Feedback Friday, Favour Friday :: La Ayuda Une Por Favor A Hombres Feos…

bulk :: 18st 7 (still in the right direction but a disappointment, especially considering the pain I am still in from physical exertion. I deserved to have lost at least a stone playing tennis.)
cigarettes :: 0
alcohol units :: 20
runs :: 1 (this is poor. More effort required.)
new IM friends snagged :: 1
poodles killed :: 0
valentines day cards received :: 1 (oh yes, finally I received one. Sadly, it was a card professing love for someone else…)

So:

Sal and I are ‘just good friends’…
And this is where the story ends.
She loves her boyfriend (of 12 weeks),
Despite the bumfluff on his cheeks.
Apparently, he’s ‘ace in bed’ -
A fact now burning in my head...
(Her truth delights me, makes me glow,
But some things I don’t need to know.)
IM is fine but IM not
To let myself with her besot.
But unrequitings are my fate,
And now I fear, it’s much too late…
What makes this story so much worse
Is telling it in rotten verse…

…but that’s what Valentine’s Day is all about. Or so I am led to believe. Anyhow, that’s me done with love. Let’s just get on with the ugly stuff.

So last weekend I received an email from the very exciting Glamourpuss concerning Gonzalo Otálora, a Venezuelan chap who’s written a book called ‘Feo’. ‘Feo’, as you may or may not be aware, means ‘ugly’. So I found his blog and dropped him a line. I introduced myself as a fellow freak and suggested that it might be good to do something together – some kind of interview maybe. A couple of days later he wrote back.

‘Thank for wrote me,’ he said. ‘My ingles is very poor….’

Bless. As poor as his ingles is however, I’m sure it’s a darn site better than my Espanish. He’s happy for me to ask him some questions anyway, and reckons that he’ll muddle through. However, as amusing as it might be to see two ugly men floundering around in a pit of poor language skills, I just think it would be better if I could talk to him in his own sweet tongue. So yes, in short, do any of you speak Spanish and fancy helping out on a little ‘ugly hands across the water’ project? I don’t even know what I want to say to him yet, but it would be good to be able to say it in his original language. It’s a gesture, innit?

So far I’ve been relying on Babel Fish, which even I can see is pretty bad. The title of this blog post is courtesy of Babel Fish. ‘Please Help Unite the Ugly Men’. I have no idea how accurate it is. But it’s a computer for God’s sake. And if computers worked, translators would be out of a job. Besides which, it’s all a bit, ‘Open the pod bay door, Hal’ for me. I prefer the human touch. We all need it.

By the way, as you can see from the photo above, he's really not that ugly. The big faker.

Oh and also, while I’m begging favours, does anyone know anything about Facebook? More specifically, if I were to start a group, how would I invite more than just my own friends to join it?

Thanking you in advance.

I leave you with a couple more cards....



Awww.



Ewww.

My Dinner With Peter Andre. Kind of. Actually, No. Not Really.

I’ve always said, that Peter Andre – absolute diamond. Warm, wonderful, what you see is what you get. The Geezer. That’s what I’ve always said. Peter Andre? He’s the Geezer. That’s why I was really pleased when he accepted my friendship on Facebook.

Then I discovered he was a fake. Fakebook. I felt a bit sad. And I unfriended him immediately. What kind of person pretends to be someone famous on Facebook? Bloody weirdoes. Anyway, David Walliams hasn’t accepted my friendship either. Neither has Jordan, Jodie Marsh or Eddie Izzard. And I’ve decided to stop being quite so sad and courting celebs. I’m better than that.

Instead, I started a Facebook group. It’s called Ugly Is Only Skin Deep, and the reasoning behind it is this:

There are a great many anti-ugly Facebook groups. ‘I Hate Ugly Hoes!’, ‘People Against The Public Affection Of Ugly Couples’, ‘DAMN YOU UGLY!!!!!!!!!!!’ and ‘Ugly~ @ss hoes @lwayz hatin but we l@ughin @t dem hoe$’, to name but four. So I thought I’d start one in support of people unfortunate enough to have been born under the ugly tree but fortunate enough – unlike the vast majority of people who start Facebook groups it seems – to be intelligent, literate, loving and non-misogynistic.

I can’t be the only one. Surely. Why not join me? Maybe we can go some of the way to stamping out the discrimination against ugly people. Or if not, maybe we can just be friends.

All very doody and hip but there is one problem. I don’t have any friends to invite. Oh, and even if I did, they might not be too enthusiastic to join a self-proclaimed virtual chamber of horrors. (Speaking of horrors, I really can't believe Jodie Marsh turned me down. I might invite her to my group anyway. You never know.) But for the moment it’s just me. Thankfully I enjoy my own company. Most of the time.

Humph. Who am I kidding? But still, sad as I am, at least I’m not this bloke.

Mistletoe and Pies: Losing Weight At Christmas…

I wonder how many fat people all over the Western world are presently convincing themselves that this Christmas will be their one last blow-out before getting down to the seriously hard work of getting in shape. Lots I imagine. I know it’s not just me.

But this is definitely my one last blow-out. I swear. I’ll be spending Christmas with my mate, Keith, his girlfriend and her two kids in Guildford. ‘You’ll be like John Candy in Planes, Trains and Automobiles,’ Keith told me.

Hmmm.

‘So I’ll be like the annoying fat guy who Steve Martin takes pity on because he hasn’t got any friends or family of his own,’ I replied. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Is that not the case?’

Hmmm. Good old Keith.

Anyway, I spent the rest of today buying stuff to take, including lots of fine food and wines. I’m feeling fatter just looking at it all. And that makes me feel guilty. Speaking of which, earlier this week I watched a programme very much in the tradition of Can Fat Teens Hunt?, Help! I Sweat Lard! and F*** Off, It’s Me Glands!. That programme was Lose 30 Stone Or Die. It followed 36-year-old 48-stone Colin Corfield as he spent years losing enough weight to make a brand new set of Sugababes. The people who made the show described it as ‘poignant and moving’. Frankly I found it ‘repulsive and sick-making’. But also, I must admit, ‘heartening and inspiring’. It was part of the reason I was shuffling round the park with weights on my back this weekend.

I’m really not looking forward to it though, the actual hard work of not eating. I know it should be easy. It really should. And you hear it all the time from cocky thin people with no feelings. ‘Just stop eating,’ they say. ‘It really is that simple. Just stop stuffing the pies into your fat face.’ Boy oh boy, those people aggravate me. But they probably have a point. Unfortunately, as with many stout folk, food is for me a psychological crutch. Which I have to train myself not to lean on. And that’s what I’m not looking forward to.

I’ve actually been cutting down fairly substantially for the last couple of months. Trying to at least. I had this vague notion of losing a bit of weight in preparation for my new leaf. So I’ve been eating less. Mostly. And then pigging out and feeling guilty.

I’ve also been attempting to starve myself a bit, just to see how long I could last without eating. Bobby Sands lasted 66 days. And he was quite a skinny bloke to start with from what I can glean. I wonder how long I would last before I started to suffer ill effects. I’ve wondered this a lot recently, so a month ago I went in search of answers. Now if you want answers these days, there’s really only one place to the go: the internet. And although Wikipedia is good, you sometimes can’t be sure that the information you’re reading is 100% accurate. This is why I like to go to Yahoo Answers, where the net’s foremost philosophers hang out.

Hence this. They're so sweet! I actually lied a little about the 27 hours thing. It was more like 17, but I was damnably hungry. I’m hungry now actually. Oh bugger it. Let the festive feeding commence. Tomorrow I buy scales. In 11 days’ time, everything changes. Honest.

Happy Christmas, mysterious reader who left sweet comment.

Oh, and Belle de Jour has not accepted my friendship request on Facebook. This makes me a little sad. So sad in fact that I’ve decided to offer my friendship to some other people I don’t know. Starting with David Walliams. David Walliams has 4,435 friends. He must be accepting just about anyone, especially ugly men. We’ll see.

Happy Christmas, David. Happy Christmas everyone.