By Aislinn De'Ath

By Aislinn De'Ath
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Wednesday, 5 January 2011

First One...

Hello readers!

Well, of course I don't actually have any readers. Because I've just started this fiasco. Am suddenly very aware that I am basically having a conversation with myself. Must check out blogger schizophrenia rates...

Anyway. No idea if I'll be any good at this malarkey. I've got an English degree so I'd hope so, although to be honest, god knows how, I did bollocks all work at university, too busy poncing around on a stage and getting drunk on Asda own brand Baileys (Irish Knights, well cheap, well lush) to bother putting actual time into essays. Essays? HAH! I laugh in the face of them! Which is probably why so many of them are completely incoherent. Ahem. Actually, that's a bit of a fib. I was quite good at essays. I actually look back now and go 'cor, that's a bit smart isn't it?' because the thing no one tells you is *looks round over shoulders like secret squirrel* Drama School makes you really thick. Now, I'm pretty sure most of my peers would argue with me, but it's true. The first thing they tell you is 'Don't intellectualise' and 'Don't think, feel' which is all well and good when it comes to acting but it seeps into your life and you begin having such a lack of intellect that your brain fluid begins to seep into your on-the-equipment-list-but-not-required leotard bottoms. Which isn't really ideal. Especially since the essay writing standards at Drama School are low low low. In my first term I wrote an essay where the conclusion amounted to 'Film is fun and nice and shiny, YAY' then a smiley face drawn in my own excrement and the teacher wrote 'excellent!' 

I didn't agree but I really liked her for that. It was one of those situations when you know you did a god-awful job, but praise is just so nice that you allow yourself to believe that actually it was a work of genius hidden in 3 pages of Times New Roman on film noir practice. By the end of the week I had it almost framed and pinned inside my (very high school musical style) locker. Then, in a slightly more sober moment I re-read it. It was gibberish that only Jeremy Kyle guests are usually capable of producing.

Right. Have just realised I've spoken quite a bit about school. Now, school is likely to be quite a current theme in this blog (if I can be arsed to continue it, I've got to be honest, I'm not convinced yet) so I'll give you a break from my waffling about that and waffle about some thing else.

Waffle, waffle, pancake! (Sorry, had to)
Am a bit obsessed with food at the moment actually. Well, I always am. I'm one of those really annoying women who does 'diets'. I didn't used to. At uni, I sneered at the very word, I would eat my way through more pizza than any rugby lad and still feel fabulous in a tiny wee skirt. When friends said they were dieting I'd look at them like they were disturbed and offer them some of my cheesy chips with bbq sauce (so damn good). It was the best of times, it was the yummiest of times. Then I got back, and suddenly, without rhyme or reason, diets were EVERYWHERE. I was slimmer than any of the three years at uni thanks to movement classes and long walks in central London, but it seemed everyone I knew was dieting! So first came the slim-fast diet. Gross. Pure ick. I can't bring myself to trust a diet that recommends you drink chalky pastel coloured milkshakes instead of meals. And it didn't really work. It just made me hungrier and my tongue went all furry and pink (surely not a good sign). Then came Weight Watchers. Which was actually really good. I got really skinny. I even got given a special gold membership for reaching my goal weight. Then I had a great deal of fun putting all of the weight back on and am now far too guilty to go back to my meetings, which is full of motherly types who are all really caring and supportive. They'd be so disappointed and frankly, I'm a lapsed Catholic, I have more than enough guilt in my life.
Now it's the Carol Vordamon [sic?] detox for a month. Which is where you cut out wheat, dairy, booze, sugar, salt, caffeine, processed food and fun. Of course, technically I've only done it for 3 days, because 2 days of it I was really ill and puking quite a lot. I know I should be ashamed of this reader, but I was actually a little smug. It was like losing the pounds with less effort. Bad, bad me. Saying that, it was the one saving grace of the illness, the rest was like playing a game of 'spot the mange tout' as 2 days worth of food went gushing into the sick bucket! 

Yeah, I'm pleasant like that.

Well, on that sexy little note, I'll let you go. I'm bored and I'm sure you are too! 
Tarrah loves!


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