doesn't necessarily lead to better decisions, but at least I'm aware of how much visceral fat I'm clogging myself with whenever I have an ill advised Maoam/cheese/Pringles feast just because I can't think of anything better to do at the time. 

3.  I think about buying a house.  A lot.  So far, A and I have saved up enough to purchase maybe a toilet and a "Welcome" mat, but, hey, everyone needs a toilet. 

4.  Night times - especially week nights - are for waiting until bedtime.  I LOVE bedtime!  After the day's final bout of eating and sitting down is done, all I can think about is how much longer I have to wait before crawling under the squashy duvet and waiting for sweet, sweet unconsciousness.  Even if "sweet unconsciousness" can sometimes mean the cat swatting my face to be let out, A snoring and me having the kinds of dreams that would terrify the most experienced of shrinks. 

5.  I have managed to live happily in the same rented accommodation for over three years now with not even a twinge of an urge to decorate it.  It is a student-esque cesspit of dishes and floor-drobes (posh for "piles of clothes eveywhere but the actual wardrobe").  I have recently been experiencing a scarily strong compulsion to go out and buy curtains.  Curtains!  

6.  I watch Homes Under The Hammer out of choice.  I got out of bed specifically to watch it this morning.  When did that start happening?! 

7.  I am three years off the big three-oh, but in order to soften the blow of the inevitability of not being in my twenties anymore, I have begun to prematurely identify as a thirty year old.  Self defense mechanism, I think. 

8.   A trip to Starbucks and a walk "somewhere outdoorsy" is now an idea of a nice day out for me. 

9.  I use the term "nice day out." 
 

 I trust you're all having a lovely weekend, packed with "nice days out" and either binge drinking or going to places that your kids give you access to that would otherwise make you look like a creepy weirdo (petting zoo, anyone?).  Now.  Who's ready to go back to work?  Walter? 

 

"NOOOOOOOO!! You can't make me!!"

Happy Easter! xx