I tried to think of something which rhymes with "acronym" and all I came up with was "slim". Appropriate....

When I started blogging I knew very little about the process other than type in the nice white box, press the big orange or blue buttons to post or save and maybe pick out a nice background, which in this case is reminiscent of the very nice and VERY expensive Laura Ashley wallpaper my parents decorated my room with when I was 8 or 9 and that at the time I hated so much I tried to rip down. Honestly, the foolishness of youth. However, one thing that was always very clear was that I cannot name anyone on here, for both their sake and mine *coughnolawsuitspleasecough*. Therefore I've decided to give everyone super-fun nicknames that will shorten to acronyms! Yay super-fun! So, the most frequently mentioned people in the future are as follows:

PEOPLE I KNOW
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HamFace (HM) - my former flatmate, one of my closest friends. We have a hilariously dysfunctional relationship and our two years cohabitation was like living in a sitcom.

The Trifle Set (TS) - a group of friends I met during my first degree; we act like life ended in the early 1930s and have 10 course dinners with accompanying wine while wearing black tie a lot. Eating and drinking with them now is a challenge.

Gilbert & Sullivan (G&S) - another group of friends bound up in an operetta society. Again, eating and drinking a lot, or singing about eating and drinking a lot.

A Certain Someone (ACS) - someone I've been seeing for a while; he's a little bit older and lovely as well as being super-healthy and very encouraging! Also excellent cook.

Ace Gang (AG) - a group of friends from school who have been very encouraging about this; we are all trying to be healthy together and share tips.

Douchebags (DB) - men I have been involved with who have dicked me around, sometimes on account of the way I look. What a shock you will all get one day.

Swiss Family Mad (SFM) - my immediate family. My mother is also on a health kick so we have competition going on.....

This post was also going to feature People I Don't Know But Still Refer To, but there is only so much information even an endorphin-pumped brain can take. So chew this 30 times and digest slowly before the next installment tomorrow!

Girls Who Wear Makeup At The Gym

I love makeup. I spent a stupid amount of money on makeup. I watch a ridiculous number of YouTube videos about makeup. My day is not complete unless I have applied makeup. However, there is one place where I would never EVER wear makeup.

The gym.

When I go to the gym, I wear an oversized t-shirt almost destroyed by The Killer Washing Machine That Ate All My Tights, jogging bottoms I have had since school that have holes at the thighs due to friction (fuck you, man-made fibres), super-old trainers that cut off my circulation if I tie them too tight and a hoodie from a G&S production last year that I stole from my ex-flatmate (which I MUST give back because he's here this evening....). I do not wash my hair. I do not always shower. And I certainly do not put on makeup. In short, I am a complete mess, and I expect others to be the same.

I don't even mind going out like this in public, a) because it's once every two days or so and b) because the walk to the gym is like Phys Ed Mile; pretty much everyone you pass is in sports gear, jogging or carrying a bag that says I Exercise And Am Therefore Better Than You (miiiight be making that last one up). However, other people don't seem to share my secret enjoyment of feeling the wind, or the air conditioning, on bare skin; this can surely be the only explanation for the strangest of phenomenons - Girls Who Wear Makeup At The Gym.

Exercise is hot and sweaty and no-one looks their best during it, but really, adding cakey foundation and neon eyeshadow and sticky lipgloss to the mix won't make one look better, it simply takes the look to a whole new level of "Holy crap, paper bag!". I have watched girls applying mascara in the changing room mirrors only to see them ten minutes later with the very same running down their cheeks, even girls who take their compacts with them to check for shine half an hour into a 20km cycle. But the most confusing are the girls who arrive back to the changing rooms with their makeup still intact. No shine, no mess, no running, no pores the size of craters filled with foundation goo, nothing.

So, Girls Who Wear Makeup At The Gym, I ask you...... WHAT IS YOUR SECRET AND HOW DO I GET SOME.

Wine, Women and Song (without the Women or the Song)

So after starting this blog to boast about such feats of bravery as walking down some stairs and going to the shops without makeup, recent events have inspired me to take a new direction and write about my attempts to lose weight. I decided this partly because the more people that know what I'm doing, the less likely I am to fall off the wagon for fear of the massive guilt trip that will follow, but mainly because my last post got such an overwhelmingly positive response that it made me want to continue. You like me, you really like me!

Anyway, since my last outpouring, I have not been to the gym as I was in St Andrews, but I have been walking a lot, attempting sit-ups (they BURN) and doing bicep crunches with soup cans. I look like a complete tard but every little helps! However, gym tomorrow again. My mother is also exercising back at home so we are going to become gym buddies when I am back in a couple of weeks, which means that I want to be in decent shape in order to best her, because I am so competitive that beating anyone at anything makes me SO HAPPY (ask my ex-flatmate about Scrabble sometime). Also she is much fitter than I am already, much as it pains me to say it. It also means that I get to use all the swanky-pants gym equipment at her swanky-pants gym where all the millionaires hang out (allegedly), so I may have to invest in some workout gear as I doubt my too-tight fraying M&Co sweatpants and oversized T-shirt with neon writing and a Vote Tory slogan will cut it somehow.....

However since the last post there have been a couple of obstacles: eating and drinking out. Thursday I went out to a bi-weekly black tie event where there be drinking and speeches and drinking and gown-wearing and yet more drinking. Alcohol being one of the main reasons I am the size I am, and also one of the main ways I enjoy myself, I was a tad worried about this. However, by sipping slowly and having water or Diet Coke (I love Diet Coke) I managed to get mildly tipsy (cough) on only one large and one small glass of wine, a couple of sips of port and a half-glass of something a friend didn't want, which still kept me under my points allowance for the evening. It sounds a lot and really it is, but considering I would average a bottle and a half on these nights out, and I was out for almost six hours, quite proud!

Next time - the wonderful world of eating out with someone who wants three courses. It's much more interesting that it sounds (cough). xxx

P.S. To those who have messaged, FBed or commented about my last post - thank you, your support means everything and I feel very lucky! OK, sappy bit over, and signing off.

I am gym-goer, hear me roar

OK, so I haven't blogged for a while, though I have been doing one thing every day that scares me (a few have literally brought me out in hives of fear, you honestly have no idea). While I plan to play catch-up in the next couple of days with tales of spiders, of unwritten speeches ad-libbed while hammered and of mice and me, today's post is just because I need to get something off my rather ample chest. This week I joined WeightWatchers and the gym and started on the long journey back to liking myself and it is frankly scaring me to death.

I got scared when I realised how much money I was spending on junk. When I counted the units of alcohol I was drinking each day, each week, each month and how many calories were contained within. When I looked in the mirror and saw how bad my skin was, how large my bottom was, how many chins I had developed. When I went shopping and started to automatically pick up size eighteens. When even the man I'm seeing told me perhaps I should think about dropping a few pounds. When I couldn't climb my stairs without wanting to die. When I looked at pictures of myself in 3rd year on a choir trip and thought, good God, I was beautiful and I didn't realise. How did it come to this?

My old reaction would be do an online order for Domino's (can't call them up and have to tell them I want junk food; this is something that for me has always required as little human contact as possible), buy a bottle of wine from the corner shop where I'm sure the employees think I have A Problem, dig out my hidden chocolate, watch tv and cry about being fat and unloveable and always feeling like shit. Well, fuck that. No more. I refuse to be the fat girl cliche who ends up settling in romance, in career, in life. I deserve better and I'm making it (very slowly, painfully bloody slowly) happen.

This isn't for all the men who have hooked up with me but want too keep it on the "down-low" because they "can't be seen with me in public". This isn't for all the dinner party jokes and nicknames and one particularly vile claim that "if anyone ever slept with her, they'd have a problem finding her lady parts under all the rolls" (you know who you are and you make me sick). This isn't for all the directors who have passed me over because I didn't "look right" for a role. This isn't for all my friends who even unwittingly backhandedly compliment me. This isn't for the boy I've known since childhood who I saw last Christmas and who shoved his leftovers at me and said "you look like you like pie". This isn't even for my family, who have gently or not tried to wake me up to the fact that being this way isn't healthy.

This is for me. Just me.