Don't stop till you get enough

For 357 days of the year I watch what I eat with great care.

 

Some might even say I'm obsessed.

 

No food item makes it into my shopping trolley until it's been scrutinised for carb and fat content and I cart so much fruit around in my handbag I could open my own stall on Henry Street.

 

But come Christmas - all bets are off.

 

It's impossible to resist a house where cupboards are bulging with brightly wrapped chocolate sweets and has sideboards laden down with brandy laced Christmas cake and mince pies.

 

And that's all before you even make it to the big dinner on the 25th.

 

The only clothes that make it out of my wardrobe during this time come fitted with stretchy elastic, and I move around the house with my arms wrapped around a tin of roses like an over protective mother.

 

I have until the 1st of January ( or possibly the 2nd!) to indulge - after that it'll be back to the serious business of monitoring the protein to carbohydrate ratio on my dinner plate and getting the all essential five a day.

 

I know if I cared to exercise any care and resisted eating two months worth of food in a seven day period I could relax this regime a little for the rest of the year but who am I to destroy such a long standing, and wonderful, Christmas tradition?

 

Now I must take my roses and retire to the living room.I don't like to leave my comfort zone for too long. Otherwise there's a danger the cushions will be plumped and my body shape lost from the coach.

Reclaiming Christmas

My Christmas spirit has been a bit low this year.

It's been hard to be celebratory when parties are being cancelled and the only Christmas bonus staff are getting is a job to return to in the new year.

I got a bit of a shock during the week when I realised I was relieved to see murder stories on the news - simply because they some of the focus off the never ending, increasingly depressing recession stories.

So this weekend I reclaimed Christmas. I bought a tin of roses, broke open the buck's fizz, got out my Santa hat and went clubbing with reindeer antlers.

It's not like the news is going to get better any time soon so I think we owe it to ourselves to get out there and enjoy ourselves.

What's the alternative - to sit home and watch stock markets tumble? That's just depressing and let's face it, none of us have the cash to spare for anti depressants.







Textual frustration.

I've made a new friend. They love me. They've told me so three times in the past ten days.

I can tell you now that they like breakfast rolls,fruit pastilles , massage oil and that their name begins with a J.

However if I walked straight into them on the street I wouldn't have a clue who they were.

You see someone out there is sending me texts meant for another. As they're generally sent late at night or early in the morning I'm assuming the sender either isn't paying attention  - or is steaming drunk.

The problem is I didn't bother to correct them after the first text. And now I've gotten to know some fairly intimate stuff about them - the things they want to do with massage oil are seriously kinky - I'm too embarrassed to right the wrong.

On the other hand I'm worried that if I don't speak up I could ruin a beautiful relationship with my silence. I know for a fact that on the 11th of December lemsip was not delivered - as requested - to my sick friend's bedside. That's a sackable girlfriend (or boyfriend) offence.

For all I know some lovely couple out there could be having huge rows ( roughly every third day or so ) due to mis-communication over texts I'm receiving.

There is another pressing concern as well.

My mystery pal has promised to send me some sexy photos and I really don't know if I'm ready for that level of openness.

I mean it's only been a few weeks.










Oh Christmas tree,Oh Christmas tree


Two things that don't work well in a fake form - boobs and Christmas trees.

Two things my boyfriend is fond of - fake boobs and fake Christmas trees.

It's been a weekend of revelations for me.

It began on Friday with an innocent discussion about our Christmas tree. Since then our apartment has turned into a battle ground with all lines drawn around the still empty space for our much debated tree.

I had assumed that on Saturday morning John and I would wrap up well, totter off to buy a fresh tree and thereafter spend the day trimming it while drinking mulled wine and listening to Christmas carols. Bear with me, I have very old fashioned ideas about Christmas.

However my normally amicable boyfriend had very different ideas which involved going to Penney's, getting a pre decorated tree in a box, taking it home, sticking it up and hitting the pub.

As you can imagine it lead to some heated debate, some temper tantrums and the sorry end of one angel who'll never make it to the top of the tree.

For me Christmas is all about the tree.And it has to be the real, fresh out of the ground, deal.

John disagrees - he says picking up pine needles, having your hands glued by resin, wrestling the tree into the house and onto the stand and repeating the process in reverse order after Christmas is nothing but hassle.

Bah humbug. It's the best bit! I will admit that fake trees are a lot better now than when I growing up. The image of my aunt's silver tinsel atrocity haunts me still. But they still don't compare to a fresh one, filling your house with the scent of pine.

Naturally, as is the way with arguments, the Christmas tree controversy spilled over into other conversations and I discovered there was a lot about John I had yet to learnt.

For starters he's a fan of busty babes which caused me to shed many a tear when I realised my A cup size must be a constant source of disappointment to him.

Instead of the reassuring platitudes I expected when I voiced this concern, he offered to get me a boob job, which naturally enough lead to further hysterics.

Personally I like imitation designer bags and potato - smash is a godsend, particularly now that John isn't cooking for me. In retrospect it may not have been a good idea to shout "I know you like fakes, I fake it with you all the time."

Unsurprisingly we're still tree-less although I am hopeful negotiations can begin again this evening. I've spent an awful lot of money on a luxury Marks and Spencer's dinner.

I figure my cooking is not the best way to say sorry - in case you're wondering why, let me refer you back to my passion for smash ......








Duvet Days

I've had the last few days off work.

I'll be honest. There was nothing really wrong with me aside from a cold but I needed a couple of days to myself.

Taking sickies isn't something I normally do but I was feeling generally blue and annoyed with the world. I knew if I went into work I'd be cranky and pissy with people and to be honest it was better I stayed home for a while with my own company.

When I returned today I was back to my normal self, able to do the work properly and generally more pleasant to be around. I was also up to date on I'm a celebrity gossip - thank you This Morning - how to improve my mental health - thank you Dr Phil - and vampire habits - thank you Buffy.

As a result of my improved well being I've decide two mental health days should be given to every employee a year to be taken at their own discretion. Sometimes you just need a break from the old routine to lift your spirits and put you back on track.

Even the knowledge that there's the option of taking the days would be enough to keep most of us happy and it'd be great not to feel guilty when you pick up the phone to call in sick.

It'd be a very simple way to keep workers happy and morale high. Also a little time away from work is a great motivator and your output really does improve when you return - obviously .... I mean how else would I have the time to write this.......




Christmas on a shoestring.

John and I have put a budget on our Christmas presents. We're not to spend more than a hundred euro on each other AND we have to get a few presents, not just one big one.

In my naivety I thought that it'd be a doddle to pick up a load of stocking fillers.

But as it turns out its harder to buy something thoughtful that's cheap instead of splashing out.

I traipsed up and down Grafton St on Saturday and Henry St on Sunday.

So far I've bought him a chocolate Santa.

Girls are easy to buy for - it doesn't matter how many lip glosses I have, I'm always excited to get another one. Throw in some nail varnish and I'm happy a very happy camper.

Cheap and cheerful stuff for boys tends to be tat.

It's all remote control cars and gadgets like camera's you can fit on your keyring. I know he wouldn't like it because it's pointless. John has a camera that fits in his pocket and another good one on his phone. It wouldn't even occur to him to use an inferior one that's dangling from his key ring.

It's the same with the D.I.Y kits. Why would he want miniature screwdrivers? He'll be getting them in the crackers on Christmas day anyway.

I had hoped to buy myself underwear and pass it off as a gift for him but I've been banned from doing that.

Although, to be fair, he didn't say anything about handcuffs ................