Tag Archives: humour

Does My Bum Look Big In This?

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, , ,

fat pic

So conference was great last week and I really enjoyed being out of the office – I do love meeting different people, and providing I can gag the asshole in my head, once I’ve overcome the ‘walking in the room’ heebie jeebies I actually enjoy myself. Most of the insecurities I carry around with me about the way I look don’t impact me quite as much for some reason when I’m in work mode – maybe because I’m forced to focus on something else as I work through my agenda. In any event when you’re in front of customers and there to provide a service, they’re really only interested in what you can do for them – if you’re credible you’re in, irrespective of the size of your arse.

What fascinates me is when you get the chance to take 5 minutes out and look around the room.  People fascinate me – I love to understand what makes people tick, and body language sparks my interest big time. If you enjoy people-watching, and you’re tuned in properly, just by paying attention it’s possible to see a range of insecurities laid bare in front of your eyes.

The person who puts their hand in front of their mouth when they smile..? They probably feel self-conscious about their crooked teeth, or their gummy smile. The lady who keeps pulling the back of her jumper down..? She’s worried about whether her bum looks too big in those pants. Most fat people constantly tug at the edges or lapels of their jacket in the hope that it’s doing to hide – or at least disguise – what lies beneath – I do it myself!  The guy with the comb-over who’s afraid to go out in a stiff breeze…bless his heart, well you can work that one out I’m sure. Just shave it all off love…bald can be very sexy but a comb-over cannot. Ever! The over-coiffed woman who never cracks a smile and seems dead behind the eyes..? Nah, no insecurities there, she’s just had too much botox 🙂

My point is, we are all insecure about something. What I find really sad, is that sometimes people don’t see what everyone else sees when they look in the mirror. I have a really good friend who’s absolutely gorgeous, I mean in a stopping traffic kind of way and yet she’s one of the most insecure people I’ve met. She’s worried that her bum’s too big (it isn’t) and that her nose is off-centre (it’s not) and that her ears stick out (no, nothing wrong with her ears either). She’s gorgeous. But she just doesn’t see it.

So it might just be that all the time I’m worrying about whether anyone’s noticed that I’m really fat (of course they have, let me re-phrase that) all the time I’m worrying whether someone is judging me for being really fat, they might be looking at me and worrying about whether I’m going to judge them because the string bean at the hairdressers gave them a cauliflower haircut which draws attention to their chin hairs, or because they ate garlic last night and forgot to brush their teeth this morning (to be fair, I would judge them for that, what a scratter eh?)

How much more simple would life be, if we’d all just cut ourselves a little slack, stop worrying and chill the hell out 🙂

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Big Hairy Audacious Goal

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, ,

bhag1

Don’t you think it’s funny how you find inspiration in the most unlikely places? I recently had to attend a workshop on business strategy, and whilst it was all quite interesting, one bit in particular really captured my imagination – I was introduced to the concept of the ‘Big Hairy Audacious Goal’. Apparently the phrase has been kicking around in the business world for ages, and it’s all about creating a clear and compelling goal which serves as a focal point, no matter how unrealistic it might actually be – kind of a cheeky knacker statement of intent.

How I have existed in business up to now without crossing the path of a BHAG I don’t know, but now the cat’s out of the bag I’m all over it…I am busy working on my very own big hairy audacious skinny goal. To be fair, many of my goals over the years have been pretty bloody audacious, long before I discovered that someone had coined this phrase so whilst I can’t claim the idea as my own, I’m certainly going to say I’m a natural when it comes to shooting for the moon.

For example, I might say that my BHAG is to walk into Victoria Beckham’s boutique this time next year, only for the sales lady to shake her head sadly and apologise that all their dresses were too big for me. *Falls on the floor laughing* – well it’s definitely audacious, given that right now I’d more likely be wrestled to the floor by a gaggle of skinny string beans before I’d even crossed the threshold…God forbid that I actually make it inside and dare to be fat amongst the skinniness of it all.

How about this one then…I could say my BHAG is to stick to my food plan and point every single thing I eat and drink for the rest of my life. Hells teeth that’s a scary thought. That’s a more scary thought than the Victoria Beckham one to be honest, because it’s a BHAG that is completely within my gift.  I could actually do that one. Well, when I say I could do that one, I mean it’s do-able. I’ll have to park this one for a minute, I’m developing a nervous twitch. Lets go back to Victoria Beckham, it’s easier to be flippant when I’m talking about that one.

Can you imagine…I mean don’t get me wrong – I love Victoria Beckham, love her family, love her work ethic and I even like some of her clothes. But can you imagine the horror on her face if she had to design a dress to flatter a non-string beany kind of girl? I mean I fully intend to be skinny as well you know, but even when I am I’ll still have to tuck my belly into my big girl pants and disguise my bingo wings, my wrinkly knees and my turkey neck. Just the thought of all that fabric would drive her to go and have a lie down with a glass of extra strength coconut water.

Much as I hate to say it, and much as it scares me, I think my BHAG has to be number two. The one that scares me shitless. Would it stop this cycle of yo-yo madness that I’ve been on for at least the last thirty years..? Yes. It would. Am I likely to lose the will to live, get bored weighing and measuring and counting for the rest of my days..? Yes, I am. Till I scream. Do I have to face facts and realise that if I don’t plan for this, commit to it and JFDI I’m going to live out the rest of my days on that ever changing axis..? Yes.

Number two it is then.  Posse, meet my BHAG…

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Dude Was Working It!

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, , ,

hair

So, at the risk of sounding very unkind I have to tell you about a haircut I saw last night whilst I was out of town. Yes, I know, each to their own, live and let live, we’re all entitled to our own sense of style…I get that but you know that way where sometimes something tickles you to the point where every time you think about it you get the urge to grin? Well this did it for me.

The evening had not started well. It had been a long day, a very early start and I’d been on my feet all afternoon manning a stand at the conference, so I had an achy back, my feet were killing me and the last thing I felt like doing was hosting a table at the gala dinner. I should further set the scene by telling you that having walked the 300 yards from the hotel to the venue rather more quickly than I would normally, due to a light drizzle of rain and no umbrella, I arrived feeling out of breath, sweaty from the exertion and with damp hair which had kinked a little more with every step I took and which I knew within an hour would look like I’d somehow managed to have a really bad perm between the appetiser and the main course. The asshole in my head was having a ball, as you might expect.

So it’s fair to say as I stood holding my glass of champagne at the drinks reception I may have been smiling on the outside but on the inside I was a woman on the edge. And then I saw it. That haircut. And in spite of myself I started to feel better.

If I had to describe it to you (which clearly I do since you weren’t there) all I can liken it to is one of those little plastic lego men – they always had thick immobile plastic hair plonked on top of their little plastic heads, do you remember..? Well, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there was a little plastic stalk fixing this hair to the bloke. It was really thick and dark with a full but very short fringe, sideburns which weren’t made of face fur but actual hair which had been grown down the sides of his face in front of his ears, and the whole thing had been finished off with a kind of wind tunnel/superglue effect.

Thing is, it didn’t get that way by accident you know?  It must have taken a serious investment of time and a mountain of hair gel, and that young guy genuinely thought he looked like the mutt’s nuts. Which led me to thinking.  It’s not really about what you look like – it’s about the way you feel. That hair, no word of a lie, was ridiculous. But that dude was working it! And I kind of had a light-bulb moment…an epiphany if you will.

If you believe the asshole in your mind when he tells you that you look ridiculous, even if you don’t, you will feel ridiculous, you’ll believe everyone else thinks you look ridiculous, and your confidence will be shattered.  But you can totally get away with actually looking ridiculous if you feel like a million dollars on the inside. Imagine being blessed with an asshole in your mind who tells you good things like his obviously did…Dude, you look awesome! That hairstyle is a babe-magnet for sure…they’ll be falling at your feet tonight, go on my son, work it…

Of course when the young guy has a few more years under his belt and looks back on the photos from last night he’ll cringe and wonder what on earth possessed him, but in his head, last night, he was the MAN.

Can anyone tell me how I swap my asshole for one who says good things..?

 

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Semi-Retired Disco Pants

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, ,

dress

So today’s the day where I’m headed off to conference, complete with shirt that fits – yey. Before you all celebrate (I can hear sighs of relief and corks popping all around me) I’m here to tell you that in all honesty I think you could probably get the inhabitants of a small village into this shirt.  Clearly when the order form went off with my size on, the shirt maker erred on the side of caution having never needed a pattern so big, and used enough fabric to single-handedly power the Spanish Armada.

I’ve got to be honest, the starched collar doesn’t help the overall effect and I certainly won’t be winning any prizes for style. Still, I’d rather look like a ship in full sail than spend the day bursting out of something which is straining at the seams. I tell you what, I’m going to keep this shirt and when I’m skinny I’ll do one of those photos of me posing in one corner of it. But anyway, that’s day wear sorted out. I will also be required to host a table at the gala dinner, and the dress code requires me to wear a cocktail dress. Oh dear.

Now I’m here to tell you that’s not going to happen any time soon. No no no no no. For the avoidance of doubt, no. I’m not one of these busty-but-hour-glass shaped ladies who can look glorious with curves spilling out of artfully draped chiffon even if the serving size is a little too large. I’ve never been known for my glorious assets in the cleavage department and to be honest, after all these years going up and down the size spectrum, nowadays my boobs resemble a pair of old sports socks with a tennis ball in each end. Trying to hoist them up to look alluring in any kind of chiffon ensemble has disaster written all over it.

I shall choose instead to wear my trusty black palazzo pants which, whilst not exactly on point in terms of the dress code look as dressy as it’s ever going to get when teamed with a nice top. A nice black floaty shapeless hides-everything-displays-nothing kind of top. No dimpled flesh on display, nothing to offend the eye, nothing to make me stand out. Nothing to make the asshole in my head whisper you can put lipstick on a pig but… or you can cover a turd in glitter but… as I’m getting ready. He really earned his stripes over the years you know?  But I’m ready for him.

And as for the post-dinner dancing…I have to be honest and say my disco pants were put out to grass some time ago. I might have got a bit more mileage out of them had I been a skinny girl but as it stands, they’re currently buried somewhere in my skinny closet with nothing on their dance card. But activity is only suspended ’till I’m skinny, so they’re only semi-retired…even with my dodgy knee I still have moves like Jagger and can shake what my mama gave me with the best of ’em. Just for now, not in public 🙂

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Our First BOTSG Troll!

In the here & now,

troll

Well this was a turn up for the books…I’ve just had my first experience of being trolled! I’ve gotta be honest it took me by surprise, because I’ve had nothing but really lovely positive and supportive feedback since I started writing the blog. When I settle down to check email it’s usually with a wide smile and a mindset where I’m ready to fill up my tank with happy, which is definitely the best diet-fuel ever. And yet, here it was, an email choc full of sarcasm and negativity. I did a classic double-take and my first thought was “who taught the asshole in my head how to pick up a pen“!

Now, I have to say I might have taken it more seriously if the person writing it had  1) been able to spell the majority of those nasty words correctly, and 2) thought about the fact that submitting an email instead of a comment shows a return email address *DUH* but in actual fact it inspired a complete fit of the giggles…and I’m still laughing 🙂

Not that I wish in any way to dignify the email with a response but oh you SO know I’m going to…

Dear Anonymous (or, AKSteele1@…)

Thank you for your kind note which I received this morning. I realise that making me smile was not your intention, however congratulations on the unintended consequence of you being a dumbass.

I don’t happen to share your opinion that I’m insulting people of size by using the word ‘fat’ – I’m a down to earth Yorkshire girl and to be honest I call it as I see it. I don’t expect people to tiptoe around me and use expressions like ‘a lady of size’. There’s room for two normal people inside my pants and the last time I looked that qualified me as being fat. Being fat bothers me, a lot, but not as much as being patronised by folk using politically correct phrases designed to say the same thing but without using the ‘F’ word. I’m fat, not stupid and no matter how you dress it up, it is what it is. But I can appreciate how it may look to a stupid person, so whilst you took great pains to reassure me that you are in fact not fat in any way, I must therefore assume that you’re stupid and I apologise if you are offended.

In response to your comment about me thinking I’m so clever. Well, I am. I can touch the tip of my nose with the end of my tongue…bet you can’t do that. Bet you’re trying to right now though aren’t you?  

I’m a little unclear as to how I’m exploiting large people to make money. However, I must confess to a love of Chanel handbags, so if you know something that I don’t I’d be grateful for any tips you can give me in this regard.

In respect of you not being surprised that I’m single – well. I’m not quite sure how to respond to that.  I’m not sure either that ‘a damn good seeing to’ would assist my weight loss journey in any way, but just in case there was an offer to provide some kind of service hidden behind your comment, I fear I must decline. I’m appreciative obviously, we fat girls have to get it where we can, but I suspect it may be some time since you encountered soap, and I have an aversion to body odour – don’t take it personally, I’m just funny like that.

Anyway, much as I’d love to linger and chat, that life that you suggested I go and get? I’m heading off there now. It might not be perfect, but it gets nearer to perfect every day. Can’t wait to tell the posse about your email – they’ll be just as amused as I was. You’re a gift that keeps on giving my friend…keep up the good work, y’hear?

Fond regards, Dee x

What d’y’all think, posse? Reckon old AK’ll be back? 🙂

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