Wallow in Self-Pity. It’s Liberating.

I am in a mood.  Actually, I have been in a mood since Monday.  For those of you who are not sure what I mean with “in a mood”, let me explain.  Since Monday I have not been able to snap out of my normal, not so pleasant, grumpy Monday morning personality and I have been a Debby Downer ever since.  Much like Grumpy Cat, I have been somewhat on the “glass is half empty and you can go fuck yourself” side.  But don’t get me wrong.  I am not apologizing.  Everyone is allowed to have a bad day; or in my case a few of them.  I just pity the people around me who have not learned how to deal with me when I am behaving like an emotionally stunted child alternated by me breaking down into a snot filled mess.  The secret is to just ignore me or to say “you are pretty” but you have to get your timing exactly right or else things can get ugly.  After some introspection (talking to our cats because I am eccentric or normal that way) I have come to the bottom of why I am being such a bitch.  It was narrowed down to Vodka, Fat and Pollen.

Not being a big Vodka drinker, other than my love for Bloody Mary's in summer, you may ask yourself why Vodka is upsetting me.  Well the answer is simple – Russia!  You see I recently learned that a certain Vodka company is sponsoring Joburg Pride and this has caused a shit storm in the South African LGBT community.  So much so, that I publically declared that my husband and I will be boycotting Joburg Pride this year.  I mean how can we in good conscience participate in an event that is sponsored by a company from a Fag Hating country?  Attending Joburg Pride would be like saying it’s ok that Russia is treating our LGBT brothers and sisters like shit, but hey at least they have Vodka!  Right?

After posting our plan to boycott Joburg Pride on Facebook, I received some rather unpleasant Facebook messages and emails.  All of which, I suppose, were from Vodka drinking homophobe loving assholes.  Some did get my tits in a twist, but I decided to just let it go.  Frankly, I am not being paid to think for people and I am not here to force my opinions on others (no matter how right they may be).  However, all I will say about this matter is, if you are a LGBT event accepting sponsorships from homophobic companies, companies from homophobic countries or any other homophobic person and/or group it is just as good as saying you condone their attitudes toward homosexuals.  It kind of makes you an event whore and I am not into shit like that.  And because I am not into whoring out my moral values and integrity for money, we are not attending Pride.  So if you want to send me more related hate mail on this subject matter, please don’t waste your time and enjoy your homophobic laced Vodka.  Ok!

Apart from Vodka, I also was mortified to discover this weekend that I actually put on 4 kilograms.  I have never had a good relationship with our scale, I hate that bitch and I am convinced she is a compulsive liar!  I mean really?  How could I have gained 4 kilograms but not have increased my body fat percentage?  Where the fuck did the fat go, or better yet where did the weight come from?  It’s not muscle, I am sad to say.  Also, it’s not like I have been eating that badly lately.  Sure I have stuffed my pie hole with some chocolates, but they were medicinal in that they made me feel better.  After all, chocolate doesn't judge you or tell you that you gained a few.  But scales do.  They should be banned or at the very least be renamed “Deceitful Machines of Soul Crushing Misfortune!”

I am fully aware that I need to start doing something about my weight gain.  I don’t want to end up on some reality show where the person can’t get out of bed and where the show starts with the word “Morbidly”.  Luckily I am too lazy to develop an eating disorder and I am still in what is considered to be a “normal weight” range.  Unfortunately, I have no immediate intention to start with an exercise regiment because that is for people who don’t own cars and have loads of free time.  Besides, I consider herding the bunnies in the afternoons as sufficient exercise.  After all it does contain some running around and some various other unconventional exercises like reaching underneath the car, climbing over wicker furniture, jumping over lounge chairs and crawling around on the ground on all fours.  However, of late this too has seemed to become a lazy routine.  You see, the bunnies too have gained some weight.

Our bunnies have a sweet tooth and, like children, they give preference to the foods they like.  Foods like grapes, apples, pineapple and bananas.  All of which are rich in sugar and the bunnies leave foods like hay, pellets, herbs, and other vegetables for last.  Due to this they too have become somewhat chubby and lazy.  Our herding sessions in the afternoons have gone down from forty minutes to five, maybe ten minutes at best.  They also halfheartedly run, or sometimes stroll away, preferring for me to do most of the physical exertion.  To the point where I wondered last week for who’s benefit am I doing this really.  Sure, herding them is the time they should come into the house for dinner and settle in for the night, also it is supposed to be play and exercise time for them.  Yet, I am the one getting all of the exercise, and lately not even much of that was happening either.  All I really have to do is leave a trail of grapes to the front door and they will come in on their own.  And technically letting them get fat is animal abuse.  So I guess the two bunnies and I are going to have to go on a diet and I possibly may need to buy a giant hamster wheel.

Lastly, I am in a mood because of pollen and I blame global warming for this.  It is August and spring is still a month away in the Southern Hemisphere and yet my garden has decided to start spring early.  Now, most of you who read my blog know that spring is the worst time of year for my allergies.  This is the time of year when I suffer from chronic hay fever; get pink eyes and generally look and feel like shit.  Why nature decided to get a head start, a month early, on torturing my allergies I do not know.  But one thing is for sure, I hope it ends a month early as well.  If it doesn’t then Mother Nature is just being vindictive and taking out her vengeance on humankind for treating her like shit out on me!  So to conclude; No, I am not in a good mood this week.  Vodka, fat and pollen are pissing me the fuck off and I am allowing myself a “wallow in self-pity” week.  If you have never had one, try it.  It’s liberating.  And fattening.

Till next time.

I Want to be a Skinny Bitch

I have never done well with New Year resolutions, particularly not if they involved food or exercise.  New Year’s resolutions have always seemed to me like a wish list that seemed a good idea at the time, after a few glasses of champagne and some misguided optimism.  To date, I have had a 100% failure rate when it came to sticking to or even seeing through these “resolutions”.  But this year I am determined that it will be different.  You see, I firmly believe that my body is on a 5 year cycle.  I have 5 fat years and then 5 thin years and 2013 is the start of my thin cycle.  I know it sounds strange but trust me it’s true.  I am fat and it is time to fight the bulge and get back into shape.

Gaining weight is sneaky.  It happens gradually and sometimes you hardly notice it.  Yes, you start to realize something is happening when you have to hold your breath when putting on those jeans, when your cat falls off the couch while lying next to you because it’s running out of space and when you are growing a second chin.  But denial is a very powerful weapon in my psychological arsenal as is rationalization.  Over the last three years I have noticed that I was gaining weight but I told myself it was healthy, that nobody likes skinny bitches anyway and that I was only five stomach flues away from my goal weight.  Sure I had to go up a size with my shirts and pants but that’s all part of growing older and being big boned, right?  Well, no!

You see the turning point came a few weeks ago when we had the family over for Christmas lunch.  It was a beautiful day and perfect for lounging next to the pool.  Naturally hubby was taking pictures, as he always does, but what I didn’t know was that I was in a few of those pictures.  When I decided to look through those festive photos I got the shock of my life.  I was horrified to see myself sitting on the couch, shirtless looking like an albino whale.  I almost died.  So I deleted it.  But that was not the worst of it.  A few days ago, while in the pool hubby pointed out my belly button.  I will not nauseate you with the graphic details but suffice to say it was an eye opener.  At this point I started resenting the pool as I was convinced that only bad things and terrible revelations are made there.

Having had my go to option of denial shattered into little fat pieces I did the only thing I could at the time.  I sat on the shower floor and cried like a little disturbed child who just survived Chernobyl.  All those crisps, chocolates, cheeses, breads, hotdogs and fries that I ate flashed in front of my eyes and the shower water rained down on me like a calorie hail storm.  I had nobody to blame but myself for the extra of me there was to love.  I had to make peace with the fact that I was fat and I had to decide what I was going to do about it.  Am I going to let myself go, become morbidly obese and possibly develop diabetes and get heart problems?  Or am I going to put my big girl panties on and do something about it.  It may seem like a clear cut decision, but I promise you it wasn’t.

The only things in life I hate more than homophobic religious nut cases are diets and exercise.  Both feel like punishment and both make me cranky as fuck!  You can’t tell me that there are actually people out there that like being hungry and tired all the time and that they do it to themselves on purpose.  I also don’t like to sweat and I despise rice cakes.  But, hey if I want to lose the extra Backstreet Boy that I gained over the last few years I don’t have much of a choice, now do I?  So I decided that I was not going to “let myself go” and that I would hire a personal trainer, go see a dietician and loose the weight.  But that is easier said than done.

You see I am one stubborn bitch and if I am getting a personal trainer that person must have a strong personality and have a high tolerance for whining, bitching, moaning and possibly crying.  I need a person who will be able to push me, motivate me, put me in my place and be able to tell me to suck it up and shut up.  In other words I need a bitch with compassion.  I am sure you are out there somewhere!  I have realistic expectations and I know that I won’t lose all the results of my shameful culinary gluttony in a month or even two months, but the important thing is that I just need to get started.  I also don’t expect to have the body of a Greek God in six months but God knows I will try.

So let’s all agree that this is NOT a New Year’s resolution but rather a lifestyle adjustment, an investment in my health and an attempt to reconcile my negative perception of our pool of shame.  They say nothing looks as good as skinny feels.  I haven’t been skinny in 15 years so I kind of forgot if that is true.  Next week the hunt for a personal trainer starts and my diet commences.  If you eat anything delicious looking near me expect a filthy stare and if you see a cranky sweaty bitch it will probably be me.

Till next time.