(no subject)
Dearest best beloveds, I am in a much better mood today despite having a growly sore throat, apparently zinc makes me near invincible.
You don’t know what a bad mood I was in yesterday, do you? Duh. Silly me. I deleted that little diatribe before it was posted. And then I spent an hour or so on the phone to rosamicula cackling like witches and being itterly foul-mouthed and then I ate toast and went to bed.
But tonight I GET TO MEET (WELL BE IN THE SAME ROOM AS) GEORGE CLOONEY. Yeaaaaaaah.
But yesterday was sucky. In a sucky way that I am always ashamed to admit. If someone nice, attractive, with unweird hair and really, and I cannot stress this enough, properly single does not kiss me BY THE END OF THE YEAR THERE WILL BE TROUBLE. I know. I am 17. Move on. I feel daft for admitting it, but I'm gonna keep on saying it until it happens. I'm totes not moping, mind, let me tell you that. It's just I am happy and things are bloody brilliant - I'd just like that particular gap filling in. If you'll pardon the expression.
Basically…almost properly middle-aged woman wonders why she keeps on wondering why…I've seen pictures…I'm pretty foxy sometimes. In fact in at least three of my social circles (I have about 7 separate social circles - it's sort of like Hell only more convivial) people clamour for me to entertain them. And yes I know that sex or knobbing around in pairs because you're too insecure to go anywhere alone is not terribly important (but it must be alright otherwise people wouldn’t bother, would they) and also yes, if I keep on at this pace I will own my own house outright by the time I am 55 and WHOOO INDEPENDENT LAYDEE bla bla bla…but this…now? This is not what I signed up to. I want way more. And if so I must put in way more. Ugh. Effort. Boring.
I have a totally madcap plan. Now I am just normal…sort of a 12-14 kind of girl again…the weight I was at Uni…and we all know I can drop several stone at the drop of a hat (if the hat was very light and took about 6 months to drop)…but seeing as one of my New Imaginary Best Friends is Jilliam Michaels…I've kind of been inspired to see if I can get Properly Fit. Like actually ripped (only not with scary Madonna arms, definitely not with that) I need to play silly games with myself to keep driving myself…and that one seems kinda right. Also, I've been reading a lot on ageing and ladies who do weights do way better than ladies who do not. Also it means I am more likely to maintain my refound normality if I am working towards a definite level of fitness. Also I hate the feeling that I now just look like a lady with a mild case middle-aged spread rather than someone who's finally managed to stop eating all the pies (every day, I still eat all the pies a couple of days a week, I just undereat by several pies on the other 5 days) and has done rather well thank you very much. I want to look like a rock star even if I am not one. This is, I suppose, the build-up to Project Rockstar - where if the whole settled family thing is really not going to happen then I am going to spend my 40s actually living like I should have done in my 20s.
You don’t know what a bad mood I was in yesterday, do you? Duh. Silly me. I deleted that little diatribe before it was posted. And then I spent an hour or so on the phone to rosamicula cackling like witches and being itterly foul-mouthed and then I ate toast and went to bed.
But tonight I GET TO MEET (WELL BE IN THE SAME ROOM AS) GEORGE CLOONEY. Yeaaaaaaah.
But yesterday was sucky. In a sucky way that I am always ashamed to admit. If someone nice, attractive, with unweird hair and really, and I cannot stress this enough, properly single does not kiss me BY THE END OF THE YEAR THERE WILL BE TROUBLE. I know. I am 17. Move on. I feel daft for admitting it, but I'm gonna keep on saying it until it happens. I'm totes not moping, mind, let me tell you that. It's just I am happy and things are bloody brilliant - I'd just like that particular gap filling in. If you'll pardon the expression.
Basically…almost properly middle-aged woman wonders why she keeps on wondering why…I've seen pictures…I'm pretty foxy sometimes. In fact in at least three of my social circles (I have about 7 separate social circles - it's sort of like Hell only more convivial) people clamour for me to entertain them. And yes I know that sex or knobbing around in pairs because you're too insecure to go anywhere alone is not terribly important (but it must be alright otherwise people wouldn’t bother, would they) and also yes, if I keep on at this pace I will own my own house outright by the time I am 55 and WHOOO INDEPENDENT LAYDEE bla bla bla…but this…now? This is not what I signed up to. I want way more. And if so I must put in way more. Ugh. Effort. Boring.
I have a totally madcap plan. Now I am just normal…sort of a 12-14 kind of girl again…the weight I was at Uni…and we all know I can drop several stone at the drop of a hat (if the hat was very light and took about 6 months to drop)…but seeing as one of my New Imaginary Best Friends is Jilliam Michaels…I've kind of been inspired to see if I can get Properly Fit. Like actually ripped (only not with scary Madonna arms, definitely not with that) I need to play silly games with myself to keep driving myself…and that one seems kinda right. Also, I've been reading a lot on ageing and ladies who do weights do way better than ladies who do not. Also it means I am more likely to maintain my refound normality if I am working towards a definite level of fitness. Also I hate the feeling that I now just look like a lady with a mild case middle-aged spread rather than someone who's finally managed to stop eating all the pies (every day, I still eat all the pies a couple of days a week, I just undereat by several pies on the other 5 days) and has done rather well thank you very much. I want to look like a rock star even if I am not one. This is, I suppose, the build-up to Project Rockstar - where if the whole settled family thing is really not going to happen then I am going to spend my 40s actually living like I should have done in my 20s.