Throwback Thursday: Scunthorpe vs Man United

Number 2 in the new series – my first foray into the world of internet dating way back in October 2008. Still internet dating nine years later, still resolutely single. 

Day one of the great internet dating shindig – not a brilliant start I’ll admit but I guess I’ll give it time. The only contact I’ve had so far was from a man who was so NOT what I’m looking for that I almost left a Long Tall Ally shaped hole in the door! And before any of you in the cheap seats starts willocking on that I have to be open to all the opportunities that come my way if I want to find a man well let me tell you I’m down with that BUT a man who has no command of the English language (‘I want meet nice lady’), is significantly older than me, and has several children isn’t really what I’m after, let’s face it.

This interwebby dating malarky is forcing me to challenge my ideas about leagues in dating and where I place myself vs where I place the gentlemen that catch my eye. In a nutshell (*does nutshell dance*) I view myself as being the equivalent of Scunthorpe United or a Sunday pub team (i.e lucky to get any players/will take what they can) and always view the gentlemen as Chelski, Man U or the Arsenal (unlimited choice of players, inundated by offers) and in my head never the twain shall meet!

A couple of friends have absolutely torn me a new one for even mentioning the idea of leagues in the romance world but I surely can’t be the only person to think like that – whether it is actual fact or just yet another myth perpetuated by magazines/media/Marilyn Manson/McDonalds (all those evil things beginning with M!) is unclear but it is how I have always thought. So I’m going to kick back, relax, and wait for the men to come flocking to me (hmm) and then I’ll have to scissors, paper, stone to whittle them down!

Friday Five: 11-08-2017

Reading: ‘When Breath Becomes Air’ by Paul Kalanithi. This book had been doing the rounds on Instagram with lots of people I know recommending it. Having a lot of friends in the medical field I saw the cover and honed in on it. I wasn’t really sure what it was about but was forewarned it was going to make me cry. It did. I sobbed ugly tears whilst considering my own mortality and wanting to tell everyone I loved them.

Listening: ‘Little Of Your Love’ by Haim. They’ve not been on my radar until recently but now they’re invading my brain with their catchy tunes. Plus I’d quite like them to be my friends and part of my ‘hashtag girl squad’.

Watching: ‘Sixteen Candles’ – off the back of being asked my favourite John Hughes movie moment I dusted off my box set and started with my favourite. A chance to relive my teenage crush on Jake Ryan and lament the fact he never turned up to collect me in a red 80’s Porsche.

Lusting: Greeting cards make fantastic cheap artwork if you pop them in a fancy frame and ‘Sapling Press’ are knocking it out of the park with their offerings. I love so much of their work I could have an entire Sapling gallery wall.

Loathing: People taking pops at medics – the Gabby Logan interview with Pam Venning the IAAF medical officer was disgusting. Venning is a trained medic and exceptionally competent and yet she was hauled over the coals by a sports commentator about her decision to bar an athlete with Norovirus.

Throwback Thursday: Breakin’ Up Is Hard To Do 

A new series where I delve into the past nine years worth of wanging on about nonsense and share some of my favourite posts. Kicking it off with the very first post which started it all way back in September 2008. Enjoy! 

Our eyes met over the top of the carrots and in that instant I knew that rather ironically I looked exactly like a rabbit startled by a set of oncoming headlights. Unfortunately for me there wasn’t a handily placed hedgerow to hop off in to and hide. With a weak half smile I went back to absentmindedly looking for the smallest carrots I could find whilst praying to Jeebus that I’d be left to finish my shopping in peace as well as trying to blend in with the display of potatoes behind me.
Feeling like I was being hunted I stalked over to the sad girl aisle aka ‘ready meals for one’ desperately hoping that he’d hop back on his bike and pedal out of my life once more. Just as I reached for a cottage pie emblazoned ‘JUST FOR ONE’ in huge orange letters the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and then ‘Long Tall Ally how lovely to see you’. Taking a deep breath I turned to face the man who was responsible for tearing my heart out through my chest less than seven years ago. And just my luck he was looking disgustingly handsome, tanned and……… MARRIED! There it was, the platinum band on his ring finger, and yep, incoming Blonde with a honeymoon tan and grin on her face a mile wide. Quite apart from the tropical tan I could tell the wedding wasn’t long ago due to the fact that they were both exuding post shag euphoria and were practically frotting over their smug married trolley.
I must have done something really heinous in a previous life, perhaps I was Hitler or maybe even Stalin but for some reason quick pleasantries were not the order of the day and he wanted a rundown of what/who I was doing since he performed open heart surgery on me sans anaesthetic. Smug marriedness was oozing from every perfect pore of his as he trotted out the questions every single non career girl dreads. I like to think of them as ‘The Big Three’ –> Where are you living? Where are you working? And the doozy, Are you seeing anyone? Ugh.
I made my excuses and a swift exit spending the next half hour dancing through the aisles trying to avoid having to bump in to them again as I couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t dismember him with the shop’s bacon slicer, before heading home to divvy up my food in to ‘petit portionettes’ to suit my new little pouch. People must think I’m Skippy the Bush Kangaroo when I keep going on about my pouch, I swear my colleagues think I’m going to pop out a joey and hop round the office wearing boxing gloves. They would be most disappointed to hear that actually the pouch is the latest weapon in Long Tall Ally’s arsenal to let the skinny girl out. I bought a thigh toner in Argos on the way home so I can transform myself in to a hardbodied Muscle Mary although I do realise the transformation is going to be a LOT harder if I don’t bring it in from the backseat of my car.

Even after my nightmare shopping scenario (binge eater has emotional crisis in supermarket and escapes unscathed!) it turned in to a momentous occasion as I realised whilst lying in bed that (ignoring the size of the junk in my trunk which rivals Germany) I have a flat stomach! And more than just having a flat tum, I could actually see.my.ladygarden! I’ll just say that again for those in the cheap seats, I could see my lady garden! But the joy didn’t end there, oh no ladies and gentlemen I could in fact still see my lady lawn when I stood up. *cue trumpeting choruses of angels* The skinny minnies of the world cannot understand the delight in not having to move ones belly out of the way to reassure myself that I am in fact female and that my chest appendages aren’t just a big old pair of man boobs however it’s better than cream cakes, than Jimmy Choo, than sex! In fact, I’d happily wager it’s better than all three at once.

Guest Blogger: Lorns Little Ramble…

An avid reader of this blog, it is great to be able to have the opportunity to appear as a guest writer. It almost makes me feel famous!…

When invited to do this, I thought long and hard about what I could say. How could I match up to the satirical wit that is our Long Tall Ally? I mean, Short, squat Lorns doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it?

However, the way I see it, we all have our very own ‘tales from the scales’. For me, it’s been a lifelong battle, I am like Oprah, but without the TV show and huge salary.

I worked out tonight that in my life I have been on 37 diets. I remember once just eating hot dogs out of a tin with a side of beetroot. I have joined Slimming World, Weight Watchers, and Rosemary what’s her face, and once even went to a dance class at Pineapple Dance Studio. It was mirrored, I was in hell, enough said. So 37 diets, which is one diet a year for the whole of my life! Even my recent dalliance with breast cancer made me wonder if somehow, as a fringe benefit, I could lose some of the chubb. Instead though, all I got was ‘ROID RAGE’ – pumped full of steroids which made the water sit on the fat and make me look even more like a sumo wrestler, but at least this time round, I really didn’t care as it meant I was getting better right? Woo hoo.

Yeah, so I mentioned the breast cancer then? Also known as boobie C, bad boobie, bastard boobie and boobies with attitude. Being diagnosed with this put everything into perspective. It suddenly makes you realise that life is happening whilst worrying about the size of your arse. I had a bigger fear, a bigger worry. It seems extreme but the day I was diagnosed I remember saying ‘Dear God, I will never bitch about myself or anyone again as long as I am OK’. Seriously though, the joker upstairs realised that this could never be the case and so a boobie chop was on the cards, along with chemo and radio gaga and more of the same. Lather rinse repeat…

I realise this isn’t a laugh a minute post, but I have never actually written about this in this way before. I am not even sure you will end up reading it. Cancer suddenly threw any worry about my big hips, my massive boobs, and my chubby arms into perspective. They may have been chubby but they were mine! I would even go as far to say that I now embrace the curves, I look forward to my breast reconstruction, I get excited about my hair growing, I love life again. I love myself at last. It’s a shame it took cancer to do that, but salvation comes in many shapes and forms.

I just read this out to D. The man who has been at my side throughout my illness. He has just told me that he doesn’t see ‘any of that’ – when he looks at me, he just sees me. That’s pretty cool eh.

I am not saying that I will never moan about my chubbiness again, that never will I look longingly at the low cut number in Reiss and wail ‘IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME’, but what I have now is perspective, family, friends, and hope.

Indeed, it seems the future is peachy – or maybe that’s just my arse?

I'm preggers cheggers…

It’s an immaculate conception obviously as no wanger has been near my lady garden in a verr long time….. And now you’ve recovered from your heart attacks I’ll explain the babbied up state I currently find myself in. I’m not really going to have a baby (but the chance to have a bash at practicing making one wouldn’t go amiss!) however it does appear as though I have exactly the same symptoms that my pregnant sister in law has. We bonded today dans le telephone over mutual heartburn, back ache, big boobies, a fat belly, a list of foods we can’t eat and the ability to only eat half the amount of foodstuffs that a normal person can eat. Of course after 9 months of that carry on she gets to welcome her first child into the universe and the symptoms should go however muggsy here gets to stick it out until Pouchie stretches over time and my weight drops so I lose the fat belly!

I’m really excited about welcoming Pip their little bundle of joy into the world, I love being an auntie as I still can’t imagine ever getting married or having kids of my own so it’s the next best thing.

The mind which plunges into Surrealism, relives with burning excitement the best part of childhood.

I fell in love today. A beautiful type of love that opens up all sort of avenues, and makes life seem all sorts of exciting again. The object of my newly found affection? Southampton – the home of Ocean shenanigans (or whatever that crappy sign says).

Pre surgery I would have laughed at the suggestion of walking into town on a sunny day to window shop and stayed lolling about at home doing bugger all, whilst hating myself and my life. Today I hauled my arse up and out and we walked in the sunshine which was glorious down to the box office for some weird Japanese funk orchestra tickets. We ended up doing the touristy thing and wandering in to the city art gallery to take a peek at the surrealism exhibition which was, well, surreal. I’ve always wanted to get a bit of culture and wander in to the gallery but my weight has always stopped me. I don’t mean it physically stopped me from going, although there isn’t parking close by and it is on the first floor, I just never felt confident enough to go there, fearing that art loving culture mavens would batter me with paint palettes for daring to assault their delicate artistic sensibilities with my ugly mug.

I always thought that to appreciate art I would need to know something about the arts, artists and styles however I discovered a love of surrealism because it is so delightfully wonderfully bonkers and to me it allows me the freedom to look at the stuff on the walls and go ‘EH? If they’d given me a tenner I could have knocked that up’. Some of it was totally random, some of it I would love to buy and hang on the walls of my Manor and one piece in particular? Well, I’d like to have taken it our back and burnt it however the elephant dung attached to the canvas would have made an almighty stink.

I realised that my association with the city has been on the level of ‘transient student looking for cheap bars’ which is why I have been getting bored with the place. As a pre-op fattie I never went out anyway and so all I had to keep myself entertained in this city was my dull 9-5 and a freeview box. I can feel my relationship with the SO area changing as I become more confident, as actually there is a lot to be done in the local area and now I am in the right place to go and do it. That of course doesn’t mean I won’t still always be on the lookout for the cheap booze deals though 😉 (Hatchet Harry’s/Palace of Dreams anyone?!)

My brain has turned to mush….

I have found this has happened more frequently since I went under the knife. I often wonder if in fact my surgeon bypassed my stomach (fnar fnar) and operated on my brain instead. Not the extreme of a full frontal lobotomy as I haven’t been reduced to a gibbering wreck but maybe a quick nip tuck on the old cerebral cortex?

I’ve forgotten what else I wanted to write…… Proof indeed that I’m a bit of a numpty now!