My blog posts have been rather thin on the ground of late (insert snow related joke) and the reason for this is because I have taken a hit recently; something has gotten the better of me - something that I thought would never have the chance to get the better of me. No, it's not the swine, it is writer's block.
Yes, writer's block has knocked me for six and I am at a loss as to how to resolve the issue. See, I never thought I would ever be a writer and thus never thought I would be suffering from said affliction. I mean, I am not saying that I am a literary genius or anything (Good old Dr. Seuss' got that covered) but I suppose I do 'write'. I am 'writing' now. Actually, I am typing - I thought I should be honest. I do wish I was scrawling with an inky quill in a leather bound note pad though (with only the light of my solitary candle to see by, and an old dog for company). That ain't the case though, so lets not get sentimental about it, now where was I... Ah. Writer's block.
It came as rather a shock the first time I realised what had happened. I sat down at my desk, with a cup of steaming coffee in hand and my creative head on, all ready to bash out another humorous-yet-clever-with-a-hint-of-melancholy post for you all to get your teeth into when suddenly my brain froze. Actually, just one part of my brain froze (the bit that comes up with the humorous-yet-clever-with-a... you know the drill), the rest of it went BESERK. I had no idea what was going on! Why couldn't I write anything?? Why couldn't I THINK of anything to write?? I tell you, the experience is not a nice one. I shouldn't wish it upon anyone (except maybe Piers Morgan).
I am still in the throws of this affliction. Yes yes I know I am writing this but this doesn't count as I am talking about my writer's block, and not actually writing about anything else - you see! It has taken over my brain. Argghh. In fact, I am even running out of things to write about writer's block...this is a very sorry state of affairs.
Send your remedies this way please. Let's have this sorted by Christmas, eh? That's the spirit.
Friday, 24 December 2010
Wednesday, 15 December 2010
...a couch potato
The fact that I have not written a blog post since November sort of sums up this post before I even write a second sentence. It has been a hectic few months to say the least (Santa has got nothing on me). However, term is over and I am finally home in the beautiful north, sitting back in the comforts of my family home - not a grimy carpet or empty cupboard in sight. There is a Christmas tree waiting to be decorated and hours of christmas tv to emerse myself in.
Yet, before I sink into the sofa for good, I feel I need to take a few moments to look back over my final ever 'first term' and come to some conclusions about it (I am a terribly pensive creature at times).
September to December has been a bit of a rollercoaster ride - but a rollercoaster ride at flamingo land, that is essentially a bit shit. There was a mini high when I got back to uni, followed by a massive low when my loan didn't come in, then a slow incline, another high and finally it sort of petered out on the home straight.
You may liken it to the X-factor live shows - mini high on the eve of the first show, massive low when you realised you had 10 more weeks to get through, a slow incline as you realised Wagner was progressing much further than anyone could have hoped, another high as Katie Waissel was finally give the boot, and then it sort of petered out when you remembered you could just wait for the result each week to filter through your facebook news feed.
Ok, so I may be trivialising things a little bit; the tiredness that hit in the home straight has dulled the highs a bit, yet thinking back, I have had quite an extraordinary term.
Back in september, I was given a show to present on the student radio station, which has resulted in me interviewing ridiculously brilliant people and gaining work experience at a REAL LIFE radio station (student radio does not fall under this category). I also got a job at the Students Union. Yes people, this was a highlight. Call me a Loser and a Nerd if you want but the SU really helped me - financially and otherwise (I learnt how to drink enough so that you are able to fall down stairs).
On a more serious note though, I did sign up for an Open-mic Night and successfully navigated my way through 2 songs in front of a silly amount of people. I love singing, but singing in front of people is something I don't do; I just don't. But I did that night, and it was the most amazing feeling in the world. And I shall do it again. And I might just tell people about it this time...but that is a big might.
So whilst I did struggle with money, and had a schedule that resembled that of an elf's in Santa's grotto who ballsed up the List two days before christmas, I have actually had a really great few months. I am pleased that in my third year at Royal Hollway (aka the bubble) I have not been slitting my wrists and praying for the day that I can escape the place, but rather making the most of these last few months we have in the safety net that is education.
Right, so some conclusions have been made, and a blog post has been written. Now to write that essay, read a few plays and get to the gym. I guess I wont be sinking into the sofa just yet then...
Yet, before I sink into the sofa for good, I feel I need to take a few moments to look back over my final ever 'first term' and come to some conclusions about it (I am a terribly pensive creature at times).
September to December has been a bit of a rollercoaster ride - but a rollercoaster ride at flamingo land, that is essentially a bit shit. There was a mini high when I got back to uni, followed by a massive low when my loan didn't come in, then a slow incline, another high and finally it sort of petered out on the home straight.
You may liken it to the X-factor live shows - mini high on the eve of the first show, massive low when you realised you had 10 more weeks to get through, a slow incline as you realised Wagner was progressing much further than anyone could have hoped, another high as Katie Waissel was finally give the boot, and then it sort of petered out when you remembered you could just wait for the result each week to filter through your facebook news feed.
Ok, so I may be trivialising things a little bit; the tiredness that hit in the home straight has dulled the highs a bit, yet thinking back, I have had quite an extraordinary term.
Back in september, I was given a show to present on the student radio station, which has resulted in me interviewing ridiculously brilliant people and gaining work experience at a REAL LIFE radio station (student radio does not fall under this category). I also got a job at the Students Union. Yes people, this was a highlight. Call me a Loser and a Nerd if you want but the SU really helped me - financially and otherwise (I learnt how to drink enough so that you are able to fall down stairs).
On a more serious note though, I did sign up for an Open-mic Night and successfully navigated my way through 2 songs in front of a silly amount of people. I love singing, but singing in front of people is something I don't do; I just don't. But I did that night, and it was the most amazing feeling in the world. And I shall do it again. And I might just tell people about it this time...but that is a big might.
So whilst I did struggle with money, and had a schedule that resembled that of an elf's in Santa's grotto who ballsed up the List two days before christmas, I have actually had a really great few months. I am pleased that in my third year at Royal Hollway (aka the bubble) I have not been slitting my wrists and praying for the day that I can escape the place, but rather making the most of these last few months we have in the safety net that is education.
Right, so some conclusions have been made, and a blog post has been written. Now to write that essay, read a few plays and get to the gym. I guess I wont be sinking into the sofa just yet then...
Thursday, 25 November 2010
...in a winter wonderland
The snow is here! Well, it's up north. Back home in Newcastle and Durham, there were four inches this morning. Mother called; she pretended to be annoyed at the situation but I know fine well she can't wait for me to get home so she has someone to build a snowman with.
'Georgia pet, you should go out and get some fresh air you know, it will make you feel miles better' roughly translates as, 'GEORGIA IT'S SNOWING AND MY INNER CHILD HAS BEEN AWOKEN! I WANT TO GO OUTSIDE AND PLAY WITH THE SNOOOWWWWWW!' Last year, I built an igloo (I know, I know - bloody impressive) and she could barely keep away.
Adults try and deny the joy they feel when the snow begins to fall - they feel it necessary to moan about it instead. I, however, do not understand why it is a problem that 'the roads are so bad I can't make it into work' - at what age do you stop appreciating occasions when nature intervenes and stops you from having to do the mundane things that are normally unavoidable?
I am sure you all felt the same joy and satisfaction I did when school was closed because the ice and snow had created conditions too treacherous for public use; or, when the roads had been flooded so badly by the rain storms the previous night that there was no way you were making it to college that day.
Ahh, such guilt-free pleasure.
I don't think the arrival of snow will ever make me grumpy. For me, snow has connotations of magic and enchantment; it makes me think of home-comforts, love and childhood fun. While many of you may have hoped for that letter of acceptance into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I was always secretly hoping to find the wardrobe into Narnia (minus the scary White Queen, if possible).
Anyway, as I hear news of the snow and as I sense the down hill slope towards the end of term drawing near, all I want to do is sip at hot drinks, wrap up in my warmest of woolies, listen to festive music and snuggle down in front of a log fire without the worry of busy timetables and approaching deadlines.
Word on the street is that the snow is to arrive here, in the south, in the next day or so. I am brimming with joy at this news. So if I am not struggling through an essay in Founders Library, with Mumford and Sons', 'Winter Winds' to keep me company, you will be sure to find me either sat by a log fire surrounded by empty mince pie cases, with a wooly hat on my head and a mug of eggnog in my hand, or outside frolicking in the beautiful snow ( filled with mince pies, a wooly hat on my head and a mug of eggnog in my hand).
Come and join me :)
'Georgia pet, you should go out and get some fresh air you know, it will make you feel miles better' roughly translates as, 'GEORGIA IT'S SNOWING AND MY INNER CHILD HAS BEEN AWOKEN! I WANT TO GO OUTSIDE AND PLAY WITH THE SNOOOWWWWWW!' Last year, I built an igloo (I know, I know - bloody impressive) and she could barely keep away. Adults try and deny the joy they feel when the snow begins to fall - they feel it necessary to moan about it instead. I, however, do not understand why it is a problem that 'the roads are so bad I can't make it into work' - at what age do you stop appreciating occasions when nature intervenes and stops you from having to do the mundane things that are normally unavoidable?
I am sure you all felt the same joy and satisfaction I did when school was closed because the ice and snow had created conditions too treacherous for public use; or, when the roads had been flooded so badly by the rain storms the previous night that there was no way you were making it to college that day.
Ahh, such guilt-free pleasure.
I don't think the arrival of snow will ever make me grumpy. For me, snow has connotations of magic and enchantment; it makes me think of home-comforts, love and childhood fun. While many of you may have hoped for that letter of acceptance into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I was always secretly hoping to find the wardrobe into Narnia (minus the scary White Queen, if possible).
Anyway, as I hear news of the snow and as I sense the down hill slope towards the end of term drawing near, all I want to do is sip at hot drinks, wrap up in my warmest of woolies, listen to festive music and snuggle down in front of a log fire without the worry of busy timetables and approaching deadlines.
Word on the street is that the snow is to arrive here, in the south, in the next day or so. I am brimming with joy at this news. So if I am not struggling through an essay in Founders Library, with Mumford and Sons', 'Winter Winds' to keep me company, you will be sure to find me either sat by a log fire surrounded by empty mince pie cases, with a wooly hat on my head and a mug of eggnog in my hand, or outside frolicking in the beautiful snow ( filled with mince pies, a wooly hat on my head and a mug of eggnog in my hand).
Come and join me :)
Thursday, 18 November 2010
...a little less grey
There's a pensiveness about me today that feels like it has the power to engulf me if I don't do something about it. It's as if a greyish mist has settled around me, cushioning me and lulling me into its depths. It isn't a frightening feeling, in fact it's one that I could quite happily allow to envelop me in that guilty-pleasure sort of way. I musn't let this happen though; I must stand up to it and unwrap its fuzzy arms from around my waist; I must push its head away from the nape of my neck where it rests, and wriggle from its grasp.
Perhaps its the late nights, or the darkness creeping in at each end of the day, or something else entirely...
There is a song that has me sort of mesmerised whilst I sit in the warmth of this mist, doodling and dreaming and staring out at the blackening sky...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9AFMVMl9qE&playnext=1&list=PL36F2E00D3E72E901&index=23
The words are really quite beautiful, if a little sentimental, but have me hooked.
And now to escape from the clutches of this greyish haze and the silly emotional spell that has befallen me, and on with the evening...
Perhaps its the late nights, or the darkness creeping in at each end of the day, or something else entirely...
There is a song that has me sort of mesmerised whilst I sit in the warmth of this mist, doodling and dreaming and staring out at the blackening sky...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9AFMVMl9qE&playnext=1&list=PL36F2E00D3E72E901&index=23
The words are really quite beautiful, if a little sentimental, but have me hooked.
And now to escape from the clutches of this greyish haze and the silly emotional spell that has befallen me, and on with the evening...
Saturday, 13 November 2010
...an optimist
My fourth radio show today went (almost) without a hitch. I am starting to relish the hours spent in the studio with just the sound of my own voice for company, and the knowledge that somewhere, out there, someone could be listening to what I have to say and appreciating it. The fact that I received zero emails again this week puts serious doubt in my mind about the existence of this solitary listener, however, as someone wise* once said, ‘you gotta have faith (a-faith a-faith)’.
This week I was lucky enough to be treated to an interview with the BBC Radio Sports presenter/producer (and Royal Holloway alumni), Ed Harry, who gave some amazing feedback on his life as a Holloway student back in the late 90’s and on his current career at the Beeb. He was an amazing advocate for a career in radio and totally inspiring.
Ed knew what he wanted to do from the age of 15, and endeavored to make that happen from then on. At 16, he was working at his local radio station in Cornwall and writing for his school newspaper. When he arrived at Royal Holloway he started writing for the student paper, and started up the radio society, which is now the radio station from which I broadcast my show. His c.v. must have looked rather impressive by the time he came to graduate.
I am not far off graduating and feel that my c.v. has some serious gaps in comparison. While I feel grateful to Ed for sharing his experiences and advice, hearing how he was so pro-active from such an early age makes me quiver in my boots.
It makes me wish I could either,
1) control time and rewind back to make sure I was pro-active and focused 5 years earlier than I actually was;
2) be in possession of the Queens Nose 50 pence piece and wish my way to success or,
3) exchange my mother for Julie Walters/Judy Dench/any successful actress and my father for Ian Mckellan/David Jason/any successful actor (this would surely give me some helpful contacts).
Given that option 1 is impossible and options 2 and 3 are a tad ludicrous, I will just have to deal with my lot in life and continue on with grit and determination in pursuit of my dream.
I may not have known what I wanted to do at the age of 5 and by the age of 8 I may not have had my first presenting job on the Disney channel – but this is no reason to panic; I am still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and have time to gain experience and fill in those gaps on the old c.v.
It’s never too late – and I say this more to myself than anyone else – have faith.
*I use the term ‘wise’ in relation to George Michael, loosely. I do not advocate DUI, indecent exposure, or cheesy pop songs.
Sunday, 31 October 2010
...a radio whiz
You may, or may not, be aware of the fact that you are reading the blog of the next Jo Whiley/Sara Cox/Annie Mac. Yes, I am on my way to the upper echelons of the media broadcasting world with only my discerning wit and raw talent for company. Soon the words 'Georgia' and 'Robson' will not have to be mentioned consecutively in order for you to know that it is moi who is the topic of conversation. Radio will never be the same again, and all will be dwarfed by my presence.
Orrrrrrrr, not.
I had you all for a second though, didn't I?! Where did I lose you? Was it at the words 'next Jo Whiley'? Or did you teeter on for a bit, get to 'upper echelons' and realise I was pulling your proverbial leg?
Let's be frank about this - I am not the next bigshot radio presenter. That's that.
I do, however, have a radio show. It is in its infancy, and just like a new born, it should bring me joy and fulfillment but actually only brings me sleepless nights, shed loads of worry and a hell of a lot of work. You see having a radio show - in theory - is marvelous. Yet, in reality, only when you have a team of producers/technicians around you pulling levers and pressing buttons and keeping you on track, a plethora of willing guests, and a good few millennia of experience under your belt does the theory actually match the reality. Until then, the fear of hosting your on show, during which you have to be constantly engaging, entertaining and technically 'on-the-ball' is completely paralysing.
I have had two shows up till now, the second being the worst, suprisingly. My first show was a melange of nerves, bad song choices and a motley crew of guests (and when I say guests I mean reluctant mates who I dragged into the studio to act as human lifeboats, just in case the show started to go under). I had one email into the studio during the whole show, which was from one of my guests who had escaped and made it back to the safety of his own home. The excitement of this email was soon dampened by the fact it was him and not a rogue listener who had tuned in to hear my dulcit tones on air. Oh well, at least it was an email. My second show was devoid of any form of outside communication.
The second show which aired just yesterday (the experience is still quite raw) had similar aspects to the first. Nerves were present, bad songs choices in abundance (I blame this on the nerves as never in my own time would I sit and listen to the drone of The Bangles', Manic Monday) yet there was a severe lack of guests. In fact, there was a severe lack of people in general - I was a lone wolf for the duration of the show and it was a harrowing experience; hearing your own forced laughter echoing of the walls of the empty studio and rattling through the corridors is a real atmosphere killer. Anyway, I did my best to emulate some sort of energy and engagement with the listeners. Well, I would of, had there been any. Yes, this week I didn't even get ONE email. Nor did I get a text or a tweet. No one commented on my content; no one offered up a shout-out or a high-five for the good work; It was a one way road in a deserted land.
It was a humbling experience.
The show must go on though and so it did. I stumbled my way around the buttons and switches, deciding this week to bring in my own laptop to use as well as the two computer screens and switchboards I already had to manage (good one, Georgia). There were errors and stutters and a whole array of technical blunders, but I made it to the other side and live to tell the tale.
The feeling after the show is euphoric. I literally feel like I am flying - I MADE IT THROUGH!!!!!! And yes, I make mistakes but never as many as I allow myself to imagine I might make before I go on air. If I'm honest, it is all worth it for that post-show high. I cannot wait for the time when I am completely in control of all those buttons and levers and could conduct the show with my eyes closed (if the need arose); I eagerly await the day that I have guests queuing at the door to come on air with me and I will think back to these days as a rookie presenter, and throw my head back and laugh at the inexperienced me.
Until then though, I am quite content to put up with the sleepless nights and worrisome days...as long as I get some bloody emails.
Orrrrrrrr, not.
I had you all for a second though, didn't I?! Where did I lose you? Was it at the words 'next Jo Whiley'? Or did you teeter on for a bit, get to 'upper echelons' and realise I was pulling your proverbial leg?
Let's be frank about this - I am not the next bigshot radio presenter. That's that.
I do, however, have a radio show. It is in its infancy, and just like a new born, it should bring me joy and fulfillment but actually only brings me sleepless nights, shed loads of worry and a hell of a lot of work. You see having a radio show - in theory - is marvelous. Yet, in reality, only when you have a team of producers/technicians around you pulling levers and pressing buttons and keeping you on track, a plethora of willing guests, and a good few millennia of experience under your belt does the theory actually match the reality. Until then, the fear of hosting your on show, during which you have to be constantly engaging, entertaining and technically 'on-the-ball' is completely paralysing.
I have had two shows up till now, the second being the worst, suprisingly. My first show was a melange of nerves, bad song choices and a motley crew of guests (and when I say guests I mean reluctant mates who I dragged into the studio to act as human lifeboats, just in case the show started to go under). I had one email into the studio during the whole show, which was from one of my guests who had escaped and made it back to the safety of his own home. The excitement of this email was soon dampened by the fact it was him and not a rogue listener who had tuned in to hear my dulcit tones on air. Oh well, at least it was an email. My second show was devoid of any form of outside communication.
The second show which aired just yesterday (the experience is still quite raw) had similar aspects to the first. Nerves were present, bad songs choices in abundance (I blame this on the nerves as never in my own time would I sit and listen to the drone of The Bangles', Manic Monday) yet there was a severe lack of guests. In fact, there was a severe lack of people in general - I was a lone wolf for the duration of the show and it was a harrowing experience; hearing your own forced laughter echoing of the walls of the empty studio and rattling through the corridors is a real atmosphere killer. Anyway, I did my best to emulate some sort of energy and engagement with the listeners. Well, I would of, had there been any. Yes, this week I didn't even get ONE email. Nor did I get a text or a tweet. No one commented on my content; no one offered up a shout-out or a high-five for the good work; It was a one way road in a deserted land.
It was a humbling experience.
The show must go on though and so it did. I stumbled my way around the buttons and switches, deciding this week to bring in my own laptop to use as well as the two computer screens and switchboards I already had to manage (good one, Georgia). There were errors and stutters and a whole array of technical blunders, but I made it to the other side and live to tell the tale.
The feeling after the show is euphoric. I literally feel like I am flying - I MADE IT THROUGH!!!!!! And yes, I make mistakes but never as many as I allow myself to imagine I might make before I go on air. If I'm honest, it is all worth it for that post-show high. I cannot wait for the time when I am completely in control of all those buttons and levers and could conduct the show with my eyes closed (if the need arose); I eagerly await the day that I have guests queuing at the door to come on air with me and I will think back to these days as a rookie presenter, and throw my head back and laugh at the inexperienced me.
Until then though, I am quite content to put up with the sleepless nights and worrisome days...as long as I get some bloody emails.
Thursday, 21 October 2010
...in the money: Part III 'Income(ing)'
Readers, it has been a while, but I am back with another installment of this seemingly hilarious tale of financial woes.
Entering student life, as most of you will know, pretty much leads to minus numbers in your bank account - but it's manageable. However I have reached new levels this term as a result of my phantom loan and an overdraft the size of Mary Byrne's chest. Today I got some more good news (not). I received a lovely email from the college stating that they were reducing the amount of money I receive through a scholarship programme. This is essentially because they refuse to acknowledge that the economy has shifted this past year and therefore won't change any of their criteria. How moronic.
I swear someone smacked me with the unlucky stick sometime in early September and I am still reeling from it now.
Saying that, a little luck has started to trickle through as last week I announced to the world that..... (drum roll please)..... I was employed! Yes, I have secured an income; I am no longer a scavenger living of money that isn't mine - I can now call my mother up, with my head held high, and say, 'mum, I am a working woman, please can I borrow a tenner'.
I was pretty ecstatic when I got the news. I mean, it's only a job behind the bar at the S.U, and I have to deal with drunk, imbecilic loons till 3 in the morning who request ludicrous amounts of sambuca shots and then proceed to spill them all over the bar in their comatosed state (but then stare at you with that look that says 'that was my fault but I am going to try and pin it on you').
However beggars can't be choosers and I most certainly was a beggar. I still am a beggar for now...but luck - and money - are incoming, so I feel things may turn around for me after all.
Entering student life, as most of you will know, pretty much leads to minus numbers in your bank account - but it's manageable. However I have reached new levels this term as a result of my phantom loan and an overdraft the size of Mary Byrne's chest. Today I got some more good news (not). I received a lovely email from the college stating that they were reducing the amount of money I receive through a scholarship programme. This is essentially because they refuse to acknowledge that the economy has shifted this past year and therefore won't change any of their criteria. How moronic.
I swear someone smacked me with the unlucky stick sometime in early September and I am still reeling from it now.
Saying that, a little luck has started to trickle through as last week I announced to the world that..... (drum roll please)..... I was employed! Yes, I have secured an income; I am no longer a scavenger living of money that isn't mine - I can now call my mother up, with my head held high, and say, 'mum, I am a working woman, please can I borrow a tenner'.
I was pretty ecstatic when I got the news. I mean, it's only a job behind the bar at the S.U, and I have to deal with drunk, imbecilic loons till 3 in the morning who request ludicrous amounts of sambuca shots and then proceed to spill them all over the bar in their comatosed state (but then stare at you with that look that says 'that was my fault but I am going to try and pin it on you').
However beggars can't be choosers and I most certainly was a beggar. I still am a beggar for now...but luck - and money - are incoming, so I feel things may turn around for me after all.
Saturday, 9 October 2010
...'the blogger'
The blogger - definition*:
One who is given this label due to the writing of a blog. Often given this label in jest - for the amusement of others.
This is an odd post as I have not - and am not currently - aspiring to be 'the blogger of the group'. It is a label that has befallen me ever since word spread to the masses about this blog of mine (when I say masses, I mean my facebook friends).
Last night, I found myself surrounded by said 'group'. The subject of my blog popped up in conversation as a fan of mine (bahaha) mentioned to the others that I had a blog, and that he was a frequent reader - excellent news. However, the mention of my blog did not spark a discussion on the quality of writing, the role of blogs in our society, or a discussion on how it came about ('my story: from blog-rags to blog-riches'). What did occur was an explosion of blog-related gags and witty comments that flowed for the rest of the night; my drinking game name was blog-f*uck and it wasn't a problem if anyone missed a joke, or an anecdote, as I would blog about it the next day.
I want to note, at this point, that none of this offended me or had me crying in the loos - regretting the day I submitted that first post. It was flattering (to a degree) and yet it made me think about how some people must now perceive me.
This may come as a shock to you all, but many of my 'friends' on facebook and twitter are not actually my friends. I KNOW - it's disturbing (lets just keep calling them friends for now for fear I might offend and because it is possible these 'friends' include you). Yet these 'friends' can still get to my blog, read it, judge it, scorn it, praise it, without knowing anything else about me but what is written here. So to many of you out there, I am the girl who blogs - 'the blogger'. I am simply that girl who is having money troubles; the one who went to the same gym as a dwarf and a dennis the menace lookalike; the busy one. Forever** people will say to me, 'you write a blog don't you?' and the words, 'I read your blog today' will be the sentence that saves me and this other person from that awkward silence that comes in a conversation after the pleasantries are out of the way.
So, I have become the blogger. I suppose there could be worse things.
p.s. They were right. I have blogged about it the next day.
*unofficial definition
**I say forever, my blog could dry up next week, but I'm taking the 'glass is half full' route here
One who is given this label due to the writing of a blog. Often given this label in jest - for the amusement of others.
This is an odd post as I have not - and am not currently - aspiring to be 'the blogger of the group'. It is a label that has befallen me ever since word spread to the masses about this blog of mine (when I say masses, I mean my facebook friends).
Last night, I found myself surrounded by said 'group'. The subject of my blog popped up in conversation as a fan of mine (bahaha) mentioned to the others that I had a blog, and that he was a frequent reader - excellent news. However, the mention of my blog did not spark a discussion on the quality of writing, the role of blogs in our society, or a discussion on how it came about ('my story: from blog-rags to blog-riches'). What did occur was an explosion of blog-related gags and witty comments that flowed for the rest of the night; my drinking game name was blog-f*uck and it wasn't a problem if anyone missed a joke, or an anecdote, as I would blog about it the next day.
I want to note, at this point, that none of this offended me or had me crying in the loos - regretting the day I submitted that first post. It was flattering (to a degree) and yet it made me think about how some people must now perceive me.
This may come as a shock to you all, but many of my 'friends' on facebook and twitter are not actually my friends. I KNOW - it's disturbing (lets just keep calling them friends for now for fear I might offend and because it is possible these 'friends' include you). Yet these 'friends' can still get to my blog, read it, judge it, scorn it, praise it, without knowing anything else about me but what is written here. So to many of you out there, I am the girl who blogs - 'the blogger'. I am simply that girl who is having money troubles; the one who went to the same gym as a dwarf and a dennis the menace lookalike; the busy one. Forever** people will say to me, 'you write a blog don't you?' and the words, 'I read your blog today' will be the sentence that saves me and this other person from that awkward silence that comes in a conversation after the pleasantries are out of the way.
So, I have become the blogger. I suppose there could be worse things.
p.s. They were right. I have blogged about it the next day.
*unofficial definition
**I say forever, my blog could dry up next week, but I'm taking the 'glass is half full' route here
Thursday, 7 October 2010
...a bee
As in, the busy type.
Although there is really no need to aspire with this one - I have aspired, achieved and am already feeling the consequences!
I have always been one to bite off more than I can chew, and third year at university is apparently going to be no different. I can hear my Mum already, 'you just need to prioritise, Georgia'. Yes, yes, mother, that is all well and good, but when you have agreed to be 'on air', broadcasting to the world at 1 o'clock on a wednesday when you know full well that some weeks that is definitely going to clash with hockey matches (for the hockey club that you gave your allegiance to years ago), it is a little hard to 'prioritise'.
Anyway, I have prioritised. I prioritised fitting in all of my commitments over eating/resting/communicating with others (these things waste so much time, don't you think?).
So, here is a little run down of my week for all you aspiring bee's out there:
Monday - The first day of the week is kind to me - schedule wise - like an old friend, who can see I have fallen on stressful times, and eases me back into things gently. I have a lovely free morning.
Then - things get going. 3 hours of dance, 2 hours of hockey training, some sort of dance/drama audition and finally, home for dinner by about 10pm.
Tuesday - 10 til 5 lectures. What a bitch. Tuesday is in no way kind, like my old friend Monday, therefore I have nothing more to say about it.
Wednesday - An early start. First to the library to catch up on work, then - a radio show at 1, a hockey match all afternoon, and social to follow.
Thursday - write a blog, plan my radio show, tidy up, go to the physio, more uni work. Then at 6pm, BOOM, I have 3 hours of dance rehearsals.
Friday - The worst day. I hate Friday. I hate you - do you hear? Up at 7am for fitness at 8am. At 10am I have lectures....until 5pm. At 5pm, I have to be at hockey training. After this, I should be social and go out to the union, but I have no doubt that at this point I will fold inwards and collapse into a pile of exhausted dust particles (can dust be exhausted? I'm sure after a day like Friday it can be). I will not resume my former shape and 'wholeness' until the following morning.
And finally, The Weekend - A time for relaxation, for catch ups and phone calls to friends. Or, in my case, the days you write your essays, do your reading, fill in your sketch book, go to drama school auditions and play league/cup hockey games. Awesome.
As well as these commitments, I am choreographing a dance for which I need hours of rehearsal time; I am planning to get a job and work; I have to go and see exhibitions and shows to supplement my course and at some point, I need to chill the f out. I don't make my life easy for myself do I? I also feel the need to tweet about it all day long too, which is another time consumer. Not to mention getting my daily fix of facebook. Sometimes, I wish I was a technophobe.
Or a life-aphobe. That would just be the best solution to be honest - to be afraid of living. Then I could just curl up and sleep all day, everyday, without the worry of meeting my goals, or feeling fulfilled or keeping fit. Yeah. That sounds perfect. So then, a life-aphobe it is. Looks like I will be seeing you all never.
Thursday, 30 September 2010
...lucky
I feel, of late, I have had a severe case of bad luck - or FML syndrome as it is now quite commonly dubbed. It is such an unpleasant affliction; it makes you angry and upset; it takes things from you, breaks things, confuses proceedings; bad luck is something you wish you could avoid, but is unavoidable. It strikes you when you least expect it, and when you least want it to.
FML syndrome has struck hard so I thought I should give you a run down of the evidence leading to my diagnosis, as during tough times like this, I feel it best to share...
1. My couriered belongings got lost en route to me
2. My student loan did not arrive
3. I missed an audition (Ã la Joey in Friends)
4. A water bottle opened inside my bag and flooded it
5. Because of no. 4 my new expensive leather purse has water damage
6. Because of no. 4 my blackberry stopped functioning, started again, stopped, now wont function properly
7. After an audition I didn't miss, I was not chosen for the cast
8. A banana was thrown in a crowded bar and struck me square on the forehead*
So to conclude, FML.
I already feel better for telling you all about this horrible set of circumstances, and as I start the day with a cup of steaming coffee in my hand and a new blog post to deliver to you I don't feel like this is the end of the world.
I am sure that this streak of bad luck will run out some time soon (reassurance, please?) and until then I just have to ride it out with a positive attitude. On that note, I'll leave you with a few wise words from some inspirational greats...
'Life is a shipwreck but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats' - Voltaire
'Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference' - Winston Churchill
'A cloudy day is no match for a sunny disposition' - William Arthur Ward
Bad luck - Be gone!
*This actually happened. Last night.
FML syndrome has struck hard so I thought I should give you a run down of the evidence leading to my diagnosis, as during tough times like this, I feel it best to share...
1. My couriered belongings got lost en route to me
2. My student loan did not arrive
3. I missed an audition (Ã la Joey in Friends)
4. A water bottle opened inside my bag and flooded it
5. Because of no. 4 my new expensive leather purse has water damage
6. Because of no. 4 my blackberry stopped functioning, started again, stopped, now wont function properly
7. After an audition I didn't miss, I was not chosen for the cast
8. A banana was thrown in a crowded bar and struck me square on the forehead*
So to conclude, FML.
I already feel better for telling you all about this horrible set of circumstances, and as I start the day with a cup of steaming coffee in my hand and a new blog post to deliver to you I don't feel like this is the end of the world.
I am sure that this streak of bad luck will run out some time soon (reassurance, please?) and until then I just have to ride it out with a positive attitude. On that note, I'll leave you with a few wise words from some inspirational greats...
'Life is a shipwreck but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats' - Voltaire
'Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference' - Winston Churchill
'A cloudy day is no match for a sunny disposition' - William Arthur Ward
Bad luck - Be gone!
*This actually happened. Last night.
Thursday, 23 September 2010
...'in the money': Part II
I am furious. I am literally the most angriest person in the whole world. Reason? I found out why my student loan has not arrived. For some reason, when I applied - MONTHS AGO - my application was never processed.
THANKS FOR TELLING ME!!!!!!
All of this time, I have been waiting, patiently, to see my overdraft disappear in one fell swoop at the arrival of my first loan installment, whilst someone, somewhere, in an office looked at my application and decided it wasn't fit to be processed. Fine - maybe there was an error or a mistake on my form. What isn't fine is that this person did NOTHING about it. Surely there is some system for unsuccessful applications? Would it really be so hard for the student loan company to arrange for a letter, or even an email, to be sent alerting you to the fact that in two months time, when university begins, you will not be getting any money and that you need to do something about that now, or else live in poverty for the rest of time? Come on, people!!!!
I just could not believe what I was hearing. This is basically how the conversation with the student loan company went...
Me: My loan hasn't come.
Them: Right, let me check that out for you...here it is...yep, your original application was not accepted.
Me: WHAT?!
Them: your original loan was never acc...
Me: I heard you the first time. So what do I do now?
Them: You have to reapply and then wait for your new application to be accepted before you get any money.
Me: How long will that take?
Them: I couldn't say, possibly a few weeks.
Me: Why was I never told?!
Them: I couldn't say.
Me: I have no money, what do I do until my loan comes in?
Them: I cou...
Me: let me guess, 'you couldn't say'
Them: Well...yes.
Absolutely the most useless person I have ever been subjected to.
I really have no idea how I am going to manage. I have two months rent to pay, with October just around the corner, and I am at the end of my overdraft. My mum has lent me a bit of money so far, and can help me out a bit with money for food etc. but my rent and bills are totaling over a grand. She doesn't just have that kind of money hanging around to throw at me at a moments notice. If she did I probably wouldn't be in financial ruin at the young age of 21.
It is just the worse luck. Last year when I had savings and a job, my loan was right on time, and the year before, my loan was practically early. Yet when I am a penniless pauper, after spending months 'in the red', my loan doesn't come. It was not even late, like I originally thought, it actually wasn't even coming.
I wanted to cry when I found out. I still want to cry. I feel like I'm at a complete loss and there is nothing I can do. So far I have managed to numb the pain by using up my last thirty quid on alcohol and late nights, but now what am I to do?
I feel like I should get some sort of compensation for the ineptness of the student loan company, or at the very least for that ridiculous phone call I was put through. If anyone out there, reading this, works for the student loan company, beware - you have a very, VERY, poor and angry girl after you.
Looks like I will be living rough after all. No jokes this time.
THANKS FOR TELLING ME!!!!!!
All of this time, I have been waiting, patiently, to see my overdraft disappear in one fell swoop at the arrival of my first loan installment, whilst someone, somewhere, in an office looked at my application and decided it wasn't fit to be processed. Fine - maybe there was an error or a mistake on my form. What isn't fine is that this person did NOTHING about it. Surely there is some system for unsuccessful applications? Would it really be so hard for the student loan company to arrange for a letter, or even an email, to be sent alerting you to the fact that in two months time, when university begins, you will not be getting any money and that you need to do something about that now, or else live in poverty for the rest of time? Come on, people!!!!
I just could not believe what I was hearing. This is basically how the conversation with the student loan company went...
Me: My loan hasn't come.
Them: Right, let me check that out for you...here it is...yep, your original application was not accepted.
Me: WHAT?!
Them: your original loan was never acc...
Me: I heard you the first time. So what do I do now?
Them: You have to reapply and then wait for your new application to be accepted before you get any money.
Me: How long will that take?
Them: I couldn't say, possibly a few weeks.
Me: Why was I never told?!
Them: I couldn't say.
Me: I have no money, what do I do until my loan comes in?
Them: I cou...
Me: let me guess, 'you couldn't say'
Them: Well...yes.
Absolutely the most useless person I have ever been subjected to.
I really have no idea how I am going to manage. I have two months rent to pay, with October just around the corner, and I am at the end of my overdraft. My mum has lent me a bit of money so far, and can help me out a bit with money for food etc. but my rent and bills are totaling over a grand. She doesn't just have that kind of money hanging around to throw at me at a moments notice. If she did I probably wouldn't be in financial ruin at the young age of 21.
It is just the worse luck. Last year when I had savings and a job, my loan was right on time, and the year before, my loan was practically early. Yet when I am a penniless pauper, after spending months 'in the red', my loan doesn't come. It was not even late, like I originally thought, it actually wasn't even coming.
I wanted to cry when I found out. I still want to cry. I feel like I'm at a complete loss and there is nothing I can do. So far I have managed to numb the pain by using up my last thirty quid on alcohol and late nights, but now what am I to do?
I feel like I should get some sort of compensation for the ineptness of the student loan company, or at the very least for that ridiculous phone call I was put through. If anyone out there, reading this, works for the student loan company, beware - you have a very, VERY, poor and angry girl after you.
Looks like I will be living rough after all. No jokes this time.
...'in the money'
University has begun, the freshers have arrived, the returners have reappeared but my student loan is no where to be seen.
I am in dire straits. I have 30 pounds left to my name. On any normal week that would be an issue. On freshers week, at one of the most expensive university's in the country, that is what you call a disaster. There is food to be bought, tickets to be purchased and alcohol to be drunk; yet at this rate, by the time my loan shows its sorry little face, I will have wasted away, the tickets will be sold out and I will no longer remember what alcohol is. Tragic.
I can't even drown my sorrows in a pint glass, as I can't afford a pint of anything. I could probably just afford a shot of something, but that wouldn't be sufficient enough to drown all of my sorrows - I am VERY sorrowful.
This summer has generally been a bad one, money wise. I don't know how I got into such a financial mess but it's been awful. I've had to sell myself on street corners and allow my body to be used for medical experiments just to earn a bit of cash....well, almost. I did sell a few belongings on eBay. I was constantly 'in the red' and no matter what money I put into my account, it just got eaten up by my huge overdraft.
I had a job for a while but every pay check went straight back out for my rent. When I got home from uni, I tried to get a job but no where wanted me on such a short term basis. It was then my birthday, and I was counting on getting a hefty sum of money from relatives and the like (it was my 21st after all) but that plan fell through too - I ended up with a measly 100 pounds (yes I am ungrateful and bitter but I'm allowed to be, I'm poor).
When you have no money everything feels that little bit harder. I know they say love makes the world go round but money definitely makes it all run a little smoother. I felt guilty buying a coffee in town and worried whether it was a bit of an extravagance to do so; I had to debate whether it was worth spending a fiver on a return bus fare to town, or out for drinks, if it wasn't for something really important; I had to sit and watch others eating food, or buying drinks when we were out, as I couldn't afford to do the same. It was tough.
I can hear you all out there, telling me to stop moaning, and haven't I heard about the starving childen in Africa?! And yes, of course I know there are people worse off than me in the world, but when you can't pay your rent and you fear you might end up living rough with only a stray dog for company, it is REALLY hard to think about anything other than your shitty bank balance.
So, as you can imagine, I was really looking forward to my student loan landing in my bank account and making everything easier again. But no, apparently that is not what the big man in the sky wants for me. I am destined to find my meals in dustbins and sleep in doorways for the foreseeable future. I will let you know when I surface above the poverty line again, if that ever happens, and until then you will be able to find me and my stray dog in any local rubbish dump/shop doorway.
I am in dire straits. I have 30 pounds left to my name. On any normal week that would be an issue. On freshers week, at one of the most expensive university's in the country, that is what you call a disaster. There is food to be bought, tickets to be purchased and alcohol to be drunk; yet at this rate, by the time my loan shows its sorry little face, I will have wasted away, the tickets will be sold out and I will no longer remember what alcohol is. Tragic.
I can't even drown my sorrows in a pint glass, as I can't afford a pint of anything. I could probably just afford a shot of something, but that wouldn't be sufficient enough to drown all of my sorrows - I am VERY sorrowful.
This summer has generally been a bad one, money wise. I don't know how I got into such a financial mess but it's been awful. I've had to sell myself on street corners and allow my body to be used for medical experiments just to earn a bit of cash....well, almost. I did sell a few belongings on eBay. I was constantly 'in the red' and no matter what money I put into my account, it just got eaten up by my huge overdraft.
I had a job for a while but every pay check went straight back out for my rent. When I got home from uni, I tried to get a job but no where wanted me on such a short term basis. It was then my birthday, and I was counting on getting a hefty sum of money from relatives and the like (it was my 21st after all) but that plan fell through too - I ended up with a measly 100 pounds (yes I am ungrateful and bitter but I'm allowed to be, I'm poor).
When you have no money everything feels that little bit harder. I know they say love makes the world go round but money definitely makes it all run a little smoother. I felt guilty buying a coffee in town and worried whether it was a bit of an extravagance to do so; I had to debate whether it was worth spending a fiver on a return bus fare to town, or out for drinks, if it wasn't for something really important; I had to sit and watch others eating food, or buying drinks when we were out, as I couldn't afford to do the same. It was tough.
I can hear you all out there, telling me to stop moaning, and haven't I heard about the starving childen in Africa?! And yes, of course I know there are people worse off than me in the world, but when you can't pay your rent and you fear you might end up living rough with only a stray dog for company, it is REALLY hard to think about anything other than your shitty bank balance.
So, as you can imagine, I was really looking forward to my student loan landing in my bank account and making everything easier again. But no, apparently that is not what the big man in the sky wants for me. I am destined to find my meals in dustbins and sleep in doorways for the foreseeable future. I will let you know when I surface above the poverty line again, if that ever happens, and until then you will be able to find me and my stray dog in any local rubbish dump/shop doorway.
Wednesday, 15 September 2010
...something bigger and better
It's funny how you imagine your life will pan out when you're young. When I was 9 or 10 I remember watching a documentary on Britney Spears; She was a 17 year old girl, who was massively famous with a no. 1 already under her belt. That will be me, I thought. I was 10, so I worked out I had 7 years to get to where she was (maths was a strong point of mine). Plenty of time!
At 13, I was still a regular girl from Newcastle, with that dream of being famous at 17. I hadn't given up hope at this point though - I still had 4 years yet!! No need to worry.
I'm now 21, and you might not have guessed, but I am not famous. I am not known the world over for my singing ability, or my acting skill. I do not have millions of fans screaming my name, and aspiring to be like me. Thing is, when I hit 17, and realised that my life hadn't gone the way I thought it might, it was a bit of a blow, but I knew I was still young; I didn't give up that dream of becoming successful because by then it had manifested itself into something more. I was now at the point where it was an ambition to be an actor - gone were the days when I just wanted to have the Britney Spears lifestyle, this was serious now.
The fact I was still a nobody though was also serious. And at 21, it is even more so than ever.
I have three close friends who all graduated at the start of the summer, and only one has got a job and is working now. I have other friends who, like me, have another year of study left, but ultimately are at a bit of a loss as to what will happen when this year is up. Then, I have friends who seem to have it sorted. These are the people I hate. The people who stress me out without knowingly doing so. The ones who when you ask what their plan is going to be, can succinctly tell you what they will be doing this time next year. More often than not, these people don't actually know for sure that their plan will run it's course, however they have done so much leg work already, its seems almost inevitable that it will.
At 21, my aspirations have altered slightly. My dream now is not simply to become a successful actor; I am very interested in television and radio, and the presenting side of things. Even writing has much more of an appeal than I ever thought it would. Yet, I know there are so many other people out there with similar aspirations, and I know one of these people.
This person, lets call them Jo, wants to go down a similar path to me. Jo also falls into the category of one of those people who unknowingly worries me. Jo has already got masses of experience. There's the amateur radio show, the impressive following of media professionals and music industry buffs on twitter, the blog, the work experience with big media companies - the list goes on. How can I compete with someone like this? Why did I not start years ago, and build up this back catalogue of resources and experience?
It has gotten to the time in our lives where we need to be pro-active, for our own sakes. For me, for my friends who have graduated, and for those who have no idea which way they are going in life, this is make or break time. It pains me to say it, but it's true.
All we want to do really is rely on our parents, have fun, have money, and have things sorted out by the magic elf who comes to all adults and turns their lives into something resembling a respectable job and lifestyle (there is no magic elf, but who told us? nobody, that's who). This is the time in our life when things change, and it is no longer possible to go from day to day knowing your parents will take care of things, or to think its ok to meet your mates in town every other day for a Starbucks and a quick shop around Topshop for a new outfit for the following night out.
We have to be responsible, pro-active, productive, have energy and drive, and start to make things happen. Otherwise we will never be bigger and better. I should have started all this a while ago and I am sorry I didn't.
Jo, I hate you yet simultaneously, you are my role model (sorry Britney, times have changed). Its time to stop messing around and go for whatever it is I, and you, want to do. Don't panic, don't be scared, just take it one step at a time, and make sure you know your direction.
Things can happen, but, frustratingly, only we can make them happen. Ain't life a bitch?!
At 13, I was still a regular girl from Newcastle, with that dream of being famous at 17. I hadn't given up hope at this point though - I still had 4 years yet!! No need to worry.
I'm now 21, and you might not have guessed, but I am not famous. I am not known the world over for my singing ability, or my acting skill. I do not have millions of fans screaming my name, and aspiring to be like me. Thing is, when I hit 17, and realised that my life hadn't gone the way I thought it might, it was a bit of a blow, but I knew I was still young; I didn't give up that dream of becoming successful because by then it had manifested itself into something more. I was now at the point where it was an ambition to be an actor - gone were the days when I just wanted to have the Britney Spears lifestyle, this was serious now.
The fact I was still a nobody though was also serious. And at 21, it is even more so than ever.
I have three close friends who all graduated at the start of the summer, and only one has got a job and is working now. I have other friends who, like me, have another year of study left, but ultimately are at a bit of a loss as to what will happen when this year is up. Then, I have friends who seem to have it sorted. These are the people I hate. The people who stress me out without knowingly doing so. The ones who when you ask what their plan is going to be, can succinctly tell you what they will be doing this time next year. More often than not, these people don't actually know for sure that their plan will run it's course, however they have done so much leg work already, its seems almost inevitable that it will.
At 21, my aspirations have altered slightly. My dream now is not simply to become a successful actor; I am very interested in television and radio, and the presenting side of things. Even writing has much more of an appeal than I ever thought it would. Yet, I know there are so many other people out there with similar aspirations, and I know one of these people.
This person, lets call them Jo, wants to go down a similar path to me. Jo also falls into the category of one of those people who unknowingly worries me. Jo has already got masses of experience. There's the amateur radio show, the impressive following of media professionals and music industry buffs on twitter, the blog, the work experience with big media companies - the list goes on. How can I compete with someone like this? Why did I not start years ago, and build up this back catalogue of resources and experience?
It has gotten to the time in our lives where we need to be pro-active, for our own sakes. For me, for my friends who have graduated, and for those who have no idea which way they are going in life, this is make or break time. It pains me to say it, but it's true.
All we want to do really is rely on our parents, have fun, have money, and have things sorted out by the magic elf who comes to all adults and turns their lives into something resembling a respectable job and lifestyle (there is no magic elf, but who told us? nobody, that's who). This is the time in our life when things change, and it is no longer possible to go from day to day knowing your parents will take care of things, or to think its ok to meet your mates in town every other day for a Starbucks and a quick shop around Topshop for a new outfit for the following night out.
We have to be responsible, pro-active, productive, have energy and drive, and start to make things happen. Otherwise we will never be bigger and better. I should have started all this a while ago and I am sorry I didn't.
Jo, I hate you yet simultaneously, you are my role model (sorry Britney, times have changed). Its time to stop messing around and go for whatever it is I, and you, want to do. Don't panic, don't be scared, just take it one step at a time, and make sure you know your direction.
Things can happen, but, frustratingly, only we can make them happen. Ain't life a bitch?!
...taken with a pinch of salt (re video blog)
Since uploading my vid-blogs, I have felt out of sorts; I've been in a state of turmoil I suppose. Tonight though I have put my finger on the crux of it all. I have been very worried about your opinions of me, and the videos. All I can think of is you out there watching my vid-blogs and either cringing with embarrassment, laughing at the fool that is moi, or stopping them after 10 seconds. All of these reactions are not ideal in helping with ones self esteem.
So, I want to say this. Take me, take the videos, with a pinch of salt.
Not literally. I don't want to have the health standards agency on to me about my part in the sudden increase of high blood pressure across the nation.
I mean, I have really had an excellent time putting these videos together; I got to talk about something I am interested in; it wasn't a great review of the film, yet that wasn't the point.
I wanted to put myself out there in a different way, a way that excites me and interests me. I needed something to talk about so that I had something to record and play with, but essentially the fact that I was reviewing a big film is neither here nor there.
I bet for the majority of the time you watched the videos, you were focusing on me - my face, my gestures - and not on what I was actually saying, and THAT is what the point of it was. I said this a few posts ago - promise, I did - but I think I just forgot. I have been scrutinizing the videos for bits that could ruin my street cred (I think I may have just ruined it myself by actually uttering the words 'street cred'...how embarrasing!) and panicking about how people will take the review. But, you know what? From here on, I am worrying no more.
I put myself out there and its funny, if nothing else. I would like to think the videos aren't a complete flop but it is not the end of the world if they are. They serve a purpose much greater than just entertainment for me (see post '...a video blogger' for further explanation).
So to sum up: video blog, pinch of salt, done.
Please leave some comments about the place to let me know how you think this is all coming on, that would be delightful. Over and out.
So, I want to say this. Take me, take the videos, with a pinch of salt.
Not literally. I don't want to have the health standards agency on to me about my part in the sudden increase of high blood pressure across the nation.
I mean, I have really had an excellent time putting these videos together; I got to talk about something I am interested in; it wasn't a great review of the film, yet that wasn't the point.
I wanted to put myself out there in a different way, a way that excites me and interests me. I needed something to talk about so that I had something to record and play with, but essentially the fact that I was reviewing a big film is neither here nor there.
I bet for the majority of the time you watched the videos, you were focusing on me - my face, my gestures - and not on what I was actually saying, and THAT is what the point of it was. I said this a few posts ago - promise, I did - but I think I just forgot. I have been scrutinizing the videos for bits that could ruin my street cred (I think I may have just ruined it myself by actually uttering the words 'street cred'...how embarrasing!) and panicking about how people will take the review. But, you know what? From here on, I am worrying no more.
I put myself out there and its funny, if nothing else. I would like to think the videos aren't a complete flop but it is not the end of the world if they are. They serve a purpose much greater than just entertainment for me (see post '...a video blogger' for further explanation).
So to sum up: video blog, pinch of salt, done.
Please leave some comments about the place to let me know how you think this is all coming on, that would be delightful. Over and out.
...a video blogger: part II The full review
Better lighting, teamed with a little experience and what d'ya know? It's pretty much the same. Apologies.
One of these days I will be a video bogging pro.
Anyway, the rest of my review on Notes On a Scandal. Enjoy.
One of these days I will be a video bogging pro.
Anyway, the rest of my review on Notes On a Scandal. Enjoy.
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
...a video blogger
Here it is!!!! Well...sort of...
IMPORTANT - I need to make a few things clear; first of all this is only part one (not sure after you have watched it whether you will be happy about this fact or not), I have much more to say on the matter in discussion but was allowing myself a chance to give the whole vid-blog a go. Secondly, I am a rookie in the editing department so apologies if the transitions don't run so smoothly.
Oh and I would apologise about the ugly mug in the vid, but there's not much I can do about that.
Here's hoping.....
IMPORTANT - I need to make a few things clear; first of all this is only part one (not sure after you have watched it whether you will be happy about this fact or not), I have much more to say on the matter in discussion but was allowing myself a chance to give the whole vid-blog a go. Secondly, I am a rookie in the editing department so apologies if the transitions don't run so smoothly.
Oh and I would apologise about the ugly mug in the vid, but there's not much I can do about that.
Here's hoping.....
Wednesday, 8 September 2010
...a size 10/12: part III: The Dwarf and the Mountaineer
Earlier today I made my return to the world of exercise, and finally went back to the gym! Hoorah! I am currently feeling very good about myself. I even cycled there and back. I know, I know, what a star I am. I got to the gym, and had some previous thoughts of mine confirmed by the sight of a dwarf, a man in a suit and the doppelganger of Dennis the Menace, wandering in before me.
These previous thoughts were essentially along the lines of, 'wow, you do get some odd balls in the gym, don't you'*.
So, in I went, and straight onto what I like to call, the giant stepper. It is basically a bigger cross-trainer, but simulates an action more similar to climbing a hill than running (crazy, eh?). I decided to listen to the dialogue from the t.v. shows that were on in front of me, instead of my usual 'pumped-up playlist' on my iPod (I'm making WILD decisions left, right and centre today) and stumbled upon Loose Women.
Today their guest was lead singer of The Script, Danny O'Donoghue. He was, in fact, the deciding factor in the decision I took to not switch over to another channel. I do love a good sing-a-long to a Script song, and think Danny is quite pleasing on the eye so listened a while longer as my legs worked the giant stepper. At the ad break I switched to the next channel where Taio Cruz's music video for his new single, Dynamite, was on. Why didn't I switch sooner, I thought, as I began to climb in-time with the music and felt massively energized. This feels GOOD, I thought! Yes! I am back in the gym and loving it! Burn those calories, bitch! Yeah! ... Then the song ended and I plumeted back down, deciding I had had enough of the exhausting giant stepper, and it was time for a change.
It was while sitting on the rowing machine next, that I saw another odd ball appear. The man, who I have now given the title, the Mountaineer, jumped on the giant stepper that I had just vacated with all the energy of a small child after consuming too many coloured sweets. He then began to step so furiously, I decided he must be training to climb Everest with a goal time of about ten minutes. Seriously, the Mountaineer was going for it.
Not for long though, it turned out. At three minutes, the Mountaineer's face was puce with exhaustion and he could have filled a dried-out well with the amount of sweat pouring off him. He had obviously gone too hard too soon (no innuendo intended) and had to demount the giant stepper for fear of ruining his Everest mission due to physical exhaustion.
I, meanwhile, was feeling great. I moved onto the treadmill, with the dwarf by my side. Not literally - I mean he wasn't there supporting me through my work out - but he was a couple of treadmills down, going at an easy pace. Ahead of me, I spied man-in-a-suit. Turned out he was actually quite a young guy, and quite good-looking. I, of course, kept a (subtle) eye on him, although not for long as he began to make me seriously worry for his health. Yes he was good looking but he was certainly not buff - his arms were like stick insects - yet, he was lifting a pair of ginormous weights (I like to think it was to impress me, teehee). I genuinely thought he might break an arm and had to look elsewhere as my squeamish side took over. What a shame, time passed much quicker when I had a hotty to stalk.
As I was leaving the gym, I got caught in the turnstiles and felt a little embarrassed - I blame the post-workout thrill I was feeling at the time - but guess who was on hand to help me out? Dennis the Menace himself.
*No genuine offense was meant to dwarfs, men in suits, or in fact Dennis the Menace lookalikes.
These previous thoughts were essentially along the lines of, 'wow, you do get some odd balls in the gym, don't you'*.
So, in I went, and straight onto what I like to call, the giant stepper. It is basically a bigger cross-trainer, but simulates an action more similar to climbing a hill than running (crazy, eh?). I decided to listen to the dialogue from the t.v. shows that were on in front of me, instead of my usual 'pumped-up playlist' on my iPod (I'm making WILD decisions left, right and centre today) and stumbled upon Loose Women.
Today their guest was lead singer of The Script, Danny O'Donoghue. He was, in fact, the deciding factor in the decision I took to not switch over to another channel. I do love a good sing-a-long to a Script song, and think Danny is quite pleasing on the eye so listened a while longer as my legs worked the giant stepper. At the ad break I switched to the next channel where Taio Cruz's music video for his new single, Dynamite, was on. Why didn't I switch sooner, I thought, as I began to climb in-time with the music and felt massively energized. This feels GOOD, I thought! Yes! I am back in the gym and loving it! Burn those calories, bitch! Yeah! ... Then the song ended and I plumeted back down, deciding I had had enough of the exhausting giant stepper, and it was time for a change.
It was while sitting on the rowing machine next, that I saw another odd ball appear. The man, who I have now given the title, the Mountaineer, jumped on the giant stepper that I had just vacated with all the energy of a small child after consuming too many coloured sweets. He then began to step so furiously, I decided he must be training to climb Everest with a goal time of about ten minutes. Seriously, the Mountaineer was going for it.
Not for long though, it turned out. At three minutes, the Mountaineer's face was puce with exhaustion and he could have filled a dried-out well with the amount of sweat pouring off him. He had obviously gone too hard too soon (no innuendo intended) and had to demount the giant stepper for fear of ruining his Everest mission due to physical exhaustion.
I, meanwhile, was feeling great. I moved onto the treadmill, with the dwarf by my side. Not literally - I mean he wasn't there supporting me through my work out - but he was a couple of treadmills down, going at an easy pace. Ahead of me, I spied man-in-a-suit. Turned out he was actually quite a young guy, and quite good-looking. I, of course, kept a (subtle) eye on him, although not for long as he began to make me seriously worry for his health. Yes he was good looking but he was certainly not buff - his arms were like stick insects - yet, he was lifting a pair of ginormous weights (I like to think it was to impress me, teehee). I genuinely thought he might break an arm and had to look elsewhere as my squeamish side took over. What a shame, time passed much quicker when I had a hotty to stalk.
As I was leaving the gym, I got caught in the turnstiles and felt a little embarrassed - I blame the post-workout thrill I was feeling at the time - but guess who was on hand to help me out? Dennis the Menace himself.
*No genuine offense was meant to dwarfs, men in suits, or in fact Dennis the Menace lookalikes.
...a blogger: part III
Hello out there, I have got some news for you.
As you can see my blog is coming along ok so far, I am starting to enjoy the experience - as opposed to dreading the moment I press the 'submit post' button for fear that millions of people all over the world would begin to LOL, literally, at my writing.
So I have decided to take a profound and controversial step forward on my blogging journey, and will soon be submitting a video post!!!!!! Yes, you assumed correctly, I will be sharing my thoughts on a certain matter via the technological medium of video, rather than writing it out.
This is a terrifying prospect.
So, why, I hear you ask, put yourself through it, dear Georgia?
Well, for those of you who have not read my mini-bio attached to this blog, you will be unaware that I am a budding actor. In fact I am a budding actor, entertainer, presenter, broadcaster, writer of funny blogs (!!) and so on and so forth. Therefore, I feel it necessary to start to express myself through mediums more in-line with the media/performance spheres.
If I want to be a successful t.v. or radio personality, I need to be aware of how I speak when I am being filmed; I need to be aware of how I act and move, what my habits are, what needs to go and what needs to stay in terms of gestures and the like. That being the case, it is time to start filming myself, and getting some feedback on it, so where better to start but here, with you?!
You can see why this is pretty terrifying though, can't you? Not only judging myself, but having whoever you are out there judging me too, is a tad overwhelming. Yet there is no getting round it, its for my own good, for my own future....
I'm still shitting it though.
The video post will be with you soon.
As you can see my blog is coming along ok so far, I am starting to enjoy the experience - as opposed to dreading the moment I press the 'submit post' button for fear that millions of people all over the world would begin to LOL, literally, at my writing.
So I have decided to take a profound and controversial step forward on my blogging journey, and will soon be submitting a video post!!!!!! Yes, you assumed correctly, I will be sharing my thoughts on a certain matter via the technological medium of video, rather than writing it out.
This is a terrifying prospect.
So, why, I hear you ask, put yourself through it, dear Georgia?
Well, for those of you who have not read my mini-bio attached to this blog, you will be unaware that I am a budding actor. In fact I am a budding actor, entertainer, presenter, broadcaster, writer of funny blogs (!!) and so on and so forth. Therefore, I feel it necessary to start to express myself through mediums more in-line with the media/performance spheres.
If I want to be a successful t.v. or radio personality, I need to be aware of how I speak when I am being filmed; I need to be aware of how I act and move, what my habits are, what needs to go and what needs to stay in terms of gestures and the like. That being the case, it is time to start filming myself, and getting some feedback on it, so where better to start but here, with you?!
You can see why this is pretty terrifying though, can't you? Not only judging myself, but having whoever you are out there judging me too, is a tad overwhelming. Yet there is no getting round it, its for my own good, for my own future....
I'm still shitting it though.
The video post will be with you soon.
Monday, 6 September 2010
...a size 10/12: part II
This aspiration of mine has taken a backseat in recent days - in fact I haven't been to the gym for a week and in that time, I have consumed a birthday cake three layers high, a box of Ferrero Roche, numerous cup cakes, my weight (times four) in alcohol, half a packet of cookies and one jelly snake.
It's been an unhealthy week to say the least. Vanessa Feltz et al. would be proud.
It has been my birthday week (hence the three layered birthday cake - this isn't a regular snack of choice) and so I gave myself a bit of a break from the gym. To be honest I didn't even have time to go if I had wanted to. Or maybe I did.
That's quite an over-used excuse, isn't it? 'I didn't have time...' Really, I could have gotten up an hour earlier on some days and been to the gym then, or I could have chosen not to sit and watch Jeremy Kyle talk, for the millionth time, about why we should put something on the end of it. But I didn't. And now I am sitting here feeling guilty.
In just under two weeks, I have to return to uni and will immediately be thrown back into the rigors of hockey training. We were sent pre-season training programs which entailed 3 sessions a week of cardio exercise, core strengthening and stick and ball work. I substituted the exercise plan laid out in the program, for 3-4 sessions a week in the gym mainly doing the same thing as was laid out. However, I did fail to bring my hockey stick and ball back home with me so I will turn up to our first training session with all the skill of Adam Rickett on The Games.
If you have only ever seen Adam Rickett looking svelte in his sweaty, smoke-filled music vids, or going down t' pub on Corrie, then this is a must-see. The 100 metre sprint is a particular favourite of mine.
Anyway, a week ago I was fully into this training program but now can't quite find the impetus to get back on it, and after reading an article in this months Glamour magazine entitled, '8 Reasons why I miss being Fat', I'm worried I never will. The article, written by now-18-stone-but-was-36-stone Alice, explains the reasons why 'sometimes, she misses some aspects of being fat'. Well! In that case, I shall cancel my gym membership immediately! Orrrrr not. However, I read on, not wanting to judge a book by its still rather large cover.
As I read, I realised that this was just another formerly-fat-now-slightly-slimmer girl trying to get column inches out of her weight loss. All credit to her, as Glamour certainly thought her story was worth it (although the article is situated on page 298 out of a possible 320 pages) but honestly, she doesn't have a leg to stand on.
Here's just one example of her reasons for missing being morbidly obese - not having people sit next to her on public transport. Yes, she actually wishes she were back to her old 36 stone self, with a heart-attack fast approaching just so she can get a bit of personal space again on the bus. Fascinating. Just, fascinating.
So, looks like I wont be canceling that gym membership after all. Actually, whilst reading the article I have felt more inclined to get back on the treadmill as looking at the accompanying picture of Alice's "slimmer" 18 stone figure, has surprisingly (note the sarcasm) not made me miss my heavier self.
It's been an unhealthy week to say the least. Vanessa Feltz et al. would be proud.
It has been my birthday week (hence the three layered birthday cake - this isn't a regular snack of choice) and so I gave myself a bit of a break from the gym. To be honest I didn't even have time to go if I had wanted to. Or maybe I did.
That's quite an over-used excuse, isn't it? 'I didn't have time...' Really, I could have gotten up an hour earlier on some days and been to the gym then, or I could have chosen not to sit and watch Jeremy Kyle talk, for the millionth time, about why we should put something on the end of it. But I didn't. And now I am sitting here feeling guilty.
In just under two weeks, I have to return to uni and will immediately be thrown back into the rigors of hockey training. We were sent pre-season training programs which entailed 3 sessions a week of cardio exercise, core strengthening and stick and ball work. I substituted the exercise plan laid out in the program, for 3-4 sessions a week in the gym mainly doing the same thing as was laid out. However, I did fail to bring my hockey stick and ball back home with me so I will turn up to our first training session with all the skill of Adam Rickett on The Games.
If you have only ever seen Adam Rickett looking svelte in his sweaty, smoke-filled music vids, or going down t' pub on Corrie, then this is a must-see. The 100 metre sprint is a particular favourite of mine.
Anyway, a week ago I was fully into this training program but now can't quite find the impetus to get back on it, and after reading an article in this months Glamour magazine entitled, '8 Reasons why I miss being Fat', I'm worried I never will. The article, written by now-18-stone-but-was-36-stone Alice, explains the reasons why 'sometimes, she misses some aspects of being fat'. Well! In that case, I shall cancel my gym membership immediately! Orrrrr not. However, I read on, not wanting to judge a book by its still rather large cover.
As I read, I realised that this was just another formerly-fat-now-slightly-slimmer girl trying to get column inches out of her weight loss. All credit to her, as Glamour certainly thought her story was worth it (although the article is situated on page 298 out of a possible 320 pages) but honestly, she doesn't have a leg to stand on.
Here's just one example of her reasons for missing being morbidly obese - not having people sit next to her on public transport. Yes, she actually wishes she were back to her old 36 stone self, with a heart-attack fast approaching just so she can get a bit of personal space again on the bus. Fascinating. Just, fascinating.
So, looks like I wont be canceling that gym membership after all. Actually, whilst reading the article I have felt more inclined to get back on the treadmill as looking at the accompanying picture of Alice's "slimmer" 18 stone figure, has surprisingly (note the sarcasm) not made me miss my heavier self.
Friday, 3 September 2010
...a guardian angel
I have something that is worrying me. Something, someone. I need to be a guardian angel and have the omnipresence that that would bring, but I can't be.
I was going to say that I've realised worrying is an exhausting activity, but it's not that I have only just realised this but rather that I have remembered this fact. I have worried like this before and felt, and seen, the effects of that. It sort of takes over your head; even when you're not thinking about it...you somehow are. It dilutes hunger, saps energy and dulls the highs.
I want to have answers and aid; I want to have a wand to wave over it all and Bernard's watch to turn back the time. I want to be able to reassure and mend. I don't know how though.
This isn't a cry for help, but more a temporary relief of sorts. A sigh. A release, for a moment, of the tension that is keeping me tense. A way of letting it out.
It's a shout of frustration, in words.
I was going to say that I've realised worrying is an exhausting activity, but it's not that I have only just realised this but rather that I have remembered this fact. I have worried like this before and felt, and seen, the effects of that. It sort of takes over your head; even when you're not thinking about it...you somehow are. It dilutes hunger, saps energy and dulls the highs.
I want to have answers and aid; I want to have a wand to wave over it all and Bernard's watch to turn back the time. I want to be able to reassure and mend. I don't know how though.
This isn't a cry for help, but more a temporary relief of sorts. A sigh. A release, for a moment, of the tension that is keeping me tense. A way of letting it out.
It's a shout of frustration, in words.
...a party planner: part II
So the big day has been and gone and it turns out the worrying was all in vain! As I sit here, munching on a piece of birthday cake (how many calories is that??) and looking back over my birthday week, I can't help but crack a smile.
I wanted an Alice in Wonderland themed party that would let imaginations run wild; I wanted my garden turned into wonderland, with a mad hatter's tea party at the centre of it all; I wanted fantastic, flickering fairy lights and bulbs glowing with bright colours, alongside candles and teapots. And guess what? That is what I got, along with a whole lot more...
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=647469&id=1611480057&ref=fbx_album#!/video/video.php?v=421277431781
Photos couldn't convey the atmosphere, nor could the video above really, but it was magical! Self appreciation isn't always attractive but on this occasion I can't help myself - my party planning is officially excellent. I can now call myself a successful party planner as I had hoped I would be able to.
Of course I had tons of help, and massive thanks go to all the donators of teapots and teacups; to the painters of wood; to the makers of cakes and to the sponsors of the event (cheers ma and pa). I love you all. The pic below is my beautiful birthday cake, hand crafted by two of my bessies, Harriet and Emily (emilysargent@wordpress.com) - I think you will all agree, it is a master piece.
Get your orders in now for birthdays and weddings!!!!
Looking back on the night however, I can quite easily say the ingredient that really made all the difference to the success of my party was the effort my guests put in. AND THEY PUT ALL THE EFFORT IN THEY HAD!! My friends are truly the greatest and they turned up suited and booted with enthusiasm to match that of Jedward...on coke. We had a white rabbit, a caterpillar, a giant playing card, a flamingo, queens of hearts, cheshire cats and even a leprechaun (she didn't get the memo).
What a carnival it was.
I aspired to be a party planner, stressed my arse off over it all, and then revelled in the delight of what turned out to be the most wonderful 21st ever. Challenge 'party planner' gets a nice big tick!
Until next year.........
I wanted an Alice in Wonderland themed party that would let imaginations run wild; I wanted my garden turned into wonderland, with a mad hatter's tea party at the centre of it all; I wanted fantastic, flickering fairy lights and bulbs glowing with bright colours, alongside candles and teapots. And guess what? That is what I got, along with a whole lot more...
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=647469&id=1611480057&ref=fbx_album#!/video/video.php?v=421277431781
Photos couldn't convey the atmosphere, nor could the video above really, but it was magical! Self appreciation isn't always attractive but on this occasion I can't help myself - my party planning is officially excellent. I can now call myself a successful party planner as I had hoped I would be able to.
Of course I had tons of help, and massive thanks go to all the donators of teapots and teacups; to the painters of wood; to the makers of cakes and to the sponsors of the event (cheers ma and pa). I love you all. The pic below is my beautiful birthday cake, hand crafted by two of my bessies, Harriet and Emily (emilysargent@wordpress.com) - I think you will all agree, it is a master piece.
Looking back on the night however, I can quite easily say the ingredient that really made all the difference to the success of my party was the effort my guests put in. AND THEY PUT ALL THE EFFORT IN THEY HAD!! My friends are truly the greatest and they turned up suited and booted with enthusiasm to match that of Jedward...on coke. We had a white rabbit, a caterpillar, a giant playing card, a flamingo, queens of hearts, cheshire cats and even a leprechaun (she didn't get the memo).
What a carnival it was.
I aspired to be a party planner, stressed my arse off over it all, and then revelled in the delight of what turned out to be the most wonderful 21st ever. Challenge 'party planner' gets a nice big tick!
Until next year.........
Sunday, 22 August 2010
...a happier person
And this is a good way to start
http://coffeeteasodapoppeets.blogspot.com/2010/04/note-to-self.html
I love this post I found on a fellow blogger's blog; don't you already feel a bit uplifted by it?
Morning, by the way, and once again, ta if you are reading this (I need proof you are, so follow me, and lets get it in writing) x
http://coffeeteasodapoppeets.blogspot.com/2010/04/note-to-self.html
I love this post I found on a fellow blogger's blog; don't you already feel a bit uplifted by it?
Morning, by the way, and once again, ta if you are reading this (I need proof you are, so follow me, and lets get it in writing) x
...a party planner
This is not strictly true as I am already, in a way, a party planner. I am currently planning a party for my own 21st birthday next week. It is a horrendously scary feat to take on...and you wouldn't really think it would you? Planning a party, you think, ooooo, why not?! HOW exciting! This is the initial reaction/feeling. This lasts all of 1 day. After that, its just all a bit...worrying.
I have "planned" parties in the past - all my own I must say - and they have been relatively low key, chilled out affairs, with the night ending in everyone trooping out to a club and by the morning no one can remember much and what they can remember seemed very pleasant.
This, however, is not just any party. It's my 21st. Not only that but there are no plans to troop out to a club at late o'clock. So, essentially, my guests have to stay thoroughly entertained and content from 8pm till 3? 4? 5am? If my party was being held in a funky old warehouse with Swedish House Mafia DJ'ing and Jamie Oliver providing the eats then hakuna matata (also, I would be a SWEET party planner) but my party is in my garden, I am making the eats and the music is my very own iPod. Oh yeaaaah.
So, you see? Worrying. I guess the dream here is not to be a party planner, but more a....successful party planner - a legend in the world of PP (party planning) you could say.
Wish me luck won't you?
And Happy Birthday might be an appropriate wish too.
Will keep you posted (literally - I do love this blogging terminology) on the status of my PP.
I have "planned" parties in the past - all my own I must say - and they have been relatively low key, chilled out affairs, with the night ending in everyone trooping out to a club and by the morning no one can remember much and what they can remember seemed very pleasant.
This, however, is not just any party. It's my 21st. Not only that but there are no plans to troop out to a club at late o'clock. So, essentially, my guests have to stay thoroughly entertained and content from 8pm till 3? 4? 5am? If my party was being held in a funky old warehouse with Swedish House Mafia DJ'ing and Jamie Oliver providing the eats then hakuna matata (also, I would be a SWEET party planner) but my party is in my garden, I am making the eats and the music is my very own iPod. Oh yeaaaah.
So, you see? Worrying. I guess the dream here is not to be a party planner, but more a....successful party planner - a legend in the world of PP (party planning) you could say.
Wish me luck won't you?
And Happy Birthday might be an appropriate wish too.
Will keep you posted (literally - I do love this blogging terminology) on the status of my PP.
Saturday, 21 August 2010
...a successful BMX'er
Currently watching Rude Tube. There are some seriously hilarious/scary/sick/amazing videos out there in this digital world.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_cr9b3pT4Rk&feature=related
Check this vid out, pretty horrific. It isn't me by the way. Just to clear that up.
It must have taken serious guts...those same guts that were promptly splattered across the ground....oh dear. Some aspirations, in hindsight, are just not worth following through I suppose. Although, if you never try, you never know....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_cr9b3pT4Rk&feature=related
Check this vid out, pretty horrific. It isn't me by the way. Just to clear that up.
It must have taken serious guts...those same guts that were promptly splattered across the ground....oh dear. Some aspirations, in hindsight, are just not worth following through I suppose. Although, if you never try, you never know....
Friday, 20 August 2010
...a size 10/12
While I was sweating profusely, running my arse off at the gym last night, the one thing I was focused on was the little number in the top left corner of my screen. The calorie counter. Calories rule my life a bit nowadays. I can't really remember when this started though, it's strange. I know I was never bothered about what or how much I ate, or whether I was doing enough exercise, at school, or even on my gap year.
Wait. Yes, it's coming back to me...my gap year! Aha. It may surprise some of you out there to know that whilst on my gap year I gained...no I can't say it....argh but I must....I gained two stone. Bleeuuuurgghhhh. There I said it. And I did. As my Grandma once lovingly put it, I came back as 'quite a big girl' (she also made a lovely gesture with her hands that, I suppose, was to show how wide I had been. Cheers G'ma). So since then my weight has always been an issue.
I know I probably don't look too bad to everyone else - and since then I have lost most of that 'gapfat' - but I still lust after a skinny-mini bod. So, when I am at the gym/walking home/having a Starbucks all I think about are the calories.
I mean, I'm only 20 years of age and I have already had a good 2 years of calorie counting. Lets think positively here, and say I live till 100, thats another 80 years of CC (calorie counting)*. It's mindnumbing.
However, I wont stop until I have reached my goal of being a size 10/12.
Currently, I am a size 12/14 - on good days I buy size 12, on bad days I buy size 14. I aspire to be a size 10/12. Which would mean that on good days I could buy a size 12, but on very good days I could buy a size 10. Ahhh those days are like a dream to me. I can see it now....sashaying into a shop, with my skinny-mini size 10 bod and purchasing a size 10 dress that shows off my skinny-mini beaut of a bod.
Back to reality.
Expect updates on this aspiration quite frequently alongside humorous tales from my time spent in the gym (what an odd place at times). For now, you have had quite enough of a peek into my personal predicaments, so TTFN.
*Even as I abreviated the words to letters just then, I wondered whether actually I should write them out fully as it may burn a few more calories by typing....Zut alors! Je suis fou!
Wait. Yes, it's coming back to me...my gap year! Aha. It may surprise some of you out there to know that whilst on my gap year I gained...no I can't say it....argh but I must....I gained two stone. Bleeuuuurgghhhh. There I said it. And I did. As my Grandma once lovingly put it, I came back as 'quite a big girl' (she also made a lovely gesture with her hands that, I suppose, was to show how wide I had been. Cheers G'ma). So since then my weight has always been an issue.
I know I probably don't look too bad to everyone else - and since then I have lost most of that 'gapfat' - but I still lust after a skinny-mini bod. So, when I am at the gym/walking home/having a Starbucks all I think about are the calories.
I mean, I'm only 20 years of age and I have already had a good 2 years of calorie counting. Lets think positively here, and say I live till 100, thats another 80 years of CC (calorie counting)*. It's mindnumbing.
However, I wont stop until I have reached my goal of being a size 10/12.
Currently, I am a size 12/14 - on good days I buy size 12, on bad days I buy size 14. I aspire to be a size 10/12. Which would mean that on good days I could buy a size 12, but on very good days I could buy a size 10. Ahhh those days are like a dream to me. I can see it now....sashaying into a shop, with my skinny-mini size 10 bod and purchasing a size 10 dress that shows off my skinny-mini beaut of a bod.
Back to reality.
Expect updates on this aspiration quite frequently alongside humorous tales from my time spent in the gym (what an odd place at times). For now, you have had quite enough of a peek into my personal predicaments, so TTFN.
*Even as I abreviated the words to letters just then, I wondered whether actually I should write them out fully as it may burn a few more calories by typing....Zut alors! Je suis fou!
...a blogger: part II
This blogging business is a bit tricky, isn't it? I just sat and wrote a whole new post, and have also just sat and vehemently discarded it.
I'm not sure if I should have just posted it anyway though...and had you (if you are there) read it and discard it mentally yourself, had it been as bad as I thought it was. Yet, that would risk embarrassment. On the other hand it would show bravery...quite a pickle.
Anyway, I shall reinvent the discarded post and it will be with you shortly. I hope. Thank you to anyone who has read/is reading my blog - you are amazing people. I am in turn, in your debt.
Love to you (I still don't know who you are).
I'm not sure if I should have just posted it anyway though...and had you (if you are there) read it and discard it mentally yourself, had it been as bad as I thought it was. Yet, that would risk embarrassment. On the other hand it would show bravery...quite a pickle.
Anyway, I shall reinvent the discarded post and it will be with you shortly. I hope. Thank you to anyone who has read/is reading my blog - you are amazing people. I am in turn, in your debt.
Love to you (I still don't know who you are).
Thursday, 19 August 2010
....a Blogger.
Yes, today I am aspiring to be a blogger.
It's an aspiration that has given me several (two) sleepless nights since I began to seriously consider setting up a blog of my own. Irrational fears started to haunt me; what do I write about? Do I actually have anything interesting to say? Do I want to bear my soul to the digital world and have it judged in ways that could be seriously damaging to my sanity? Apparently I do have things to say, and I do believe these things are interesting and I am not worried for my sanity. I know this because here I am. On my blog. Writing to you (who are you?).
The definition of the word 'aspire' (PLEASE READ ON I SWEAR THIS IS NOT A RUN DOWN OF THE ENGLISH DICTIONARY IT IS RELEVANT AND INTERESTING) is, 'to direct ones hopes or ambitions towards achieving something'. I like this. It gives off the aura of someone who tries; a trier. The idea that you are moving towards achieving something is so appealing as it doesn't suggest any pressure or time limit - one is simply gearing up for a time when they will have established a platform from which they can achieve a life ambition. Or preparing themselves to begin the long journey to realising a hope, a dream. These people are triers. I am one of them.
I am aspiring to be and do many things (which in due course you will find out. Hence the blog. Duh) but for now all you need to know is that I aspired to be a blogger. I had hopes of writing something that others would find interesting, entertaining, funny, lovable, quirky...the list goes on...so I directed these hopes towards creating a (successful) blog in the digital world which we inhabit. I aspired. I achieved (?). Congratulations are in order. Yet this is just the beginning.
It's an aspiration that has given me several (two) sleepless nights since I began to seriously consider setting up a blog of my own. Irrational fears started to haunt me; what do I write about? Do I actually have anything interesting to say? Do I want to bear my soul to the digital world and have it judged in ways that could be seriously damaging to my sanity? Apparently I do have things to say, and I do believe these things are interesting and I am not worried for my sanity. I know this because here I am. On my blog. Writing to you (who are you?).
The definition of the word 'aspire' (PLEASE READ ON I SWEAR THIS IS NOT A RUN DOWN OF THE ENGLISH DICTIONARY IT IS RELEVANT AND INTERESTING) is, 'to direct ones hopes or ambitions towards achieving something'. I like this. It gives off the aura of someone who tries; a trier. The idea that you are moving towards achieving something is so appealing as it doesn't suggest any pressure or time limit - one is simply gearing up for a time when they will have established a platform from which they can achieve a life ambition. Or preparing themselves to begin the long journey to realising a hope, a dream. These people are triers. I am one of them.
I am aspiring to be and do many things (which in due course you will find out. Hence the blog. Duh) but for now all you need to know is that I aspired to be a blogger. I had hopes of writing something that others would find interesting, entertaining, funny, lovable, quirky...the list goes on...so I directed these hopes towards creating a (successful) blog in the digital world which we inhabit. I aspired. I achieved (?). Congratulations are in order. Yet this is just the beginning.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)