The wondrous world of sex with non-thin women

I have been spending a lot of time recently perusing the internet for things of interest or funness or note. Though this has unfortunately, meant a lot of time scouring the kind of peer review and recommendation sites apparently mainly peopled by spotty 15-year-old boys in their bedrooms who will promote anything involving girls in bikinis, because they’ve never touched one … and simultaneously things about fat women in the public eye in order to point out that they wouldn’t want to sleep with those.

Of course they’ve only got time to point that out because they have ten minutes before that date they have with Scarlett Johannson or Jessica Alba. Yeah, right. Because these little pricks could actually do soooooo much better.

[And sorry, I should have mentioned that those links will make you want to punch someone. They certainly did me]

Don’t. Eat. Cake.

I’m sitting on the train, and, as usual, am listening to my ipod on shuffle – which is fine in many ways, as it provides a constant and random selection of songs. However, it also provides the random introduction of other things that happen to be on there. Some people telling me how to order coffee in Portuguese for example. A podcast I subscribed to, forgot was rubbish, and forgot to take off there. And, prince over all them all in the chart of random things to pop up – Paul McKenna trying to hypnotise me into being thin.

I don’t know why I have this. No, that’s a lie, I know perfectly well why I have this. I have this because I realised I was fat, decided I wanted to do something about it, but was too lazy and scared to ACTUALLY do anything about it so spent 7.50 on Amazon in the hope that I could slap on some headphones close my eyes and, when I opened them again, I’d be thin.

I bought it, I received it, and evening after evening for some time afterward, I lay on top of the covers with my eyes and concentrated on the voice telling me comforting and fat-deflating. So, most importantly, Did It Work?

Motivation’s what you need - but in a BAD way

As the late Roy Castle would have said.

I’ll write a proper post later, hopefully. But in the meantime…
I just found this gallery of the worst foods you can order in American chain restaurants, and found it oddly motivational, in an anti-appetiser, snuff-movie-of-food kind of way, and quite apart from the alarming calorie and fat counts of these foods, if you can LOOK at those pictures and then fancy eating anything but a nice crisp salad, you are of stronger constitution than me. Seriously, I’ve only flipped through the slideshow and am suddenly desperate to go to the gym to repent for it. Which Can’t be bad.

*shudders*

BMI slideshow

Further to my post here about how arbitrary the BMI calculator is as an indicator of whether a particular person’s weight is healthy or not, have a look at Shapely Prose’s BMI slideshow. The Flickr set is interesting too.

The slideshow is made up of photos of women, with a note underneath indicating whether they are underweight, normal, overweight, obese or morbidly obese according to the BMI calculator. I found it really interesting. There isn’t very much common ground between my idea of “overweight” and “obese” and the BMI calculator’s. It’s fairly clear to me that most of the “overweight” women in that slideshow would have to be very thin indeed to get into the “healthy” range, and whilst I can see that some of the women in the “obese” and “morbidly obese” categories are bigger than average, and might be described as “overweight” in that sense (assuming that there is a “weight” to be “over”), I am not sure that I would apply the “obese” label to any of them.

I’ve got a lot on my plate (As it were)

I have been lying in my bed farting, rotating my ankle, scratching and berating myself. The self-haircutting pathologist is asleep, dreaming of rabbits and lobsters, as he usually does; sometimes he emits a squeak as the dream-lobster tweaks his nose. My leg is itchy; my tummy hurts; I am thirsty. I am fretting.

There has been much to contend with in the last five months, much of it awfully nice and for all the right reasons (moving to Canada), some of it sad (leaving idiot friends and family); some it downright fucking annoying (dealing with The Royal Bank of Scotland Fleet Street branch). Most of it is self-indulgent tosh, mind you, including: