Wednesday 11 April 2007

Memory Lane

In an effort to avoid the 5 pieces of coursework I need to mark, and inspired by an episode of Sex and the City, I had a flick through the photo albums containing all the good pictures from university this evening. I have some questions -

1. wtF was going on with my HAIR?! That fringe - well, I always knew it was a problem, but by my final year that thing had a curl on it to rival Jerry. Had straighteners not been invented in the 90s?
2. I know I was poor, but would it have killed me to get myself to New Look once in a while and stop wearing my old Camp Black Hawk staff shirts?
3. Did I own any make up? Why didn't I wear it?
4. Was I physically inacapable of buying trousers that were long enough?
5. When I looked in the mirror, why did I not consider how pale and unwell I looked, put down the cider and pick up a carrot?
6. It's not fair that I can't wallpaper my rooms with photographs anymore. OK, that's not a question. Suck it up.

I think I thought I was being edgy and cool, not caring about fashion and wearing my DM Mary Janes with EVERYTHING (even brown ones black opaque tights and lilac dresses, and bare legged with little skirts in the summer, IIRC) but, now I realise I was just achingly dorky. Still, if Carrie Bradshaw looks in her photo album and cringe at outfits she wore 10 years ago, I suppose it's an indication that everybody has some painful pictures in their past. Thankfully, I can't seem to find any of mine on the web.

With all this in mind, I'm quite glad I am nearly 30. Look how improved I am! I make an effort to look and smell nice now. I get facials and waxes and the occasional professional hair cut. I buy clothes that don't have elasticated waists. I may not be thinner, but my face certainly is, and I no longer have that pasty, deathly look that screams, "I live on red wine, Marlboro and toasted sandwiches and rarely see daylight". I would never belittle the 20s me - I had an absolute riot at uni, I wouldn't change any of it (apart from, I might be more hedonistic) but I am also really enjoying my current phase of life and looking forward to the next one. I can't believe I am still only in my 20s.

It's 2.10am now (the publishing clock on this blog is all snafu'd) because I have been reading old diario in a self-indulgent way - specifically, the Ibiza chronicles. It reminded me that I was going to tell a tale from the Chronicles of the Evils of Alcohol - from my visit to Jen in November. I wrote about it once and then the dongle got fried. It's kind of late now, I hve a new magazine calling and if I sit here much longer I might feel the need to mark something....bwahahaha! Evils of Alcohol tomorrow.

I went swimming this evening. That was my 20 minutes - although I did about 35. 20 lengths in a variety of ways. My arms ache, it's good. I did mainly back stroke and sculling, and then got a float and did a few lengths with just my legs, so I didn't overwork my upper body. Get me. I could so be a personal trainer. All I need is the yellow lycra trousers and I'm the new Ms Motivator.

There's a very long thread on the forum about whether people feel embarrassed to go swimming or not, which was started by a girl who is, and is a size 12-14. I feel a bit sorry for people who are too embarrassed to get their cossies on and get splashing. In the pool tonight, the only thing I could see was people's heads bobbing up an down as they swam lengths. A more concerted squint revealed that many of them were overweight, but then, swimming is great exercise, so why not? I saw a lady in the showers with a massive belly but killer legs, and another with a teeny tiny waist and hips that were so wide that they were, by comparison, slightly comical - fantastic hour glass shape but I bet she finds it hell to find well-fitting clothes.

I also saw a couple who I fear may have been breaking the "No petting" pool rule. I was more interested in the reaction of the 2 women stood next to me in the shallows, who were absolutely outraged (but didn't complain to a lifeguard or anything) and complained about "filthy French folk", oblivious to the fact this couple were speaking some slavic dialect. I was slightly more concerned when they got out of the pool and I realised the girl had the figure of a 12 year old - I really hope she was not a 12 year old, because I then had the misfortune to be in the changing cubicle next to the one they were in. Together.

Fastest I've ever changed in my life.

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