As I have documented in this blog before, it is very easy to get fat in Abu Dhabi. The fast food is cheaper than fresh food, eating out is cheaper than eating in and McDonalds deliver. Add this to the stress of the job (read as drinking beer from Spinny’s on weeknights) and that the roads are too busy to cycle on, plus the generous holidays that allows teachers to go on 3-week long benders, and you have a recipe to become a fat fucker pretty easily.
I have been fat before, just this time last year actually. I weighed in on the 1st of January 2012 at a staggering 16 stone. (224 pounds or 102kg) So I know that I can lose the weight as in June 2012 I weighed 12stone 11 pounds (179 pounds) but the difference was that I was in England, was in a loving relationship and had support, cycled to work and back, went to the gym 5 times a week and had hired a personal trainer. I also enjoyed tracking my progress and working out had become an addiction.
From August 2012 to now (Jan 16th 2012) I have seen my weight climb because I have lived in a hotel for 2 of those months eating nothing but all-you-can-eat buffet 3 times a day every day as that was all we could eat.
In those months it was too hot to do any exercise outside so that was out, also I was socializing by going out and drinking a lot of beer because, as you know by now, when meeting new people I am very shy for the first month or so unless I have the social lubricant of inebriation. Beer contains calories.
Work is also a pain in the arse because there is no canteen and I don’t have the discipline to make a packed lunch. So I eat bread and biscuits from the tuck shop 5 days a week and basically the only exercise I get is by standing in front of the class.
I am making a lot of excuses here, but as I am now close to my weight (210 pounds) at this time last year I feel that I need to actually do something about it.
I had heard rumblings about a new fad diet that people colloquially call ‘juicing’ and I had thought about it and even discussed with some friends about actually trying it. I then saw a documentary (It is actually more like a feature length infomercial for a juicer that you can conveniently buy on the filmmakers website) called ‘Sick, Fat and Nearly Dead’ on Netflix and decided it was finally time to take the plunge.
I know Fad diets do not work in the long term and I have been against them, sometimes aggressively so, in the past – even ridiculing people that use them to make myself sound smart and clever. I understand that the weight I lose, if any will be little more than ‘water-weight’ and it will be put back on as soon as I stop the fad diet.
Juicing, I should probably explain, is basically fasting on nothing but juice made from vegetable and fruits for a number of days. The juice can be homemade using a juicer or bought ready made by a company. You can drink water and herbal tea but no solid food. Sound dangerous?
I had planned to do the fast for 10 days but then I remembered that I like beer and wanted to go to a brunch on Friday. So I have settled on two days (Wednesday and Thursday) of fasting, followed by a cheat day and then going 5 days with the option to extend it depending on how I feel.
This is not a long term fix, the reason that I am doing the fast is because I do not eat well at all and I want to try and change my lifestyle a bit. I also would welcome the kick start of losing a few pounds as it will be good motivation to keep going on a more standard diet of healthy eating and exercise.
The diet says I should use organic vegetables and fruits in the concoctions. I will not be doing this.
I hate the idea of organic foods, especially in the U.A.E as they are imported from the USA at a huge cost on pockets and, more importantly, on the environment through fuel consumption. It is all a bit pretentious as well, Organic food has the same amount of nutrients than the non-organic kind (Although I do have to concede that I think the point is that is has no pesticides or genetic mutations – which are not proven to be bad for you by the way) and you can get much more out of a single crop than you can with organic food. Organic foods are not sustainable at all and are a huge drain on water and space. The world is struggling to feed the 6 billion people we have and the population is expected to be around 9 billion by 2042. Genetically modified foods are the only way to feed us.
I know I am on a bit of a tangent here, but the fact that some people will not eat GM foods on grounds of principal really irritates me. There are people in the world that are starving and would kill for the technology to make food as efficient as we can do with GM crops.
People buy into organic produce (and they are buying, poor people cant afford the extra) just so they sound hip, organic and part of the in-crowd to their middle-middle class friends. Just so they can ask at restaurants, in a loud voice, if the tomatoes in the sauce of their gourmet, spinach and feta cheese stone-baked thin crust are organic. Or even worse, setting up a parent pressure group to ensure that their children’s school meals are organic. Or even lecture their less well-off acquaintances that it is worth the extra money. Fuck off!
Anyway – I am on a raw veg juice diet, another thing that gripes me (I will write about why elsewhere) to try and lose a few pounds. It is day 1 at 11.41am and, as you can probably tell, I am grouchy. All that has passed my lips today is a cup of juice, made with tomatoes (non-organic), carrots, orange, spinach, apples and pear. It was OK but I was craving my usual Snickers.
It is now 8pm and I am still hungry after drinking 2 more cups of juice. I have heard it gets easier, but all I can say is roll on Friday Brunch.
Wednesday 16 January 2013
Wednesday 9 January 2013
27
Warning – This is very much a personal blog post and it will be a bit sickly to most of you so I wouldn’t even bother. You may not be able to concentrate on the words due to the self-important sound of me slapping myself repeatedly on the back.
I recently turned 27 and every year I write down a few goals and ambitions for the up coming year. (This one is a bit special because it is shared with the world). I first want to talk about the year of being 26. It was a good one. I actually, for the first time ever, accomplished all of the things I wanted to this year and it makes me happy.
Goals for the year of being 26 (written a couple days after my 26th Birthday)
1. Teach abroad in Thailand
2. Have a boxing match
3. Record a song
4. Attempt stand up comedy
Obviously I didn’t achieve specifically the first one, but I am still working abroad in Abu Dhabi which is close enough, I went on holiday to Thailand though at the end of the year so that kind of makes up for it.
The fine print of ‘attempt stand up’ was actually to do 100 gigs. I actually only did 2 but I still think it counts as I attempted it.
I did the boxing on the 14th December and I recorded vocals for two dance songs with my friend in March/April.
Usually on birthdays I am a bit sad that I am getting old and think I could’ve done so much better with the previous years, but sat in my free apartment in Abu Dhabi, listening to Kid Rock and having just booked front row tickets to a Kanye West concert later this month, I think I am doing OK, for a 27 year old.
I hope that 27 is as fruitful as 26 but my goals are going to be a bit more challenging this year.
They are (In order of importance)
1. Stop smoking
I have wanted to stop for so long and it has seemed impossible, I don’t really even enjoy it, it makes me smell and I have to jump start my lungs in the morning with a coughing fit.
What will make this harder in Abu Dhabi is that fags are cheap (£2 a box) and you can smoke indoors. This will no doubt be my hardest goal I have ever tried and I anticipate at least a couple of attempts, but, by the end of the year, I hope to have stopped!
2. Get a six-pack
The six-pack is just part of it but it gives a real goal to aim for. This is not as important as giving up smoking, but it gives me something to aim for and maybe take my mind off nicotine.
3. Go skydiving
4. Learn to sing again (with a smoke free voice) and start a band – Play a couple of gigs.
Overall I think the list seems more achievable than last year (apart from the smoking) so I have my fingers crossed.
I recently turned 27 and every year I write down a few goals and ambitions for the up coming year. (This one is a bit special because it is shared with the world). I first want to talk about the year of being 26. It was a good one. I actually, for the first time ever, accomplished all of the things I wanted to this year and it makes me happy.
Goals for the year of being 26 (written a couple days after my 26th Birthday)
1. Teach abroad in Thailand
2. Have a boxing match
3. Record a song
4. Attempt stand up comedy
Obviously I didn’t achieve specifically the first one, but I am still working abroad in Abu Dhabi which is close enough, I went on holiday to Thailand though at the end of the year so that kind of makes up for it.
The fine print of ‘attempt stand up’ was actually to do 100 gigs. I actually only did 2 but I still think it counts as I attempted it.
I did the boxing on the 14th December and I recorded vocals for two dance songs with my friend in March/April.
Usually on birthdays I am a bit sad that I am getting old and think I could’ve done so much better with the previous years, but sat in my free apartment in Abu Dhabi, listening to Kid Rock and having just booked front row tickets to a Kanye West concert later this month, I think I am doing OK, for a 27 year old.
I hope that 27 is as fruitful as 26 but my goals are going to be a bit more challenging this year.
They are (In order of importance)
1. Stop smoking
I have wanted to stop for so long and it has seemed impossible, I don’t really even enjoy it, it makes me smell and I have to jump start my lungs in the morning with a coughing fit.
What will make this harder in Abu Dhabi is that fags are cheap (£2 a box) and you can smoke indoors. This will no doubt be my hardest goal I have ever tried and I anticipate at least a couple of attempts, but, by the end of the year, I hope to have stopped!
2. Get a six-pack
The six-pack is just part of it but it gives a real goal to aim for. This is not as important as giving up smoking, but it gives me something to aim for and maybe take my mind off nicotine.
3. Go skydiving
4. Learn to sing again (with a smoke free voice) and start a band – Play a couple of gigs.
Overall I think the list seems more achievable than last year (apart from the smoking) so I have my fingers crossed.
Sunday 6 January 2013
Malaysian Massage
I have come back from my trip with memories to last a little while, some photos that my travel companions took and a sore liver. I didn’t take a camera myself because I keep losing them on nights out (2 in the last 4 months) and I will try to describe the holiday, to my future self and anybody that happens upon this post, in words.
Of course there is a lot of things to write about but the most significant moments happened, or I was reminded of them, on a masseuses table.
I had never had a massage before from a qualified professional as I found them to be too awkward and a bit too close to prostitution in the way that you are paying someone to touch you that wouldn’t do it for free. (More on this later)
I gave in on this trip though because my friend was getting one as well and with all moralistic judgements, its not as bad if someone else is doing it too.
Massages are not relaxing; I found this out pretty much as soon as I entered the parlour (its also noteworthy that ‘parlour’ has become synonymous with ‘brothel’) when we were told to take our shoes off and wait and we realised that we were probably going to be getting a couples massage – in the same room. This is awkward squared.
I will run down the massage in key stages.
It seems the first stage is – White Guilt.
The first thing that happened is that we were lead into a room that had been decked out to look like an Arabian cave (flowing colourful curtains, xylophone music) and told to sit down. Two young Malaysian ladies walked in with wooden bowls of water and put our feet in them.
Now it felt weird enough sat there with our feet in a little bath but it got a whole lot worse when they started washing our feet in them. I don’t know if it is just me that feels this way, but when I am visiting a new country where the locals are less well off than I am, I feel a slight bit guilty when they are washing sand off my feet, on their knees, while I am towering above them in what closely resembles a throne.
This was one of the reasons I do not get massages in England (or Abu Dhabi). When you look through the window (and I’m talking pedicures here because that is the closest thing to having your feet washed I suppose) you see western women sat up in recliner seats; reading their books and gossiping about their colleagues and neighbours. At their feet are an army of (usually) eastern (usually) women literally on their hands and knees, elbow deep in smelly foot water.
This was the feeling at the start of my massage – It was about to get worse…
Other notes on white guilt
1. Arguing with a povety ridden tuk-tuk driver over 50 baht (A quid)
2. Getting fustrated with young people asking me for money to help them buy books for school. (It may be a con, I know, but hell, it was a dollar, and they were kids)
3. Having doors help open for me when I went to the intercontinental hotel for Christmas Eve by what was probably a veterent of the terrible, Pol Pot war. (Everybody that is over 40 and Cambodian will remember this time and will have been on one of the two sides)
This leads me to stage two… Humiliation
After the regal footbath we were lead into a room and told to get ready. Already my heart started pounding, as I hate to get changed even in a men only locker room. I have no idea why because I will skinny dip or even streak at the drop of a hat, just something about changing rooms. Anyway, getting changed in front of a girl I am not going to have sex with is a nightmare for me.
It got much worse though when we were handed a little see-through sealed bag and told in broken English ‘change – wear this’
I opened the packet to find a little pair of panties that can only be described as a cross between see-through lingerie and granny pants. Once again I was mortified and politely asked my friend to turn around. She did, albeit reluctantly – the pervert!
I hurried to the table with a hole in the top (for your face apparently) and lay down with a hand towel hurriedly covering my modesty.
Stage 3 – Tension
As I gazed through my face sized peep hole all I could see were some manicured, flip-flop sheathed toes pacing around. I then heard a squeeze of oil and then slimy hands on my back.
The first part of the massage was ok, it was kinda nice actually once I had gotten over the guilt and humiliation. But as this was a tandem massage I heard what was happening to my buddy on the next table, and it didn’t sound pretty.
It was a noise of someone being beat up, repetitive slaps and thuds and I couldn’t lift my head to see what was happening, my whole body tensed up as I knew I was next.
Luckily, it just sounded bad and was actually an OK feeling.
Stage 4 – Penis Problems
That is plural yes. Twice my penis played up during the course of this hour long tandem couple massage. Really the first problem should have prevented the second out of sheer embarrassment but we all know what cocks are like. Unpredictable!
I had rolled onto my back to get the second part of my massage (Thankfully, they held up a towel so I could roll over without my friend seeing my frilly panties. Another thing they did, which I thought was merciful was that they put a small towel over my eyes so it avoided eye contact between the masseuse and myself.)
And was relaxing when I felt a, very gentle, hand touch my penis and then tuck it back inside the panties. I was mortified. Now I realise that this sounds like I am bragging about my manhood but I will tell you now that I am more of a grower than a shower and it is actually the panties’ fault for being tiny and baggy at the same time.
Honestly I have never been so embarrassed in my life, all I could do was muffle a ‘sorry’ and try to forget about it.
I wish this were the worse that happened.
Towards the end of the massage, I felt the unmistakable feeling of becoming aroused. I fought it, but the more I fought it the worst it became. It was like at a school assembly when the announcements are made at the end and you get a boner just as we, the students, had to stand up and leave. (I was so happy for my backpack in them moments) Or when, at the end of a car journey, and you know you have to get out soon and a hard on just sneaks up on you and once again, you either have to play for time of put you hands in your pockets to hide it as much as you can.
This was like that but with absolutely nowhere to hide, and to be brutally honest, which I always try to be, it turned me on a little that there was nothing I could do and was trying to stop it. It became a catch 22 upward spiral of biology and circumstance.
I felt like saying ‘well, what are you going to do about that then?’ but I didn’t, I just felt the stares that must have being going in my boner's direction and heard a little giggle from my friend’s masseuse (remember there were 4 people in the room) that I hope was about the circumstance and not the size.
As I left the room they were all having a little joke in Malaysian and looking at me. I was so embarrassed.
All in all though I enjoyed my first massage experience.
The rest of the trip was incredible and I had a great time but I am not very good about writing about happiness so I will bullet point some highlights.
• We went on a boat trip and had the whole boat to ourselves because no one else booked on it that day. Even though there were only three of us, they ran out of beer and had to borrow tsome from another boat – It usually holds 30 people.
• We sung Gangnam style and other various karaoke tunes at the top of our voices in a free, private booth – shortly to be joined by about 6 Malaysians who wanted to sing Psy’s song with us.
• We did handstands on the beach
• I will say as little about Cambodia as possible
• We saw a ping-pong show that was truly eye-opening.
• I didn’t see any naked ladyboys but it was fun trying to spot them on the street.
• Didn’t get a happy ending massage (although, morally, I cant see it in much of a different light to having a massage, its still somebody touching you to make you feel good for money, just on that forbidden (why?) 1 percent.
• Went to a make-shift full moon party as the boast were cancelled (this after a 19hour boat and bus trip across Thailand)
• Rode a cable car and got very scared as it had minor turbulence.
• Saw a couple of temples
• Drunk beer and ate amazing food on the beach
• Met some wonderful Australians ☺
• Stood on a crab and it drew blood
And most importantly…
I avoided coming into contact with any huge bugs – although I did see a massive lizard!
Oh, and I won my boxing match! I may reflect on that at a later date but better for you to watch the video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ki25ZfU5gI
Of course there is a lot of things to write about but the most significant moments happened, or I was reminded of them, on a masseuses table.
I had never had a massage before from a qualified professional as I found them to be too awkward and a bit too close to prostitution in the way that you are paying someone to touch you that wouldn’t do it for free. (More on this later)
I gave in on this trip though because my friend was getting one as well and with all moralistic judgements, its not as bad if someone else is doing it too.
Massages are not relaxing; I found this out pretty much as soon as I entered the parlour (its also noteworthy that ‘parlour’ has become synonymous with ‘brothel’) when we were told to take our shoes off and wait and we realised that we were probably going to be getting a couples massage – in the same room. This is awkward squared.
I will run down the massage in key stages.
It seems the first stage is – White Guilt.
The first thing that happened is that we were lead into a room that had been decked out to look like an Arabian cave (flowing colourful curtains, xylophone music) and told to sit down. Two young Malaysian ladies walked in with wooden bowls of water and put our feet in them.
Now it felt weird enough sat there with our feet in a little bath but it got a whole lot worse when they started washing our feet in them. I don’t know if it is just me that feels this way, but when I am visiting a new country where the locals are less well off than I am, I feel a slight bit guilty when they are washing sand off my feet, on their knees, while I am towering above them in what closely resembles a throne.
This was one of the reasons I do not get massages in England (or Abu Dhabi). When you look through the window (and I’m talking pedicures here because that is the closest thing to having your feet washed I suppose) you see western women sat up in recliner seats; reading their books and gossiping about their colleagues and neighbours. At their feet are an army of (usually) eastern (usually) women literally on their hands and knees, elbow deep in smelly foot water.
This was the feeling at the start of my massage – It was about to get worse…
Other notes on white guilt
1. Arguing with a povety ridden tuk-tuk driver over 50 baht (A quid)
2. Getting fustrated with young people asking me for money to help them buy books for school. (It may be a con, I know, but hell, it was a dollar, and they were kids)
3. Having doors help open for me when I went to the intercontinental hotel for Christmas Eve by what was probably a veterent of the terrible, Pol Pot war. (Everybody that is over 40 and Cambodian will remember this time and will have been on one of the two sides)
This leads me to stage two… Humiliation
After the regal footbath we were lead into a room and told to get ready. Already my heart started pounding, as I hate to get changed even in a men only locker room. I have no idea why because I will skinny dip or even streak at the drop of a hat, just something about changing rooms. Anyway, getting changed in front of a girl I am not going to have sex with is a nightmare for me.
It got much worse though when we were handed a little see-through sealed bag and told in broken English ‘change – wear this’
I opened the packet to find a little pair of panties that can only be described as a cross between see-through lingerie and granny pants. Once again I was mortified and politely asked my friend to turn around. She did, albeit reluctantly – the pervert!
I hurried to the table with a hole in the top (for your face apparently) and lay down with a hand towel hurriedly covering my modesty.
Stage 3 – Tension
As I gazed through my face sized peep hole all I could see were some manicured, flip-flop sheathed toes pacing around. I then heard a squeeze of oil and then slimy hands on my back.
The first part of the massage was ok, it was kinda nice actually once I had gotten over the guilt and humiliation. But as this was a tandem massage I heard what was happening to my buddy on the next table, and it didn’t sound pretty.
It was a noise of someone being beat up, repetitive slaps and thuds and I couldn’t lift my head to see what was happening, my whole body tensed up as I knew I was next.
Luckily, it just sounded bad and was actually an OK feeling.
Stage 4 – Penis Problems
That is plural yes. Twice my penis played up during the course of this hour long tandem couple massage. Really the first problem should have prevented the second out of sheer embarrassment but we all know what cocks are like. Unpredictable!
I had rolled onto my back to get the second part of my massage (Thankfully, they held up a towel so I could roll over without my friend seeing my frilly panties. Another thing they did, which I thought was merciful was that they put a small towel over my eyes so it avoided eye contact between the masseuse and myself.)
And was relaxing when I felt a, very gentle, hand touch my penis and then tuck it back inside the panties. I was mortified. Now I realise that this sounds like I am bragging about my manhood but I will tell you now that I am more of a grower than a shower and it is actually the panties’ fault for being tiny and baggy at the same time.
Honestly I have never been so embarrassed in my life, all I could do was muffle a ‘sorry’ and try to forget about it.
I wish this were the worse that happened.
Towards the end of the massage, I felt the unmistakable feeling of becoming aroused. I fought it, but the more I fought it the worst it became. It was like at a school assembly when the announcements are made at the end and you get a boner just as we, the students, had to stand up and leave. (I was so happy for my backpack in them moments) Or when, at the end of a car journey, and you know you have to get out soon and a hard on just sneaks up on you and once again, you either have to play for time of put you hands in your pockets to hide it as much as you can.
This was like that but with absolutely nowhere to hide, and to be brutally honest, which I always try to be, it turned me on a little that there was nothing I could do and was trying to stop it. It became a catch 22 upward spiral of biology and circumstance.
I felt like saying ‘well, what are you going to do about that then?’ but I didn’t, I just felt the stares that must have being going in my boner's direction and heard a little giggle from my friend’s masseuse (remember there were 4 people in the room) that I hope was about the circumstance and not the size.
As I left the room they were all having a little joke in Malaysian and looking at me. I was so embarrassed.
All in all though I enjoyed my first massage experience.
The rest of the trip was incredible and I had a great time but I am not very good about writing about happiness so I will bullet point some highlights.
• We went on a boat trip and had the whole boat to ourselves because no one else booked on it that day. Even though there were only three of us, they ran out of beer and had to borrow tsome from another boat – It usually holds 30 people.
• We sung Gangnam style and other various karaoke tunes at the top of our voices in a free, private booth – shortly to be joined by about 6 Malaysians who wanted to sing Psy’s song with us.
• We did handstands on the beach
• I will say as little about Cambodia as possible
• We saw a ping-pong show that was truly eye-opening.
• I didn’t see any naked ladyboys but it was fun trying to spot them on the street.
• Didn’t get a happy ending massage (although, morally, I cant see it in much of a different light to having a massage, its still somebody touching you to make you feel good for money, just on that forbidden (why?) 1 percent.
• Went to a make-shift full moon party as the boast were cancelled (this after a 19hour boat and bus trip across Thailand)
• Rode a cable car and got very scared as it had minor turbulence.
• Saw a couple of temples
• Drunk beer and ate amazing food on the beach
• Met some wonderful Australians ☺
• Stood on a crab and it drew blood
And most importantly…
I avoided coming into contact with any huge bugs – although I did see a massive lizard!
Oh, and I won my boxing match! I may reflect on that at a later date but better for you to watch the video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ki25ZfU5gI
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