On New Hair

Hey Ragers and Ragettes!  Autumn is here!!!  Today I am wearing my black and white striped jumper with my favourite bell bottom jeans and my new knee high black flat boots.  Dressing for warmth and comfort as I sit under the air conditioning and Simon seems to always be hot. 

 It’s been a crazy few weeks, as you know.  With Nana Rage passing and with work and everything else, well, it’s taken its toll on my mental health.  I have had a few panic attacks and crying fits.  I know it’s not right so I have sought out professional help.  I have an appointment on the 18^th and one on the 25th to assess my first diagnosis of bipolar disorder. They think that I was misdiagnosed as I have other background symptoms that are now starting to express themselves. My original diagnosis was 20 years ago.  They feel that mental health screening has improved loads so they want to make sure that I get the right treatment.

So I am going to try and be uplifting today.

As you know, I have battled with my hair. I was a hair model last year but the haircut didn’t get cleaned up the way it should have.  Luckily I found a new hairdresser who is amazing. She cleaned the shambles of a hair cut up, redyed it and I looked human, and a fabulous one at that rocking a cute pink pixie crop.

I have always wanted long Rapunzel like hair.  I made the decision to grow my hair out a bit as I have never really had long hair before.  I have really baby fine hair.  And when it gets to a certain length, it becomes wispy, stringy and horrid.  That’s why I have always had short hair. 

I have decided to get the long hair I have dreamed of with the help of hair extensions.  I had hair extensions 10 years ago when I lived in Dublin.  I chose glue in ones. It ended in a hairdresser physically having to cut the extensions out and me having a bald patch. Not a good look!

This time, I did my research and I am going for nano ring extensions.  This is better for hair, it allows growth and it doesn’t damage hair. 

The woman I have chosen to do the extensions is fabulous.  She has so many positive reviews and is well known around Liverpool.   I have been speaking to her since October last year.  I had a 1 to 1 consultation to make a hair plan last December.  I had to grow my hair out to at least 5 inches in the back.  I was going to get the extensions in May this year but I had a wobble and ended up cutting my hair as I was rocking a shocking looking mullet. 

But with the help of my new hairdresser (And my hairdresser threatening to punch me in the vag if I even think about cutting my hair) and with photos of long beautiful hair as inspiration, I can proudly say that my hair now skims my shoulders. 

So on Saturday, I went to see the woman who is fitting my extensions to colour match my hair.  She sat me down and she said that she was proud of my persistence in growing my hair out and was pleased with the condition.  (Twice a week deep conditioning treatments and using Bed Head Colour Goddess Shampoo – That is the best shampoo ever!  It smells like fudge!)  As my hair is relatively short, she decided on 10-12 inch extensions (The hair will fall just below my collar bones.)  and matched beautiful chestnut brown hair swatches to mine.

So I will be having my extensions fitted at 11am on October 22^nd (a birthday present for me!!!!!!!!!) and it will take 3 hours to complete.  She said that when she is fitting them she will talk through the maintenance and such.  The thing I love about the person I have chosen to do my extensions is that she is big on aftercare.   Her philosophy is that when she fits the extensions, I will represent her work professionally.  So she hammers home the aftercare side of it.  

So to say that I am excited about it is an understatement!  New gorgeous hair on the horizon!  I am giving myself a year with the extensions to see how I feel about it.  And if they don’t work out I am going to chop my hair off and go back to a funky turquoise haircut.

This has provided a welcome distraction from everything that has happened.  The feelings that I have been feeling are ugly.  Some of the thoughts that have gone through my head have left me shaken.   The last few weeks I have burst into tears for no reason.  People think that I should just smile, get over it.  I do my best to keep myself up and motivated.  My workouts help out massively.  And Suzanne, like always,  has been my rock.  I now know who my friends are and I have ht the jackpot with Suzanne.

So I am focusing on getting my luscious long hair.  I am ramping it up at the gym, eating better foods, getting sleep and trying to find good things to focus on. 

So, in 10 days I will have the hair of my dreams and hopefully I will be stronger, happier and hopefully I can work through this snit that  I am in and come back fighting stronger.

And to those who are reading this that are fighting depression or any mental health disorder, you’re not alone.  Message me.  I will listen, help, and make you laugh.  I will do what I can to help you.  You are not alone.

So until next time, Ragers and Ragettes, keep your head and standards high and your heels even higher. 

Lots of Love

The Fabulous Betty Rage xxxxx

The Death of Nana Rage Part Two: You Can't Pick Your Family

Hey Ragers and Ragettes, after the post about Nana, I had a little cry. I also had my beauty therapist come round and my long talons are back, my eyebrows are on fleek and she French plaited my short hair. (My hair is in that strange in between stage where it's just irritating. I'm growing it and preparing it for my project in October....)

Suzanne said rightly that "Sometimes you just need to get things off your chest and then Pamper yourself and not think so hard!!!"

I'm pampered and ready to give you the rest of the story about Nana Rage's death.

As you know from my last post, my dad's family flew in from all corners of the globe to give Nana Rage a send off. Two of those people are the Colonel and his wife.

His wife is my dad's sister. She's two years older than my dad and has it in her head that her shit doesn't smell.  Oh yes, I'm pretty sure there is one of these in every family.

She married into a good family. The colonel (my uncle) is also my godfather. He was in the Air Force, rose through the ranks and retired a one star General.

They have always turned their noses down at my mama and my family. They would make fun of my mama saying she was stupid because English isn't her first language (mama speaks 7 languages). They'd make fun of mama's clothes because she'd shop at second hand stores. They turn their nose up at me because I am tattooed, pierced and the fact that I have bipolar disorder (my mental health is obviously a shameful thing for them)

And you would think that at a time like this, they'd act with some decorum....did they fuck!

It all started when I was picked up st the airport by the colonel and Nana's nephew. The 2 of them chatted in the car, with me in the back. Well, it was mostly the colonel chatting about how wonderful his kids and grandkids were.

He asked what I was up to and I started to tell him, he interrupted me to tell me how wonderful his niece was. Fab.

Whenever the colonel and his wife were in the room, there was an atmosphere. They were constantly boasting and didn't even really give me or mama the time of day.

Even when my sister face timed I asked if they wanted to talk to her (everyone else chatted and laughed with my sister) they refused to talk to her.

When we went to scatter the ashes, the colonel couldn't make it up the hill. I videoed the ashes being scattered. I sent the video to my cousins and to my sister, and they were grateful. I asked if the colonel wanted to see the video. He gave me a look as if to say, uh why would I want to see that? I asked to have a photograph with them (their daughter, my cousin asked for this) and they flat out refused.

At dinner, the colonel's wife said that she had her DNA tested (keep in mind that she is my dad's sister) and was proudly telling us that they found that my dad's side of the family have Belgian, Scottish, Viking, Irish and English DNA. She then looked at my mama and said, luckily I don't have inferior DNA....it took every cell in my body to stop me from getting up and dumping the roast chicken on that stuffy bitch's head!

And it didn't end there. When they left, they didn't even say goodbye to me, mama or to my uncle who had taken care of Nana Rage for the last 11 years!!! (They looked their noses down at my uncle also)

When they left, the atmosphere completely changed. Everyone was happier. We were joking and laughing and smiling.

I talked to mama in private about this and she said, Betty, hold your head up high. You were polite and you at least made the effort to come over (I was the only grandchild that attended)

I mean seriously....

Why the fuck do they think that they are better????? We have the same fucking blood going through our veins, my nana was my family too!!

So, when I returned, I decided to get my DNA tested. Why? I'm proud of who I am, inferior DNA and all.

I'm sorry if this is a strange post but I don't understand what makes family act like this? Families are supposed to be there for each other. They are supposed to support and help. We're blood related whether they like it or not.

So, I have decided I am going to be extra nice to them. Every birthday, anniversary and holiday I'm sending them cards. I'm going to be so lovely and sweet until they are sick. They cannot then say that I am awful.

Sigh. Families, eh? Can't live with them and you can't kill them...

Until next time Ragers and Ragettes, keep your head and standards high and your heels even higher

Lots of love

The Fabulous Betty Rage xxxxx

On the Death of Nana Rage Part One

Hey Ragers and Ragettes!!  It’s a cool day here in St Helens.  Autumn, I think, is finally making its way over.  Today I am wearing my burgundy palazzo pants (So forgiving!!!), my navy blue cami and white cardi.  I am wearing my black Converse shoes. 

Also, I am proud to report that I have finally made it into Onederland!!  I feel really confident about my weight loss journey.  I am getting there.  I need to keep doing what I am doing (eating a good healthy diet and exercising 6 times a week!!) and I will soon be down to the body measurements I want. 

I have wanted to write this post now for over a week and I have struggled to find the words.  So please bear with me.  If this doesn’t make sense, I apologise.

6 weeks ago, I was told that my Nana Rage (My dad’s mum), who was 100, took a fall.  She injured her back and her elbow.  But the doctors said that the prognosis was good.  She was chatty, had all her faculties.  She was eating and wanted to get up and about and get out of hospital.  The doctors decided to keep her in though due to her age, which was a blessing.

On the 3^rd of September, I received a text from Mama Rage telling me that my Nana (who was 100 years old) had taken a turn for the worst.  I didn’t think anything of it.  She was a tough woman and from the last time I saw her, I genuinely thought that she would pull through.

Sadly, a half an hour later I received another message from Mama Rage.  Nana had passed away. 

To be honest the text didn’t register.  I just sat there trying to make sense of what I just read.  So I reread the text at least 60 times.  And it still didn’t make sense.

So as if I was on Autopilot, I somehow booked my flights over and soon before you know it, I was in Manchester Airport Departure Lounge with a glass of red wine waiting to board the flight to Cork, Ireland.  My parents were flying over along with my Uncle from Zimbabwe. 

After some delays (Why would anyone want to build an airport in the foggiest place in Ireland??  Seriously, people!!) I was with my parents, my Uncle Neil from Zimbabwe, my Uncle and Auntie (who I like to call the Colonel and his wife) and my Uncle Luke and Auntie Martha, (Uncle Luke and Martha are fabulous people.  They have been taking care of Nana Rage plus Martha’s mum who is 91 years old)  (All names changed)

The Colonel told me exactly what happened when Nana died and she died with dignity.  On the morning of September 3^rd she started to cough up blood.  So the doctor basically said she has a choice.  She either has a camera shoved down her throat or they make her comfortable.  Nana Rage overheard this and said, and I quote, hell no!  I’m done.  The doctor give her some morphine.  The Colonel’s Wife combed her hair; Nana put her teeth in and held my Auntie’s hand.  The Colonel wanted a coffee and he left.  She looked at my Auntie (her oldest child and my Dad’s sister) and smiled and said I love you dear.  She then closed her eyes and she breathed her last. 

The funeral was held on Wednesday the 7^th of September.  25 people showed up and it was a simple ceremony.  No fuss.  Amazing Grace played and I shed a tear.  The coffin was small (Nana was only 4 foot 9).  I squeezed my Mama’s hand and we made it through the ceremony.  My dad’s eyes glassed over and he wiped tears away.  There is nothing worse in this world than seeing your father cry.  I wiped my tears away and took a deep breath.  I had to be strong for my parents.

We then went to a nice hotel for a lovely meal.  We all sat together, chatted, reminisced about Nana Rage.   I met family that I didn’t know that I had.   It all seemed surreal.  It hadn’t sunk in.

Then on the Thursday, The Colonel and his Wife, Uncle Neil, Mama and Dad, Uncle Luke, Auntie Martha and me went out to scatter the ashes.  Uncle Neil brought along my Granddad’s ashes.  We drove out into the rainy windy Irish country.  My Mama was panicking (as always) about getting the right weather for scattering the ashes.  We stopped off and had a cup of tea in a cute, quirky tea shop in Oysterhaven.  As we left the sun started to shine, the wind dropped. 

We then made it to Sandy Cove.  My Uncle Luke decided on Sandy Cove because this was where my Nana and Granddad used to sit and have a picnic and watch the world go by.  The sun was shining, there was a gentle breeze.  The sky turned a beautiful colour of blue.  A total difference from the windy, rainy grey day that we left.  My dad, my Auntie, Uncle Luke, Auntie Martha, Uncle Neil and I walked up the path (my mama’s health has deteriorated so much she’s now walking with a cane and the Colonel’s health is dreadful too) to the spot where my grandparents sat.  Quietly they opened the boxes that held my granddad’s and Nana’s ashes.  My Uncle Neil and my Uncle Luke started to scatter them.  We were all silent.  I recorded this moment for my Sister and my cousins.  It was moving.  After the ashes were scattered we took some flowers and laid them down on the spot and stood back for a few minutes to reflect.  A few tears slipped down my face and the faces of my family.  United in the grief but also celebrating the life of Nana Rage.  100 years and 10 months.  She touched our lives.  Her quiet, gentle spirit was inspirational.  She was firm but fair, sharp witted to the end. 

I thought back to the last time I saw her.  How she took my hand and said, Betty, you make your own heaven and you make your own hell.  God, she was so right. 

Uncle Neil wiped his tears away.  And smiled and said, let’s go.  We wordlessly started walking back down to my Mama and the Colonel. 

We got back to my Uncle Luke’s and had a nice dinner together.  We chatted, laughed and had a toast to my Nana and Granddad.   Reunited on what would have been their 70^th wedding anniversary.

On the Friday I was flying back and my parents were flying out Saturday morning, early.  So we decided to go to the airport hotel and my parents would stay the night and we can have some time together before I had to leave.

When I landed in Manchester, I was exhausted, emotionally.  I felt numb.  Simon hugged me as I walked through arrivals.  It was nice to feel his hug.  He kissed my forehead and said, let’s get home.  All the way home, I was quiet.  I was still processing everything.

The weekend I just went through like a zombie.  And I admit. I got drunk on Saturday night and Sunday night. On the Monday I felt a little hungover, tired and emotional.  I went through the day feeling sorry for myself.

When I got home, I sat in my room put some sad music on and had a good cry.  I bawled for 2 hours straight until I was gasping for breath.  My eyes tears stained.  I needed a few hours to not be ok.  After those 2 hours, I took a hot shower, put some clean pajamas on and when Simon got home, I gave him a huge cuddle.   It was enough to set the internal “reset” button. 

It’s ok to not be ok for a few hours, Ragers and Ragettes.  We are bombarded with positivity and affirmations daily on social media.  I take those affirmations and posts to heart.  I am a firm believer that happiness is a choice.  And before I get people telling me “what if this” and “what if that” I say this.  Situations in your life you can do one of 2 things.  First you can go hide, cry and say pity me!!!  And keep whining and complaining and expect a magic fairy to come and sort it all out for you.

Or you can have a few hours of crying.  Get it out of your system and pick yourself up and figure out how to make the best of the situation. 

I have been in many shitty situations.  And I have gotten out of those situations by casting feelings aside and being clinical.  At the end of the day, Ragers and Ragettes, it’s your life.  And as Nana Rage said to me, you make your own heaven and you make your own hell.

It’s something that I have been working on recently.  And with Nana’s death and Anne’s death, I have learned that you need to keep good people around you and get rid of those Fuckboys and assholes that bring you down.  I have cleared out my social media getting rid of those that complain, whine and cry.  I don’t want that.  I want people that add to my life and enrich it, not bring me down.  People like Suzanne every day inspires me and I thank God for her friendship and love.

So I am sorry if this is a bit of a weird one.  I have more to say on this and I will publish in a few days as there is more to this story. 

So until next time, Ragers and Ragettes, be thankful for your family and true friends.  They are blessings and are the most precious things in the world.

Lots of Love

The Fabulous Betty Rage xxxxxxxxxxx

A Tribute to Anne

Hey Ragers and Ragettes.  I know I posted yesterday but I was given news about something from my family and it has been rattling around my head for the last 24 hours.

I received news that there was a death back home in the town where I was raised.  Her name was Anne.  (I am going to give her the dignity of using just her first name)  When Mama Rage told me, I burst into tears.

Why you may ask.

Anne was a lovely woman.  She was very active in the church and in the community.  And twice in my life, she acted as a glowing light when I felt sad.

The first time I met Anne was when I was in Girl Scouts.  I was only 8 years old.  My troop was lead by the mom of a girl that was in my class.  They didn’t have loads of money and the troop leader used to be bully me because she perceived that my family was rich (my family weren't rich!!  My mama made the best of everything that she had.) and the fact that my family were foreign. I hated going to Girl Scouts meetings. 

I would be polite (as I was taught from my parents) and ask if she needed help with anything and she would retort, imitating my Mama's accent, I don’t want you to get your princess hands dirty, darling.  On Girl Scouts trips, she would be little me in front of everyone.  I would get blamed for everything that went wrong.

I remember one trip we had to do as a troop.   I didn’t want to go.  My mama had to pull me out of my bedroom and get me into the car.  I remember crying that I didn’t want to go.  

When we pulled up to the troop leader's home, she was sat outside along with Anne.  Anne introduced herself and said that she was the troop leader’s cousin and that she was chaperoning this trip. She saw my tear stained face and asked me my name.  Well on that trip, Anne stayed next to me.  When we were driving to the activity Anne picked me, my 2 friends from my class and 2 other girls that I got along with ok to go in her car.

Anne let me sit in the passenger seat of her car.  She chatted to me, asked me about my family.  She listened.  She told me about her cats and how she volunteers at the local soup kitchen at the weekend.  She had an infectious laugh that made everyone laugh too.

During the trip, I stayed next to her and the troop leader didn’t say one nasty word to me.  Anne protected me.  Anne made a point of being kind and treating me with respect.  She was straight and to the point, no messing about. 

Our paths didn’t cross again until 8 years later. 

My parents decided to switch churches because the choir director (My mama and I used to sing in the choir and I would sometimes play the piano) made some inappropriate comments to me (It came out later that he was caught pants down balls deep into a 12 year old girl. I had a near miss on that one!)

The new church was on the older part of town.  The houses weren’t brightly painted like in the old church neighbourhood.  The congregation was older.  They weren’t wearing the latest clothes.

Of course Mama signed us up for the choir.  I remember our first choir practice.  I walked in, and who should catch my eye?  Anne. 

I don’t if she recognised me but that same warm smile greeted my Mama and me.  She walked over and asked us what we sang. 

Mama proudly said Betty and I sing alto.

Anne replied, well so do I.

Anne helped us get our music and the music that we didn’t have, she offered to lend my mama and I her copy.  She would share off of someone else.  She stood next as we sang.  After a few pieces of music, she winked at me and said, I’m standing next to you because you sing the notes perfectly.

When I was 16, I was going through so much shit.  Regular turbulent high school shit but also I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.  Most days I didn’t want to get out of bed and face the world.  My relationship with my parents were at an all time low.

I would burst into tears at weird times, once I burst into tears at church.  Anne, saw what happened, guided me into the bathroom.  She didn’t ask if I was ok (I was sick and tired of people asking me if I was ok) she handed me some tissues and let me cry.  She hugged me and said, let’s go back and sing.

To most people these would just be little moments in life that were everyday occurrences.  But at times of sadness, Anne was there. 

Mama yesterday told me that Anne not only was kind to me, but she often went without to help others.  She would give her car to someone who needed it, and would walk 3 miles in the rain to church. 

Anne volunteered for St Vincent De Paul society.  She visited the sick and the lonely.  She had a job as a teacher but had very little time to herself, to the detriment of her health.

She has a big family and my Mama told me that she would call them asking to look in on Anne and see if she was ok.  I got the impression that Anne’s family weren’t too helpful.

I wept yesterday, Ragers and Ragettes, because in Anne’s death, the world lost a selfless, loving, caring woman.  Yes, those small moments in my life where she shone her light may seem small but they were in reality huge beacons of light in a dark world.  She made me feel human in those times.  

In this day in age, people like Anne are a rarity.  Giving of their time and the little that they have to help strangers.  Truly selfless, good people.

I don’t understand why God decided to take Anne and let the scumbags of this world live.  I have questioned my faith many times.  I call myself agnostic now because of shit like this.  Why take someone as loving and wonderful as Anne away from the world?  Why does he let the drug dealers, child abusers, rapists and murderers live?

I don’t know the answer but all I know is last night there was a new and very bright star in the sky.

RIP, Anne.  Thank you for teaching us kindness, selflessness and love.  You will be missed.

Lots of Love

The Fabulous Betty Rage xxxxx

On Going on a Night Out

Good Morning Ragers and Ragettes!!  I must say that it is a glorious day in St Helens!  The sun is shining, it’s warm and so I drove my convertible into work today with the top down.  The only issue was the fact my straightened my hair became a tangly mess (my hair is at the awkward in between phase of growing out.  It’s now between chin and shoulder length and because my hair is fine, it tangles to easily.)

Today’s outfit is my favourite vintage sundress.  It is navy blue, sky blue, lime green, yellow, and white with spaghetti straps, a blue ribbon around the waist and the skirt flares out and lands right at the knee.  I have teamed this dress with my tan platform wooden sandals and my red lippy.  A lot of people have commented on my dress today.  I do feel, well, rather pretty.  And the best bit is when I got Simon to zip the dress up, there were no grunts, swearing or squeezing me into the dress.  Yes, I am wearing this dress and my back boobs are not creeping up to under my armpits!  Result!

I am feeling quite good.  I am now at 200 pounds.  I know that my actions this week will determine whether or not I get into “onederland” but I am confident that I will.  My body is shrinking and I am feeling good. 

I'm feeling so good about my body that when my beauty therapist messaged me last night about going out for drinks for her boyfriend’s birthday (her boyfriend works for us) I felt quite happy!  Usually I get a bit depressed because I feel too ugly to go out.   I went to my wardrobe last night and found a dress that I bought last year from River Island that was too small.

I tentatively slipped it over my head (while wearing a cotton camisole and big knickers) and well, it fits!  I will have to put some shapewear on underneath but yes, it fits!!  This little dress is a satin cocktail dress that sits about 3 inches above my knee.  It is navy blue, beige, and red and is asymmetric. The sleeve is kimono style and falls to the left elbow.  I am excited to wear it!!!

Now comes the hard part....What will I wear with it?  How will I do my hair and makeup?  Yes, these questions are stressful but are exciting too!!

Simon and I don’t socialise much because of work.  It is one thing that I miss about my old life.  I love getting glammed up.   When I was dating, I enjoyed putting on my dresses, doing my makeup and the excitement of what the night would hold for me.

I used to have a ritual.  First the music would come on.  This is a must.  It’s always upbeat music.  I get my shower, wash my hair.  I then go and pour a glass of red wine. 

Body dried off, then body lotion is applied (I love body lotion!!!!!  I go through a big bottle of cocoa butter every 2-3 weeks.) hair up in a towel.

Then I blow dry my hair and put my hair mousse in for volume.  Once my fine hair is dried, then it’s make up time!!

Now, depending on how big of a night out this is, I might have fake individual eyelashes put on.  This is my favourite beauty accessory.  False eyelashes are fabulous.  If I have my false eyelashes on, I tend to do a bold red lip and leave my eyes very plain.  Or if I don’t have my false eyelashes on, I will attempt a smokey eye which usually looks like a big smudgy mess (A resolution for me is to take a makeup artist course.  I might ask for that for my birthday.....) with a neutral lip.

After my makeup is done, I then put my outfit on.  I put a scarf over my face if I have to pull a dress over my head so I don’t smudge my makeup.  I then finish styling my hair.  Spurred by fab music and a glass or 2 of wine, I am usually ready to go out and enjoy the night!!!

This whole routine takes about an hour.  I hate being rushed when I am doing my getting ready to go out routine. 

Now for Saturday, I am excited because I get to do my routine (minus the wine). I have the dress and now I have to plan the makeup and hair. 

I am thinking of curling my hair.  This will involve me sleeping in hair rollers.  The curls will go crazy.  I will tame them by pulling them back in a headband and the result is usually a faux afro.

Which leaves me with the dilemma....red lips with false eyelashes or smokey eyes with a neutral lip?  Suzanne (who always gets it right) suggests smokey eye with neutral lips, I think that I will do that as it is out of my comfort zone.  Plus it will give me opportunity to try out my new Too Faced (I love this brand!!!) liquid eyeliner.   So I will need to start watching smokey eye Youtube tutorials!!!

Then there is the shoes and handbag dilemma....red shoes with my red clutch bag or gold sandals with my leopard print and gold clutch?  Suzanne says gold sandals.  And I think that she is right.  That means gold accessories, simple gold hoops I think and my vintage gold bangle. 

Yes, there is the big possibility that I will change my mind and change my outfit last minute...that has been known to happen.  But that is what happens with the excitement of going on a night out! 

With my body shrinking, my confidence is growing and I am feeling better about myself.  The key is to keep going on the path that I am.  Keep pushing because seeing the results of my hard work is spurring me on.

But in all the excitement, there is one thing that needs to be factored in.  My alcohol tolerance is down and I don’t particularly want to be hungover on Sunday so it looks like I will be alcohol free on Saturday night.  I have only done this once in my life and it is difficult. I just don’t want to screw up all the hard work I have put into getting my body back on track.  So here is to being boring, sober but fabulous looking!!!

Until next time, Ragers and Ragettes, keep your head and standards high and your heels even higher!

Lots of love,

The Fabulous Betty Rage xxxx

P.S.  I need to give a shout out to my girl, Suzanne.  She’s going through a hard time this week.   Suzanne,  a always here if you need me.  I love you and am blessed to have you in my life!!!  xxxx

On Motivation

Hey Ragers and Ragettes!!  It’s a very, very, very, very sunny day here in St Helens.  I am not complaining in the slightest.  The sun is out and everyone seems to be in a great mood. 

Today I am breaking out of my comfort zone and wearing a burgundy, black and cream strappy playsuit with my black and gold gladiator sandals plus my trusty black cardigan as Simon loves to run the air conditioning on sub zero degree temperatures.  I love jumpsuits, as you all know, but playsuits are a bit different.  That means legs are on display and plus you have the issue that the playsuit can wedge up into your crotch.  That is not a good look when you have to keep picking your jumpsuit out of your flange. But it is liberating having the breeze on your legs. 

Which brings me to motivation. 

As you all know I have been struggling to lose weight.  I do well, and then I relax and the weight comes back on.  This time I am actually doing it!!!  I have lost in total 16 pounds.  It’s been hell.  Some weeks I lose 2 pounds and then I will have weeks where I don’t lose at all.  Then I will gain and then lose.  I am very close to clearing my first hurdle.  The place called “Onederland”.  Onederland is a magical place.  It is a place where normal people are.  It’s a hurdle that I have been trying to clear for 2 and a half years now.   I get very close.  Very, very, very, very close and then I snap, relax and then go the other way.

I have decided that enough is enough.  So I have become the food Nazi.  I am now the most boring woman in the world.  Why?  Because I am tired of being a fattie.  And before anyone says, oh no you are not a fattie, I say shut your fucking cakehole, I am a fattie.  Right now I weigh in at 203 pounds and when you are 5 foot 5, yeah, I am a fattie. 

But I am doing something about it properly.  What have I done?   I have cut my alcohol down to nothing.  I am eating 3 meals a day and 2 snacks.  All clean, all healthy.  I am busting my ass at the gym 5-6 days a week.  I do yoga one day a week.  I also have stopped apologising for taking care of myself.  For example Rita wants to meet up this weekend and I have told her that if we do, there will be NO alcohol consumed. (She hasn't responded to confirm that she wants to meet up) And instead of waiting for Simon to get home, I eat 60 minutes after my workout.  I cook Simon dinner separately.  Fuck everyone else.  I am focusing on me and my goals.

I will be going home for Christmas this year, not only to Ohio, but Simon and I are flying in Miami.  Yes, Miami.  One of the plastic surgery capitals of the USA.  Where there is sunshine pretty much 365 days a year.  So I will be surrounded by fit, sexy women and I don’t want to look longingly at their toned fit bodies thinking, oh I am so fat.  No I want to join to hottie brigade.  I am tired of being the funny fat one. 

Yes, I have written about this before but the thought of turning 35 and being a fattie makes me sick.  So I have swapped coffee for hot lemon water or peppermint tea.   Sandwiches for Chicken and Broccoli.  The hardest part for me is the weekend.  I usually have a “treat” on the weekend but I have now cut down on treats.  I do give myself one treat and it is my post workout meal on a Saturday morning.  I treat myself to a pastry and a cup of coffee.  My dinner usually a steak with homemade sweet potato chips or a salad. 

I am training with my personal trainer twice a week.  We hit the weights and I am lifting heavy.  I am squatting 110 kilos, deadlifting 105 kilos, bench pressing 80 kilos and military pressing 40 kilos.  On days that I don’t train with personal trainer, I do cardio circuits.  It hurts.  My face is purple afterwards.  I feel like I am going to die. 

But it is getting me closer to my goal.  It may be 1-2 pounds a week but I am getting closer to clearing my first hurdle.  Onederland.  I have got to clear Onederland.  Once I have cleared Onederland, it is a mental roadblock that is lifted.  I am then back into the normal club. 

Suzanne has been so supportive.  I check in with her and my personal trainer once a week with my measurements and my weight.  She cheers me on.  She puts me in my place if I don’t perform and there have been times when I have been training that I want to give up I message her and she pushes me and tells me to keep going.  Keep pushing.  Eye on the prize.

The hardest thing for me has been motivation though. 

What I am about to say, I am going to apologise for because I do not condone at all what I am about to say as I believe in building people up and not breaking them down.

My biggest motivation, though, has been Keith’s girlfriend.  She is a horrible person.  She is controlling him.  She has moved him away from his friends and family.  He doesn’t go out on lads nights out anymore.  She has made him delete all his friends that are girls (including me) on social media (but she has male strippers on her friends list?) and basically she is controlling every aspect of his life. 

And she is a big fat, fattie.  She is huge.  When I was kind of friendly with her she would complain about being fat but said that she couldn’t exercise.  BULLSHIT.  Everyone can exercise.  Hell, I have good friend of mine in a wheelchair with a debilitating bone disease and she exercises.  There is a guy with cerebral palsy that is wheelchair bound that goes to the gym and works out.  And there is an old guy that has a respirator who works out that the gym.  What is your fucking excuse?  Going for a walk, getting on an exercise bike, lifting arm weights, yoga, horseback riding....there are so many activities to do!  I know that there are some people that hate gyms, that is totally ok.  I get it.  The gym isn’t for everyone but the weather is glorious outside.  Walk outside.  Or you can get free workouts on Instagram (That’s what I do for my cardio but I do them in the gym), workout DVD's, workouts on YouTube that you can do in the comfort of your own home.  Just get up and move!!!!

She is my biggest motivator.  I do NOT want to be like her at all.  Ever.  In anyway.  I don’t want to be fat like her.  I don’t want to be horrible like her.  I am insecure as a person but I don’t want to ostracise Simon from his friends and family.  I don’t want to tell lies, shit stir and cause harm.  Again, I feel bad about what I have written but she is a lesson for everyone to learn from.

To me, my motivation is not only to look fit in Miami but for her to see me slim, fitting into a UK size 10-12 pair of jeans or a bodycon looking fit.  I have snuck a photo of hers off of her facebook and put it on my desktop to look at if I smell a bacon sandwich or see a cake.  I DO NOT WANT TO BE LIKE HER....

I also want to fit into a certain jumpsuit for the flight to Miami.  I bought this jumpsuit from Primark back in 2011 when I was thinner.  I feel in love with it when I first saw it.  It is strapless with a sweet heart top.  It is navy blue with cream and tan with a tan belt and wide legs.  Very flattering.  The label said size 14.  I tried it on in the Primark in Manchester and it fit and I couldn’t afford it at the time (it was the week before payday!!)  and the next weekend I found the same jumpsuit, size 14, in the Primark in Liverpool, I didn’t try it on.  I went to wear it and there is no way that I gained 20 pounds in one week!!!  Talk about a mind fuck!!!  This jumpsuit (after measuring it) is a UK size 12 (USA size 8)  Not a UK size 14 (USA size 10).  So it has sat in my wardrobe waiting for me to wear it.  And I will wear it on the flight over to Miami with my tan tasselled sandals.   It is hanging up on the outside of my wardrobe so I see it EVERYDAY.  It is a reminder that I need to remember to exercise, eat properly and treat myself better.

I think that the main message from all this is that if you want to lose weight, motivation and accountability is the key.  I have exactly 48 days (Just under 7 weeks) until my birthday and 118 days (Under 17 weeks) until I board the flight to Miami.  I am fighting every day, every fucking day, to get into that jumpsuit.  And I will get into it. 

So, it’s time for another peppermint tea and some walnuts and until next time, Ragers and Ragettes, keep your head and standards high and your heels even higher

Lots of love

The Fabulous Betty Rage xxxx

On Rituals in the Midst of Mental Chaos

Hey Ragers and Ragettes!!! It's a sunny Sunday here in St Helens. After a strange chilly start it looks like summer could be here! I'm wearing a blue sundress.

Well, from last post, I didn't get through to the second interview stage of the job. I was gutted, I must admit but kind of relieved. So I put my nose ring back in and dyed my bleach blonde locks to purple. My choppy hair style is growing out nicely and soon I can start making a decision on an actual hair style i want.

Ever so often I get days like this. It's usually a Sunday after all the chores have been completed. I'm not good at doing nothing. I have to always do something. That's when my brain starts to wander and that usually when I buy things. To stop me from thinking,

After the rejection from the job, I started thinking about my life. I have realised that I don't have the faintest idea what I want from my life.

I have a few different realities that play out in my head. Fantasies that are more attractive than my current reality.

Fantasy number one:  leave Simon and move to London. With my skill set I can get a very good job in an industry that I actually want....fashion or in make up. In this fantasy I live a Sex in the City lifestyle. I have the sexy apartment, a closet full of fab clothes and shoes. I go to fabulous parties, have loads of very good sex and possibly find my Mr Big and live happily ever after.

Fantasy number two:  stay with Simon. We build the business, sell it off and move to the Welsh countryside. We buy an old stone walled pub in an eccentric village, like in a soap opera. We live out our days happily in this cute village.

Fantasy number three:  my power lifting goes well. Very well. I become the British champion and get spotted by a Swedish weight lifting coach. (Weight lifting is huge in Scandinavia) he whisks me away to Sweden to train as a weight lifter. I become the Rhonda Rousey of the weight lifting world. The hot Swedish coach and I fall in love and live happily ever after...the only down side? I'd have to import all my trousers. Scandinavian women are tall, skinny and gorgeous with very long legs. My damn British/ Italian genes have given me big hips, small tits and a very short inseam. But a plus...I have amazing eyebrows.

All those fantasies are appealing. Very appealing.

I feel like I'm at this constant crossroads. I don't know which way to go or what to do. In times of uncertainty in the past, I've always fallen apart or fucked up monumentally. This is the most stable I have been since 2002. I don't want to fuck up, over spend or do anything to jeopardise what I have as for now it is adequate.

I've started an escape fund. I have some money in it. I'm putting money away for my trip home, where I intend on spending some in clothes and make up. But the fund is there for if things go tits up. Or if my future is Simonless I will be protected.

I've also started to rely on my little rituals. My face are routine, for example, has been a life saver. Cleanse, tone, serum, eye cream, moisturise. Twice a day. Everyday. I love my clarins products. I feel like royalty with that ritual.

Then My make up in the morning. That ritual is soothing too, I look at my face after and I feel like a human that is worth something.

I went through a stage where I wasn't doing these rituals. I felt unworthy, ugly and hopeless. Since I've been doing these rituals I'm eating better, exercising and losing weight. I've stopped drinking alcohol so my complexion is clear. I feel like I am in control of my life even though I feel lost in what my destiny is.

I don't know where I need to be or what I want to do. So I'm going to continue in my rituals. Continue taking care of my body and hopefully I'll know where I need to be and what I need to do. Here's hoping anyway.

Until next time, Ragers and Ragettes, keep your head and standards high and your heels even higher.

Lots of love

The Fabulous Betty Rage xxxxxxx