Wednesday, 29 April 2015

R Kelly's Body Would Never Have Told Him Yes If He'd Ever Been To Boxercise

Last month marked the one year anniversary of the last time I posted a blog. I realise that this is a significantly long time to be away from the computer, and there have been lots of goings on both in my life and the outside world whilst I have been gone that I feel I should address.

THE DRESS -
literally the biggest thing to happen to the internet since that time someone leaked naked photos of Jennifer Lawrence. (White and gold, by the way.)

Someone leaked naked photos of Jennifer Lawrence - and it started a big debate about whether it was or wasn't OK for people to search for them, but by the time the verdict came out that it wasn't, everyone had already looked and just had to pretend that they hadn't and agree that it was an awful breech of privacy and the photos should never be searched for again.

Hipsters are out - and, as usual, I have no idea what is in.

I confirmed everyone's suspicions and turned out to be gay - then decided to take things one step further and moved in with my girlfriend and her three kids. Don't feel like you have to pretend to be surprised so as not to offend me - almost everyone I have told so far in the past year has either feigned surprise ("really? No way! But you've always been so... feminine...") or said something along the lines of, 'oh, is that not something that was already a thing?'

I got a new job (finally) - and now I work in a bank and earn a little bit more money and have to wear nice clothes and only work in 8 hour shifts. (Fear not, though - there is still ample opportunity for me to make disastrous mistakes, only now instead of receiving disapproving looks from my superiors, my consequences will come in the form of dismissal and/or a jail sentence.)

So there we are, the internet is all caught up on my life choices and I am now taking it upon myself to pull my socks up and regain my title as Yorkshire's my friendship circle's finest blogger. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my browser, Google Chrome, for being there when Internet Explorer wasn't. I'd like to thank Firefox for stepping in that time Google Chrome broke and wouldn't stop bombarding me with pop ups of naked cartoon characters - I know it was short notice, and I know it can't have been easy for you, but you did a fantastic job and this blog wouldn't be here without you. I'd like to thank TalkTalk for taking three months to set up my internet when I moved out of my mum's house that time. You showed me that if I really needed the internet, I had the inner strength to seek it (at my mum's house that I'd just moved out of). Nothing sparks determination like deprivation. I'd like to thank my loyal fan base, for always giving me a tonne of hits and then not caring about my well being when I disappeared for over a year... Your lack of e-mails meant a lot to me. Dicks. (I forgive you though. Please still read my blog. I don't have the stature to be picky about the fact that my existence is negligible to you). So thank you everyone, this blog would not be what it is what it once was without you. All of you. (Except you, Internet Explorer, but you knew that...)

As per tradition, I am now going to ramble on about the banalities of my life in such a fashion that is slightly humourous and somewhat embellished, but mostly just cautionary. The first lesson I wish to bestow upon my lovely readership regards the hell-born activity that is boxercise. Understandably, I am assuming that most of you either a) don't know what it is, or b) do know what it is and are therefore mystified as to why I would volunteer myself to take part in such a heinous ritual. As it happens, I was coerced by my former colleagues and, foolishly, agreed to take part. (I'm pretty sure that the name hints at what it is, but I'm just going to quickly explain the art of boxercise here for those of you that are uncertain. Basically, it consists of a roomful of belligerent middle aged women beating the shit out of each other until one collapses in a state of distress and the other is declared victor and presented with a prize of chocolate and a box of Kalms.)** I have only been to three sessions as of yet, but three sessions are enough to realise that my acceptance was a mistake. The first session took place on a Monday, and on the Thursday that followed I was still unable to reach behind me and fasten my bra strap unaided or stand up without crying and causing the people around me to look around in alarm thinking I had gone into labour. I'm finding it difficult to find the emotional and physical strength to go back. In the words of R Kelly, my mind's telling me no, but my body, my body is also telling me no.

*Not technically the definition. There is no prize. There is no winner. There are only losers.
**Also, no one actually gets hit. We just hit at pads like kangaroos with PMS until we collapse in genuine distress.

1 comment:

Thinking outloud said...

I feel like the name of this post is grossly misleading. It has very little to do with R Kelly and a whole lot to do with your personal life. I can envision you living with a girlfriend, it was not much of a shock to my nervous system, that you live with other kids was news to me; however, I cannot imagine you doing Boxercise if your life depended on it.

Congrats on your new job, that is a really great personal success story. It's good to find a home and people you care about, though the oatmeal situation is regrettable.