ADRIENNE'S HIV BLOG – Hivine's Weblog

HIVINE is written by HIV positive women but still with a sense of humour

Archive for June, 2010

Nutty but Nice

Are you a secret Kellogg’s crunchy nut addict? I know I am although I haven’t yet resorted to wearing my lap top on my head like that daft man in the advert. I am sitting here with a bag on my head though, you know one of those plastic hoods you stick on the end of your nozzle (hairdryer I mean not nose) and I do sneak around in the middle of the night in my mismatched Jim jams hunting for crunchy nuts.

I have been forbidden by my higher self (as Van the Man would say) from indulging in this nightly practice, but as I am half asleep when the craving hits me the sensible side of my brain (for what it is these days) hasn’t yet woken up. So I arise from my bed like a sleepwalker, usually at dawn‘s early light, sneak down to the kitchen, fill a big bowl full of crunchy nut flakes then take them back up and guzzle them in bed.

This is the nearest I get to enjoying my food these days because the meds tend to make me feel constantly nauseous. There is, it seems, nothing I can do about this. I’ve tried taking the dam things at varying times of the day or the night, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference. I suppose I should be used to it by now, but it’s a bit like suffering from a permanent case of morning sickness, unless I’ve had an unusually long confinement of course and I might get a sudden shock like Mimi in the last episode of Shameless. Although eight years is a bit of a long pregnancy by anyone’s standards, even an elephant (almost two years). Then there’s the frilled shark, obviously named because it gets its frills from biting someone’s leg off, or otherwise known as chlamydoselachus anguineus (sounds like a sexually transmitted disease) who is pregnant for forty two months.

I learnt some other interesting facts during my research, did you know for instance that a snail breathes from its foot, an Emperor penguin can be four feet tall – that’s almost as big as me and an oyster can change its gender back and forth. Is that why they are known as aphrodisiacs?

Anyway, back to my crunchy nut addiction, the problem is keeping it a secret, because I make so much racket pouring the flakes out of the packet (new advertising slogan possibly?) I waken the whole household and probably even the neighbours. Who designs this noisy wrapping? Someone who obviously wants to create the optimum racket or wants us crunchy nut addicts to be discovered.

Or is it because, as it says on the box, every flake is fortified with iron? It certainly sounds like it and the clanging of the avalanche of iron coated flakes is particularly noticeable in the hush of dawn when nothing is stirring not even a mouse. Although there might be the odd verminous presence in the semi darkness, following the trail of crunchy nut confetti I have scattered in my wake on the kitchen floor.

 

But it doesn’t stop there, when I get back into bed, I practically deafen myself crunching the bloody things. Snap crackle and pop is nothing compared to the deafening crunch of a munched cluster of crunchy nut flakes. Another slogan – I obviously missed my true vocation.

Well at least I can console myself with the fact that although my not so secret addiction is fattening, nuts in general are good for me and they allegedly reduce cholesterol, a fact anyone who is on the meds will be interested in. Willo, who isn’t on the meds but lives off nuts and stores them all over the house in Tupperware boxes is doing great for an ageing squirrel (sorry Willo).

I decided to investigate further into the health benefits of nut nibbling and came across this – ‘Welcome to my nuts, upload a sexy photo of yourself and the winner will be featured in NUTS magazine.’ This is obviously a top shelf mag for men or nutty as opposed to nice boys. Like that old time music hall song – “Hold your hand out you nutty boy.”

I carried on with my nut investigation only to find there is some dispute about whether nuts should be called nuts in the first place, because only certain of them are considered to be true nuts. For example, Brazil nuts are not nuts in the biological sense. So why call them nuts I say – as if life isn’t confusing enough as it is, especially when you get to my age.

I think my hair is probably dry now so I can take this pesky bag off my head. As I can’t afford to go to the hairdresser to get my roots done, I did them myself with some moustache bleaching cream (Willos! This is an ‘in’ joke between me and her) so it will be interesting to see the results. And talking of jokes someone sent me what was described as the best blonde joke ever.

A blonde calls her boyfriend and says, “Please come over here and help me. I have a killer jigsaw puzzle, and I can’t figure out how to get started.”

Her boyfriend asks, “What is it supposed to be when it’s finished?”

The blonde says, “According to the picture on the box, it’s a rooster.”

Her boyfriend decides to go over and help with the puzzle.

She lets him in and shows him where she has the puzzle spread all over the table.

He studies the pieces for a moment, then looks at the box, then turns to her and says, “First of all, no matter what we do, we’re not going to be able to assemble these pieces into anything resembling a rooster.”

He takes her hand and says, “Second, I want you to relax. Let’s have a nice cold drink, and then, “he said with a deep sigh………. “Lets put all the cornflakes back in the box.”

This joke might not be as daft as it seems. Apparently the food giant plans to burn the Kellogg’s signature on to individual flakes using a laser and will then insert a proportion of these branded flakes into every box.

Well that will be fun won’t it, I can’t wait – but then again, I am a blonde.

 

Rock-a-Hula Baby

Flipping through a magazine I came across an article by some daft woman journalist entitled – ‘Fat Fiddling’ – in which she writes –

“I’ve just been reading about a new surgery which uses unwanted fat from around the body to boost the size of your boobs. Now I’m not a huge fan of surgery, but if I could give my unwanted fat to someone else then I think they could be on to something. Mind you I’m a bit worried that it could get out of control – imagine all the weird shapes people would end up if they kept moving lumps of fat around their bodies, putting them in their cheekbones whatever – let’s talk.”

OK daft woman journalist, let’s do that, let’s talk, let’s tell it like it is. If you were a woman living with HIV you wouldn’t need surgery in order to move your body fat around, the meds would do it for you, although it might not end up where you wanted it.

In an attempt to do some ‘fat fiddling’ myself, I invested in a hula hoop. The Lord Webber’s brother is a fat fiddler isn’t he, or is that a cello he has between his legs, or maybe as Mae West would say, he’s just pleased to see everyone! Whatever it is, it’s not a hula hoop, although hula hooping is all the rage these days, especially in America after Michelle Obama was photographed exuberantly hula hooping with her daughter. Hooping, as it’s called in the States, must appeal to politicians and their wives because the record for the most hoops twirled simultaneously is 132 and that was set by ‘Dizzy hips’ Blair in November 2009. So that’s what Tony’s up to these days – but then again, he was always good at spinning. Wonder if ‘Busy Lips’ Cherie is a rock-a-hula baby as well?

Those who have caught the hooping as opposed to the HIV bug claim it tones the midriff, boosts your mood, livens up your sex life and provides spiritual enlightenment. None of these things needless to say applies to the HIV bug, which adds fat to the midriff by way of lipodostropy, does absolutely nothing for your mental state and completely ruins your sex life.

Some aficionados have gone one step further and taken up fire hooping. Spokes are set into the outside of the hoop and tipped with wicks, which are soaked in fuel and then lit. Johnny Cash must have invented it because he was always singing about stepping into a burning ring of fire.

But hooping isn’t only happening in America – Oh no. Hoop Man a certain John Parnell who is 55 and from Nuneaton is profiting from the craze by manufacturing hoops as well as running hoop dance classes around the UK. The basic technique of keeping the hula hoop (as well as your knickers) from dropping to your ankles is to bend slightly at the knees then sway back and forth rather than circle the hips. Parnell teaches the Cristobel Zamor method (bet that’s not her real name) otherwise Hoop Girl as she is known in the US, who has devised a form of hula dancing that involves mesmeric spinning whirling and thrusting.

Thrusting? That doesn’t sound very ladylike does it – and you would have to be very confident that your knicker elastic would hold up.

The Nuneaton Hooper (sounds like some kind of kinky pervert) teaches hoopers of all ages and abilities and has sold hoops to people in their eighties – mind you, they haven’t a clue what to do with them. Although in Tahoe California a 102 year old woman recently credited her physical agility to her hula sessions.

In the hooping life – a forthcoming documentary about the craze, a man who suffers from depression tells how the rocking the cradle motion soothes and calms him. Taking up hooping is probably a good idea if you have anti-social leanings or dislike contact with other people, because as Nuneaton Hoop Man correctly points out, when you have a 40in hoop around you no one can encroach on your personnel space.

A woman in the same film enthuses that hoopers say their sex life has improved. Well, hoop hoop hurray for them is all I can say.

However it is deemed unwise to take up hooping if you have back problems or if you are pregnant. Although one pregnant hooper allegedly hulaed for the whole nine months and claims it helped her to tone up after the birth. As she puts it – ‘I’m one sexy hooping momma.’

Another undeniably sexy hooper (although I don’t know about momma) Beyonce claims that hooping keep her abs hard and seriously tones the butt. Even beardy Branson is getting in on the act and Virgin active health clubs now offer hulaerobics classes in their nationwide clubs where advanced hoopers can then graduate to the hula funk class.

The Sacred Circle, a Californian new age hooping organisation describes the ‘whirling sufi dervishness’ of the hula as a tool to access your higher truth. I cannot confirm whether this is truth or fiction, higher or otherwise, as I can’t keep my own particular hoop whirling long enough to find out. This might be because my hula hoop has inbuilt plastic balls which are supposed to give you a massage at the same time, so can be rather painful to say the least. I’m also having a bit of a job keeping it up as the bishop said to the actress because of my lack of hips.

What do you call a hippies wife – Mississippi!

On a more serious note, ‘Hooping for Hope’ is a website for breast cancer survivors which promotes the healing process through encouragement of hope and laughter. Nothing against these brave women (and men who can also suffer from breast cancer) and all the very best to them, but Thrivine our local support group which was nominated for a CVS award, missed out on the much needed cash (by one vote apparently) to a support group for breast cancer survivors.

It’s always the same – HIV unfortunately still suffers from the misguided pre-conception that somehow, unlike breast cancer or other terminal or chronic illnesses, we have brought it upon ourselves.

Here’s ‘hooping’ we are more successful with our next funding venture otherwise we will be forced to fold.

Even though there is money specifically set aside for HIV/AIDS our local council refuses to cough up.

Well ‘hooping’ cough to them and all who sail in her!