Eating Well

Right this second, as I’m typing this sentence, I’m munching on the first cookie of a family packet of chocolate biscuits. “Even MORE Choc Chips” it advertises garishly, promoting the fact that you can get away eating the rest of the extra biscuits because at least you intended to buy a regular sized packet. That’s not to say I’m going to actually get through the entire packet, but I at least plan on making a significant dent before 4 o’clock.

Why? Because it’s the weekend, that’s why. What an excuse that is for every bad decision I’ve put into my body for the past couple of days. Another one is that I’m young, and why not? My motto since Friday afternoon has been if I’ll be happy telling the story, then I’m happy enough to do it.

Yesterday while nursing a hangover, I had absolutely nothing to eat apart from a bag of salt and vinegar crisps until a parmo at 9pm. If you’ve never heard of a parmo, it’s a piece of breaded chicken covered in cheese and grease, and will cost you around 2,000 calories per serving – that’s a fact. Not exactly the best dinner to solve my stomach troubles and nausea, but it tasted nice.

I hate to say it, but because of my job, I’m starting to think twice about what I’m eating on a weekend. Maybe spending £20 on cookies and chocolate brownies yesterday was a bad idea, and maybe scoffing these biscuits will do nothing but give me a cheap sugary thrill before storing themselves away in my arteries. Next time I’ll pick a salad.

Tiny Surprises

A few nice things happened to me today, so I thought I’d share! 

1) Meeting nice strangers. I welcomed two women to sit with me in McDonalds (don’t judge me; it was a one-off) because it was busy, so we chatted over our burgers about work and where we’re from, and how nice it was to meet each other. It’s always great, I think, to welcome a stranger into your little bubble for a few minutes. 

2) Freebees. After a long day promoting healthy living on the “health bus”, I managed to grab two stress balls, a pen, one bottle of spring water, a t-shirt and an orange. I ate the orange before I left work, and plan on wearing the t-shirt tonight for bed. A good haul! 

3) I got to see the moon. For a while, I’ve been fascinated with space and astronomy, especially constellations and the moon. Tonight I drove to my boyfriend’s house, and as we walked to get a bottle of wine, the entire estate had a power cut. As we were plunged into darkness, millions upon millions of stars appeared in the sky. We bought the wine, rushed home, and set up his telescope. I saw the moon, the Orion nebula, the Seven Sisters and Beetlejuice. It was perfect.

Let Me Know You?

This is what happens when I post.

The gratitude I feel for every single viewer is more immense than the bond between Kel and orange soda. Stepping cautiously into stalker territory, a huge wish of mine is to be able to know, even speak to, every single person who has ever read any of my blog posts. That’s the truth.

To put it into perspective, if you look at that example from just yesterday, that is 38 people.

Give or take.

It’s not about feedback, or a… Actually, you know what? It is about feedback. Except, not in an egotistical kind of way, but a combination of complete disbelief and genuine interest. I’m surprised, more than anything, how more than 10 strangers have given me the time of day.

This isn’t a “thank you” post; this is an “I want to get to know you” post. I want to bridge that gap between enjoying something, and telling somebody about it. Why? Because it makes me happier than if I was the proud owner of a swimming pool filled with chocolate cake. Or money.

So, nameless viewers, let me get to know you. Let me ask you questions, and talk to you. It means the world to me to have strangers be even vaguely interested in my word vomit.

Don’t make me ask you again, especially if you fell for this link because of the word "naked". You're not the first person to be conned by a marketing scam. Besides, if you've stayed this long, then let me hear about it, too!

Martyrs of Rock

It has been a simple weekend, but not one absent of life’s simple pleasures. 

As I sat yesterday, lounging back in my chair, with a fistful of cheap, greasy cards I could do fuck all with to win the game; something occurred to me. 

There we were, the three musketeers – two guys and me, the girl – hunched around a poker table scattered with beer stains and chips from the night before, messy and stinking of cigarettes, with a tipsy glow about us as at that point, it was 5pm and we’d been drinking since noon. Smoke billowed like hazy circles in the air while in the corner; the casual atmosphere was cut by the dirty bends of Angus Young, mid-solo and half-way through AC/DC’s legendary Back in Black. 

I bopped my head to the track as the solo catapulted into the chorus, and smiled a little to myself. Despite the smoke stinging my eyes and the crappy hand I was about to lose with, the music made me feel like I was in a filthy bar far away, with the muffled gurgling of Harley engines outside… no responsibilities apart from who would be paying for the next round. 

I felt sexy. 

You know, I might be crossing the line between self-loathing and vanity by saying this, but nowadays, somebody has to. The three of us musketeers aren’t exactly a sight for sore eyes. The guys are 20 years old and top rock n’ rollers, kit out in black and matching bad attitudes, and I’m 19, wearing denim and tight trousers… and, well, that’s enough said, isn’t it? 

Yesterday morning sitting in bed, I read a post written by a favourite blogger of mine, Lüc Carl on drunkdiet.com (PLUG), about how rock n’ roll just ain’t sexy anymore. It’s sadly true; the riffs which were conceived to make people want to fuck have been resigned to suburban offices, where your average mid-life crisis can attempt them on their Gibson ES to re-live the years they spent fighting the system. Y’know, before their wives call them down for dinner. 

Rock n’ roll is the sexiest genre of music ever created. It’s a shame that culture doesn’t exist for us young ones anymore, which I suppose is why we stick around in packs like the three of us – united by the appreciation of rock, and bonded by the resulting narcissism. 

It dawned on me yesterday, watching my boys joke about the card game, that it’s almost our responsibility, to resurrect the power of rock in modern society. Between the three of us, we’ve got a sly, lucky bastard with long hair and a suit jacket, a six foot tall body-building fanatic (who I’m proud to call my boyfriend), never seen for more than ten minutes without a beer, and me, the token girl who spends 3 hours getting ready for a night in, and probably has too many opinions for her own good. 

We’re not reliable, and nor are we probably worth much more than the couple of chips scattered across the table, but there’s hope yet. I’m just as proud as a 19 year old girl to listen to Back in Black as my 50 year old neighbour, and something as pathetic as the trends in popular society won’t ever stop me. 

Rock n’ Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution!