Friday, 21 June 2013

French Woman Impersonates Daughter In Exam - EH?!

I've just read the news that a 52 year old french woman impersonated her daughter in an exam today.

My mum is 52. And trust me, although she is fantastic and beautiful, if she sat down in an exam hall  I think there would be a whole load of 'say whats' going down.

There are so many questions: 

When did they both sit down and say 'Y'know what would be a really, faultlessly good idea...?'

How did this woman even attempt to try and look like her daughter? Britney Spears-esque pony tails? Lolly pop? I love Justin Beiber T-shirt?

What kind of woman tries to be so young that it unnerves the world and forces people to want to call the police?

Too many questions, not enough sensible answers.

Zut alors!

Wednesday, 19 June 2013

The 30 Day Ab and Squat Challenge - What it's really like

So last time I complained about exercise, I was in the process of doing my half marathon. Which I did. Little 'wahoo' to me.


But instead of going back to my sofa, throwing popcorn in and around my face with no real direction to target, I have decided to do another stupid challenge.

I read an article on the 30 Day Squat Challenge, and then the 30 Day Abs Challenge. 

I'm now on Day 15. Today, I have to do a total of 70 sit ups, 90 crunches, 42 leg raises and a 60s plank. Oh, and 125 squats. 

And it's terrible. 

I mean, the sit ups are bad enough. 

When I begin, my hands are on the side of my head like the picture of the dead thin person on the crunch machine, and I'm breathing in a awesomely professional manner.

But as soon as I reach double figures, my body appears to move in ways I never even thought it could. It moves like a fish out of water, flapping and flopping about on the stupidly slippy mat.

I move from one end of the mat to the other so much so that I swear I have friction burn on my arse. And my perfectly poised hands? They go from doing nothing to literally pulling me up by feebly grasping my knees. 

The effects:

So nothing outrageous has happened so far. I still resemble the same person and my clothes are still the same fit.

But there are a few changes to my general well being. I now have no control over my entire stomach area. When I wake up in the morning I have to physically roll out of bed to prevent myself from actually sitting up.

When I cough, it is like Gandalf is slamming his stick into my stomach. And don't even get me started about the sheer horrendous effort it is to get in and out of sofas/cars/seats now.

I swear to god, if I can't wear one of those 'cropped tops' by the end of this I will be having SERIOUS words with whomever's damn idea this was.  

Friday, 7 June 2013

The woman who made me feel all lesbian and stuff.

I met a woman the other day who changed my perspective on the entire world. My first female crush.  

Let me tell you the story.

It was a dusky, smoky evening. The smell of  my pink Blossom Hill and bloated, farty tradesmen floated about the Wetherspoons on Broad Lane.

I’d gone out with four boys for a friend’s birthday, a male:female ratio I was not previously anticipating, and was failing under the pressure to join in on the “macho” conversation.

After the fourth discussion about gym tactics and how to retain perfectly soft hands irrespective of the weight you PUMP HARD, my eyes were beginning to droop. I pined to join in with those people whom I usually silently mock: the three female, older than necessary, 'dancers' who had found positive euphoria from flapping their bingo wings to 90's classics whilst everyone else sat the hell down in the pub.

A prime example of the saying: just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should.

Whilst watching the jirating hips of female #1, her muffin top pulsating through the folds in her Jane Norman sequined t-shirt, she suddenly stopped dancing, panting with dog-like enthusiasm and looked somewhat...nervous. A quiver formed in her foot and ran up her leg to her left pitted buttock, visible to the world through her see-thru leggings.  

She had spotted something – something which scared and excited her whilst simultaneously devouring her ability to dance. Something magical. 

I peeled my eyes away from the shudder-inducing thong line under her leggings and looked around in anticipation. What could possibly remove the urge to bootyshake from these wrong-side-of-forty women?

And then I knew.

I felt her before I heard her. Clicking shoes vibrated on the sticky wooden floor. The sound of someone who did not belong here. The sound of... one classy bird.

She tapped her way in unison to 'Don't Call Me Baby', her path progressing ruthlessly towards our table. She was too far away to see clearly so I slipped a look at the dancers. The buttock was still quivering, though the rest of the lady was pretending that all was back to full form and proceeded to waggle her index finger at her long suffering boyfriend whilst mouthing the words: 'y'know I don't belong to you.'

But she couldn't keep my attention for long.

A blue dress came into focus, followed by dark, chocolatey skin. The skin that she had on view was glossed, like someone had poured honey over her, lapping over her d├ęcolletage, streaming down her arms, forming thick sweet puddles on the tips of her elegant fingers.

She came close to our table. Even the genuine gym freaks had stopped talking protein at this point and a sensitive silence fell.

She swung streaks of dairy milk hair with a flick of her neck and smiled. We all gormily smiled back, buck-teethed and salavia-ery.

Then, after carefully judging the lack of females and silently noting her affect on the males, who had began tightening their grips on their beers in a hopeless attempt to flex, she stared directly at me with those midnight grey, starry eyes and said:

'ALRIGHT bab, you lot getting f*cking trollied are ya?! We am getting some shots if ya wanna join like?'.

The Birmingham accent that came out of her mouth received the same jaw-slamming shock which would have come if she'd have opened her gob and a big swinging ball sack had popped out.

But my god, she was still magical.

And that is when I had a lesbiany lovely love.

The end.