321...split personalities.

This is my 321 post. I guess it's not really a special significant number, I just liked that it was 3-2-1.
Random. I know.

I have been one complete yo-yo of late. It's like the schizo personalities have finally taken over. Or at least just one, other than me, Blondie.
Shutup.
You shutup.
See?

One part of me has been completely sane and the other part of me has gone insane.
This week I decided that since the no smoking was going really well (oh and I'm relieved the other personality doesn't like smoking either...something we're in sync with) that I would up it a notch and try and get back into eating well and my regular exercise routine with my mate, Sugar.
Sure, I was sick and had early meetings etc, but there really is no excuse now. Especially with Spring looming. And speaking of, oh my goodness, I'm excited for Winter to hibernate. I can't take the static shocks any more, and my jokes of: "It's the electricity between us" and "Did you feel that? We have a spark!" when I touch people and shock the shit out them is losing it's humour. The static frizz that's called my hair and the scaly legs that no amount of exfoliating or body butter helps is driving me nuts. I also can't handle having to put sunglasses on everytime I undress and see my naked lily white body.
And that would be lumpy body. Where did that cellulite come from? Is it an age thing or was it that extra helping of pasta Alfredo in the cold weather?
Hell no.
Gym it is. At 7am when it's been 5 degrees.
Yes. I know.
Desperate measures my friends. Sugar has also turned into quite the drill sergeant too.
I will sweat my ass off on the spinning bike or while I'm doing weights, whatever and then straight after gym, evil; unhealthy personality kicks in and craves cheeseburgers and chips (with vinegar) or chocolates. Mainly chocolates.
Bar Ones, Lunch Bars, Kit-Kats, Top Deck slabs, Tex bars, oh my, you name it, it's been devoured.
It's disgusting.
WTF? I mean seriously. You'd think that after all the torture I put myself through, I'd feel all "rah-rah-let's go!" and opt for a health sandwich or salad. Nope. "Hand me that chocolate bar. Now!" and "Yes please. I'd love that extra slice on cheesecake dribbled with strawberries!" come out of my mouth.
This horrible unhealthy personality is strong. She almost always wins.

Must find a way to banish her and quick before Spring comes around and lumpy, lily-white Blondie here has to take off the layers of clothes we've been hiding under.

OMG. See that above? I just referred to myself as "we."
This is not good.

In other news: I found an apartment. I am so bloody excited that I turned instantly into the jumping up and down, squealing girl from those American Teen Movies. I get to do house shopping now and I love house shopping. I love looking for furniture and photo frames and quirky salt and pepper shakers etc. Sigh. This is exciting.

Exercising rays of sunshine

I wish I could say that I haven't blogged because I ate myself into a chocolate induced coma... well, I nearly did and have the spots ot prove it. Argh. Why does chocolate have to cause spots? It's just not fair.

Sugar and I are officially (no more excuses) back at gym. Yes we are. This is it. I was doing so well and lost a lot of weight...that should have been motivating enough but I fell off the wagon and enough is enough.
I actually forgot how much fun we have and how much I laugh at the two of us (afterwards...not during)
We always arrive in our gym attire looking at the gym doors like we're about to enter hell. We basically grunt at each other, give each a half-hearted morning hug, take a deep breath and walk in. Our gym cards are swiped and we look at the equipment like they're aliens who might and probably will hurt us.
Our spinning instructor is waaaay too cheerful in the morning.
"Gooood Moooorning Rays of Sunshine!!"
I made the mistake of once barking out: "What's good about it?"
He then decided it was his mission to "cheer me up" by winking at me, blasting the music, sending smiles of encouragement and basically annoying the crap out of me while he made us sweat on level 9 (standing on the pedals) for 12 frikken minutes - 5 times.
I also "cheerfully" curse Sugar. I tell her how much I hate her for doing this to me. I am really wonderful. In fact I could hire myself out as the "ultimate gym partner... just what you need to get you going...literally...away from me."
We do this one exercise where we lie on a bench and do stomach crunches while Sugar throws a medicine ball at, I mean, to me. I groan, grunt and cause havoc in the gym while everyone throws "shut-the-f*ck-up" looks at me. I need to get through the pain by letting everyone know just hard I am working, even if it means that the people on the opposite side of the gym hear me.

Afterwards, however, is a very different story. I feel those little endorphins buzzing through the bod. I feel exhilirated and I'm ready to face my day as a "ray of sunshine". In fact I'm so chuffed with the fact that I didn't get a hernia and I didn't pass out in a sweaty mess, that Sugar and I congratulate each other on the way out. We hi-5 each other and tell each other how fabulous we are and how we instantly look skinnier than we did when we arrived. We even celebrate across the road with a skinny cupaccino or 3.
Good times.
Good Skinnier Times.

Happy Holidays

It almost feels cruel to make you feel ridiculously jealous. Amost.


My working day officially ends in an just under and hour and a half and then it is the long weekend baby! I am so excited because I really do need a break. I want to party and chill..preferably not at the same time because that would just be weird or interesting. I do want to stuff myself with hot cross buns and chocolate...ooooh...melt chocolate ON hot cross buns. Yeees! Washed down with a glass of red wine.


The only thing that would possibly be better is indulging on a tropical beach somewhere. Next time.


I hope you have a brilliant Easter weekend.

Post trauma and cocks... shuttlecocks.

I never thought I would be so affected by this. I am neurotic. No one can come near my car without me freaking out. I literally stop breathing and only let my breath out when they pass by. I have screamed at 2 guys who have dared come near my car. The one guy came right up to my car to give me those irritating little advertising flyers and I nearly had a heart attack and nearly got out my car to hit him!
I am NOT a violent person. I screamed so loudly, the dude nearly shat himself. Afterwards, I felt embarrassed that I had reacted so badly, but fuck that...it's bullshit this happened in the first place.
My hands tremble, clutching the steering wheel and even though my bag is now permanently in my boot, I still feel unsafe!
I have been getting some advice to go for trauma councelling. At first, I scoffed at the idea and immediately thought: Well, shit... I wasn't (God forbid/ Touch Wood) hi-jacked, raped, held up etc... a little smash and grab will be easy to deal with. See how bad our South African mentality is?
I'm going to contact someone tomorrow.

I'm working tonight. I'm petrified to drive home. I'll be ok. Well, that's what I keep telling myself. I am expecting 2 or 3 speeding fines and fines for going through red traffic lights. There is not a chance in hell that I'll be stopping (yes, I'll be cautious, yield and all that good stuff... I'm not going to be a blonde frantic woman screaming through red robots!)
Argh! I'm loving the way we have to live. I am a positive person and I LOVE South Africa, but unfortunately we have to be realistic.

I did have a relaxing long weekend though. I am also going to be letting a lot of women down by saying this: If I see another chocolate I may puke.
I have eaten worse than a pig ever could. I'm at the point where I'm craving veges. Woah!!!
I also played Badmington. Yes. Who knew it could actually make you stiff and sore the next day? I'm aching! I feel like I spent 24 hours in the gym.
It was also really awesome to shout out loudly and proudly: "Hit the cock!!" "Pass the cock!" and "Fuck this cock! I'm losing!"
Good times.