Sunday, 28 October 2012

Bones are for the Dog?


So it’s Halloween weekend, which means that the average Facebook news feed is inundated with pictures of pumpkins, parties, and of course, costumes. But alas, once again such fun and games has been accompanied by a plethora of bitchiness – the annual complaint of “girls who dress like sluts just because it’s Halloween”.

Now, my opinions about the phrase “dress like sluts” would really need a blog post of their very own, so I won’t do them a disservice by summarising here. What I will do, is marvel at the female tendency to put other women down. This blog was prompted not by the judging of costumes, but by some of the comments that followed; in particular, reading about how “unattractively skinny” some of the scantily clad partygoers are.

Now the double standard surrounding the topic of weight has bugged me for quite a while – ever since I heard the phrase “real women”, often used to describe women larger than the size 0 we see on the catwalks. The choice of the word “real” has always baffled me. If a woman is smaller than a size 8, is she imaginary? If she is flat chested and narrow hipped, must she be made out of plastic?

It seems to me that the phrase was coined in order to boost the self esteem of those who don’t fit into the tall, skinny, supermodel mould. I’m all for promoting a healthy body image, but why choose a word that has negative implications for those who DO fit the media’s ideal?

Of course, this is a fairly mild example. I have seen words of a much more vindictive nature splashed across the internet. Here are a couple of examples....


FYI, as beautiful as Marilyn was, she was not the norm for her era. Google Grace Kelly, Tippi Hedren and Audrey Hepburn if you don't believe me.I struggle to see how such things could promote a healthy body image; they are clearly defining curvy as good, skinny as bad. Not only that, there is a huge emphasis on looking good for a man, rather than just being happy with ourselves.

I have some major problems with posts such as the ones above. Firstly, would someone who was truly content with their appearance feel the need to post material of such a hostile nature? I’m going to take a guess at..... no. It’s the classic “the bully only punches you in the face because he’s insecure” idea. I suspect that the women who create and repost such images are the ones who are least happy with their bodies – the ones who need to put others down to feel better about themselves.

Secondly, the HUGE double standard. Post a picture with some “witty” remark about bigger girls being better looking than skinny girls, and your comments section will quickly show a selection of female friends applauding your support of the curvy girl. Post a picture with the opposite message, and I doubt the reaction would be quite so encouraging. I suspect you would be attacked for putting down bigger girls, promoting eating disorders, and reinforcing the media’s idea of “perfection”.

But why? Why does society say it’s OK to hate on the skinny girls, but God forbid you pass judgement on someone who is bigger, possibly even overweight?

The growing trend for “fat acceptance” is not just an internet phenomenon. It’s become almost a social taboo to comment on the appearance or diet of someone who is overweight, yet us skinnies have to deal with such remarks on a regular basis. Here’s a few examples of comments I’ve received, and corresponding (yet socially unacceptable) remarks that could be made about the other end of the spectrum....


TOTALLY ACCEPTABLE

HOW DARE YOU

OMG you’re so skinny I can see your bones, that’s disgusting

OMG you’re so fat I can see your rolls, that’s disgusting

OMG you’re only eating a salad for lunch, you need to eat more

OMG you’re eating a cheeseburger and chips for lunch, you need to eat less

OMG you’ve just eaten a whole pizza, how are you so skinny?

OMG you’ve only eaten an apple, how are you so fat?

OMG you’re so skinny it can’t be healthy, eat some cake

OMG you’re so fat you probably have heart disease, eat lettuce

See what I mean?

Commenting on the health of an overweight person is a social no-no, but why should it be? People have been reprimanding smokers for years; I’ve lost count of the number of complete strangers who’ve decided to lecture me on the health risks of smoking – as if I didn’t already know. Yet, whilst the cost to the NHS of obesity related illness rivals that of smoking, it still wouldn’t be acceptable for me to walk into a McDonald’s and tell every overweight person in there that they were eating themselves into a future of high blood pressure, diabetes and heart disease. If I did, I’d probably get punched in the face.

The trend for fat acceptance can also be seen on the high street and online clothing stores. Not only do most shops contain a plus size section (and routinely go up to sizes 16/18 in their standard ranges), we have a whole host of specialist plus sizes stores – Evans, Yours, and Simplybe are a few examples, all of which go up to a size 32.

But what is there at the other end of the spectrum? I can tell you from experience – nothing. As someone who wears a size 4, I find it extremely difficult to find clothes that fit – most places don’t go below a size 6 (some not even below an 8), and those that do stock size 4 tend to have a limited selection. More often than not, I end up buying clothes from the children’s section.

So why do we have specialist stores for one extreme, but not the other? I struggle to see how there could be any health considerations – I’m not saying that being superskinny has no health consequences, but I challenge you to find me a doctor who’d say there are no risks associated with being as big as a size 32.

Now I’m not advising that the skinny girls of the world should hit back with their very own anti-curvy Facebook campaign. Nor that we should start calling out all the overweight people in the world on their diets, and tell them to eat lettuce.

What I am saying, is that people should stop and think about what they say to others or post on Facebook. Yes, I’m skinnier than a lot of people. Does that mean I deserve to see posts about how men don’t find women of my size attractive? That my body type is disgusting, and only good enough for the dogs? Is my size an open invitation for people to comment on the way I look, and whatever I do or do not eat? The size 0’s of this world don’t come under the media’s heading of “real women”, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have real feelings.

In conclusion ladies.... be nice to each other. Stop putting each other down, just because you’re not happy with yourselves. And for God’s sake, stop telling yourself that being attractive to men is what’s important. No man worth your time will give a rat’s behind about the size of yours.

Thursday, 17 February 2011

I am the worst blogger ever. As well as a potentially crazy person.

I haven't written a blog in FAR too long. 13 weeks to be precise. This will not do! I'm a bit worried that since it's been so long this particular entry will have to be the best blog ever written in the history of blogging.... I think it's unlikely that I'll be able to accomplish such a feat, so I'm afraid you'll have to make do with this.

I have come to the conclusion that I am at risk of becoming a crazy person. I was catching up on my House watching yesterday, and in typical House fashion he deduced from the patient's love of jigsaw puzzles that she had OCD (which obviously led him to a diagnosis of an incredibly rare genetic disease, thus explaining the whole bizarre array of symptoms. I love House).
Now, anyone who's seen the state of my bedroom will think that I'm the last person to have OCD tendencies. It's pretty rare to be able to see the carpet through the perpetually growing pile of clothes. But this particular episode of House got me thinking, and I have a fair few "quirks" that some might find strange....

I hate a messy cutlery drawer. All the spoons have to be in the spoon compartment, forks with the forks, knives with the knives. Not only that, but all the cutlery has to be facing the same way. It drives me crazy when forks or spoons are upside down (particularly forks - I can't stand it when the prongs get caught on each other). I think it's impossible for me to see a messy cutlery drawer without sorting it out, which one of my housemates is well aware of, and seems to enjoy wreaking cutlery havoc just to wind me up....

When I used to work at an old people's home, part of our job was to sort out all the washing up of the crockery after meal times. All the cups were stacked on a tray, and I used to hate it if the handles of the cups weren't all pointing in the same direction. Which did make logical sense, as it meant they would stack easier, although I'm not sure it was really necessary to make sure they were all at an angle of 45°. I don't think my co-workers were too happy about me wasting my time during one of the busiest times of the day arranging coffee cup handles.

A lot of my strange compulsions are number related, which is probably not surprising for a Mathematics student. The volume on my tv/laptop has to be even, or divisible by 5. If someone else is adjusting the volume and leaves it on a number that doesn't fulfil these requirements, I'll ask them to change it. Prime numbers are the worst - Boy quite often leaves the volume on my laptop as a prime just to wind me up. I find it absolutely impossible to sit still and watch something if I know the volume isn't on an acceptable number.

When I was younger I used to count the number of syllables in a sentence. My favourite sentences were those that had a syllable count divisible by 4. Again, primes = bad.

I find it absolutely impossible to walk up stairs without counting them. My family home is a Victorian terrace house, and I can tell you that there are 36 stairs in our house, in groups of 15, 3, 12 and 6. I love that all the sets are divisible by 3. Although the number of steps down to the cellar is 14 - it bothers me that this is not divisible by 3, however am placated by the fact that this brings the grand total to 50 - a nice round number if ever there was one.

When I'm at the gym, number of calories burnt has to be a multiple of 25. If I reached 303, I'd push it up to 325 even if my legs were about to fall off. I think even if my legs did fall off, I'd use my hands to get it up to an acceptable number before stopping to wonder why I'd suddenly experienced the loss of two limbs.


I've never really considered the potential crazyness of such behaviours before. And probably wouldn't have done, despite the House episode, if I hadn't watched a film last weekend called Proof. Anthony Hopkins stars as a brilliant mathematician, turned crazy person - in some ways similar to Russell Crowe's character in A Beautiful Mind. If films are to be believed (which of course they are, I can't wait for the day that we create dinosaurs from the stomach juices of trapped mosquitoes), then Mathematics leads to obsession with numbers (I'm pretty much already there) which leads to crazyness. I'm doomed.

When chatting to my aforementioned housemate about my inevitable decline into lunacy, we moved onto the subject of dreams - it always amazes me how incredible it is that our subconcious mind will manifest itself by making us experience and believe such unlikely, surreal or even impossible things whilst we're actually asleep in our beds.

My subconcious is a massive geek.

I dream about maths a lot. Mostly calculus, occasionally some matrices or trig. Whilst I was doing my A-levels I once dreamt the answer to a problem that I'd been struggling with for two days. Very exciting times when I woke up and realised my subconscious was a genius.

Dinosaurs crop up fairly often too. You know in Jurassic Park, that bit where they feed the raptors the cow, and the harness comes up mangled to f**k? I dreamt that there was a walkway in those trees, and there I was just casually strolling along when a nasty vicious I'm not even hungry I'm just gonna kill you because I can Velociraptor jumped onto the walkway behind me. I ran from the raptor, and found myself in a sort of laboratory type building, and came across an Allosaurus behind a glass screen. The Allosaurus apologised to me for the behaviour of the velociraptor, telling me "he was out of order - I can't believe he was so rude. I'll be having words later". Of course the Allosaurus had a Yorkshire accent.


Scary Velociraptors. Which actually look nothing like real Velociraptors.
 I've had at least 5 dreams where I've been a character in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Usually the slayer herself, although most recently I was Dawn - perhaps I was feeling particularly helpless that day? The night after that dream I dreamt I was in Hogwarts, which was being attacked by Voldemort and his army. I knew that I was the only one who could save the school, however I could only do so if I killed the Basilisk first. People kept trying to usher me to safety, no matter how much I screamed "BUT I HAVE TO KILL THE BASILISK!" at them. I'm not sure how I intended to kill the basilisk, as I only had a tiny vial of veritaserum on me and I'm pretty sure telling the truth isn't too effective against a giant serpent that can kill you with one glance.

Again, the night after, I dreamt about playing games on the bbc microcomputer that I had as a kid. They're pretty damn old, and most of you probably wont remember them. They looked like this:


Yup, that is a 5.25" floppy disk. Why my subconscious decided that it wanted to play pixelated computer games from the early 90's, I will never know.

Best case scenario: I am just a massive, albeit high-functioning, nerd, and will continue to maintain a normal social life.

Worst case scenario: I will fall further into the world of numbers, counting, and factorising, I will start to think that fantasy characters are real, perhaps believing that I am one of these characters. I'll start to speak in nothing other than binary code, or elvish, all the while becoming more and more fearful that I will be attacked and killed by a pack of genetically engineered Velociraptors, the likelihood of which will of course be indirectly correlated to the degree of order in the cutlery drawer.



Worst case scenario


Thursday, 18 November 2010

Inspired

Well it's been a while since my last post..... the last few weeks have been such a crazy mix of family, work, maths, friends, cigarettes alcohol and broken hearts that I've barely had time to breathe, nevermind write a blog. Everyone who's been there for me, thank you so much.

I don't want to write about me. I am fed up of talking about me. I'm gonna talk instead about the people who inspire me, influence me, and give me hope.

Firstly, my Mum. Here she is....


I don't think she'd thank me for putting this picture up, but it's the only one I have of her on my computer.... 90's fashion ey! For those of you who don't know, my mum died just a few days before my 10th birthday. She was a professional singer; an extremely talented and determined musician. By the age of 15 she'd left home in Darlington to tour Europe with a band, something that I could never have done at that age. She even sang for Jimi Hendrix whilst she was in Germany!

I've got so many good memories from when me and my brother were little. She made the time to do the school run every day, which for over a year was driving from Leeds to Harrogate, whilst hosting her own radio show and playing gigs in the evenings to help put food on the table. She was an amazing mum, and I miss her very much. I love listening to the recordings that her band made, and I wish I could have really got to know her as an adult. I hope that I'll make her proud.

I've uploaded a recording here if you want to hear it. My dad's on the bass :).

Kat Von D


 
Kat Von D is one of those people that is either loved or hated. To me, she's an amazing woman - she's obviously incredibly talented, amazingly driven, and has made her way to the top of a totally male-dominated profession. She's loved and lost, but doesn't let that defeat her. I would love to be as strong as she is.

James Frey

Author of A Million Little Pieces and My Friend Leonard. Ex-drug addict. A Million Little Pieces is probably my favourite book of all time, I love the way he writes, and the way he wasn't afraid to describe how f***ed up he really was. I know there's been controversy about how much of the book has been exaggerated, but I can't say that bothers me. I've spent time with serious drug addicts before, and I've seen how the addiction can completely consume a person. It takes real strength to get clean, and stay clean. I have massive respect for James' determination. Who cares if he embellished some details to his books? If that means that more people read them, that's great... it's a real story of hope.

Walt Disney
The ultimate dreamer. From living on a farm to creating the biggest company in the world... I love the way that Disney is all about losing yourself. The films can make anyone feel like a kid again, Disneyland itself is all about leaving your worries behind and just enjoying yourself. I know that forgetting your troubles is definitely not a good idea in the long run, but I think that there are too many people around who just wont give themselves a break. I love the way that Walt Disney is such an amazing example of dreams coming true. And of course I love the films :) - I perhaps shouldn't rely on children's films for advice, but a quote from The Lion King popped into my head the other day;

"Oh yes, the past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can
 either run from it, or... learn from it"

Good old Rafiki. Amazing advice for where I'm at right now.

That's just a few of the many inspirational people in this world, but also...

Everyone who has been here for me over the past two weeks.

You know who you are. I honestly don't know what I would have done without each one of you. Massive love to you all :)

Tuesday, 12 October 2010

"A body like Megan Fox, please"

So, this being keen thing is hard! I've been so busy with lectures, maths outside lectures, gyming, and trying to have a social life, I've hardly had the time or energy to write a blog. Yet I've got so much to write about! I wont try to fit it all into one post, mostly because it would take far too much time and I want to watch Jamie's American Food Revolution before I pass out from exhaustion.

The first thing I bought with my student loan was a year-long gym membership at the university gym. And despite spending three years studying the human body, I have no understanding of what sort of gym activities would be the most beneficial, so I decided that it would be well worth spending an extra tenner on a "fitness assessment and personal programme". The results of the assessment were not exactly confidence boosting....

Resting Heart rate: Poor

Grip Strength: Poor

Lung Function

Forced Vital Capacity: Poor

Forced Expiratory Volume: Poor

Forced Expiratory Ratio: Below Average

Peak Flow Rate: Poor

Not included in the results was flexibility.... to test flexibility, Lee the nice gym man asked me to sit on the floor with my legs straight out in front of me, with my feet against a flexibility measuring box. The idea is to stretch your arms out towards your toes, and push a slide rule type device as far as you can along the scale drawn on the top of the box, which overhangs your feet. (I know I've explained that badly, if you're really desperate to know what the test is click here). Simple, you might think?

I couldn't even reach the box. I mean, I know I'm pretty pathetically unbendy, but to be so bad it can't even be measured?! Bit of a kick in the teeth. Especially when Lee says to me "are you SURE you can't reach any further?!". Yes Lee I'm bloody sure, do you really think I would be so embarrassingly bad at something on purpose?!

After making completely sure that I was rubbish at everything fitness related, Lee asked me what I wanted to get out of my personal fitness programme.

"A body like Megan Fox" I replied.

Lee pauses, looks at me like I have some sort of scary mental illness, and replies with:

"I'll see what I can do...."

Thanks Lee.


So today was the first attempt at my personal programme. Lee's given me a circuit of core muscle building exercises, as well as a circuit of resistance and different cardio things to try. Apparently it's gonna get me toned in super-quick time, as long as I go through it 4 times a week. No problem, I thought, as I began at 7:15 this morning.....

I totally underestimated how difficult it would be. I apparently have no muscles anywhere. It's a wonder I can even stand up, I'm so pathetic. I couldn't even finish the recommended number of reps for all the core circuit. And as for the resistance, even though I used the lightest possible weight for everything, my arms still felt like they were about to burn right off. How do I even carry my shopping with these bits of string attached to my shoulders?! Even a T-rex would feel good about his arms next to me; the most pathetically-armed animal of all time would have more than enough reason to mock me. I'm pretty sure that if T-rexes were a) still alive and b) the same size as me they would totally beat me in an arm wrestle. It wouldn't even be a struggle, not one of those "oooo this is a close one, they've been locked in this arm wrestle of epic proportions for days, they haven't even paused to wee" sort of arm wrestle, it would be the sort where the T-rex would slam my arm straight down, mock me with a roar, and try to raise his arms over his head in victory but fail because his arms are so tiny he can't even scratch his chin. But he wouldn't care because he would have beaten someone with a much larger arm to body ratio in an arm wrestle within a matter of seconds.

On a similar note, me and Boy (the boyfriend) went to a museum on Saturday and saw a T-rex skeleton. It was awesome.

Tuesday, 28 September 2010

Go away, Lemmings!

So, it's the second day of my maths degree, and I've already missed lectures. Apparently, good intentions aren't enough to stop a crippling attack of freshers' flu... I'm starting to feel like I might actually be dying, like the times that I'm hungover and I start to panic that "oh my god maybe it's not just a hangover maybe it's meningitis because my head hurts and my neck hurts and bright lights hurt my eyes, and I've heard stories of students dying from meningitis because they never sought medical attention cos they thought it was a hangover and I'm going to die all because I'm too unorganised to sort out getting my meningitis jab ". But then usually I'll have a bacon sandwich and feel much better, and promise myself that the next day I'll ring up the doctor to book a meningitis vaccination so I don't panic quite so much the next time I'm hungover, but then by the next day I feel fine so thoughts of meningitis jabs don't even cross my mind.

A bit like that, only I don't even have the blurry memories/facebook photos/lingering taste of vodka that are the mark of a good night out. Remember the computer game Lemmings? Those lemmings with the pickaxes, that dug their way through walls? I'm pretty sure I've got a whole army of them camped out in my skull, trying to work their way out through my forehead. Only they're doing it at an extraordinarily slow pace, because that way it'll be even more painful, and will last so much longer! Thanks lemmings!

At the same time this freshers' flu seems to have decided that it wants to make breathing as difficult as possible, by stuffing my nose with as much snot as it can manage, and wrapping itself round my lungs and squeezing them as hard as it possibly can. Whilst this is extremely uncomfortable, its also a good excuse not to do any exercise, as I'm pretty sure I'd die within a few minutes as a result of being put into an acute hypoxic state.

The most insulting part is the coughing. For someone who used to smoke 20 cigarettes a day and now smokes none, it seems somewhat unfair that I'm coughing more than I'm breathing. I think my lungs are trying to make a bid for freedom everytime I open my mouth, despite the fact that if they did manange to escape they'd be inside out and soon die without oxygen. I wish they'd realise that actually they're supposed to be in my thorax, and stop bitching about what a horribly warm and cosy place they live in. And diaphragm, stop trying to help them. Without those lungs you are nothing.

I promise to write something with a more interesting subject matter when I am less of a sniffley, wheezy, headachey, lemsip-craving mess.

Thursday, 23 September 2010

HOW many clothes?!

So, I'm packing all my stuff to go back to Uni tomorrow.... this particular packing experience has forced me to come to the realisation that I have a ridiculous amount of clothing. I could clothe a whole village with all of this stuff. Is there really any need for multiples of the same item in different colours? Or three variations on the denim short? Or TWELVE pairs of pyjamas?!
I dread to think the amount of money I have spent on clothes. I think if I knew the actual number I might have a heart attack and die. Perhaps I should start to ration the number of trips to Primark.....

The Bucket List

For those who haven't seen the film (if that's you, you're missing out - Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman make quite the team), the idea is that this is a list of things I want to do before I kick the bucket. No doubt there's still plenty of stuff I'd like to add to this, but here's a start.....

1. Go to Disneyland, at least three more times

2. Visit Hawaii

3. Go to the Natural History Museum, and see the dinosaur skeletons

4. Own a green Lotus Elise

5. Sing in front of people at least one more time

6. Get a first class degree

7. Visit Japan

8. Get tattooed by Kat Von D

9. Walk the whole of the Great Wall of China

10. Get married

11. Learn another language

12. Go to Australia and hold a koala bear

13. Make a scrapbook

14. Learn to play at least one piece by Ludovico Einaudi

15. Change someone's life for the better

16. Read Lord of the Rings all the way through

17. Swim with dolphins

18. Own a pet snake, and call him Napoleon II, in memory of my Dad's childhood pet, Napoleon Tadpoleon Bone-in-parts (may he rest in peace)

19. Solve a Rubix cube

20. Watch the sun rise with someone I love