my stuff
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lass logic
Oh for goodness sake – don’t these bloody people have real life mates? I’d rather gouge my own eyeballs out than have some plastic faced, massive bespectacled fud holding my hand with her scratchy finger nails going ‘come on love, one quick push and then we’ll head out for a macrobiotic lettuce leaf and a press conference. Now, I’ve organised for ‘Hello’, ‘Heat’ & ‘Who Actually Gives A Fuck?’ to photograph me while I hold your hand and help you through the birth, that’s right. I need to eat a flake and drink a bottle of ev!an and flash my new rolex watch around, but you don’t need to worry I really will be there for you’ pout, pout, pout.
Or, (shock! horror!) what ever happened to the father being present at the birth? I mean, after all his leaping around studios screaming at the top of his tiny wee lungs ‘I LOVE HER!!!!! WOOOO HOOOO I LOVE HER & I’M A WANKER’ or whatever it was that mr. cruise actually said on the oprah show, why on earth doesn’t he want to see his only natural child being brought into his scientologist creepy world?
That poor child. Imagine having posh spice as the first person you see when you enter the world. Shudder.
Anyway, last night I did the unspeakable, the unthinkable, the thing I thought I’d never let myself do….please don’t judge me. I…joined…..a gym.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarghghghghghghgh.
I remember at the end of last year I said to anybody who’d listen ‘I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever join a gym ever again’. But I decided that joining a gym was probably a good thing for many reasons. Firstly, I can’t be arsed with the classes that I was going to on a Monday & a Thursday. It was too restrictive and also I was getting bored with it. It felt like gym at school and I fecking hated gym at school.
Also, while I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do exercise wise, my belly was becoming more and more lardy and so joining a gym is going to be good because there’s a pool, there’s the gym (well obviously) and there’s all of those classes that I’ll probably never go to. And I thought that if I do end up getting preggers this year, then it might be quite nice to go somewhere and get a proper health plan organised so I can attempt at not becoming the biggest heifer on the planet (which is obviously going to happen to me). Plus, it’s a hefty cycle up to the gym so even if I was to cycle up to it, skip the gym, have a cup of coffee and cycle home, I’d have done more exercise in that journey than I would’ve normally. So that’s my plan. It’s a stinker of a lot of money though and I really have to go regularly or it’s not worth it. So prepare yourself for a lot more entries staring ‘last night I was in hell at the gym and I hated it’ or whatever. Fun.
It was pissing down with rain when I left work yesterday too, so instead of cycling up, I got the bus. I can’t believe how I managed to fuck it up so badly. I stood at the bus stop, waiting on a single decker bus. I honestly thought that only 1 single decker stopped there so when it came, I got on it. Bearing in mind, I needed to get up 1 big street so it should’ve taken 15 minutes tops. I got on the wrong fecking bus. I got on the wrong fecking bus that went through the worst streets in Edinburgh, with shit loads of work going on and so it took me 1 whole hour to get into town and then I had to fecking walk to the gym in the bloody rain which took another 20 minutes.
I mean for goodness sake. What a bloody disaster!
So don’t ever ever ever apply Heeland Lass logic on catching buses – which is to get on any old bus that’s the same shape as the bus you need to get on.
It’s the same logic that I applied on holiday every time I staggered back to my beach hut after a night of boozing and smoking far, far too much. The amount of times me & Bandito stomped up our porch steps laughing and singing and causing all manner of noise, wiggling the key in the lock and doing that really loud ‘SSSsssssh, WHISPER’ drunk shouting thing and then realised that we were on a complete stranger’s porch and sniggering and gulping our laughter as we tip toed back down the steps and down a bit further to our own hut, it was unreal.
The worst thing was our hut was the easiest one to find in the whole place – it was the first hut on the beach. We just saw a similar coloured sarong or towel hanging up in someone’s porch to the ones we had hanging up and tripped and stumbled our way up the stairs.
So. Obviously, by Heeland Lass Logic I mean – complete and utter lack of even a sniff of logic.
You have been warned.
2:55 pm - 08 March 2006
