Showing results by author "Lillianna Blake" in All Categories

Pole dancing - that's it. I can do that. I used to be a gymnast as a kid. Well, I used to run around in the garden with a long ribbon, pretending I was a gymnast during the Olympics...that's just the same, right? Well, I just need to tone up a little and lose that last, ahem, 30 pounds. I know, I know. But hey, I've lost 70 pounds already, so give me a break!

Hi, I'm Nicole. I met Zara - she's my life coach - a few months ago when I became one of the first members of the B.I.G. Girls Club. I hadn't even realized the bad space I was in until she showed me that there was another way to be living my life now, regardless of what the numbers on the scale tell me. And isn't it crazy how much those numbers can affect our moods? Now I'm fully onboard and determined to change my life, regardless of what Joe - he's my boyfriend - says.

Hi, I'm Zara, warrior princess. I don't usually tell that last bit to strangers, but I say it in my head all the time. It's one of the many mantras that have helped me to get to where I am today. And believe me when I say that I've come a long way. Besides, if you're a woman and you happen to have ever struggled with issues of self-esteem, we're probably gonna be fast friends anyway, so I won't hold anything (much) back.Oh, and Zara wasn't the name I was born with - but you'll find out more about that in the book.

That Isaac Newton guy was quite bright. He said that what goes up, must come down. This may sound right to you, but there's been far too many times I've looked at the scales and disagreed. Then I proved him right and dropped 70 pounds! Excellent.

It's good to know your limitations. I know I'll never grace the front cover of a magazine, unless it's a "most wanted" type. Every time someone looks at my ID card, I hold my breath, waiting for their reaction. Ma Barker has nothing on me when I'm wearing my serious face.

Well, Max did warn me about being a movie extra. He did say it was a bad idea to answer the advertisement in the newspaper. I think he feared I would end up in some dodgy set somewhere, hanging from a ceiling, playing the part of the dead. Or maybe even an extra in an adult movie. I can't tell him the truth - that I wouldn't have minded that. But no such luck. The movie I was in didn't have dead bodies or naked bodies hanging around. Disappointed as I am with that, this challenge did show me something that I had long dreamed of.

Mentoring - I can do that. I did learn from the yoga class that we have to be mindful of the needs of others. Maybe I'm sometimes a bit too, ahem, mindful of other's needs, but that's another story. So I've volunteered to be a mentor and I know exactly what I have to do. I'll just tell the little girl my whole life story, get her to write it all out and say, "Now, don't do any of that and you will have a great life." My only fear is that she'll call the police on me, or maybe even the men in white coats.

My best friend, Max, is a great partner in crime - whenever I can pry him away from his girlfriend long enough. And this week he better help me out - I want to crash a wedding party. I have a brand new dress and I really want to show it off, so I can kill two birds with one stone. Stone - the British equivalent of 14 pounds - that's a lot of weight. I've just dropped a dress size so that must be around a stone. Maybe I'll put it back on again quickly and the dress won't fit me.

Beep. I'll have to do something. My love life is like the Sahara - dry, barren, and waiting for rain to fall so it can bloom. Beep. So my pal suggested online dating, and now I'm feeling like the most desired woman in the world. My laptop keeps announcing amorous messages all day and all night. Beep, beep, beep - my clarion call of love. Beep. Hold on a minute, new message coming in. Oh no, what the beep is that? There are some real weirdos in this dating world.

What's the point of a bucket list if it doesn't involve a real challenge? And let me tell you, wrapping my legs around my head is a real challenge indeed. Oh, the pain - the torture. And everyone else in the yoga class is sitting there looking so composed, so - mindful. The tranquility wrecked by the regular squawks as I tweak another muscle or collapse in a heap. Then there's that hot guy that talks about Tantric something or other. I came here to clear my mind and now I'm obsessed, obsessed I'm telling you.

I'm the queen of best intention, but I think I'm the empress of self-delusion too. There was no one happier in the world than me when I lost 70 pounds and I decided that I was going to show the world what the new me could do.

Not a chance - no way, nada. Under no circumstances am I going skinny dipping. Some things should never be seen in public.

I've decided that the creative arts are not for me. I still can't boil spaghetti and I think there's an arrest warrant out against me for public indecency. So onward now to a new challenge - running a marathon.

I've decided to make my mark on life. So I joined an art class and learned how to paint. I have visions of grand vistas, beautiful lilies, and stunning portraits pouring from my overly manicured hands. I've spent hours and hours splashing colors on a series of canvases, and in the end I've learned one outstanding life lesson: Never, ever volunteer. Avert your eyes if you ever see me in public - some things should not be seen. I'll never get a boyfriend now.

Note to self - stop asking intense people for help. All I wanted was a blog: just a nice, simple, straightforward blog where I could express the occasional opinion and post a photo of a kitten. How hard can that be? Oh no, Little Miss Intensey-Pants next door decided that I needed a blog where I poured out all of my emotions in real time to the entire world via satellite. It didn't matter how much I protested; she had a vision, and I was going to achieve her vision - or else.

Oh, it's such a cliche - Italian chef seduces a pupil at his top-class cooking school, reducing her to a quivering jelly and releasing her inner sexual goddess. Just show me how to boil spaghetti, why don't ya? You would think that by the age of 32, I'd be able to do even just that in the kitchen. But to my eternal shame, the only thing I can do is open takeaway cartons.