27 Wise, Wise Wisdoms

It's mah burfday in a few days, so am celebrating the fact that I've managed to get through another year without taking an anvil or grand piano to the head by writing my annual "Wise, Wise Wisdoms" post to tell you about the many, many important things that I've learned from birth, all the way up to right this second.

Right this second, I am guiltily stuffing melty (because I'm too impatient to wait for them to set) corn flake cakes into my mouth and swigging beer.  Probably not the actions of someone who is truly wise and all knowing, but you'll have to make do.  Or you could do an Amazon search for deeper musings.  But you'd have to pay for those, and proper books take so much longer to read, so...

Anyway, if you have to go, can you get me another corn flake cake on your way out?  Thanks, pal.

For those of you still here, here we go.

*rolls up chocolate smeared sleeves*

1.  If you have any kind of fitness regime, you can attribute any weight gain to "muscle is heavier than fat."  Even when you're suffering from pizza burps and reaching for the crisps drawer.  Denial is a beautiful thing.

2.  Acquiring a dog is more like having a child than you care to admit (despite your total lack of experience with children).  You have to remember when you fed it last.  Lie ins are no longer a thing, and you spend a surprising amount of time contemplating the consistency of and collecting poop (for the bin.  Not for actual poop collection).

3.  Beloved celebrities die with increasing frequency as you get older and every time someone like Rik Mayall/Robin Williams/Terry Pratchett buggers off to the VIP party in the sky, you will feel a bit of your soul go with them.  You will genuinely start to worry about how you'll manage to hold your shit together the day Jim Carey/David Attenborough/Harper Lee etc snuffs it.  Ugh.

4.  The closer you get to 30, the more shameless you get about your Bridget Jones-esque obsession with pop psychology books. Especially ones which are thinly veiled self help books.

5.  You are and always have secretly been Bridget Jones.  Those books are prophecy and not fiction as you originally believed.

6.  Jeans are the devil.

7.  Leggings are the way.  The ones that aren't see through anyway.  Those leggings are most definitely not the way.  The pants I buy aren't pretty enough for those.

8.  I have come to believe (furiously hope) that one day, active wear will merge with every day wear, so that we get to wear stretchy, luminous clothes all year round and never have to get changed for the gym.  The world will become a comfy, pretty, moisture-whicking place, and everyone will be nicer for it because their trousers are no longer leaving unforgiving seam marks in their flesh.

9.  Getting up at 5am for work isn't the living nightmare I thought it would be.  Being up at that hour grants you a certain smugness at having a more "up and at 'em" attitude than the actual sun.  Stupid, lazy sun.

10.  Twice daily dog walks aren't a chore.  I enjoy being walked more than the dog does.  I think that if these walks were to stop, I might start chewing the furniture.

11.  Despite years of people telling me how good Star Wars is and choosing to ignore them, I was still surprised that I liked them.  A lot.  Especially the old, old ones.  So much so, that I've asked to be taken to see the new one on my birthday.  Why didn't anyone tell me they were so entertaining?? Oh, wait...

12.  You must always have at least one smelly candle in the house at all times. I haven't figured out why yet, but I think this might be the secret to being an adult.  Or the secret to always being moments from burning your house down.  Depends how you look at it.

13.  The moment I tell myself I'm going to write anything longer than a blog post (i.e "that bloody novel"), I immediately freak out and stop writing anything altogether.  Including blog posts, journal entries and shopping lists.  May be better in the long run to leave the idea of "that bloody novel" alone.  It only wants to kill all of my productivity.  Stupid bloody novel.

14.  You're more likely to find happiness in small, everyday routines than in achieving the Big Thing that you've been telling yourself you need to do in order to be successful for years (bloody chuffing NOVEL!!).  I have a job I can get immersed in, a gym I can't stay away from, great friends and family, and a boyfriend that turns a blind eye when I steal from his weirdly untouched but ever growing stash of chocolates.  What more could I want?  Apart from more chocolates?

15.  No matter how much I try to convince myself that I will one day figure out how to "eat clean" (whatever the hell that entails), I will not be able to shake the fact that "bad food" is and always will be delicious as fuck.  Food is food and as long as I'm making as much effort to eat enough nutritious things to avoid rickets and/or scurvy during the day, I can have a few(hundred) corn flake cakes too.  Shut up!  Stop judging!  STOP LOOKING STOP LOOKING STOP LOOKING!! *stuffs fifth cake down own top in bid to hide it*

16.  These lists will get a little longer every year what with all the aging.  Now learning/realising that this post will get increasingly difficult to think up life lessons for every year I live.  Oh dear.  Must cram for wisdoms over the coming year.  Wisdom submissions throughout the year welcome, readers.  PLEASE GIVE ME WISDOMS TO STEAL! Err.  Borrow.  I'll pay you in corn flake cakes.  If there are any left.
 
17.  Commutes of over 20mins are great.  Audio book autobiographies and podcasts are even better.  I've taken car journeys with David Mitchell and Amy Poehler chatting away at me through my speakers.  Am so glamorous and cool now, driving with the stars. 

18.  Tiny jumpers immobilize cats: 

"The moment I am free from this contraption will be your last, human!"

19.  Along with the rest of the baffled Western world, I have found myself enjoying Justin Beiber songs more often than I like to admit.  I've now learned to accept that while I am not a true Belieber, I no longer deny  the talent of whoever writes his songs for him these days.  Damn it. 

20.  Much as I think I can, I cannot rap.  Or dance.  But at least questionable dancing can be made fun by enthusiasm.  Rapping can't.  Especially with an accent like mine.  I just sound like someone  who is furious that the cups aren't the right pattern at a tea party. 

21.  Weddings are the best kind of party to be a guest at. 

22.  A marathon is entirely possible to do =)

23.  Eurovision night should be made an international holiday, and the day after it should always be a bank holiday to facilitate hangover recovery and furious downloading of so-bad-they're-amazing songs (Except for German former winner Lena's Satellite, which is just pure brilliance... I almost typed "former German winner" there, but as far as I am aware, she's still very much a German).   

24.  I no longer want to be Beyonce.  I now want to be Amy Poehler and any one of the beast-women I saw on telly in the CrossFit games last year.  Amy Bro-ler...?  Whatever.  I want to be invincible, attractive in tiny shorts, clever and paid to make people laugh with my words. 

25.  Moving to a house that has curtains will not convince your mother that you are an adult who is capable of decorating their home.  Mostly because you aren't an adult who is capable of decorating your home. No, the smelly candle doesn't count as a decoration either.

26.  Finding notes you've written to yourself in your phone months after you've written them is hilarious when they're totally without context:

27.  It's  surprisingly easy to stop giving a shit about how you look. I've mostly stopped untagging unflattering pictures of myself on Facebook and find it much more fun just to point and laugh at my own malleable mess of a face.  Check out this beaut:

I'm sure sure someone out there "would"...maybe someone from the cast of Wallace & Gromit?

Also I would like to point out that this was taken at Christmas.  I don't have a special paper dinner hat that I wear at mealtimes.

 Well, I'd better start thinking about things I need to learn for next year's "28 wisdoms"....Not sure there's enough room for that many wisdoms in my brain.  Might have to delete that last season of Dexter to make space.  It was terrible anyway. Or is that only how my Virgin Media box works?

G'bye!

Reasons To Eat the Thing

So.  It's mid January.  Corporate turkey and Jesus fest is over (I love corporate turkey and Jesus fest.  Praise be Turkey).  Resolutions have been made by many and broken by most.  My genius plan was to write something every day, be it a diary entry, blog post or a bit of fiction. 

How's it going, you ask?  My last post was before Christmas.  As I may have already mentioned, it's mid January.  You tell me how it's going.

Seriously, tell me.  It's going good, right? 

The only habit that I have successfully  managed to strengthen since the house became a barren, tinsel free zone was that of eating sweet treats until I feel sick on at least a bi hourly basis.  Major first world problem, I'm fully aware, but hunger has become an foreign concept to me.  I've forgotten what it's like.  I only assume it's that feeling of being "not nauseous to my very bones."

I blame the boom in the market for "salted and sweet" products.  Popcorn is the worst siren call.  Sweet and salted popcorn is like crack to me.  I think.  I mean, I've never tried crack, but the only things that I can think of that I've been hopelessly addicted to are all food items.   It'd sound weird if I said popcorn is like cheese on toast.  Makes no sense.

Back at work, I have found daily excuses to leave the office and retrieve a my beloved bag of salted, candied crack.  I often buy two bags, thinking that having a spare for the following day will dissuade me from another trip to the supermarket solely to buy a single variety of crunchy snack.  Never works.  I just end up sheepishly (no idea why.  Who's going to catch me?  The food police?  Dear God don't tell me there are really food police) eating both bags in the car on my way from the shop and back to work.  

"Oh, you've been for a walk?"

"Yup, nice to stretch my legs. Get a bit of the old exercise."

"What's that flaky stuff on your face?"

"NOTHING. SHUT UP, AM A HEALTHY, HEALTHY LADY WHO JUST LOVES A LOVELY WALK! NOTHING TO SEE HERE."

I know in the small, shy, logical bit of my brain that rarely comes out of its hole (assume is busy reading and contemplating the universe or something) that eating 2 bags a day of nutritionally void salt and sugar lumps, plus whatever is shaped like a biscuit and not nailed down isn't going to do my mood, well being and health any good in the long run.  However, the other 99.9% of my brain has become something of an expert over the years at fighting off sensible logic-brain at moments of greed.  I have a lot of these moments.  So if you're anything like me and always need an excuse handy for when you might need to consume an entire box of toffees in one sitting (ow, my body hurts.  I feel a new chin coming on), here are some you may use at your leisure:

• I'm tired.
• I'm sad.
• I'm hormonal.
• I'm happy.
• I'm awake.
• I've eaten something healthy and totally deserve a reward for being so saintly.
• I can't look like I'm on a diet or something.  Diets are ridiculous and never work.  It makes much more sense to eat until I hate myself a little bit.  Much, much healthier.
• That particular thing is my absolute favourite thing to eat ever and so I am powerless against it.
• This thing is also may favourite.
• This too.
• I'm bulking.  Bulging? Whatever.  Same difference.
• It's okay if I eat this chewy thing because it's so chewy.  It takes more calories to chew the chewy thing than it does to digest it.
• I regularly exercise.  That means I'm immune to fatty, sugary food, right?  I need the energy.  I'm not putting on fat.  It's muscle.  Lovely, wobbly muscle.
• I need to have a period of eating as though all confectionery is going to be made illegal at any moment before I can turn it all around and emerge, butterfly-like from my poor, abused body.  Eventually.  That's how it works, yes? 
• I've already eaten one crap thing today, so that's today out of the window.  Might as well carry on and start again tomorrow!  Nothing from now until midnight counts as a poor choice.  Hurrah!
• I'm on a Haribo induced shame spiral and so now I need this vat of salty pretzels to counteract the guilt because it's not sweet and so will cancel the sugary snack out.
• It's Friday.
• It's Monday.
• It's a day with the letter A in it.

O-kay, better stop there.  Little bit frightened by the fact that I could carry on for pages and pages.

Before I go, and because "my efforts" to keep this blerg up to date have been pants at best, here are some things:

1. Despite my plan (As you have already seen, I am very good at sticking to plans) to stay away from longer distance races for a good, long while until my ankle gets all-the-way better, I might be signing up to the Llanelli Half Marathon.  I enjoyed the last one, despite the frigid (heh. Frigid) conditions and grim numbness from said frigid (heh heh) conditions.  It's in March and because of my new commute for work, I am unlikely to find the time to put much training in outside of Crossfit and the odd 5k.  Should be an interesting event to say the least. The only thing for certain is that I will cross the finish line if I have to crawl on my elbows, because we had cool beanie hats at the end of the last one, and I really want a new hat.  Hopefully blue this time.  Or purple.  Not fussy.
2. Dog is still alive.  Excellent.
3. Cat is still a resident of our humble abode and has entered into a reluctant friendship with Dog.  Albeit a one sided friendship where Dog repeatedly sniffs Cat's anus until Hell breaks loose.  Aww.  So cute.
4. I recently saw all bar the newest Star Wars movies.  I couldn't be any later to the party, and I want to blog about my reactions to them, but I need to see the newest one first in order to put my inane thoughts down in writing.  Soon.

....Sooooon.

Right, I'm off to have an argument with myself about the merit of getting out of my pyjamas and heading down the street to where my car is parked to retrieve the bag of popcorn I've just remembered I've not inhaled yet.  By out of my pyjamas, I mean "and into clothes".  Don't want to become infamous for being the local naked snacker.

Bye!

Wine O' Clock/ My New, Smelly Housemate

Hiyaaaa!  Have drunk (drunken? Drank? Drenked?  Necked, mate!! ..?) most of a bottle of wine whilst binge watching Channel 4's Secret life of 4, 5 and 6 year olds because...Christmas? Also watching 4, 5 and 6 year olds is fucking funny.  They talk exactly like pissed adults do.  I feel I'm in good company.  I too have attacks of moderate to severe social anxiety whilst in a onesie, cute bespectacled kid.  I feel your pain.  Also, your sheep onesie is way cooler than my penguin one.  Swap?

I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to write about or how my spelling's going to pan out or even if I'm going to publish whatever this is.  Proper edge of your chair, seat of your pants stuff, no?  Normally at this level of "slightly warm and fuzzy" with a hint of "I-want-pizza-NOW-GET-ME-PIZZA-can-we-dance-a-bit-first-though-I-love-you-mate-WHERE-IS-MY-EFFING-PIZZA?!!" tipsy, I start talking at A as an outlet for all my thoughts and feelings.  I have lots of both.  More of one than the other.  I'll let you be the judge.  However...

 

*shrug*

Cat's gone out, so a heart to heart punctuated with long, intense stares of mild disdain is out of the question.  And this one is currently hanging upside down on the sofa in in a creepy, open eyed coma:

  Before the coma.  Would take a picture now of aforementioned coma, but I can see more balls than face (his. Not mine.  Not that I have balls.  I'm unsure why I feel that it's important to underline this fact.  Becky Taunton:  Testicle free since 1988...please put that on my gravestone) in the position he's in.  The internet doesn't need to see this.  Take my word for it, internet.  Am doing you a favour.

What's that, you ask? Who is that hypnotic, severely cute creature (look at the picture again if the mention of balls made you do a little sick in your mouth)?  Just my new dog.

I GOT A DOG!!!! ANDY FINALLY LET ME GET A DOG AND HE'S PERFECT APART FROM THE FACT THAT THE CAT HATES HIM AND HE RAINBOW YAWNS ALL OVER THE CAR ON EVERY TRIP!

.....DOG!!!!! =D

We renamed the little cutie/smelly oaf Jesse in line with the Breaking Bad theme we have on the go with the feline.  We named the cat Walter.  Walter White.  If you have no idea what I'm on about and have never seen Breaking Bad, I'll wait until you have.

 ... Good, isn't it?  Makes meth look like so much more than a drug that makes you repeatedly hoover up all the teeth that keep on dropping out of your head, doesn't it?  I have no idea what the purpose was of that episode with the fly in it either, but I remember it the most clearly for some reason.  Maybe it had a secret meaning that resonated with me?  We are all trying to kill our own flies in the inner lab of the...mind?  Or maybe it was the simplest story arc and all the my brain is capable of actually taking in.

Did they even kill the fly in the end? I think they did.

So.  Yes.  Jesse.  We have had him for a grand total of two days now, which obviously makes us responsible, seasoned canine guardians now.  Obvs.  Here is a list of what I've found to be different in my life since he barfed, snuffled, jumped and napped his way into our lives on Thursday:

1.  It is awesome seeing someone lose their actual mind when you walk in the front door.  I initially felt a little irked that I didn't get this treatment pre-dog, but on reflection, it would have been be weird if upon my arrival home each night, A leaped twice his height in the air and headbutted my legs until I told him enough times that he's a good boy for him to be calm.  Just.. wrong.  

2.  I finally live with a creature who can eat faster than I can.  I'm impressed and have a quiet respect for this.

3.  Been going a bit insane at the fact that even though I like my new job, it involves a heckuvva lot of sitting down.  The days fly by, but I do go home twitching on excess energy.  Dog is answer.  Dog is solution. Dog is the key.  Dog is the secret.  Jesse has taken me on several walkies already.  I look forward to many, many more in the future.  The sooner he learns to throw a frizbee for me, the better.  That's how fetch works, right?  God, I love walkies.

4.  Dog.

5. Dog dog dog dog I HAVE A DOG!!!

Got to go now.  Wine glass is empty and I need another walk.
 
Good talk, guys.  How was my spelling?

How You Know You're the Office Noob

I'm getting worse at blogging regularly, but this month I have an excuse.  The validity of my excuse is debatable, but I'm going to use it anyway.  So there.  

I've been crap lately because I started a new job a few weeks ago.  I've moved on from a full time career in listening to people shout at me about car tax while I do colouring in (disclaimer:  wasn't all bad - got to work with some lovely people, and I will hold the fragmented memories of nights out I've had with said people for a long time.  And they let me do colouring in) to a more rewarding one where I have to use my brain in different ways.

My brain is not used to this.  Until I get accustomed to it, I think I'll continue coming home every weeknight with the I.Q of a baked bean, attempting to put my dishes in the washing machine and staring into empty mugs which held tea that I have no memory of drinking.  Or making, come to think of it.  It's challenging and absorbing, and so far the days are flying by more quickly than I can blink (I have very dry eyes.  Shut up, it's a thing). Also, I've discovered that I actually enjoy commuting with a flask of coffee and a load of podcasts to burn through at the ass crack of dawn.  I found out that I don't really mind occasionally having to get up at 5am to pootle to the office for an early shift either.  What's wrong with me?

My new work folk have made being a noob a nice experience for me, and I'm trying to return the favour by fucking as little shit up as possible.  So, far, so good.  I think.  I mean, nothing's caught fire under my watch and no one has sustained minor injuries as a result of my work.  Even if I am working in an office and the biggest injury I could probably inflict is a paper cut.  It's been a good couple of years since I've been the office fresh(ish) meat.  Here's what I've been reminded it's like to be the new guy in town:

How You Know You're the Office Noob

1.  You're so "helpful" that it's annoying.

Yes, you're eager to show willing and so grateful to have been given your new role that you offer to do EVERYTHING.   You then need to ask those same people you've ever-so-kindly taken those jobs from (because you're a bloody saint, you are) to show you very... slowly... what to do from scratch, ultimately resulting in them doing all the work anyway but in half the speed they normally do it so that your blank little mind can keep up.

"Wait, wait.  Can you show me that again?  I missed that part."  Look how helpful I'm being!

2.  Offering to make tea for the first time = stress sweats.

Okay.  So there are about 20 people in the room with me, and every one of them has made me a cup of tea or coffee at least once this week.  I need to offer to make one for them soon, or they'll assume I'm a terrible, selfish person.  But what if they all say yes at the same time?  How will I remember who wants tea? Coffee? One sugar?  Two sugar?  None? Strong? Weak?  What if I give them someone else's mug by accident and then they all tell me I'm wrong?  *Gasp* what if no one tells me I'm wrong and I keep making them the wrong thing in the wrong mug forever and they secretly resent me more and more for the rest of my career until they want to stab me in the leg with a teaspoon?  THIS IS SO STRESSFUL!!  

Reality (realit-tea...haw haw)

Noob: "Who wants a drink?"

All of office bar the two people who drink only black coffee: "No, I'm good, thanks."

3.   Novelty makes every nice thing about the job seem AMAZING!

We don't have to work weekends?  Hells yes!  There's a kettle within a few feet of my desk?  Omg! I can eat food at my desk?  Outside of my lunch break? Wow! And I get paid money to come here?  My new colleagues aren't fascist, violent, fire breathing lizards from space? Shit, this job is THE BEST!!  

4.  You spend a good 50% of your brain power trying to rein in the clumsy.

These people don't know that you have a penchant for spilling tea up walls while you're stood still and for tripping over wires that aren't actually there.  For all they know, you're a tight rope walking ballerina in your free time.  Enjoy that while it lasts, and try not to chew on the wrong side of your biro again 'kay?  We don't want another blue moustache.

5.  You feel a sweet, sweet sense of relief that your new place of employment appreciates cake just as much as your previous job.  Thank God.  Thank God for cake. Cake is the best, isn't it? Mmm, cake.  What was I writing about again?  I don't care.  I'm going to find some cake.

Too Old for this Ish

Current status:  Sitting with a bird's nest on top of my head and a cup of tea (cup of tea is on table, not head. Bird's nest not stable enough to stand hot beverages on). Fluffy dressing gown deployed.  Slippers are go.  I am one bad ass father-mucker.   Considering going for a 3 mile shuffle around the block, but the dressing gown might make me look a few chunks short of a stew.  

I can't handle hang overs any more.  I'm nearing my twenty eighth birthday and quickly realising that I'm no longer one of them "yoots" (innit).  Last week, I went to Cyprus to attend a friend's wedding, along with 40-odd other people.  It was a magical day: we laughed, we cried, A gave a best man's speech (he was actually best man. Didn't just bulldoze his way into the speeches for shits and giggles), we were flung around by traditional Cypriot dancers.  Much memories.  Such wedding.

It was the other 6 days that nearly had me crying to my mummy, clutching my poor, pickled liver.  I met some fantastic girls who had also come down for the occasion, but fuck me, they could drink! I thought I liked a bit of the falling down water, but these girls were in another league altogether.  Every night they had us piled into taxis to Ayia Napa for shots, shouts and shisha pipes (also dubious cocktails dispensed from giant, plastic cocks), and every night I had the kind of night where you go home with a sore face from smiling so much (or in my case, a sore face from tripping over my own feet and face planting a board walk.  Classy girl).  But the mornings.  I don't think there was a morning on that holiday where I didn't wake up with some degree of hang over.  They ranged from "Oof, my head's a bit hurty.  I think I'll sleep it off on the sun loungers" to 

"CALL AN AMBULANCE, I THINK THE ALIEN OFF OF ALIENS IS ABOUT TO BURST OUT OF MY STOMACH!!  SHUT THE WINDOWS! BRING ME FOOD.  DON'T LOOK AT MEEEEE!!!"

This enlightening experience has taught me that there are certain things I can't handle as well as I used to be able to as I clatter my way through adulthood.  Here goes, then:

Drinking

See above example.  Every time I go out, I now need at least 3 days to recover.  By no means have I stopped my beloved nights on the tiles, but the recovery time is much, much more grim that it used to be.  As a student, I could take full advantage of the drinks discounts on Student Night in town and then happily trot off to work in Debenhams the next day for my 9am shift.  Sure I had to spend the occasional 5 minutes hiding in the big, walk-in freezer going "Uuuuuunngh!", but it was mostly okay.  Nowadays, my hang overs span 3 phases over as many days:

Phase 1: The Hang Over - this is the part that is traditionally associated with the day after the night before.  Headache.  Stroppiness.  Desire to eat anything and everything at eye level.  Standard.

Phase 2: The Feels - This is like PMS on 'roids.  Am extremely sensitive and prone to getting a bit teary eyed at adverts.  "What do you mean stop crying?  SO many people haven't claimed back their PPI.  They could be owed thousands.  IT'S SO SAD!!"

Phase 3: The ZZZs - Feeling deceptively human, but so mentally drained that I can't remember basic vocabulary and the fact that I can't actually walk through walls.

Trying to be liked

Okay, yeah.  I'm a people pleaser, so part of me will always care at least a bit what people think of me.  I hate the idea of making someone feel bad or letting them down, even if by "letting someone down" I mean being a fraction of a second late to meet them for coffee.  But, I have given up on agonizing over whether people like me, which is an excellent development because it frees up my brain for higher purposes like deciding whether to grill or microwave my bacon or whether I should start wearing more hats.

It's not my business what a person thinks of me, and trying to force friendship on anyone only makes things worse. I'd like to think this lesson came to me because I'm maturing, but I think it has more to do with how cats react when I hug them too hard.

Sitting down without going "oof"

At what age did this become something I do??  I'm only twenty seven and I've already started making grandpa noises.  It's only a matter of time before I start standing in my doorway, shaking my fist and telling the neighbour kids to get off my damn lawn.

Getting up without saying "oof"

Same.

Mess

Much like with the drinking, this one's a bit hypocritical.  Am currently surrounded by the flotsam and jetsam of household crap that needs putting away/dusting/pushing under to bed to be ignored until I desperately need the thing and can't remember where the hell I put it so I have to go out and buy a new thing, only to find the old thing when I've already made the purchase of the new thing.  Difference is, mess never used to bother me.  It does now.  I'm hardly a domestic goddess (or anywhere in the hierarchy of domestic deities to be fair), but I can't relax when I'm surrounded by my own crap (as in stuff. I'm messy, not filthy).  I actually clean these days.  And sometimes... don't tell anyone... I enjoy it.

I know.  I know.  It sickens me too.

Welp.  I'll be off then.  Time to think about what I can drink tonight at Mr & Mrs Cyprus' home wedding do that will give me enough pretend confidence to attempt to force friendship on some more people, while I dig through a pile of clothes, looking for a particular pile of clothes within the pile of clothes.  I'd better get up now.

Oof.

 Cyprus, take me back!  I promise I'll behave this time!

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

Run Like You Called Someone a Jogger

I gone and dunnit! I made it through the Lloyds TSB Cardiff Half Marathon with all my body parts still attached! Thanks to a couple of trips to Rosie the Magical Osteopath (still trying to cook up a jaunty jingle to go with that title), my foot appears to be my friend again.  It at least tolerated me well enough to behave during 13.1 miles of probably the second most enjoyable (first being Liverpool.  Takes a lot to beat a band on every mile and a medal that looks like headphones) long distance race I've ever done.  Two days after the event, which is usually delayed onset muscle soreness happy-fun-time for me, I can still bound up and down stairs without looking like I've pooped my pants or misplaced my kneecaps.  Hurrah!

You can't see it, but I actually jumped for joy then.  Because I can still jump! Yippee, look at me go!

My finishing time was 2hrs, 37mins.  About the speed I usually do a half in, give or take a few minutes.  Far from breaking any records but for once, I didn't care.  Like, at all.  My happy-go-lucky shamble (or if the official photos are anything to go by, 13 mile chimp impersonation).  Posture, Becky!  Posture!!) meant that I got through the event unscathed, and that I wasn't pushing myself hard enough to allow it to suck.  Why throw my money dollars at an event if I'm going to be wheezing, stressing and suffering through the whole thing?  I'd rather have actual, nice memories of things I've seen.  Not PTSD.

So, memories... Imagine you're a 5-foot-and-a-fart, pasty twenty something in shorts (with a case of mild chub rub between the thighs because Papa Johns exists) and come see the event through my eyes.. *mysterious hand waving*

The Start

I'm chuffed that my first ever longer distance running event back in 2013 was the Cardiff Half.  It properly set the tone for what I should expect from a race. The buzzy energy is freaking magical.  There are so many entrants that it's not unlike a festival.  Something ridiculous like 27,000 of us squished together to run Cardiff's streets together.  With all that lycra and plastic gear, I wouldn't be surprised if we gave off a lovely static glow. 

Suppose that's why the energy was so...electric...

Haw haw.  Anyway, look at our excited little faces! 

Oo-eer, lookit all 'em knees!

Owners of said knees, left to right:

Gareth:  Shaved off approx 15mins of personal best.  Threw up an army of WHOLE ENTIRE jelly babies at end of race, all with a smile on his face.   Warrior!

Sam: Ran her first ever half in a ridiculous time and left the rest of us trailing in her dust.

Me:  I do have forearms.  Picture just makes me look like an uncooked chicken.

James: Eats half marathons for breakfast.  Possibly because they don't have carbs (heehee sorry, James. Couldn't resist).

Arwel: Beast moded it through the half, setting the pace for Gareth (hence jelly baby incident), immediately disappeared after race for a cheeky Nandos. Fair one.

 

Ready, steady, AAAAAAAGH!!!

The Bloody Rowing Boat

When you're a long distance shuffler like myself, you get used to running alongside the people in fancy dress.  You can look at in in two different ways:

1.  You are the same speed as, or slower than someone who is overheating in a Tigger onesie/breathing in 13 miles of their own hot breath in a plastic Darth Vadar Mask/wearing full cricket gear; including the bat, helmet, shin pads and knitted jumper (all of the above and more have whooshed by me in the past).  This is depressing as shit and you wind up deciding that you are not a real runner.

2.  All the racers up at the front are only seeing other people clad in lycra, huffing and puffing after their PB or position on a pedestal.  You, however are in a fantasy land where Mario and Luigi are running right alongside a hot dog and bottle of mustard with legs, and people are sharing their sweets with you.  No hallucinogenics required.  It's all getting a bit Alice in Wonderland up the back, and it's awesome! 

I don't know about you, but I prefer outlook #2.  However...these two guys in one costume did take the biscuit (speaking of biscuit, I got through the whole race on a single digestive biscuit kindly donated by some church folk because the race ran out of energy gels.  No idea what was in that biscuit, but I think I'm using biccies for fuel from now on. Mmm Hobnobs).  Look:

Not content with passing by me just the once like most people, I counted at least...At least four times that this pair sailed (sorry, rowed) past me.  They kept being asked to stop for photos, which they politely did, all before picking the pace back up and cruising on by, like they do everything in tandem in their normal lives.  Seriously??  Fair play to them, though.  Running that far with an actual boat strapped to the pair of them must have taken some co-ordination!

Jesus Guy

Saw an article about this guy after the race.  Apparently they stopped him from doing this at the London Marathon this year, and this isn't the first time he's wheeled a MASSIVE crucifix over a ridiculous distance.  I'm not 100% whether he was doing it for charity or his own personal reasons, but just...wow!  I don't like carrying a bottle of water when I'm running, let alone a ruddy great big cross.  Applause to you, crucifix dude!

 

Never seen a cross wearing a bum bag before.

 

The Supporters

Anyone who has run the Cardiff Half would probably tell you the same thing.  The best thing about the day is the fact that the city's residents come out in droves to offer cheers and refreshments.  I nearly fell over with glee when I saw that the same retirement home as the one I saw in 2013 were sat in a big row outside their building waving signs again this year.  Best.  Supporters.  Ever.  Again, I enjoyed high-fiving small children as I went.  The home made signs were top notch this year too.  Couple of my favourites:

RUN LIKE YOU JUST CALLED SOMEONE A JOGGER

and

THIS IS A MOTIVATIONAL SIGN.

Zombies!  Run!

Got through 3 story "missions" (one which was a tad emotional and almost had me having a little cry in public.  Did the British thing by swallowing my feelings and buggering on) on my wonderful app.  Had to turn the zombie chases off after a point because there were just too many people around to get much of a sprint on.  Not worth clothes lining myself over, or trampling a poor unsuspecting runner.  The story mode alone made the race fly by.

Frands!

Was lovely starting the race with the four smiling faces in the top pictures.  I may have lost them all within the first fifteen minutes because they don't run like the air is made of jam like I do, but crossing the start line in our little huddle and having a medal wearing gang waiting at the finish line to share experiences with gave me the warm and fuzzies.  If any of you are reading this, well bloody done, you speedy freaks!   Until next time!