Being A Good Indian Housewife

Geeta has asked that I write a post about her, she feels she has been eclipsed by BBB as of late (who isn't?!) and as such this is for you.

Being a good Indian housewife has never been high on my list of priorities or things to become. It fell somewhere between become an astronaut and the Three Peaks Challenge. Considering I failed my one physics module that I actually elected to do (mainly because it was called Stars and Planets and I thought we were going to learn about Aliens....it wasn't about aliens at all), and my sincere lack of excessive walking; being a good Indian housewife was both unrealistic and hugely undesirable.

Undoubtably this is what I have become.

Exhibit A: I did 3 loads of house washing (ie NOT MY OWN), didn't pull the cba card and shove in the dryer actually hung it outside because this little annoying voice in my head sounding like Geeta was saying 'it's lovely out it will dry in no time'. I followed this by doing the ironing (voluntarily) and went on to make dinner for the family. After all of this I hoovered and mopped multiple rooms without anyone telling me to. AND AFTER THAT...I went to work. Just call me the 'Bhatia matyr.'

Exhibit B: Exhibit A should be enough.

The reason for my sudden and certainly unexpected change comes back to Geeta again. 5 weeks ago she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Not going to lie...I did not take this well. I cry at John Lewis adverts, so you can imagine my response. There were a lot of tears and the occasional 'fuck you cancer' mixed in with more the frequent 'this is so unfair'.

As much as cancer is everywhere, on tv, on the radio, in other more distant family members you never, not once, think it will be in your home and that it will be your mum. Geeta being Geeta obviously wasn't even thinking about herself her main concern was telling us. Apparently I was the big dilemma as I can get overly emosh - such bull. I'm always so together.

So there it is, the big C bomb. Well cancer can go fuck itself. Geeta's words not my own (before you shout at me BBB for being uncouth.) Cancer seems to have made her into a rowdy little chavette much to my own amusement. Ordinarily her response to irksome things and irksome people would be to roll her eyes, give them one of her hugely obvious fake grins and say in the most insincere voice 'oh dear'. These days we skip the bullshit and her response is simply: 'oh fuck off'. I love it. BBB winces every time, whereas Annie, Ashwin and I beam with pride and high fives ourselves. Obviously Geeta doesn't high five, she cuffs.

After being told she has cancer, having a pretty horrendous operation and undergoing her first session of chemotherapy Geeta being the lad that she is thought it was appropriate to resume her role as good Indian housewife. In the reverse to R Kelly her mind was telling her yes but her body, her body was telling her no.

Step in substitute housewives: Annika-singh-rit-pal-kaur and Kiran-preet-jeet-deep-singh.

Now what I have started to notice is that household chores are actually quite the work out and since the last time I ran on the treadmill it started to smoke, I feel housework is the safer option.
Hoovering: thats like constantly walking.
Dusting: Beats the arm cycle.
Laundry: Ironing BBB's tent-like shirt - it's like kettle bells. I have found muscles under the flab. This was highlighted when I almost dropped a pint I was pouring because my arm was shaking so much.
Picking Up After People: Basically stand up crunches.

By the time I get to work, the only energy I have left I use to climb up onto my reigning bar stool and delegate all my jobs to other people whilst I sip on a coke. If im feeling particularly exuberant I go to hunt out Poppy and Caitlin upstairs and have a 5 (to 20 minute) Gossip Girl session.

All in all, life is hard (this post being particularly hard to write), cancer is a bitch and being a housewife at 23 is not ideal. But to have Geeta back to her best is more than worth it - just so long as she keeps up the vulgar swearing.

Love

Fattinjeet BB xxx

The Actual Vogue Diet

I'm sure this will jinx any opportunity I have lined up for myself. Oh well.

About 9 months ago I applied to Vogue for an internship and was quite thrilled that I even got a response, albeit a generic 'you have been unsuccessful blah blah blah', and I thought my Anna Wintour dreams had been dashed forever. It appears...maybe not.

My editor at Style urged me to email her contact at Vogue and get myself in, so when I finally get to the balls to do it, I once again got the generic rejection I had a 5 minute pity party and decided I am going to email them again on the hour every hour until I got  an actual response. Email was sent again and surprise surprise I was unsuccessful AGAIN. At this point I hit the biscuit tin...to find that Ashwin had scoffed them all, gutted. A couple of minutes later I heard a ping on my laptop and it was Vogue again. I was preparing myself for the worst, for the email to read, 'please stop bombarding my inbox with your pathetic attempts - to clarify you have been unsuccessful on your application.' However this time the email read 'Apologies we sent you the wrong email,  your application has gone through to the managing editor.' Further to this she actually said she was impressed with my application - WIN. One week later, I have managed to score myself an interview. Who would have thought.

Now the painful decision of what to wear is playing on my mind night and day. Although BBB has suggested I get a poncho a la Ugly Betty, just for lols I have decided this is probably not the best idea. The asos addiction is getting even worse due to trying to find something suitable - but what is suitable?! aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh. No idea.

So the gym routine recommenced in full force today and it was a painful, painful process. Even more so because Saturday night at work I think I actually ran a marathon, and my body has yet to fully recover. Despite Entropy being a small restaurant once you have run around 200,000 times that must at least equate to a 1500m sprint right? Especially when you are trying to impress Dishy Darren on table one. And considering every time at school I managed to get out of doing the 1500m by either throwing myself down a short flight of stairs or deliberately giving myself food poisoning I can now report that it is not fun. But alas, I'm sure if I continue my attempts at running on the treadmill which I still havent figured out how not to trip on, the pain will soon subside.

If I don't get the internship with Vogue, for my own safety please put the chocolate hobnobs out of sight.

Fatty BB xxx

Confession of the Cupboard.

Rather anticlimactically in my previous blog I mentioned an awaiting email from my editor regarding an article ...the email was an out of office reply. I was soo excited to see that I had a reply I was like 'yes, this is my moment'; and guttingly it wasn't.

HOWEVER, come Friday when I had given up all hope on getting a response... I finally did. At work I received an email from Harriet one of the junior fashion editors and who looked after me at Style, saying that they really appreciated all the work I had done for them and that she read my article and...SHE LOVED IT! Success. Although unfortunately she doesn't have final say as to what goes in the magazine (I was too shit scared to email the editor in chief) she did say that if she could, over the next couple of months she would push for it to be run. The likelihood of this actually happening, is rather slim as let's face it who has their first article published in the Sunday Times?! As much as I would like to think I am the next Caitlin Moran (but with less skunk like hair and such an overt opinion on feminism) I am right at the bottom of the my Everest.

But I thought I would share with you my confessions from the cupboard, so that you can act like an editor and scold my work, whilst also getting a more honest opinion of life as a fashion intern not as shown in Chanel 4's The Intern - it doesn't happen like that! So here it is...Enjoy.

CONFESSIONS OF THE CUPBOARD.

The moment when Anne Hathaway discovers the illusive ‘Fashion Cupboard’ in The Devil Wears Prada is iconic and pivotal in her transformation from Beast to Belle, and my experience has struck a similar chord. With all the excitement building I was almost expecting doves to flutter gracefully and a choir of small children singing in angelic tones, as the door to all my fashion dreams was unlocked. And although there was a line of Manolos and Choos to greet me as expected, I was heartbroken to find the cupboard of dreams was…utter chaos.

My first instinct was to blink and look again – to try and forget that I had seen a more truthful fashion cupboard and despite blinking and wishing again, my defining Anne Hathaway moment had been shattered. Before I was able to clumsily clamber out of the cupboard and run from News International, hands thrown in the air, anger at my naivety took hold. The only tribute left to my Hathaway dream were silent sobs that a Chanel necklace was not in sight for me to place upon my shoulders and begin my personal transformation from utterly shabby to fabulously chic. Perhaps without wanting to admit it, when I opened my eyes to reality I was overwhelmed by the gems that were gleaming from the cupboard. I’m not talking about Harry Winston necklaces or DeBeer’s rings dripping with jewels but the real fashion and the real clothes that real women wear. In my own little fashion bubble I dream of being in Marchesa and Elie Saab and Zuhair Murad - transporting me to a fairytale world of lace and endless elegant possibilities, but that is not real life…the cupboard was.

 My mission was suddenly clear – learn and discover! My journey was to boldly go where interns have feared to tread, straight to returns. It was whilst undertaking this rather cumbersome task that my learning began and my organisational skills were supremely heightened. A task to some, organising J.Crew jumpers into colour coordination and Stella McCartney silk trousers into ascending piles of lust is typically the kind of organisation I am very good at. Believing that when I first started at Style I had a fairly adequate fashion knowledge I was quickly put to shame…who knew that Prada and Miu Miu were the same fashion house?! My proudest moment thus far at Style should be the knowledge in fashion that I have amassed and being treated to the inner workings of my favourite magazine; but the truth is that after 3 weeks I had cleared the floor to such an extent we were able to vacuum, oh yes.

A love hate relationship with the cupboard ensued, one that can only be likened to my feelings towards Taylor Swift. I love that she sings country (although we seem to be going through a very strong pop phase) but I hate that she went out with Jake Gyllenhaal (and I didn’t). My love for the cupboard is at times unyielding, those times are when I am carefully unwrapping Cavalli necklaces and pretending they are a present to myself, or being gobsmacked at how truly beautiful and well constructed an Acne leather jacket can be. My hate for the cupboard can be equally as barbaric when dockets go missing or when a box of wigs falls on me whilst searching for the world’s smallest Aspinal purse – it wasn’t chic and surprisingly a box of wigs is actually heavy enough for a small dent.

Now that I have left the cupboard, I miss it and all its teachings – I can only hope that one day it will welcome me back to further my learning.   

And I leave you with a pic of me and my pal Jasmine in our cupboard of shattered dreams. 

Fatty BB xxx

Absence (I am desperately hoping) Makes The Heart Grow Fonder.

I know, I know, I know...It is coming up to two months without a post. There really isn't an excuse except for that I have been as busy as any other working person and with regard to the weight loss front there really hasn't been a huge amount to report. But now I am back and both will be reconciled.

My internship at the Sunday Times is done and I learnt a lot. However unsurprisingly some of my premonitions about the fashion industry were distinctly accurate. They are all thin, they are all blonde, they are all beautiful, they all are ridiculously stylish and they all eat an avocado for lunch. For the overweight less than beautiful Indian, that will happily eat avocado if it is part of fajitas this was always going to be a tough industry to crack. I was anxious to say the least on my first day, I hadn't had an interview for the position (in essence so they hadn't seen how I didn't fit AT ALL) and so anxious doesn't really come close...I was petrified. My first day in truth was an utter shambles - I had woken up about 20 hours too early after panicing about what the hell to wear and it went down hill from there. First day of fashion mag school looked a lot like this...(see the false trembling smile?!..I know what a sad git.)

When I got to the hugely intimidating building it turned out that all of the fashion editors were out that day (as time went on I found that Mondays were the quietest of days at the office as a lot of people weren't fond of coming in) and so I was kindly looked after by the features intern Tash - who was an absolute gem. So there I was in my nice new outfit sitting on fashion monitor freezing my absolute tits off because during a snow storm News International see that it is fitting to have cold air blow on its employees. My day was cheered up by a trip to Pret (which very quickly lost its novelty) and whilst everyone else was scooping out the rest of their avocados in the office I was eagerly anticipating a falafel wrap. It was all going swimmingly I had my Lemon Aid in hand (you know you have them too much when you spell lemonade the way Pret does), until I looked down and realised I had splattered falafel wrap sauce all down my new pristine white shirt. I was reminded of the scene in Hitch when the poor lovable fat guy drops an entire sub down himself and subsequent gets himself in an absolute pickle. As much as I know you would find this scenario hideously enjoyable, in truth I just ran to the toilet and attempted to wash my shirt. Still not exactly ideal on your first day.

As the week went on (and gratefully things got a lot better) I think I took people by surprise, I almost took myself by surprise with how much I already knew about fashion and people started to look at me in a different way. The look that I often get when people find out I used to be good at sports - a look of shock and amaze with a hint of 'she has got to be shitting me' thrown in. Suddenly my opinion was valued and I was really part of the team, as much as I still was the girl that most certainly did not fit in, I was the girl that to some degree knew what she was talking about - and I happily took that.

By the end of my stint at Style my fashion life was in full flow, I was still the least stylish person in there. There was no competing with the fashion editors they wore their clothes with a confidence that can only come from being in that industry long enough to know you have made it. There was not even competition with the other interns they were all a size 6 and stunning and the looked like they belonged.  But on the rare occasion I was caught in a very similar outfit to another intern or even better one of the actual Style team I gave myself a little pat on the back for doing it for the fatties. By the end of it, I got to my surprise a glowing report from the junior editors, who even more to my surprise, were actually impressed by me and of course I managed to utilise my one talent in life and made some friends (being the most approachable and least intimidating person in the office has its positives).

So what to do now that it is over? Well, I was feeling brave when I was there and thought I have this opportunity I have to really take it  - so I wrote a short piece and sent it to the editors. That was about 20 minutes ago and whilst writing this I have an email sitting in my inbox from one of the editors, I feel like a school kid awaiting judgement from their favourite teacher and suddenly all my bravery and confidence is lost.

I have learnt from this experience that to be in the fashion industry you need a thick skin and one hell of a wardrobe - at present I am working on both. I realise this is a rather serious post back into my blogging life but never fear my pretties wait til you hear about the disaster that was my birthday you will be back to lolling at my disasters - because everyone aims to faceplant infront of a whole club on their birthday.

I have missed you,

Fatty BB xxx

Bright Lights, Big City...Lost Billie.

For the last week I have been putting on a great facade as a London girl and I have 100% LOVED IT.
I love the bright lights. I love the big city. I don't love getting lost...London is confusing.
My idea of living in London is a great Fulham town house not too far from the local hang out the Sloaney Pony and within walking distance of Knightsbridge. So before my departure to London I asked BBB if he could look into investing in property in the Fulham/Chelsea area...didn't go down so well. A look of obvious contempt rolled across his face and his response was that I was moronic and to just make him some dinner. The dream is still alive, I am now just plotting as to how many bottles of wine it will take for him to crack and just bow to my Sloaney needs.

But for this week I was very much the bed hopper, and despite my desperate desire to stay for the week at the Savoy, I was made my away across 8 lines and every corner of the tube map to stay with my lovely friends. Thank you all very much for looking after me!

So what was I doing in London, aside from leaving work in their busiest week since Christmas...sorry Entropy kids. I was down for a couple of interviews one with a home ware designer and I was also working plus-size fashion weekend. More than anything I was excited that I was actually getting somewhere in 2013 and getting out of the rut that has been 1990-2012. However I have decided that there is no easy way into journalism and in particular fashion journalism and to be honest I think Geeta has even got bored of my gushing about Matthew Williamson and Christopher Bailey and don't even get me started on Cara Delevigne - we share the same love of our eyebrows (although hers have scored her model of the year, and mine have scored me...well nothing). But that is the dream and I refuse to let it die just yet, instead I need to find another way in.

One way to immerse myself in the industry was to work for London Plus Size Fashion Weekend which all kicked off at a 8am photoshoot in Shoreditch on Friday, which I was working as a stylist for. Obviously I arrived late - a combination of Hammersmith station being closed, the Central Line being full of wanker bankers and not being able to find the right shade of lipstick - disaster. The photoshoot was crazy fun. I loved it. I got to interview the models too, who were all major figures in the plus size world, even though I was slightly distracted by the sheer amount of make up. The rest of the weekend was a blur of press events, fashion lines, meeting some of the most influential people in plus-size fashion, chilling with Basement Jaxx and attempting to fit 3 people onto 2 shitty single beds. The finale came in the shape of the designers' collaborative fashion show and it was awesome, I loved some of the clothes but in the back of my head I had this niggling thought..'I could do it better'.

Of course this event coincided with London Fashion Week and the goal is next year I want to be THERE. Watching the Burberry show on my laptop in my room I'm sure wouldn't quite compare to being there. So that is the dream, next year to be bessies with Christopher Bailey and hanging out with Rosie Huntington-Whiteley. During the interim of my fame I have decided I am going to have my own little side project  and design a capsule collection. With a background in Classics and Law this makes perfect sense. Luckily one member of the Bhatia household went to fashion college and used to be a big dog in the fashion/design world and luckily I'm her favourite. Pattern cutting 101 here I come.

So what has this week taught me? That even though I am not your typical fashionista I will make it and I will make them eat cake whilst I do. Big things (quite literally) are about to happen.

Fatty BB xxx

p.s. And of course the DM Online loved us...http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2280276/LIZ-JONES-says-forget-pricey-designers-smartest-looks-London-Fashion-Week-affordable.html

How To Lose Weight Fast...

...Get Ill.

Despite my hefty exterior I like to think of myself as a relatively fit person as I rarely get ill. (There goes my chance of ever pulling a sicky at work). So when I do get ill it makes up for all that lost time and it is BRUTAL. This may be me being a slight drama queen when it comes to 'brutal' but right now full of cold and flu I think it is completely justified, so don't even try and make it out like I have sniffles.

Most people's initial reaction to being ill is relatively miserable...not me! Losing weight without really having to try - FANTASTIC. Your appetite is lost without deliberately trying to surpress it, people dote on you constantly, you dont have to beg and plead for a ribena it is constantly available and whatever you do eat, there is a strong likelihood that you are going to throw it up. Win.

So I was doing really well with my gym routine I was caning it every day and was tripping over less on the treadmill and then low and behold this sickness shit got in my way. I was bed bound and had it not been for Netfilx (Sorry Blockbuster and HMV) I would have cried for 48 hours. I couldn't breathe, couldn't smell and couldn't see (from so many self pittying tears). The only comforting thought was that whilst watching 'Just Friends' for the tenth time I thought if I carry on with this non eating, 'vomming up water' charade I reckon I could have a chance with Ryan Reynolds (pretty sure that's how Blake Lively did it - nothing to do with her luscious locks and legs up to HERE). That's probably an ode to how delirious I was. However one day of bed rest and I was bored shitless...and because I am such a selfless matyr-like being I decided back to work was in order. (Even managed a 9am blood test before work - SUCH a martyr).

Come lunchtime a couple walked in - the man looking a little like Alfred Hitchcock, I thought this was going to be interesting. Turns out the man used to be a writer for the Good Food Guide and told me that he often still writes in if he thinks that the restaurant or its staff are not up to par. Great. So as a snotty, squeaky voiced waitress not looking my best, I was basically about to ruin the entire restaurant's reputation. Alas I did not. Instead I was asked out by this 65 year old man and I was very nearly swayed by this Bentley. BUT the deal breaker came with the following line 'I have been admiring your figure, you are very attractive.' No, no, no, absolutely not. Get out. I have seen that programme on feeders. In the politest way possible I busied myself polishing already sparkling glasses in the hopes that he would leave soon. An hour later whilst shining tea spoons I allowed my mind to wonder and I found myself dwelling on those tribes in Africa where the fatter you are the more you are treated like royalty. I think these places are at least worth a visit and if I find out that Asos do actually deliver here well...that's a nice added extra! Brought crashing back to reality when offered some food and I declined, I decided the tribe idea was never going to work.

This is what it comes down to...I actually mustered up the strength to weigh myself before I got ill and my bright idea was to weigh myself a couple of days after and see if there was much of a difference - 5lbs. Sickness well done!

 We will just overlook the fact that come Friday was Alice and Rupert's leaving do and we were made to stuff our faces with Pad Thai and Tequila. Forced to eat sausage sandwiches Saturday morning. Repeat the tequila sessioning Saturday night. AND THEN FORCED AGAIN to eat sausages and bacon on Sunday morning. They are so inconsiderate. My only comfort was that all my skinny friends have binges too. For example Alice's favourite game upon our return home (aside from the whispering game which she persistently SHOUTED) was 'guess the crisp flavour.' This involved her putting her whole head into a big bowl of crisps (somewhat similar to a pig and trough) and whilst attempting to scoff the whole bowl guessing the flavour. The flavours were never actually determined but other got involved and for once I was too overcome with shock and laughter to partake. Might have had something to do with the chicken burger I had managed to wangle....But I prefer my original theory.

So 5lbs down and I will NOT be taking to scales today so see how many of those sneaky little 'lbs' hace managed to creep back on. It's always the tequila. Maybe after a big gym sesh and a dinner of water and air I might muster the strength to climb on tomorrow morning. But for now I'm just hoping I get ill again.

Fatty BB xxx

Guilty As Charged.

My crime: Christmas over indulgence. 

Verdict: Guilty. 

It has been a little while since I last posted and to be perfectly honest it was simply because there was no fighting the fat. Not even a small amount of fighting to make up one post - I couldn't lie to you. I completely and utterly succumbed to the festivities in every sense of the meaning. I ate too much, drank too much, spent too much and throughly enjoyed it. Sorry... but I'm not sorry. Christmas is a time for happiness and indulgence and nothing makes me happier than indulging in roast potatoes and chocolate yule log. 

So inevitably it came to New Year's Eve and that looming question of 'what are your resolutions for 2013 going to be?' That dreaded bloody question...nosy buggers just focus on your own failed resolutions stop asking about mine! I think it has been my resolution to lose weigh since 1994 and it seems I have been rather ineffective (might I add, like most of the population) at ever attaining these resolutions. So I decided to not make a resolution about losing weight this year. Instead it is simply going to be inherent in my life. I started off well last Summer when I began this glorious blog and managed to drop 2 and a half stones...HOWEVER I then got to shittest job known to man and self diagnosed myself with depression. I may have overreacted with depression, most probable. In my time of need I felt no motivation to hit the gym or eat particularly well and as such I gave up and found the bread. I know bad Billie. Things got a lot better when Entropy arrived in my life and I thought running around a restaurant would definitely burn off all the grazing in the kitchen. It didn't. The reason that plan failed was because I didn't factor in my non existant metabolism and although there were relatively frequent gym sessions, there were also relatively frequent risottos. Oops. 

So the resolution for 2013 was not to loose weight but to be bolder and braver. If I want something to just go for it and not pussyfoot around it like I have been for the past 22 years. Without being cringe my resolution was to have an adventure, for the past couple of decades I've played it pretty safe so I think it is time for a change. My adventure might not be in the African savannah or the rain forests of South America (mainly because I HATE trekking...gross get a Jeep) but it could be finding my perfect school in Paris or finally getting a break in London and entering the rather savage world of fashion. Whatever it be, its going to be my year and my adventure. 

The reason I started this blog was 1) to put off getting a job by persuading BBB that this was very time consuming and important 2) to make sure I kept myself motivated by sharing my rather uninteresting story with people. Neither really happened because I was a lazy fuck. Well 2012 is done and things are looking up.... I am actually getting somewhere with a career (and one that I actually want to pursue, soz law but you can do one) and people actually like my writing! Shock. 

So here is the plan for the foreseeable future, stop fucking around and just get on with it time is passing already and Cancun 2014 is looming in the not so distant future. I have had a very serious chat with the chefs at work and what they have to do I have a break down and come in asking for risotto or breakfast to show me a picture of Rihanna and kindly tell me to sod off. 

Game on 2013...let's see who wins. 

Fatty BB xxx