Another one is "I'm being good" or "Yes, it's a low-fat yoghurt and Rivita for lunch!", to mean that somebody is avoiding treat foods because they're watching their weight. But why is avoiding treat foods "being good"? A treat is just that, a treat: something you have that's not necessary for survival, but is a bit of a luxury to add a bit of enjoyment to your day. I think "being good" shouldn't mean "being completely miserable". Surely, having a healthy diet and lifestyle must include things like the odd packet of crisps or a chocolate bar every now and again? One of the most annoying things about people who have spent all of their adult lives dieting is their obsession with those who have had some success at getting in shape. And herein lies the answer to the relative success or failure of people who want to get in shape, or at least the way I see it is. Those who are constantly battling with their weights are, to varying degrees, obsessed with dieting - addicted to it I reckon. However, those who have some success in changing their bodies to their liking are probably not that worried about things on such in such an intense manner: a decision is made to change something/s about their lifestyle and they stick to it, rather than following one fadish diet after the next. It's all a matter of degrees.
People who leave their washing out for days on end in all sorts of weather conditions are utter scumbags and they should be shot. They're the same sort of people who claim incapacity benefit for "depression", "stress" or "back pain" all their lives so they never have to work and can get a house for free plus all the additional freebies that go with it. All paid for by poor bastards who struggle on by, working long hours with nothing to show for it. Working long hours and getting up ridiculously early, but not getting to sleep till late because their scumbag neighbours are up decorating their free houses with stuff that's paid for by the poor old worker. They're just basically stupid, lazy, inconsiderated, down-right nasty fuck-ups who should be rounded up and shot.
I also like the primary-coloured playground furniture and other garden ornaments here. Ahh, the sounds of the children playing (screaming) in the summer and the cackling of the harpees as they enjoy a barbecue and drink on their patio, which simply must be accompanied by very loud music (just to rub it in as I get home from a 9 hour day at work on those warm summer afternoons). All paid for by the British tax payer of course. This garden has been put together and is tended by somebody who never works, but who I understand claims incapacity benefit for having a bad back. I suppose filling out all those benefit forms and striving to make as much collective noise as possible must be very stressful and they probably get a few quid for depression too. Bastards.
Bastard firewalls are a pain in the arse. Having just upgraded Zone Alarms (why oh why do I do these things?), it seems that it needs to learn which internet sites are allowed. To do this, it blocks everything until you've repeatedly reloaded the page and it finally cottons on that the BBC News website is safe to view. And all this is because some little shits around the world have nothing better to do than cause trouble by trying to hack into people's machines.
Fingernail clippings go everywhere. Surely somebody can invent something that clips nails and catches the clippings rather then the bloody things letting fly into your coffee, or landing somewhere and hiding themselves until their discovered by an obsessive-compulsive visitor.
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