40:60

Well, I've officially lost 9kg. That's 1kg away from my 10kg goal that I set when I embarked on this whole Healthy Lifestyle Challenge. That began in mid-April. In the time that has passed since then, I think I've become slightly addicted to trying to be healthy. I'm a naturally competitive person so doing this has been like competing with myself. Can I overcome my own desires and weaknesses?

The answer is yes. But I still love ice cream. And I continue to squirrel away a lot, a lot, of food in the freezer and my bra drawer. My bra drawer is now 40% bras, 60% chocolate.

J

The State of Our Teens

Hooligans. The lot of them. Pot smoking, pubescent sex having, cyber bullying animals. Savages. I am, naturally, referring to the fact that the girl I tutor, the fruit of my loins (wow, where did that come from? I mean the subject of my intellectual molding) has never watched Centre Stage. 

I know. She has never even heard of it. Who? What? Wear? How does that even happen? I was lost for words and then became very upset. A whole new generation of teens, tweens and pre-menarche chitlings having never seen what is maybe the greatest dance movie of all time.

This is the movie that taught us what the mouse said to the elephant ("Take it all, bitch!"). This is the movie that taught us that even if your feet don't point out properly, you can STILL become a sick ballerina and get offered some sort of scholarship (I never really understood what that last bit was about). This is the movie that taught us that your dance teacher probably also goes to an alternative, highly metropolitan, "street dance" facility where he wear sweatpants that lets everywhere see a distinct outline of his scrotal sacks (I mean, really. It's indecent to have such perfectly formed spheres of love). This is the movie that taught us that ballet can make simulated sex super classy and of great sophistication.

THIS IS THE MOVIE THAT TAUGHT US TO NEVER NAME OUR DAUGHTERS MAUREEN (for two reasons. Firstly, she will become a bitchy bulimic. Secondly, it's a superbly ugly name).

I think I've lost 50% of my faith in the new generation. And I also feel super old.

J

I've Loved and I've Lost

I am so into Drake now. Like, "I would have your babies and would make them watch Degrassi so they would know what amazing abilities their father has." Come on, Drake, we know, we both know.

This newfound love may seem a bit out of character. However, I point most of the finger at Rihanna who I have loved for a long time. And have you seen/listened to her collaborations with Drake? They are among her finest songs. I believe it was "What's My Name?" that was the root of my love for her and hey, it features Drake.

Really, my love for Drake is a natural progression from my love for Rihanna. And you know where this is going; Drake and Rihanna need to hook up. Like yesterday would be good. Or the day before. Or the day before that. Nothing would be more brilliant than a Rihanna/Drake lovechild. Can you imagine? The baby, which would likely inherit the musical talents from both, could do their own collaborations and duets. As in, single person duets which are a real thing. They could sing both the Rihanna and Drake part because they would be both Rihanna and Drake. They would be Rake. Or Drihanna. 

Drihanna Felty (because I don't know what Drake's last name is. It might be Drake. Drake Drake Jr.).

I burnt my finger making porridge this morning. Twice.





And I just watched this video:



Are you aware that the storyline played out in this video is the storyline of my dreams? Does this video surpass my deep, intense and undying love for the "Young Belong With Me" video as my favourite music video of all time? I don't know, it could. I can't be sure because I'm too overwhelmed right now. Overwhelmed with hot love and emotion. It has everything I love; guns, shooting, tragedy, lingerie, kidnapping, sexy song for sexy times.

Now, I am listening to Drake's 2012 album, Take Care. It is very overwhelming. Not in a hyperventilation way. It's like Dolby surround sound overwhelming. I feel like I'm being enveloped by this cocoon of thumping beats. It's amazing. I want to bury myself in this sound.

Finally, on a similar note (and on the third edit of this blog post), I love Rihanna's newest album, Unapologetic. It kicks Talk That Talk in the ass to the nth degree. To a ridiculous degree. To a millionth degree. There are so many good songs in it. And, at the risk of sounding like a prude, I am enjoying the relatively fewer sexually inclined songs. Look, I love a good sexual song as much as the next person (in fact, I probably love them more) but it just got repetitive on Talk That Talk and also limited my ability to jam to those tunes in public spaces.

 J

It Begins

Less than two weeks until my first (and worst. Hey, that rhymes) exam. Less than one month until we leave for Europe. Less than enough time to do everything I want to do this holiday!

Here, we have the traditional list of things I want to do this holiday. It is brief and will be added to:

1. Go to Europe. Never thought I'd say this but this will be easily accomplished. Tickets purchased, everything on the go.

2. Get a tattoo. On my foot/feet. Book or map of the world. As yet undecided.

3. Do a pull up.

J

Lower Body Cramps

I woke up this morning around 6.15am and stretched, as per normal. Except, mid-stretch, my left lower leg was suddenly in agony as a gigantic cramp seized it up. When this happens, all you can really do is try to stay really still and not scream as you are dying inside. I reached out, thinking I could maybe massage out the cramp, and felt a gigantic lump in my calf. It must have been my soleus muscle (apparently, this is the most common muscle for cramps in the entire world) balled up in a corner, rocking itself as it cried.

Cereal. It was agony. My leg still hurts as well. And then I ate Chobani yoghurt (lemon flavoured) and all was well in the world again.

Did I mention that my best friend at work, A, is leaving next Saturday? She graduates from uni (architecting!) this year and is going on an eight week holiday to Canada and the US after that. I am happy for her (she did the first five years of architecture school part time while working so is quite advanced in the age department and has thus been looking forward to graduating for quite some time) but sad as well as I shall miss her deeply. We plan on having a goodbye dinner for her and R (and me because I'm going on holiday IN ONE MONTH!).

As I mentioned, they changed the music at work. In the mix? This song:



Oh, Jamiroquai. Whatever happened to you and why is your name so hard to spell? Anyway, that song came on and I turned to look at A. She turned to look at me.
"You know what this song reminds me of every time I hear it?" I asked her.
"What?" she said with a knowing smile.
"Centre Stage."
"Oh, my God. Yes!"

And that's how I knew. She is awesome.

J

Dolce As, Bro

I made these:

And then I feasted.

J

If a Nine Year Old Can

This was the best use of 18.01 minutes in my whole life:



This kid is adorable. And perfect timing as I am making burgers tonight. I am in love with his dedication to hand-washing and general hygiene. I am in tears every time he can't reach something or drops something. Or how literally he takes it when the recipe says, "Add a few pinches of pepper." He adds three; every kid knows that "a few" means "three."

It's normal to be in love with a nine year old, yes?

Whatever you do, don't stop watching. It seemed boring to me at the start too but it's kind of like British comedy; you need to stick with it to appreciate the subtle nuances. Like when he's trying to cut the hot baps (and by baps, I mean bread rolls and by baps, I mean HOLY SHIT, HOW ADORABLE IS IT THAT HE CALLS THEM BAPS? I know the recipe calls them baps and all but it's still cute as fuck) and he's in struggle town. His solution? Use the dish cloth he's been using to wipe his dirty hands on to hold them. Childlike genius.

My other favourite part? When he mismatches the cut halves of the baps. I don't know if that statement makes sense. He uses two top halves to make one burger. It's hilarious. It's hilarious, right? The answer is yes.

J

I Talk About Sandwiches

Wow. I just decimated a homemade banh mi. And by homemade banh mi, I mean that it was barely a banh mi but it was homemade. I used homemade bread, homemade pickles (cucumber and shredded carrots), avocado (not homemade. I did once try to grow my own avocado tree using the pit from a storebought avocado and it grew to about 30cm then my mother threw it away. Monster), beetroot (no comment on homemade-ness), chicken (not homemade and I think this is the main factor that disqualifies this sandwich from being a banh mi as it should really contain some sort of Asian pork product, preferably in the shape of a manmade roll or similarly unnatural dimensions), coriander (well, I bought it myself. That makes it homemade, in my book), mayonnaise (as if I would make my own mayo) and pate using homemade chicken livers.

That last one was a lie. I did not make nor use my own homemade pate.

It was tasty. But then the bread fell apart as all the pickle juice seeped through. In the end, it was a pink gloopy mess from the beetroot but it was delicious.

I am making homemade burgers tonight. I really like bread.

J

That A Ghost Should Be So Practical

They finally changed the music at Officeworks. Thank you Jesus, it has been a long six months. The best thing is they are playing stuff I actually listen to in my downtime. This may also be bad as it may suck the goodness out of these songs as I listen to them repeatedly. Yesterday, I heard Florence, new Ellie Goulding and Kate Bush. Kate Bush, people!

They played "Wuthering Heights" and "Babooshka." Two of the most hilarious and ridiculous songs in the world and, coincidentally, also two of my favourite songs in the world.

I did a few Blogilates exercise videos this morning. The sweat was dripping from my pits, down my arms and to my carpeted floor. Carpeted. You know what that means; that sweat soaked straight in and has permanently marked the carpet with my glorious primal scent. Okay, that was meant to sound all raw and roar and shit but just ended up sounding gross. So yeah, now my carpet is soaked with my sweat and it's disgusting. Sorry, future owners of my house.

I'm slightly addicted to doing exercise videos now. Holding an ab-breaking plank is so much better when you're holding it with some random over the Internet. Sure, the video is months old but it kind of feels like they're doing it with you. It's nice. Maybe I'm just lonely and craving companionship. Regardless, they are becoming addictive and have also inspired me to become some sort of group fitness instructor one day.

Har har, you laugh. I know. Me? Group fitness? I don't like people, I don't like talking, I don't like smiling or laughing or being jovial or pretending to be jovial. I regularly have bad days when I just want to punch people, things and animals in the face (the animal thing is a joke. I would never punch an animal in the face. People, yes). Can you imagine me teaching a group fitness class on a day like that?

It would be madness.

Regardless, I kind of still want to do it. Would you come to my class? I promise I wouldn't punch you in the face.

J

Catching Buses

Why does it feel so shit when you miss your bus by just a minute but you never feel the equivalent amount of joy when you just make the bus?

Yesterday, I ran for my bus from entering Raine Square all the way until I hopped onto the bus. The bus driver already was turning out but waited for me when he saw me running. I was out of breath, sweaty and probably had an interesting scent coming from my pits. But I made the bus (literally by a few seconds) and that's all that mattered.

But I didn't feel overwhelming pride and relief as I went to find a seat. Maybe a short flicker of happiness but nothing compared to the disappointment I would have felt had I missed it. Instead, I felt embarrassed and acutely self-conscious of other passengers looking at me.

I wanted to tie this post up by referring to this whole "bus joy sadness" thing as a big analogy for life in general. I have failed you and now I feel like a cliched douche shit. Bye.

J