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Thursday, January 12, 2006

Wanted.....New Me.

I spent my birthday rubbing oil on a stripper. They made me do it o Pastor. I sooooooo didn't want to, being the highly spiritual being that I am. But they said they had paid him a mini fortune and I had to rub the Johnson’s baby oil all over his chest and bits or they would burn my Tyrese in a thong poster. I am still traumatised just thinking about the oil glistening on his torso whilst he gyrated to the funky beats of James Brown. Ah what a great day….I mean awful. What an awful, awful day that was. Excuse me a moment. I just need to be alone for a while.

Flowers, naked men (especially important, seeing as I have no idea when I'll be seeing one again), pressie's, good food and somewhat bearable company. Yep! Turning 30 wasn’t so bad. But now...2 weeks and 2 days into the New Year the euphoria is gone and life sucks. Yep! You heard me 2006 sucks. As this is my blog, I intend to spend the next couple of minutes moaning about it. For all you happy, clappy, my glass is half full kind of people… you might want to speed read to someone else’s blog because I'm not in the mood to be shaking no tambourine. I was insulted in the worst way this morning and to be honest I'm not sure I want to talk about it with you lot. But therapy is expensive and after blowing all my cash in the winter sales, I'll take what I can get.

Alright here goes.....this morning, some guy on the bus offered me his seat. Awwwww....you might all say. How nice and gentlemanly. Yeah that’s what I thought until he asked me how far along I was. It took a minute to click and then THE SHAME, THE HORROR!!!!! He thought I was preggies!!!! I knew I had overdone it with the whole merry making over the Christmas season, but lets not go crazy people. There was no way I looked pregnant. Maybe he meant I had certain glow to me. That’s it. A nice healthy sheen courtesy of MAC foundation; because there was no way in hell that minuscule roll of fat hanging over the top my jeans could be construed as mine and Tyrese's love child. Anyway having had a minute to put my anger in check and resist the urge to beat his gentlemanly ass senseless with my umbrella, I did the only logical thing I could do....I responded with the answer "3 months". I know! I know! I should just have been honest but no way in hell I was going to share my embarrassment with the great unwashed on the 297 bus. So I lied, got off the bus as soon as humanly possible and rushed home to do my annual body MOT.

My annual MOT is a little ritual I have that involves a mirror (to see the full extent of the damage the past year has wreaked on my superior being), a tape measure (for accurate damage results), a box of Cadburys milk tray (to comfort me after comparing last years results to this years) and a duvet (to hide my flabby body under whilst eating the box of milk tray and sobbing about being round and single). This year’s results are as follows:

My tummy... Having once been able to pass as being only 2 months pregnant(always useful during the rush hour), I have now turned into full blown Heffer who can now wedge the yellow pages, assorted confectionary and a mobile phone between her tummy and her thighs. This would obviously be ideal if I wanted embark on a life of shoplifting. As it is, I'm trying to get Mr. Right, so looking like I already have one, who I play doctors and nurses with isn't going to help me in my quest. I feel a fog of depression descending upon me. Where's that box of Milk tray?

My boobies.....stopped defying gravity circa 1996(how I mourned the loss of muscle tone that year). But hey! At least they are still a couple of centimeters from my belly button which is always a good thing. And now they have my ample tummy to rest on for support, they do look a little perkier. You may all laugh but you all ain't going to stay perky forever. Believe me! I'll be there to help you load them into a wheelbarrow when the time comes. We'll see who will be laughing then.

My ass.....seeing as I don't have one, don't have to worry too much on that score. Can't say the same for SE & IJEBU Chick though. When the time comes, you’ll both be needing ass girdles to keep those things from tripping you up when you're walking.

My Thighs...can still crack a nut open with a clench (ok maybe 2 clenches, but at my age that’s something)? Hurry up and propose chick!!!!!!!I suggest you come and take lessons from your older, wiser and hotter sister. I'm sure your future hubby Market Dude would appreciate thighs of steel when the time comes. I also find the come in useful for practical things like putting your man in headlock for those nights you just rather he stayed at home watching "Desperate Housewives" with you instead of hanging with the boys. Might only need to eat half the box of milk tray after all.

My arms......just when I thought I could come out from under duvet and chuck the choccies I did my arms and I think I'm going to need something stronger than Milk tray. I need alcohol because I have CHICKEN WINGS!!!!!!!!! A strong gust of wind and I'll be able to fly to most local airports. What am I going to do???? Where’s that cooking sherry?

Is this what happens when a girl turns 30??? Glug…..You become older, glug…. wiser …glug(cooking sherry and chocolate is good!) and flabbier??? I refuse to let this happen to me. I'm off to invest in a pair of running shoes and embarking on a military style fitness regime. I shall become a toned, sleek, panther like creature with muscles of steel. Following my Christian principles of "Waste not. Want not". I'll head down to JD sports as soon as finish my box of milk tray, the bottle of o go goro and the eba with obgbono and assorted meat I had planned for dinner.

I beg...stop making noise in my ear. JD sports dosen't close till 6 pm. So I have ample time to finish my last real food before I start eating oxygen for the next 2 weeks. Kapish? Good! Now sod off and let a girl eat cow leg in peace.

6 comments:

Nneka's World said...

went to the gym last night and i have never felt so unfit in my life!
I realised that i did a loooot of damage to my body.
When they read out my body fat percentage i almost passed out!

mena said...

At least you've still got a body for them to work the percentage off. I'm a walking fat blob. All fat and no body.

mumbo sauce--the new pink said...

(Ready, set, rant!)

Where the heck have you been??! After waiving your ad fees and publicizing you FOR FREE to all my friends--okay, six people--you're now making me look bad. No respect.

Anyhoo, so I'm firmly of the persuasion that despite my size 9 chunky butt (American--despite being nig, I've never been able to decode the whole British size thing and no, metric never made sense to me in secondary school either), any form of exertion that does not involve adjusting my ass while musing over the latest/"encore" episode of Law & Order, Battlestar Gallactica--don't judge--the Daily Show, and whatever one-and-a-half star SciFi movie about giant sharks/bugs/saber-tooth tigers, or any activity outside trying to squeeze my buns into my "skinny jeans" for the infrequent night on the town, is not only an act of treachery against my own body but also negatively affects my IQ-enhancement while viewing said quality programming, so forgive me if I snob you for trying to make me think that a measuring tape and not my skinny mirror is the reliable tool of choice for assessing my assets. (NB: Don't trust gym-toting unbelievers--Starvation diet augmented with nicotine works on occasion.)

And forgive the lack of appropriate punctuation, but your incoherence triggered palpitations and hyperventilation, making me consider that the orange pancakes I consumed 45 minutes ago while “giving my son a treat” may have been anything but necessary to my recent and unplanned weight loss of 15 lbs. Now I need a cigarette. Where the hell is my Zoloft?! Damn you, Mena!

I'm going to go laugh at my girl now...or after my Benson...who's turning 30 this year. Yeah, I'll be 29, but she'll be 30!! Ha ha! Oh, sorry, Mena. That was real insensitive. Guess I could just have deleted that. :)

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