Monday, 29 October 2012

Working Girl

I have finally left the hideous engineering company I was working for and told Dragon Lady to kiss my oversized ass. I have got myself a new job which I actually LOVE. Who would have thought I would enjoy serving others?! That's right I am officially Leicester's clumsiest waitress and shittest pint pourer - you either get all froth or none at all, take your pick.

Initially I was concerned - was I not walking straight into the devil's lair by choosing to work at Leicester's finest restaurant (and this isn't just opinion this is actual fact). With homemade loaves being thrown out of the kitchen every few minutes on dinner service and twice cooked chips filling the kitchen with sweet chip aroma. Working for Entropy was going to be tough - not because I knock over most drinks and drop most food down myself but because temptation is quite literally coming at be from all directions. So I came up with a genius plan that I was to have a serious chat with our kitchen and give then strict instruction that they are to only serve me either salad or soup...this serious chat is yet to take place. But having worked there for two weeks now I have yet to spill food down a customer or steal one of their fresh loaves for myself. I have completely jinxed myself now, I'm bound to drop a latte on someone this week.

In fact work has been so good that I have actually forgotten to eat. I know it baffles me too. But when you are the only person on and you there are 20 cappuccinos to make you are focussing more on not setting off the fire alarm steaming the milk than thinking 'ohhhh I need to eat'. And considering it takes me about 5 minutes to make a cappuccino because I like to make nice patterns with the cocoa powder by the time I have finished the hunger has quite miraculously disappeared. But I have to confess there have been a couple of slip ups in the kitchen - but when you are offered next to Michelin starred food who is going to say no?! But these occasions are rare and I promise I do not encourage them, my aim is for people to think I'm basically wonder woman. Like 'omg Billie doesn't ever eat - she must just wear really unflattering clothes that make her look like she's being eating for a lifetime...' (pfftt never going to happen - if I know anything it's how to dress for the fat). However there is another flaw to my 'work so much you forget to eat' strategy my manager's best friend was the runner up in the Great British Bake Off and constantly comes in with baked treats. Life is just so unfair.

So loving life at the restaurant, the people are fab - so much better than Dragon Lady and Bible Boy and I have only managed to make a tit out of myself once so far. When the hot photographer came in to hang his pictures up I was told to take him upstairs to get him some screws to obviously hang the photos. Trying to act all sexy and clearly failing I blurt out, 'Do you want to follow me upstairs for a screw?' Well done Billie. Well done. I didn't take him upstairs, I couldn't even look him in the eye. And if we become Facebook friends I am deleting this post - because he is a babe. Restaurant work is going well for the naturally clumsy: humiliation has only occurred a handful of times, I have eaten shit a smaller handful of times, and I have had pervy middle aged men ask for my number by an even smaller handful of times - once you have been called 'beautiful' by 3 or 4 slurring, balding men the novelty soon wears off.

The gym is nearly done, the job is sweet. Project Rihanna has entered the Winter phase. Please don't let the carby winter warmers find me. Please.

Fatty BB xxx

Wednesday, 17 October 2012

I Had A Dream...

Not of the Martin Luther King variety, or the Ryan Gosling kind...

The other night I woke up in a cold sweat with tears streaming down my face. The only time this has happened to me recently was when I went cold turkey on carbs and had dreams about bread and then one other time...when I watched Insidious. I hate scary films, I cried in The Ring, can't handle The Others, I was even scared in Scary Movie - that guy had a weird hand. But India forced me to watch Insidious with her and despite cowering under my blanket for the majority of the film I am scarred for life by what I saw. This scarring was only made worse by Rupert being a little shit and scaring me even more. I was harmlessly coming home from a night of boozing and stumbled into the kitchen to attack the remains of my couscous when Rupert appears from the basement holding his laptop over his face with the hideous scarywoman from that stupid film on the screen, safe to say panic attack ensued and I didn't get to eat my couscous. Instead I collapsed against the fridge.

But anyway back to my present nightmare, I was in some kind of strange crystal maze environment being chased by this psychopath.  Long story short I couldn't run fast enough because I'm such a fatty that he caught up to be (he was like SUPER fast though), slit my throat and cut me up into little pieces. I am almost certain it was the 'dream sprinting' more than 100m that brought on the cold sweat but what if this happens in real life?!

I am well aware this is a huge dramatisation and the likelihood of anyone attempting to chase me is slim to none but just in case I need to learn how to run, and how to run fast. Now don't laugh you're meant to be a supportive audience not a judgemental one so no cackles when I tell you I'm not a natural athelete - not surprising really. How can I improve this? Especially when I don't really like running? I avoid the treadmill like the plague - mainly because I'm scared with my clumsy ability I will trip and fall and get an ugly treadmill burn on chin. And NO WAY am I running im public, I refuse to be the cause of any road traffic accidents - when people stop and stare at my incredible beauty and Bolt-like technique....

So my plan for the end of October is to learn how to run, in an efficient and moderately graceful manner. Despite being a heifer I have been told I run quite elegantly, but it was Baz who told me that so I don't know how much truth their was in that statement, he was probs mocking me. When previously running to the ice-cream van or trying to catch a train which I am inevitably late for I do run on the balls of my feet, and get a little spring. But then when I arrive at said ice-cream van or manage to lug myself onto the train it's not a pretty sight.

Thus, October - running will be mastered. I'm not going to lie, I'm not really looking forward to it. But I have further inspiration. Upon on my visit to London, Kate and I took a very (long) leisurely stroll down the river (I did ask which river it was - but we are going to overlook that because I was hungover and distracted by the Kensington Rowing Club). And there were all these gorgeous runners, just enjoying sunshine, getting fit, looking good. I want to one of those people, and then simultaneously pick up one of those people - like the stunner that ran past us twice and I tried to get a picture of his sweaty biceps, but couldn't get my camera to focus quick enough. Such a shame you guys would have really enjoyed it.

Thankfully BBB has come up with a solution to get us both running by building a gym in the back garden. I am actually really excited about this prospect as it will be finished by next week and this means I can attempt to run to my hearts content (quite literally) without anyone watching and laughing. It's like Field of Dreams 'Build it and he will come.' But instead 'Build it and Billie will be thin.' You know what I would love even more though - if James Earl Jones was my personal trainer - Mufassa telling you to run, you would not stop. So that's the plan.

I have also decided when I am ready to run in public I'm going to employ these guys to be my running posse...that way I look the best. Is that egotistical? Either way I don't care.

Fatty BB xxx

Monday, 8 October 2012

The Art of Friend Stealing

Since it has been kindly pointed out to me by more than just a couple of people that this blog tends not to focus so much on fitness but more on just... me, I thought I would continue on this more interesting theme for this particular post. So whilst a considerably smaller portion of the nation has been watching X Factor over the past few weeks I have got to thinking, what am I talented at? And as much as a try I don't think singing will ever be one of them. I can certainly list what talents I am lacking in - namely self-discipline and motivation to not eat carbs. But as far as actual useable talents I am limited. Then my talent hit me...I am a brilliant friend stealer. 

As such this post is dedicated to all those I have stolen, you have made my talent what it is today. (Toby Ross just to clarify this counts as your birthday blog). 

Now Shariat will argue that 'friend stealing' is a negative aspect and seeing as one of her best friends is now one of my best friends (that's you Alice) I get that (well not really but I don't want to be overtly mean). BUT I see it as a positive attribute it means that I have more of you lovely people reading my blog and helping me towards world domination. You might think, what is the success to my superb friend-stealing? I'll tell you...I'm about as threatening as a cuddly toy. Who would ever be intimated by the chubbs, curly haired girl with a clearly confused cultural identity?! 
The answer: absolutely no one. 
The result: The ability to befriend everyone. 

  • Girlfriends of fit boyfriends love me because I am zero threat, the most threatening thing that will happen is that I can get by in a conversation about sport and they can't. 
  • Boyfriends love me because lets face it I cook what the skinny girlfriends refuse to AND talk about sport.
  •  Kids love me because I look like a stuffed animal. 
  • Adults love me because I am the walking toy for their children. 
Basically I cannot lose at this game. Looking like the friendliest Hawaiian on the island does have some benefits, I may not bag the Storm model that has come to shoot the new Vilebrequin ad  but he will definitely want to be friends with me. This might sound big headed but when this is the only talent you have to work with, I gotta sell it. 

Plus how do you make new friends these days?! I work with six middle aged men, I don't particularly want to make friends with them. I exercise in my own house (not that I would ever make gym friends - the six packs do not want to be seen with the six rolls). I went ALL OUT at uni and exhausted all those avenues. So you make friends through other friends. It's natural (see Shariat). Gone are the days when  smashed in Mission I could walk up to someone and be like 'Heyyy I know who you are Hannah Yasmin Shariatmadari' (and I only know this through facebook and not real life) and get the reply 'Heyyy I know who you are Kiran Billie Bhatia' (and I only know this through facebook and not real life too) and then one week later be best friends. The last time that happened I ended up with Alice Willmott and she is a drain all my 'Pasta n Sauce' resources. 

Hence my thought that labelling my ability to make friends in a short space of time as 'friend stealing' is slightly harsh, in fact I could be the victim of some kind of secret game which is actually 'make Billie be my friend.' There are bonuses to this situation, I will cook for you and share my Vodka with you but most of all let you laugh at me. So in honour of those I have stolen and are now mine I shall be posting this on your facebook walls (for those I actually think would read this) - LOOK OUT. To those I miss...I am truly sorry, it doesn't mean I didn't enjoy stealing you it just means I can smell dinner being cooked and got distracted. 

Next week it will be back to how depressed I am with eating protein and how much I miss pasta bake. 

Fatty BB xxx