Misplacing my dad - losing a parent at a young age

Mmkay, so. As I write this, it's Father's Day, but I'm not sure when or if I'll post it. Been thinking about doing this post for a while, but I get embarrassed and stop, or I think people might think I'm writing it for attention or pity - not the case. Just feels like it's something I have to tackle for me. If I do post this and you continue to read, please just pretend like it never happened and we can get on with our lives and without (my) embarrassment.

Before this whole post turns into one of those ambiguous social media statuses that prompts "U OK, hun? DM me!" responses, I'll explain. I want to write a post about what it's like to lose a parent at a young age. Sorry.

I know I'm not alone in this experience by a long shot, but I don't feel like it's something people who go through it talk about very much. I know I don't out loud. My dad died in 1997 in a car accident - I was 9 years old, and my mum, the poor sod, had to take my sister and I out of school (I was making an angle measuring thing out of paper that also doubled up as a crocodile if you squinted hard and made it talk, which is what I was doing before I was pulled away from maths) and deliver the news to us while very pregnant with our littlest sister. Obviously, that kind of news does change your life pretty significantly. I worked out today that it's been 21 years and 2 days (at the time of writing) since that day, so I'm going to share what that's been like and what I've learned from losing a parent as a kid:

1. A "lost" parent is the ultimate conversation stopper.

When getting to know someone - a new friend, work colleague, etc. etc, very occasionally the topic turns to family and I'm asked "So what does your mum/dad do?" or something along those lines. I'm 30 now and this still makes me anxious; when I've told people in the past that I've lost a parent, the panic in their eyes as they try to think of what to say to undo the awkwardness that's sprung up between us like I've just placed a footlong rubber dildo on the table makes my guts lurch. I want to apologise profusely for the conversational dildo and run away, and so I tend to start talking really, really fast about anything I possibly can to put as big a distance between us and the topic as possible. I think this works...question mark?

Also, why do we feel the need to say we've lost someone, like we've accidentally dropped them behind a radiator? Weird choice of words, but it's less abrasive than "Well, my mum is a caretaker and my dad is dead. What do your parents do?"

2. Grief is a sneaky fucker.

Grief never goes away. I'm nearly the age that my dad was when I dropped him behind life's proverbial radiator, but the fact can still hit me like a piano falling from a third storey window. As time passes,the gaps between these bouts of ugly-crying expand quite a bit, but there's always something waiting in the wings to pounce on you and shove you back into that fun place.

As a teen, it only took the right combination of hormones, self pity and cheap cider to do the job (I've traumatised a handful of friends and one very unlucky but patient boyfriend with sporadic displays of emotional breakdown and for that I can only apologise and hope that it gave you a good anecdote or two), but as I get older, the grief gets sneakier. Its most recent attack came when I was shown a lovely picture of my dad smiling for the camera, and when my sister turned it over, it had "photo taken by Becky" written on the back - he was smiling at baby me. Cue three days of surprise sobbing. Such fun.
 
3. Sometimes you feel like you're mourning a fictional character.

Like I said, my dad passed away when I was 9. At that age, you don't really know anyone all that well. You're too focused on learning the names of all the dinosaurs and flying off hills on your bike without a helmet on to actually get to know the many facets of a person's character. I occasionally feel weird about missing my dad because what if I'm missing someone who doesn't actually reflect who I think he is? Here are a few things I remember about him:

• When asking if we could do something/go somewhere, he'd respond infuriatingly with a "probably"instead of a simple yes or no.
• He must've had a good sense of humour, because he laughed with me at the fart joke part of the Lion King's 'Hakuna Matata' with me, because, duh, fart jokes are hilarious.
• He was halfway decent at doodling - a skill I coveted as a frizzy haired midget.
• He put about as much thought into his tattoos as I currently do (i.e none - one of them was just his name. Jeff. Who gets "Jeff" tattooed on them, even if they're called Jeff? Come on, Jeff, mun!)
• He was late. A lot.The irony that he has now achieved being late in multiple senses of the word isn't lost on me.
  

So, yeah - doesn't exactly convey a rich tapestry of a human personality, does it? One thing I did learn on a recent trip to my paternal grandparents' (that I left WAY too long to do) was that as a child, he once tried to hide a slab of butter under his hat and was busted when it started melting down his face despite his vigorous protestations that he didn't know where the butter had gone. Despite how little I know about him in the grand scheme of things, at least that story confirms that we're definitely from the same gene pool.

I'll leave it there - tried my best not to wang on. Thanks for letting me get that post out of my system and for reading (and, in advance, for never mentioning that you have to me in real life...). Normal service resumes next post, where I'll probably talk about my weird foot and make jokes about snack foods as per usual.

Hope all the excellent dads, step dads, grandads and father figures (male, female, neither and both) have had a day as excellent as they are! Keep on dadding, daddos! =)

Jeff Taunton - the man who sat by and smiled while his daughters were cruelly forced to pose in puffy, flowery balls of velour and static (I did kind of love that dress, and it probably wouldn't take a lot of coercion to get me into a similar one now. Don't judge.

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?"

 

Dear Spotty (a letter to teenage me)

This Saturday, I shall be shedding my 20-something cocoon and bursting forth into the world as a 30 year old butterfly. A butterfly who gets sleepy at 9pm, wears "comfy" clothes and chooses to sport a super practical mum-bob that looks less sexy Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction and more 90s boyband bowl cut. What? I enjoy feeling the breeze on my neck.

Normally, at this time of year, I list something I have learned for each year of my life (29 things at 29 etc), but the numbers are just getting silly now. If you tried to put a candle for each year on a birthday cake for me, the cake would likely be engulfed in a ball of flames. Or you'd just have to get a bigger cake.

I wouldn't mind if you wanted to get me a bigger cake. Just saying. 

Today I'm trying something different. I'm going to write a letter to my younger self. I choose teenage me, aged 15-18, because, like Jon Snow, she knew nothing. She also had black, curly hair like Jon Snow's, but I doubt Jon's contained a litres of Silvikrin Firm Hold hairspray and was crunchy to the touch. She won't listen to me, but here goes anyway.

Dear Hormonal Becky,

Hi! I'm you, but from the future. First of all, I want to say that I still approve of your 50 layers of eyeliner and your super 'alternative' choice in clothing. You look so edgy and unique. Just like all your friends! 

I also want to apologise a little bit. I think you expected you at aged 30 to be a bit more...more...than I am. I wear gym clothes during the day wherever possible out of choice now (I know - such a townie!), and I like to keep my little yellow house tidy because it makes me happy to be in it when it looks nice. Also I could only put off morphing into Mum for so long. You can't fight nature. 

This week, I'm taking time off for my birthday,and I've spent all day today waiting for someone to fix a leak in my ceiling and for my MOT for my sensible white car to be done. Not the coolest, am I? But then again, you write questionable poetry and think that those plastic "shag bands" that make your wrists all sweaty are the epitome of cool, so people in glass houses and all that...

Let me think about what's not changed too much, so as not to make you want to prematurely top yourself before you morph into this comfort-seeking alien that you can't even entertain becoming....

My music taste hasn't really changed. I still listen to all the same albums that you listen to right now, because new music = effort, and I finally got that Blink 182 tattoo that you always wanted. It makes me smile when I'm trying to be all serious and busy in meetings at work to see a reminder poking out of my jacket that no matter how old I get, my favourite  band sings such classics as "I Wanna Fuck a Dog in the Ass" and "Happy Holidays, You Bastard". Quite difficult to take yourself too seriously when your tattoos look like the doodles you scrawled on your school notebooks during lessons (you rebel, you!).

We still eat our body weight in cheese at every given opportunity, but it's not affecting you too terribly yet because you (you might want to sit down for this revelation) exercise for fun. 

I know, right? You can't run anymore because you fucked your foot by over training for a marathon in 2015 (sorry - should have given you a trigger warning there. If it helps, the race had a live band on every mile, and you quite enjoyed the bits where you weren't silently praying for a swift death at mile 17. Following the race, you and Amy W hit up Liverpool in your medals and slut dropped in an empty pub until you could no longer stand up...good times), so you happily fling barbells and other heavy objects around now in your free time. Keep an open mind - it'll end up being your favourite thing!

You're not an author yet. Sorry. You still have a knack for getting carried away with ideas and then abandoning them because "they're shit and I suck!!", but you do blog (ta-daa!) with semi-regularity, and you recently got a job writing for an in-house magazine and internal newsletters at a big utilities company. You enjoy it, and you've learned that your ability to panic about every minor thing has made you surprisingly organised, which works to your advantage in this job. Your permanent sense of "AAAGH!!" is your secret weapon. You may never rid yourself of it, but it does come in handy sometimes, and you combat it with weekend naps and more of that exercise stuff that I shocked you with earlier. It's all good.

Now that I've taught you that your goals (e.g to be paid to write) can be achieved in mysterious and unexpected ways, and that your near-constant anxiety can be helpful sometimes, I should bear in mind that I could learn a lot from you too.

I'm a lot calmer than you are. I still react to everything like my hair just's been doused with petrol and had a match held to it, but in a more "it's okay, I'll just put a hat on it and pretend my scalp isn't melting" kind of way. Your reactivity might be a pain in the backside, but I do miss feeling everything as intensely as you do. Everything hurts and brings you joy in equal measure, but I want to tell you to hold on to that for as long as you can, because it does unfortunately fade for the most part. Lots of things hurt your sensitive, spotty little soul, but only because you just care so chuffing much!

My most intensely happy, uncomfortable and low moments happened to me at your age, and they colour who I am today (comfy, driven, often nervous, suffering frequent bouts of nostalgia). I would give up dairy and coffee for life(a bold statement, believe me) to experience a few days of living with the HD, 3D, hormone addled feels-splosion soup that my brain was marinated in at your age. No wonder you had such bad acne. You were a fleshy case of emotion (ew), but stuff mattered. Enjoy it while you can, and I'll try and do the same.

You must be wondering what I'm going to be doing for our 30th? 

Probably not, actually. You're more likely to be wondering how you broach the topic of that gig you need a lift to with your parents, or which new Blink poster you NEED to purchase next. Regardless, we're going to the Harry Potter Studio Tour. Almost-30 year old you might be a coffee drinking dweeb who treats their dog like an human baby(oh, yeah - we got a dog! DOG! DOGGY!! We love him with an unhealthy fervor), but actual 30 year old you will be a motherfucking wizard come Sunday. Watch this space!

Lots of love

Becky from the future (WooOOOooOOooooo...)

p.s for the last time, you're NOT fat!

 

Two equally strong looks, young Spotty. Good job.

A Quick Catch Up

 ....aaaand we have internet!  A month into living in my first ever owned home (not renting, not squatting in, not sitting in the bushes outside of...owned!), and I am finally connected to the big, invisible web of Youtube videos of animals playing the keyboard and ranting weirdos on Facebook.  Now I'm home =)

 

Obligatory "look, I've got some keys!" photo.  I am wearing a top, and I do have boobs. 

Both top and boobs are both just possibly hanging out with my knees... Or I was so excited that morning that I put my head on the wrong way round and the fleshy area you see is really my back.  Who knows.

...Did I mention I've got a house??

A brief catch up on my to-ings and doings(because I'm feeling too lazy this lovely, bright Sunday to think of an actual post with a proper structure and theme (you know, like all the other masterpieces I've flung onto this thing like a monkey throwing poop):

• I may never move house again in my life ever ever, even if an asteroid flattens this one.  The experience leading up to it had so many highs and crashing lows that I think I have house buying PTSD.  Every time I hear the word "solicitor", I now get the chills and start mumbling in tongues. 
• My mum should legit be one of those Ikea elves that create rooms for people to look at in the "furniture zoo" section of the shop.  I mean, look at this shit - I definitely wouldn't have put this lot together using my own brain:

 

Just .... *gestures*  I spent a good few days genuinely welling up at how much I love my surroundings and how much my family must love me to give up their time to help make it look so nice.  

Or maybe what I perceive as love is actually their "fear of allowing Becky to be within 50 feet of a drill and/or flat pack furniture."  The Sunday we moved in, Andy had to deal with violent swings between 

"I'm so happy!  I love it here!" to "Waaah, I've done nothing to deserve to live somewhere so pretty!  My family are too good for meeee! DON'T YOU DARE MOVE THAT COASTER, IT'S PERFECT WHERE IT IS!!"

I think I win at first world problems this month.

• I've started running again.  Sort of.  Through the NHS' Couch to 5k app, I've built up to running in 90 second intervals, which my aggro foot appears to be tolerating for now.  Injury still infuriatingly "there", but at least on good stretches where it pretends that it's a normal, functioning foot, there is no pain at all, and aforementioned stretches are getting longer each time.  *holds breath and crosses everything that this is the start of actual, long term recovery*
• There's been a change of gyms. In the name of time and petrol saving, I've been going to a local functional fitness (essentially Crossfit without the affiliation) gym called F.I.T Pontarddulais and enjoying it a lot. I do drag around a degree of guilt for not going to Outcast Strength & Fitness in Swansea anywhere near as often as I did (still going every now and then as a treat to myself.  No way can I go cold turkey) because they got me to a place where I can fling more weight around than I ever could before, but the way things are at the minute, I'm enjoying the extra snippets of time I get to spend with my fur child (doggo) and my man child (boyo) during the week.  I've also seen signs round this way for yoga classes, soooo...might be worth a go?  If I'm going to cheat on my first love in group exercise, it may as well be with multiple facilities.  Once a ho and all that.

Busy old month coming up, so I should have lots more to report soon.  I have:

1. Friend Wedding 1 of 4 (!!) in 2017 next week, as well as..
2. A seminar on writing for children because maybe that's where my calling secretly lies, as I am a child trapped in a drinking, cursing adult's body after all.  Or it could just be a bit of a fun thing to do on a Saturday afternoon.  Either way, I win.
3. An all-day leaving do (*cough* drinking session) in Tenby with the work peeps for which I have already purchased 3 dresses...If anyone wants to follow me round Tenby and periodically hand me a costume change as I get increasingly nonsensical, please get in touch.  I will pay you in cuddles and questionable life advice.

 Right...I'm off to play with the doggy cam my sister got me as a housewarming gift.  A has been in the same position for so long that I thought the screen was frozen, so I'd better go and make sure he's alright...Or I might use the "voice" function on it to scare the shit out of him.  Heehee.

 

*gasp* d'you think he saw me? =/

28 Wise, Wise Wisdoms

Yes, it's that time of year again!  I've come through another whole 12 months during which I've saved up golden nuggets of priceless information, especially for you( Priceless because they won't accept them at Cash 4 Gold).  You lucky, lucky devil.

...Or I've not given this post any thought whatsoever until today, the day after my 29th birthday, and I've sat down to share whatever mulch I can squeeze out of my head (lush).  I've had a week off work, so the contents of my head have been diluted by Budweiser and day naps. Here goes....something!

1.  Budweiser tastes better when it comes out of a bottle with a screw top.  I don't know why.  Maybe that's a fact for me to share next year.

2.  Running for months on end on a sore foot doesn't "toughen it up."  This is a strategy for idiots. My brain, it turns out, was giving me alternative facts.

3.  Speaking of alternative facts... Next level alternate dimension shit does occasionally happen.  We live in a reality where a toupee wearing, baby handed man with no political experience is farting out terrible decisions from a mouth that looks like an anus is in charge of all of 'Murica.  #whereisdoctorwhowhenyouneedhim

4.  29 is not too old to get that Blink 182 tattoo you've wanted ever since you had a constellation of spots and wore eyeliner blacker than your soul (so...this morning, then?):

 

*endless squealing and heart emojis*

Yes, I am aware that with a heart tattoo and a movie quote on the same arm, my body is starting to resemble my secondary school notebooks.  No, I shan't be laminating myself.

5.  It is possible to discover that you are very very much a "dog person"rather than a cat person as you'd originally believed.  This knowledge comes after becoming the proud pet parent of a big-eyed, poop eating squish monster from the land of Cute.  I mean...after becoming a responsible dog owner.  HAVE YOU SEEN MY DOG?? HE IS THE COOLEST DOG IN THE WORLD AND I LOVE HIM SO MUCH, AND, just....

 SEE?!!

6. Guided meditation (see Headspace app - is v.g) is magical, especially if you're alert.  If no, you still win because you get to have a little snooze in the name of zen.  Am so spiritual now. 

7.  Crossfit has changed both my physical shape (I have actual arms now, as opposed to floppy toothpicks) and brain.  I no longer wish to be Beyonce (wouldn't turn down the offer to become her if it arose still, though.  Am not crazy), but instead pine over being a Davidsdottir or a Leblanc-Bazinet.  If unsure, do a Google image search.  But only after you've read this, because you'll disappear down a rabbit hole of impressive muscles and tiny shorts that you won't want to be rescued from.

8.  Putting a deposit down for a house does not make you feel more grown up.  It makes you feel more like a lady baby than ever because what do I do when the heating packs in?  What if I set it on fire by accident?  Do I have to start opening post addressed to "the home owner" now? What if someone steals it from me in the night?  Like, the whole house?  What if???

9.  You can only put on so much weight before you have to stop accepting friends' reassurances that "It's probably just muscle from all that going to the gym that you do."  If there is such a thing as a muffin top muscle, mine is in fantastic shape.

10.  Since A started making Youtube videos, I've learned that I turn into a duck voiced weirdo with the posture of a velocoraptor when a camera is pointed at me.  Or I look like that anyway and have only just realised. 

Nah.  I choose denial.  It's the camera.*

11.  Unless I'm drunk, it is now nearly impossible for me to stay awake after 10.30pm. Or wake up after 8am.  My body clock has either reversed into "small child" mode or "pensioner" settings.  

12.  Middle Sis is queen of buying gifts that both warm the heart and insult.  Case in point:

 

Cheers, pal

13.  There is a tipping point where the effort it takes to get drunk (3 day hang overs, wild mood swings & the need to sleep into the next ice age the following day)  starts to outweigh the fun of it.  The see saw I'm on is not going the way I'd like it to.  Boo hiss.

14.  These annual lists are getting so long that there is a new need to "refuel" with "brain food" part way through it.  Golden syrup on toast if you're interested.  

15.  The Harry Potter books are SO chuffing GOOD and if you stop at book 4 as a teenager because you've decided you're "too cool" for them, then you're wrong.  Dead wrong.  FYI, your favourite trousers are luminous pink flares.  You're not too cool for anything, little buddy.

16.  Nikes and Heavenly Feet are the only shoe brands you need. Ever.  Also Doc Martens, but you're too poor to buy those right now, and if you try to break a new pair in, your already battered foot may well finally fall off.

17.  It is possible to cut your own fringe and not be ridiculed as long as you don't grab the whole thing and lop straight through it like you used to. 

18.  A moustache looks frighteningly natural on me. 

It's like looking at Hulk Hogan's sexy younger brother, isn't it?

19.  28 is a big number of things to think up a list of stuff for.  No, I'm not stalling or filling up space for the sake of it.  Fine, you write it instead if it's so bloody easy!

20.  I must practice patience.  Maybe should stay awake for longer whilst listening to Headspace...

 

21.  Binning things is great!  I have thrown most of my current house away in readiness to move into the new one within the next couple of months.  I'm practically besties with the guys at the local rubbish tip now, and chucking out clutter makes me feel all clean inside.  Until we actually need something.

"Beck, have you seen the coasters/spatula/entire book case?"

"Erm..."

22.  Dogs are like tattoos.  You can't stop at one.  I have big plans to get a little sidekick for Jesse.  I firmly feel that he needs a tiny chihuahua body guard because HOW FREAKING CUTE WOULD THAT BE??  I could buy him a little "security" t shirt and...when did I become this person?

23. Audio books and podcasts are the absolute balls.  I can't walk the dog, go anywhere in my car or generally leave the house without being told a story or learning something about how my brain works.  I need a constant supply.  I couldn't name more than one person in the charts right now (one person is Justin Beiber/Bieber...  Is that right?  Am I hip now?), but I can reel off pop psychology factoids and anecdotes that aren't actually mine like a crap Yoda.

24.  It isn't enough for me to be a bit of a deaf bird.  I now own glasses and a hearing aid, but there is only so much space behind my right ear, so I have to choose whether I would prefer sight or hearing at any given moment.  Ooh! Or I need to invest in a monocle!  Where can I get  a good monocle?  Does anyone still make those?

25.  All of the movies have now been made.  Everything produced from here on in are going to be reboots and/or remakes.  Not all of them good.  I wanted to like Ghostbusters so badly...*sniff*

26.  Taking a Facebook hiatus doesn't turn you into the clear headed workaholic you secretly believe lives underneath all the procrastinating.  It just makes you miss Facebook a lot.  Facebook is king.  All hail Facebook.

27.  Hoarding pretty notebooks because "you might need them for something" is a worthy hobby.

28.   After your mid twenties, it's a good idea to keep back at least a quarter of your salary for Yankee candles.  You don't know why you need the smell of "fluffy towels" and angel's tears in your home at all times.  You just do.  

Yeah, I struggled to come up with that many things.... I think on my next "Wise, Wise Wisdoms" post, I might just have to post a picture of me shrugging with the caption I dunno, I forgot!  Underneath it.  I hope that this year's wisdome are...umm...useful?

Bye!

* Andy Price Vlogs: if you want to see me duck out of shot in several weeks' worth of videos =)

Lady of Leisure

Happy Sunday from my lot to yours!

"One, two, three....SUNDAAAAAAY!!"

It's been a decent old week for me, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that I had the whole thing off work.  Maybe.  Surprised myself by being pretty productive and only taking a grand total of about two unplanned naps.  Hurrah!  Nothing I did was Earth shatteringly exciting, but it was nice to catch up on all the boring life admin that usually hangs out in the back of my head, threatening to ignite my stress levels at any minute like an evil child with its hands on a lighter. 

Some stuff what I did:

Quality time with dog
Quality time to my dog = sitting three centimeters away from me at all times, staring unblinkingly until I drop food.  

Quality time with cat
Let cat in. Let cat out. Let cat in. Let cat out.  Repeat times infinity. Cat is an arse hole who am pretty sure does this for lolz.

Experienced too many feelings in a short space of time
As many of you well know, the Netflix series Orange is the New Black made its return with excellent timing.  I binge watched the whole thing within about three or four days.  Mistake.  BIG mistake.  There should be a limit on how many episodes you're allowed to consume within a single week.   My body and mind are not equipped to handle that volume and variation of feeling in such a short space of time.  I just...ugh!  It needs to come with a health warning.  Like on a box of fags, you get those pictures of shrivelled up lungs...The thumbnail image on OINTB should be an image of someone in food stained jammies with three day old bed hair, sob-laughing into a box of pre-sliced cheese.

WARNING: MAY CAUSE EXTREME FEELINGS.

Turns out when I cry, the dog also cries. Think more out of fear than empathy - don't think he's ever seen my face contort in such an attractive way before.  Imagine it was quite alarming.

Learned to cook.  Sort of
I jumped on the bandwagon and bought Joe Wicks' (Instagram famous smiley cockney in shorts - look him up if unsure!) Lean in 15 books.  Bought more into the premise that actual meals can be made within 15 minutes as apposed to the whole "get lean" part.  Although based on the fact that I failed to get a pair of jeans that fit me last year past my knees the other day, "lean" would be a happy bonus... Or new jeans.  Whichever comes first.  So far, I've seen four recipes through to the 15(ish) minute end and not given myself or anyone else food poisoning so far.  Yippee!  Joe Wicks is evidently some kind of Becky-proof recipe creating genius.  Like Stephen Hawking with a frying pan and a low resting heart rate (I assume).

Lost and regained running mojo
Since Cardiff Half in October last year, I've only been running about once a week, averaging about 3-5 miles and going to Crossfit three days or so a week.  I assumed that I can automatically run long distances still because:

a. Am doing Crossfit regularly now and am therefore superhuman (the bar for "superhuman" for me is low. It means "person who can now do up to six push ups in a row on a good day").
b. Have done a full marathon last year.
c. Have conveniently forgotten how quickly my mindset went from "I can run FOREVER!!" to "please can I go home and lie down now?" after mile 7 of March's interesting attempt at the Llanelli Half marathon.
d.  Once you know how to run distances, it just stays with you, yeah?

No, Dick Brain.  Just no. I've taken a break from signing up to every single race that comes my way this year because that's how I managed to injure myself last year.  Also is crazy expensive and doing event after  event sucks the joy out of things.  This week, as I've signed up for the big 'un (London Marathon) next year, I decided to sign up to a couple of races for September and October just in case I get in (still undecided what I actually want the outcome to be.  Gulp). I've got myself a place for the Swansea Bay 10k, and come next payday, I'll be signing up to have my third crack at Cardiff Half. 

This sounds so stupid, but I forgot how HARD running is and how quickly easily you can lose the mental capacity for longer distances.  I've done a couple of 6+ mile runs recently and after about 5 miles, everything starts to grind.  I started overthinking my "slow, oh so very very slow, am rubbish!" pace and assuming that my injury from last year is going to come back at any second to bite me in the ankles.  It's not been v much fun.  At one point early this week, I was wondering how I could change my website address here to just be "Rebecca Writes" because the lack of running I do of late makes the title of this blog more than a little misleading.  Ridiculous.

This morning, Andy and I went to spectate at the Swansea Half Marathon.  I've never been that side of the barrier before.  It was so much fun to see people I know bossing the course! And so inspiring to watch the 8,000 or so entrants dig in and get 'er done.  From the fastest to the slowest, it was clear that every single person was putting in so much effort. Because I'm usually piddling around towards the back, I don't normally get to see how the Speedy McLightningPants types look when they run a race.  I assumed that they springily gazelled their way to the finish line, because they were "naturals."  Nope!  Turns out all of us runners look like we're chewing onions when the going gets tough because guess what?  Running is hard no matter your ability or speed, and that's exactly why we do it!  To get that feeling of elation that we've survived something.  If running suddenly became easy, I'd probably go right off it.  Where's the achievement without the effort? And the bragging rights, obvs. Achievement and bragging rights are more or less the same thing, no?

Being reminded that there are shinies, goodies and glory at the finish line didn't hurt either.  The atmosphere was brilliant.  Bring on the training, and bring on the next race!  Here's to chewing onions with the elite and the newbies alike!  Hurrah!


...Hmm.  Not too sure how a list of "things what I done this week" turned into a emotional ramble about running, but there we are.  Least my attitude seems to be steering back in the right direction.  I'm sure my next post will have more of an actual structure to it.  75% sure.

...62%

50/50?

Side note: Fully aware that this week's EU referendum vote is of slightly more importance than my ability to cook chicken without killing anyone (only slightly, mind. I mean, it is pretty impressive).  Long story short, I'm gutted by how the whole thing turned out.  I respect anyone's right to an opinion, even if it is different to mine as long as that opinion isn't blindly concocted and/or driven by fear.  I also believe that given the chance to vote again, a lot more people will participate and make the effort to educate themselves about the choice they're making as the magnitude of it dawns on everyone.  Sooo, I'm just going to leave this here...

Click here to sign petition for a second EU referendum =)

Okay, bye!

Gut Krakens & Wheatus

Halp meee!  

This is not my finest hour.  Got a whole day off work today after I spent last night time traveling to 2001 at a Wheatus gig.  I had every intention of making the most of my day today by going on a lovely, long run, cleaning the house etc etc.  My stomach has other plans for me.  Every now and then, I get these bloody horrific stomach aches that enjoy surprising me when I least expect/want them (not sure anyone ever thinks there's a nice time to have your innards turn on you, mind..).  These spells feel like a small hedgehog is redecorating my insides with a razor.  Not much fun.  So with that in mind, this is how this morning has looked so far:

• Woke at 5am and hunched and waddled like Quasimodo to the kitchen to do a shot of apple cider vinegar in the hopes that it'll appease the kraken my guts.
• Fell unconscious again.
• Spent a few more hours telling the baffled dog who was watching me adopt the fetal position "Owww!", to which he responded with a look that said "But you can still feed me though, yeah?"
• Eventually gave up on the fetal position/pity party for one fun - seemed to be getting a bit better by that point anyway.
• Ate cheese and Pringle sandwich.
• Regretted cheese and Pringle sandwich.  Regretted it terribly.
• Cried at a youtube video.

Yup.  Sorry state of affairs.  On the plus side, last night was as much fun as expected.  This was (I think) my fifth time seeing Wheatus live, because... well because I laaaav them!  I've been fuelling my obsession with their music since I was about 12 and bought Teenage Dirtbag on CD single from my local Woolworths for a couple of quid.  I still have it somewhere.

Christ... Woolworths. The only place in the early noughties where you could satisfy your simultaneous cravings for a top 10  chart single, an all-you-can-fit-in-the-pot-as-long-as-the-lid-stays-on pick 'n' mix and a tiny can of pink Mr Blobby lemonade in one trip...Sigh.

Fuck me, I'm old.  

Right.  Wheatus.  Here they are.  Sort of.  What?  I'm a blogger, not a photographer!

  
...and here we are!

If I was smiling any harder, you'd see skull

...and here... is how A and I looked at the end of the evening's festivities at midnight in McDonalds.

Witness the fitness, all.  

Some highlights of the gig:

• Being in a venue (The Scene, Swansea) that was small enough for me to be able to count the individual nose hairs on one of my favourite bands if I'd wanted to.  I chose to take the less "terrifying stalker" route of hanging back by the bar instead.  Hence that last image that you've just had burned into your retinas.  Sorry about that.
• Wheatus don't tend to follow a set list.  Instead, they take requests and make it up as they go along  -playing what the crowd want because they're magical and lovely like that.  My shrill screams didn't register with the band, so my friends kindly banded (haw haw) together and deafened half the room on my behalf. The song I wanted to hear got played.  Ow. My cold, stony heart.
• Getting so uhh.."merry" that the bar tender looked at me as though I had a screw loose when I kept asking him for a Cornetto.  Until he realised that I meant I wanted a Corona.  Same difference.
• Getting to see mother effing Wheatus do what they do best - host a loud, happy, sweaty dance party! 

Ruddy good night! Now. I've just remembered that I've left my car 7 miles away in town and my only mode of transport until A gets home are my legs.  I'm going to go tell myself I'm going to run to it, get changed into my kit and then sit quietly weeping at my gastric discomfort until A comes home and offers to drive me to fetch it instead.  Busy day, people!  Much to do!  Hope you have a good 'un =)

My Dog is a Better Person Than Me

 Yello!

Well, I only left a fortnight between posts this time rather than a month, so that's something!  Couple of people have told me recently that I don't post enough these days, which is both flattering and surprising.  Didn't cross my mind that anyone might read my waffle (initially wrote "consume", but was creeped out for reasons I can't explain by "comsume my waffle."  Consume my waffle, friend! *Lightly touches your knee, maintains intense eye contact*) on the regular.  Thank you to anyone that does.  Means a lot to me that my verbal vom tickles some people enough to have them keep reading these silly posts and encouraging me to carry on.  Just... shut up, you're being soppy!

...something in my eye.  

I don't have a great deal to catch you up on.  Went to a wedding do last weekend and did some moderate to heavy...to oh-my-God-your-poor-pickled-liver imbibing of spirits (not big, not clever, kids!). Here is an image of A and I looking presentable and sophisticated on a bus at 2am:

Sweaty fringed and gurning is the new classy.

Bar that lovely event full of friends I haven't seen properly for a while, I've not got out much.  Evidence:

Yeah.  Don't know.  Haunting, isn't it?

I've got to spend lots of time with my small zoo during my spells of hermitude, which has been nice.  I've been a dog owner (That sounds like too much responsibility.  Dog botherer? Not like that! Jesse and I have a purely platonic relationship.  Almost business associate-esque.  I feed him...he lets me feed him) for about 6 months now, and I've got to know the little bugger quite well.  Him and his many, many odd habits such as:

• Land swimming.
• Staring unblinking at you whilst sitting on your chest in a bid to stop you sleeping.  Ever.
• Running downstairs using only 3 legs - nothing wrong with the fourth, he just doesn't use it on descents for reasons only known to him.
• Cry-breathing even when he's clearly happy.

I've also come to the depressing realisation that if he were to wake up human one day (if we ignore the fact that it would be just a little bit fucking terrifying, especially as he shares our bed and I'm imagining him as an adult *shudder*), he'd be a better person than me.  Here's why: 

1. He loses his shit with joy at having the same food at every meal:
I envy this trait in my mutt.  Don't get me wrong, food excites me more than most things in life.  Life is just stuff that keeps me occupied between meals, and I think that people who "forget to eat" and find that sitting down for munchies gets in the way of a produtivity are clearly from another planet.  However, if I had to eat the same thing for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day of my life, I would probably have to top myself.  If I had my dog's boundless enthusiasm for "OMG MORE dehydrated meat nuggets!  THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!!", I would be capable of eating those "balanced meals" I'm always hearing about at every mealtime as opposed to the cheese-and-sugarsplosions I tend to favour whenever I can get them.  

2.  Everyone is awesome!!
Jesse has zero social anxiety.  With people at least.  He does sound like a kettle coming to the boil whenever the neighbours' jack russell looks at him the wrong way.  He loves and trusts every single person he meets and will proceed to kill them with licks.  I have no desire to sample strangers'  sweat glands with my mouth, but I wouldn't mind not constantly telling myself that I'm "standing in an antisocial way" or "smiling weird" in any given situation where I'm with more than two other people.  

3.  If he doesn't want to do something, he won't.
Walkies in the rain is the main example that comes to mind.  I need walkies more than Jesse does - come rain or shine.  My excess twitchies that need to be walked off  regularly don't give a shit whether it looks like Oz outside or no.  Know who does?  Jesse.  He will allow me to drag him down to the bottom of the street while he acts like he's contracted rigor mortis of the legs, until he finally "gives in" and starts to play crafty buggers with me.  He will pretend like he's all "oh, okay, let's go then" until he finds something interesting to pee on (on a normal walk, this will happen up to 100,000,000,00000..0 times, so this in itself is not unusual).  He will then turn around to face home and start trotting merrily back.  "Yeah, we were going this way, weren't we?  Off we go, human.  Keep up now!"  Wily sod.

4.  He's not deterred by others' blatant hatred of him
Most sane people would back off after just one smack around the head, let alone several.  For six months, Jesse has been pestering the cat with relentless attention.  Walter has been responding with equally relentless hostility - choosing one day to scratch Jesse on the tongue.  Which was terrifying.  When your pooch starts inexplicably bleeding at the mouth and charging in in circles around the garden, you can't help but wonder whether you've adopted one of Satan's minions. Anyhow, this month something weird has happened.  The cat seems to actually like the dog now.  They're having snuggle times, during which Walter will only bat Jesse around the head occasionally - claws in - in an "oh, you!" kind of way.

Lesson learned:  If you get the impression that someone doesn't like you, follow them around day and night and stamp your feet at them until they cave in and have to at least tolerate you

5.  He's easily pleased
We actually have this in common.  If you give me food and let me out to run around occasionally, I'm yours.  However, his excitement is a LOT more visible than mine.  My favourite thing to do at the minute is to buy him things to chew on that are bigger than his head.  This causes him to completely forget how to use his body.  He'll clamp onto the chew with every muscle in his face while the rest of his body goes into freak out mode behind him.  Probably just as well that I don't express excitement in this way.  Don't think I'd make too many friends at Reading Festival this year by growling, whining and dropping to the floor like a bag of ferile cats.

...And for the sake of balance (sort of):

The One Way in Which I am a Better Person than my Dog

I don't take a dump by the front door in dirty protest of everyone else not waking up when I want them to.

Yeah, I'm looking at you, you tiny weirdo.