Wherever you go, whatever you do, hotness will be right here waiting for you...

So I am finally back on track my luvvies. If there is one thing we can learn from Demi Moore (besides the surprising fact that children do not necessarily accurately represent the gene pool from which they originate), it is that despite age, you can take an ugly break and STILL reclaim hotness with a vengeance!

So consider me the Rambo of hotness. I’m going in, not taking any prisoners, and have difficulty with annunciation.

So I’m finding it much easier now that I am veganising it. I forgot how good it feels to eat vegan food. But I’m not really a vegan. I’m a flexitarian- so I eat dairy or meat in social situations where exclusively vegan food cannot be procured without royally pissing someone off. I know that’s like claiming to be a virgin while sleeping with people when they’ve bought you a lobster dinner, but that’s that. Shut up and stop judging!

Somehow I am getting up at 6:10 am every morning to work out on the cross trainer. I do it watching Jerry Springer. Makes the time go by fast, although I am constantly adjusting the volume between explanation-fight-yelling-fight-Jerry takes it down a notch-fight-scream. It sucks because the poles keep knocking my arm as I press the buttons on the remote.

I cannot decide if my Boots defy-the-ageing-moisturisers are working. Does it matter when the skin above the knees is sagging and therefore is a dead giveaway?

Fear my hotness...well, not really.

Nooooooo!!!! Except the smoking I have completely devestated all my work.

Can't stay motivated.

Normal blogging will resume once I can get off my lazy arse and get motivated...

Days 26-30 Chocolate covered strawberry, anyone?

Yum, I had loads of massive strawberries covered in an obscene amount of chocolate. What? It was dark chocolate, get off my case.

I haven't been to the gym in a week. It's probably down to sheer laziness. Although part of me wants to believe deep down that it is my immune system, begging from a break from constantly fighting the diseases circulating between the sweaty filthy not-washed-my-hands-after-using-the-toilets-ever 19 year old boys and the handles of every door and piece of gym equipment. I even fear using the water fountain. They're all whores with mouth sores. And I'm expected to share space? Yep, this sounds like self-preservation kicking in. That's my story and I am sticking to it.

I've been drinking a lot of bubbly lately. Too many things to celebrate. Damn, why did all this good stuff have to happen to me and my friends, all in the same week? Let's have some misery. Then I can stick with bread and water.

Days 23-25 Hot town, summer in the city, but i insist on looking shitty

I have really been struggling this past couple of days. My body or is it what is left of my mind has randomly decided to try and undo all the good I have done over the past few weeks. Alcohol? Check. Bacon sandwiches? Check. Skipping the gym? Check. Ugh. Actually, the alcohol isn't out of control- I had half a bottle the other night. The problem is that when I drink alcohol my eyes get very puffy, so one night with a couple of glasses=channeling Baby Jane's face for a few days. And today I can barely keep my eyes open they are so puffy.

Arrggh!

Sabotage! Why am I doing this? Will be back later once I have found an answer...

Days 19-22 Please reclaim your hotness on carousel 3

Oh, man, I have been wrong. I mean really wrong. I'm a little eating machine, I am. I had a completely out of control last couple of days. I have run screaming from any chance of hotness. At least I haven't been drinking the past few days and I still haven't touched a ciggie. So there's a little hope.

I'm going to be an extra this evening in a gallery. A couple of us from work are going- it's a dating show. They are doing a reconstruction about two people who met in a gallery. We play the losers he wasn't attracted to. Hah! That should be fun. I'd better not have to stand in heels for hours just for some lame arse show.

What else? Not much. It's been fairly uneventful since the commish on Friday. Serious- even Sweaty hasn't been at the gym. Oh shit, have I turned into Sweaty's stalker now?

Days 17+18 Anyone got a sammich?

Well, I am sitting here ready to burst. We have just gotten a huge commission - about 10 minutes ago and I can't tell anyone yet. I wasn't supposed to know, but was in my boss' office when the department head honcho came in, slammed the door shut and screamed. Then he said how many episodes we got and how much money too. Damn, the relevant research team is waiting right over there. These are my friends and I can't tell them. So right now I am quite literally hiding behind my pc. I think Honcho has gone to get champagne. That's usually what happens with a commission.

I am pretty narked about Britain's Got Talent last night. The Michael Jackson scouser dancers were so awesome, I nearly cried. When they got on stage and started performing, I jumped up and shouted, 'oh, no they didn't do Thriller!' but they did. I was so freakin' happy- they were dressed like zombies from the late 18th century and the choreography was definitely influenced by Thriller, but was still completely new and unique. And they still ended up getting knocked out for the monkey guy. The monkey guy who last night totally sucked balls.

In better news, I left work early yesterday and went to the gym. I did that arm bicycle thing. That shit's tough. I managed 5 minutes. And that was really pushing it. About 90 seconds into it I was exhausted. Fooked. And there was a smelly guy sitting at the one next to me, which contributed to my willingness to give up so easily. Sweaty wasn't at the gym this time- probably because I was so early. Update on the gym machine calorie burning crisis from yesterday. I went onto the older cross training machine and my calorie burning rate went super-high again. So I'll be sticking with the older machine. Who needs modern technology?

My waist is tiny today. Well, tiny for me. I'm not exactly spanning it with my hands, but a small child would be able to put their arms around my waist and touch their hands together. Okay, maybe that metaphor isn't the best. What I meant to say was that a grown-up with small arms would be able to put them around my waist. Not a child. Please don't call Protective Services.

Day 16- Big mac fillet o' fish quarter pounder french fries...

Mmm. Been thinking a lot about junk food this morning. Which is scary because I know what they put in McNuggets. But they just taste so good. So I'm thinking about those joyous little bundles of white chickeny chemically-flavoured glue. Especially with bbq sauce.

On a better note, I bloody well forgot my gym towel last night, didn't I? So I'm in the changing rooms, looking in my bag for the towel, then the penny drops. I had a little Mick Jones moment- should I stay or should I go? I decided to be brave and workout in the oven/gym without a towel. That was interesting because I had to use their crappy paper towels. They are pointless and once they get wet they shred up. I didn't realise this of course until I saw myself in a mirror after working out on several machines. I had little bits of paper everywhere- I looked like my Grandad used to after a particularly clumsy shave (miss you Grandy). For some strange reason the boys left me alone. Can't figure out why. Sweaty wasn't there, and I have to say, I missed him a little bit. It's easy to develop a co-dependent relationship with your stalker, don't you find?

Oh, damn, had a minor set-back- well, okay it was devestating news at the gym. I've been entering in the wrong weight on the machines- about 20 pounds more than I really weigh- and only just realised. Don't blame me, it's all kilos over here. I hate metric. This sucks because according to the machines, the less you weigh, the more the calorie burn ratio decreases. No, plummets. No, muthafuckin' free-falls from 10,000 feet with no parachute. Here I thought I was all eye of the tiger burning 650-700 calories per workout. Hah! With the weight re-adjustment I am lucky to burn 350. No wonder skinny girls don't eat- they can't burn anything off at the gym. I guess if I was 115 pounds I'd have to work out for 2 hours to burn off a chip.

Days 12-15 She'll be fallin off the wagon when she comes

Damn it has been tough the past few days. Obviously had a bit of fun and booze on Friday, with my bezzie, which is allowed. I have been off the sauce since a few sips of yummy draught beer on Saturday.

However, last night I was riding this cheese and crackers wave that I couldn't get off. If loving cheese and crackers is wrong, I don't want to be right. Except I was really, really wrong last night. My stomach's paying for it today. I'm certain the pregnancy rumours are circulating around the office as we speak.

Of course, I have been going to the gym each weekday. I think I'm going to have to step it up a bit. Seems an hour a day isn't enough because I have turned into pac-man with the eating, and am cursed with a metabolism as slow as the workings in Hilton's brain. Damn. That gym's just as filthy as always and it has no a/c. As you can imagine it's pretty hot in there- all windows and it's summer. I wish it was hot in other ways, but nope, just filled with over-pumped young guys still strutting around in old messed up trainers, short vent-y shorts and black socks. My stalker was there last night. Oh yeah! News! I have a stalker again, so there must be some hotness which has successfully been reclaimed. Although I don't think I am the only one he stalks. He's ginger and has an Abe Lincoln beard. Because he looks like one of the seven dwarfs, I've named him Sweaty. I'll see if I can get a photo.

By the way, we've been watching Britain's Got Talent. Which has got to be one of the best shows ever. I love the singing monkey guy and the Michael Jackson video dancers. And that little 4 year old girl Shakira. Shakira's got some issues. And not just with having loser, uncreative parents who have no taste in music. That outfit she had on suggests a beauty-pageant life of pressure and rejection. Still, little bitch can salsa. It was funny when Simon went on and on about how fantastic she was and that she was through to the next round. Shakira had no idea what he was saying. She's 4 and can't speak in compound sentences.

Days 9-11 I've been a lazy beeotch

I've lost the will to live now that Paris is out of jail. It's not that I enjoy having Paris invade my thoughts at all- in fact I would prefer my mind be infested with an unknown and undiagnosed parasite contracted during a tour of dodgy third world countries. However, I can't help but be a little peeved at the stupidity of the people who let her go. Millions of people collectively cheered when she went in- and they're making one hell of a noise now she's out.
That being said, she'll always be imprisoned in that crumbling, shrivelled, pathetic organ which at one time was a mind.
Enough of the soap box.

Paris aside, I've been fairly chuffed since yesterday. Things are going well with the hotness, but that's all I will say at this point. You don't brag about how quickly you run the first mile in a marathon.

Day Eight- she ate a raspberry souffle

Well, not really- I was just daydreaming of raspberries and Prince at the same time.

The gym last night was funny. I go to a gym which is free for everyone who works in my building to use. I am sick of paying for gyms I rarely use and this is now kind of making up for it. However, this gym has got to be the filthiest mofo gym I have ever seen. I now laugh at how anal retentive I used to be at clean gyms, throwing looks of disdain and disgust at anyone who would miss a sweat drop or two when cleaning off the machines they had just used. Those were the days. I won't even touch my face until I get home and can wash my hands properly. (Because if you think I am going in those showers, you have got another thing coming missy).

At this gym getting on to a weight machine is like getting on the water rides at Alton Towers- you know the log flume? Using your hands as wipers so that your arse doesn't get too wet when you sit down? And the smell. There isn't any hyperbole I could use to describe it. Honestly. And most hilariously, it's a meat market- worse than any Yate's on a Friday night. Now, slaving away in the filth and sweat of 100 other people while trying to avoid the looking at the sweaty crotch of the man in venty shorts on the running machine in front of me, while avoiding eye contact with the 20 year old 'men' pumping iron (because if you do establish accidental eye contact, say while you are looking at the clock, that's it- they think you're hooked on the hotness and they'll strut in front of you like roosters), is not a situation that's going to make me want to bump uglies with anyone. All I think about while I am in there is getting out without contracting some rare skin disease brought over by one of these kids in their gap year. But no one said reclaiming the hotness was going to be easy.

Wait- days five and six? Six and seven?

Anyhoo, things went well on the weekend. Fought the hotness just a little bit- specifically, in terms of a BK chicken sandwich. Well on the right path again. I have a container packed with fruit here- and it's all good except the melon. That's a bit mushy. And it doesn't really taste like bacon sandwiches so I'm not happy.

I still haven't smoked, and that is totally down to Alan Carr and his Easyway to Quit Smoking book. He's such a hot bitch. Whenever I get a bit antsy, I just flip thorough the pages and amusing cartoons and feel so much better.

I've been making lots of plans for the summer. My friend Tim has his first communion in a month. No, he's not 7 years old, he's a noob priest. And it's his first communion conducted by him alone, and so he'll be infused with the power of Greyskull when he raises the host. I hope I don't get struck down by lightening when I go into the church. I've only taken communion once since becoming a reprobate and I felt it turn to acid in my mouth- that was the devil and his minions fighting the forces of good, reclaiming the territory for the dark powers that be. I won't be partaking again- perhaps I will sit at the back and make faces at Tim. Try to get him to laugh.

Paul wants to smoke in the cigar bar at Claridge's before the smoking ban starts, so I have to arrange that too. You know how many amazing people have smoked there? Try Churchill, Jackie O, Hepburn and Tracey, Cary Grant, Edward G Robinson, and Yul Brynner. Man, how can they close anything Ramses has been in? Another institution gone. With a solitary tear running down my face, I shall spread flowers in loving memory.

Days Four and Five

This is going to be a short one. Had a great time last night out with my bessie. Lots o' wine. :)

Fighting the fug, one day at a time...

Day Three

Yeah! Big Brother's back! Sorry, but had to talk about that first, being an insane BB fan since series one. All women? I love it. No booze? I love it! Torture, pain, and agony suffered by others? Bring it on. The only thing I'm not loving are the twins. All that vacuous tripe coming out of pastel pink painted lips. In stereo. Lord, pass the paracetemol. Get those hos outta there.

Anyhoo, everything's going well. I've somehow managed to lose 4 pounds in two days, although I'm eating properly. Hmmm. I'm not complaining. It might have had something to do with the tremendous amounts of fruit I'm eating. I'm not going into any details- just going to say through the eye of a needle. Some of you in my non-existent audience will know EXACTLY what I mean.

I am still suffering from big time insomnia. I can't fall asleep before 2 am, despite going to bed hours earlier. I think it is the nicotine monster struggling to anchor itself within the recesses of my soul. Well that and the excitement of possibly wearing UK size 10 jeans in a month or two.

I'm off to the gym at lunch. The earlier in the day I do it, the less likely I'll be to talk myself out of it by 6pm. Mid-day workouts are always a pain in the arse, because you continue sweating when you get back to work, well through the afternoon. That shit sucks. But it's all about reclaiming the hotness, no?

Fighting the fug, one day at a time...

DAY ONE

Not one single photo in which I look under the age of 40. Yep, there’s the jowls. Jowls!!! I could, quite literally, start chsing Sylvester the Cat. My eyes look so puffy JLO would fuck them. A few weeks ago a makeup artist told me- true story- that my facial skin is a completely different tone than the rest of my body. And despite the husband’s kind reassurances it is obvious I’m a little chunky round the edges.

I didn’t used to look this way. Although I was always a bit quirky and unusual, I had no problems getting the men. Indy band groupie extraordinaire would be an accurate way of describing me in my heady youth.

Something’s happened in the past decade – I embraced decadence and started smoking all the time, drinking every day, and putting myself on these crazy diets. And only recently I’ve really noticed my body’s called in the debt. And the debt must have been huge, because the bailiffs have kicked the shit out of this place.

And that’s how I’ve ended up here. In invisible, 30-something woman land. And it’s not a pretty place to be. Literally. In fact, it sucks.

After a long weekend of rigorous and honest self-examination, I’ve made a big decision...a decision to reclaim the hotness.

Will I have unrealistic expectations? I don’t think so. I don’t want to look like I’m 20, I just want to look like a hot 35-year-old.

And so begins the process. I have to quit smoking, cut waaaay back on drinking, get my teeth white again, get my eyes back into non-puffy sockets, lose 15 pounds, figure out a better shade to dye my hair, get my facial skin from yellow to pink, and somehow manage to stay a remotely interesting person.

I started this blog for two reasons- so that I would have some accountability, and so that I may meet others who may be going through the same thing.

I QUIT SMOKING

Okay, this is the fifth (yes, fifth) time I have done this, but I’m REALLY going to make it this time. How do I know? Because I quit a few days earlier than my deadline. Inconceivable to some, yes, dangerous to others, of course, but I decided to do it early, and my body’s already reaping the rewards! Actually, no, it isn’t- my body woke me up at 3am this morning and I couldn’t get back to sleep. A sign of excitement? Terror? Panic? Madness?

Right now the nicotine patch is slowly releasing its sweet sweet goodness and is well worth the constant stinging sensation.

I’m not looking forward to the cold I always get when I quit smoking. That bitch is a nightmare. That should be coming within a day or two.

DAY TWO

Okay, I'm a little antsy today. Been rubbing the nic patch for the past hour or so. Just for luck, mind. Won a battle of epic proportions - totally triumphed over our home beer keg last night by not drinking a drop.

Evening a bit more difficult- I've been so used to smoking and rinking with watching television. I've had to keep my hands busy, so I've been folding laundry, cleaning, etc. Bloody hell, I never realised how much I could get finished if not sitting on my arse all night doing nothing. Don't get me wrong, still watching tv, but multitasking, bitches! It's the future!