Charlotte Louise

A dry January

No I’m not talking about the weather. That would just be silly.

I’m talking about abstaining from the glorious nectar that is alcohol. Any form. Wine, beer, vodka, Jack Daniels, Bailey’s, pretty much anything that I had on tap over Christmas.

In favour of my “eat less, do more” lifestyle that I am learning to adapt to (with aching muscles to prove it) I thought it would be sensible (afterthought - stupid) to give up alcohol on weekdays. Not easily done, but I conquered the good stuff. But then I had to get all competitive with myself and decide to give up until my birthday - 25th January for those who wish to worship and adore.

So I am one week down with around two more to go.

Fab.

All in all, this lifestyle change does seem to be working. Have made acquaintances with the gym again, which is no easy feat when I have to battle with my boobs if I so much as decide to skip, let alone run. Thankfully I am not in black-eye stages as of yet, though the male glances (admiring or horrified, unsure which) are a little disconcerting. Thankfully with the aid of one’s bright pink iPod, I can pretend I’m Beyonce, Katy Perry or similar. Unfortunately, have habit of forgetting where I am and can be known to sing. “I kissed a girl and I liked iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!” doesn’t quite have the right affect when surrounded by sweaty individuals with their game face on.

When I am not at the gym, which is pretty much most of the time, because I am, by no means, a gym bunny, (gym bear perhaps?) I have resorted to dancing around the living room in form of hog gazelle, elegantly completing Clare from Steps’ fitness video. I have become very talented at this and have only banged into the sofa once or twice. Even have personal trainer, in form of Jack Russell, who for all his enthusiasm, prefers sit-ups or Canine Cardiovascular Activity, which he has wittily shortened to Walkies. Either way, progress is progress.

Food-wise, while the fat girl inside me screams for mashed potato, I am favouring forcing myself to eat the delectable nourishment that is soup, soup or water, switching only for a balanced meal in the evenings. Boring isn’t it?

Have now resorted to opening my Naughty Cupboard and staring lustfully, drool optional. Have also developed stalker tendencies and tend to frequent the chocolate aisle far too often at Sainsbury’s. Sure that Cadbury’s will take out a restraining order against me at some point, either that or enrol into some form of protection programme, while I rub Fruit & Nut all over my face while screaming…

I digress.

Yeah, so diet is going well then.

2011

Happy New Year!

I haven’t been on here in ages, but…start as you mean to go on. I’m back. Perhaps temporarily but still, back.

2011. New Year. God. 2010 was a bit of a bitch for me. Not a bad year, but a hard one. Lots to do. Lots of change. But I’m hoping this year will be a little LOT easier.

New Year’s Resolution? Well, last year’s was to pass my driving test. In fact, that has been my NYR for the last few years…BUT I didn’t give up and I now have a super cute pink driving licence, which I use only when I get asked for ID because I sort of haven’t driven since…

This year’s, apart from the usual aim to be a little healthier (as is the same with most girls) is to enjoy myself a bit more. At the tender age of 22 (23 on 25th January - fuuuuuuck) I have a social life comparable to that of a 90 year-old pensioner. In fact, that is actually offensive, because at least they go to bingo and have friends and stuff.

No, this year, I will be a social butterfly…perhaps moth…baby steps. I want to catch up with my old friend Gym (my arse is growing at an alarming rate - blame pigs in blankets), see my friends more, leave home for something a little more exciting than work, go on holiday (this is a neccessity - have fears of death otherwise) and just generally learn to have fun again.

Last year I bought a house, moved out of the flat, moved into the house, decorated house, attacked garden (garden was/still is in manner of Secret Garden pre-nurture), adopted dog (realised responsibility of being someone’s mother and have since added a couple more years to the I’m Ready For A Baby step), decorated house some more, worked like a bitch and generally forgot how to have fun. It was a year of achievement and hard work. Oh yay.

This year I will decorate house a little bit (just a teeny bit) and then spend the rest of the time smiling and being cool and sophisticated like heroines from books or similar. Oh. And drink wine.

Will also write novel and become hugely rich and successful, may use name or think of witty pseudonym and in the author’s bit at the end, there will just be a picture of my dog or something. Oh and will also turn down X Factor even though Simon will beg and Cheryl will want to be my best friend.

Yep. All in a year’s work.

When I grow up, I want to be…

God how that list changed when I was little; princess, a dog (I was a strange child), vet, singer, actress… It was only when I reached my teens that I finally decided on one of three feasible options: lawyer (blame Legally Blonde for that), working in musical theatre (a dream that lives on still inside of me, occassionally sated with amateur dramatics) and, of course, a journalist. Ta da!

Now I realise that the Pussycat Dolls wanted to be famous, drive nice cars and have groupies (or boobies as some renditions go) but what about all of the stuff that, now that I am a “grown-up” (at least by some standards, I still need my parents!), really matters?

So I bagged my dream career. Hooray for me. I’m very lucky and I remind myself of it each and every day. But there are other things in life that could do with a degree of improvement.

Lifestyle

I know I harp on about it a lot but I do want to lose some weight. I’m sick of being the big one everywhere. I’m not huge, don’t get me wrong, but I know I could spare a few pounds and I’d love to be a size 14 again, leaving the 16s, and sometimes 18s where my arse is concerned, for someone else. This year has been tough and I usually get home from work only to collapse in the first available (and comfy) spot. I need to go to the gym more, eat like the 22 year-old that I am and not assume that I can still eat rubbish because I’m young.

In reality, there always seems to be some excuse with me: I’m tired, I’m busy, I don’t feel well, that programme I like is on, I’ll go tomorrow etc. In reality I should go more. End of. The gym is quite a distance away from where I live, not walkable, unless you fancy a 45 minute walk either way of an hour at the gym (I’m keen, not insane). But nothing is stopping me from going on a long walk with the dog or getting my arse in gear and going with my boyfriend.

As far as my diet is concerned, I’ve come close to be stupid and not eating the food that my body needs, never mind wants. I won’t do that again. I could cut out on sweets and treats more, and let out my daily frustrations at the gym, rather than on a bottle of Wolf Blass.

Work

I work too hard. Fact. I let myself get so stressed out that I forget how much I love my job.

I am one of those freaks that can’t leave work at home, something that my boyfriend is guilty of too. We get home and stress at eachother and then we end up sulking in unison, which just isn’t healthy at all really.

I get intense insomnia some nights, where I toss and turn and worry. I know there are lots of factors that I fret about (I’m a worrier by nature, it’s what I do) but I need to learn that there is nothing I can do about it at 2:54 in the morning wearing a Care Bears t-shirt and sweat pants.

From now on, I will try to leave work at work. I’m not getting paid after 5pm and before 9am, so why let it get me down.

Pleasure

I’m a loser. No seriously I am. My social life has died a very slow, agonising death.

I don’t really know why.

I suppose a lot of it has to do with my friends being dotted around the country/world. I came home to find everyone else had flown the roost. It’s actually quite sad.

A big difference would be made if I owned a car, but it’s not something I need so much as want, and I really can’t afford that luxury.

For now, my best friend is my dog. His gossiping skills are useless.

Love

I’ve been with my boyfriend for over three years now (three years, five months and a day actually, I just worked that out). We’ve had some huge ups and some massive downs, but we’ve stuck it out.

Sometimes I yearn for the days where we wandered back from lectures and spent the rest of the day watching rubbish movies and eating Pasta ’n’ Sauce and Birds Eye Battered Chicken Breasts in our rented student house. Back then we had NO WORRIES whatsoever. We used to go out and get drunk for no reason and have…fun.

Now, without getting too personal, I think we have lost our way a bit.

His hours were long and draining and completely different to my jammy bitch 9-5, Monday to Friday life. Circumstances have given us an opportunity to change this.

He’s away with work at the moment and I miss him so much. I can’t wait till he comes home because I’m taking him out and we are going to have fun.

Ha. Hello New Year’s Resolutions. Sod the 1st January. I start now.