Every year without fail I make the same New Year's Resolution; lose weight.
Then, every year turns into a constant battle between feeling comfortable in my own skin and crying myself to sleep because I cannot bare to see my hideous, flabby reflection.
Well, I say no more to this madness!
In 2013, I am going to start the year in tune with my body, rather than pushing myself for limits beyond what my body is physically capable of (put down the size 8 Topshop jeans, Hayley, for God's sake you are Italian!). I want 2013 to be a year where I focus far less on how brilliant my life will be once I'm slim, and open my eyes to how brilliant my life is right in the moment. I want to try and treat my body with more respect, and if that means drinking less wine and maybe, possibly not eating a large bar of Cadbury's Bubbly 4 times a week then fine. I am going to go to the gym, not with the hope of stepping out of the place looking like Miranda Kerr (see note on me being Italian), but with the knowledge that yes, the exercise really does make me feel less stressed, calmer and healthier over all. I want 2013 to be a year of love, not another year wasted on my constant desire to be everything I am not.
Therefore, my New Year's Resolutions are as followed:
Spend more time writing. Blog more frequently. Read more F. Scott Fitzgerald. Say yes to new opportunities. Volunteer at something. Make time for the people I miss. Apply for, and obtain, an internship for a magazine...ANY magazine. Spend a month of my summer somewhere utterly mind-blowing and do it alone. Save a little bit of money every month. Visit Barcelona. See my family in Sicily. Love more, laugh more & love more.
If I can do half of that, then loosing weight without battling my body will simply be an added bonus.
Happy New Year, my darlings. xo
Sunday 30 December 2012
2012 Has Been...
An adventure. Exciting. Inspiring. Scary. Drunken. Sometimes slutty. Fun. Messy. Hilarious. Tragic. Beautiful. It was The Olympics. London. The Jubilee. Sporty. Fireworks. Cakes. Music. Full of new friendships. Lovable. Interesting. Boring. Second Year. The Girls. Heart breaking. An experience. And oh so much fun.
As with most years, 2012 has taught me a lot about myself, about the people I love and about the people who love me. I have very few regrets from this year and am so thankful to all the amazing people who have been a part of it.
I hope they stick about 2013, it's set to be even better...
Monday 3 December 2012
A Reason to Campaign
I am a girl. I work in a bar.
I do not know what it is about that fact that suddenly makes ridiculous comments of a sexual nature alright in a blokes mind, but it's not.
I appreciate that yes, part of the job is to smile, have a pretty outlook and be plesant and warm with the customers. I am aware that various punters, drunk or otherwise may try and use whatever hideous line they've caught on to, to try and chat me up and yes, I know that a low cut top or stupidly short skirt may better my chances ate getting tip. I know all of that and yet, here's the thing.
I do not wear anything even remotely inappropriate to work, as we have discussed on multiple occasions, I do not actually enjoy having my boobs on show... makes me horrifically awkward and besides... I prefer my legs.
I've always been quite lucky, apart from the odd guy trying to ask me if it hurt when I fell from heaven, I've never had anyone behave in an inappropriate manner towards me. Until Friday, when, as I was simply trying to shake three cocktails, one of the customers turns around to his mate and say, right in front of me 'Watch her tits wobble when she shakes them.' Next thing I know, I look up for about 6 blokes ALL with their eyes directed straight at my chest. Delightful.
The worst thing was how powerless I felt, I know that I should have refused to serve them further, my supervisors and managers would have supported that decision and the three gentlemen (if we can EVEN call them that) would have been escorted out of the building by one of our lovely doormen.
But I didn't, instead, I instantly fell quite, finished off making the other two cocktails, took their money and then mumbled to one of the boys saying I didn't really want them being served again and asking him to take over. I was left feeling shell shocked and in many ways, a little bit dirty.
Did this make me bad at my job? Am I just being over sensitive? Who knows.
About 30 seconds afterwards, I realized that what I wanted to do was to walk up to customer and inform that, if his dick was where my tits are, it too would wobble, and it wouldn't be half as pretty to watch.
The whole thing just manged to reconfirm why I think the campaign against Page 3 is so important. I was not out on the pull, I was not dressed inappropriately and I certainly was not 'asking for it'. Why the hell should it be ok for someone to make such a vulgar comment just because he didn't reach across the bar and grab my boobs?
The story is starting to get old. Girls have tits. Blokes have dicks. Dogs have fur and Leopards have spots. Can we all move on now please?! Get them out of the paper and for the love of all that is Holy, get some manners, because I can hardly turn around and tell my managers that actually, I don't feel comfortable making cocktails now because 'my tits wobble'. I'll get the sack.
I do not know what it is about that fact that suddenly makes ridiculous comments of a sexual nature alright in a blokes mind, but it's not.
I appreciate that yes, part of the job is to smile, have a pretty outlook and be plesant and warm with the customers. I am aware that various punters, drunk or otherwise may try and use whatever hideous line they've caught on to, to try and chat me up and yes, I know that a low cut top or stupidly short skirt may better my chances ate getting tip. I know all of that and yet, here's the thing.
I do not wear anything even remotely inappropriate to work, as we have discussed on multiple occasions, I do not actually enjoy having my boobs on show... makes me horrifically awkward and besides... I prefer my legs.
I've always been quite lucky, apart from the odd guy trying to ask me if it hurt when I fell from heaven, I've never had anyone behave in an inappropriate manner towards me. Until Friday, when, as I was simply trying to shake three cocktails, one of the customers turns around to his mate and say, right in front of me 'Watch her tits wobble when she shakes them.' Next thing I know, I look up for about 6 blokes ALL with their eyes directed straight at my chest. Delightful.
The worst thing was how powerless I felt, I know that I should have refused to serve them further, my supervisors and managers would have supported that decision and the three gentlemen (if we can EVEN call them that) would have been escorted out of the building by one of our lovely doormen.
But I didn't, instead, I instantly fell quite, finished off making the other two cocktails, took their money and then mumbled to one of the boys saying I didn't really want them being served again and asking him to take over. I was left feeling shell shocked and in many ways, a little bit dirty.
Did this make me bad at my job? Am I just being over sensitive? Who knows.
About 30 seconds afterwards, I realized that what I wanted to do was to walk up to customer and inform that, if his dick was where my tits are, it too would wobble, and it wouldn't be half as pretty to watch.
The whole thing just manged to reconfirm why I think the campaign against Page 3 is so important. I was not out on the pull, I was not dressed inappropriately and I certainly was not 'asking for it'. Why the hell should it be ok for someone to make such a vulgar comment just because he didn't reach across the bar and grab my boobs?
The story is starting to get old. Girls have tits. Blokes have dicks. Dogs have fur and Leopards have spots. Can we all move on now please?! Get them out of the paper and for the love of all that is Holy, get some manners, because I can hardly turn around and tell my managers that actually, I don't feel comfortable making cocktails now because 'my tits wobble'. I'll get the sack.
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