Help Me I'm Chubby

22/05/2024

Hello!

It’s been over a month since my last post. Sorry about that. Am I the worst blogger of all time? Yeah, look, potentially. I’ve started a new job (which I bloody LOVE) and have a 2 hour commute every day, it feels like I’m in the 90s; who commutes anymore?
I have a 4,000 word essay due on Tuesday, and after that, I’m free to blog until my little heart's content! Expect to read plenty about a first date which ended in Will Ferrell’s giant shovel, seeing Arnold Schwarzenegger on a weekly basis, and, I suppose, just life in general.
Thanks to all three of you still here. X

18/04/2024

Hello!

Happy Thursday! This weather is making me forget all of my troubles (my troubles being that I can’t find anyone to date and I’m self-diagnosed anaemic). I write today’s post from my sunny living room. I’m between jobs right now and am waiting for some final checks to come back before starting. It's laborious and I'm skint - hopefully by next week I will be knee deep in my new role!

Whilst I am very happy the sun is shining and I’m starting a fun, new job soon, I love reminiscing over last summer. Without further ado, let’s travel back to date #3 with Handsome Texan (HT), shall we?

At the time of dating HT I was doing quite well with my fitness. I had started training for a half marathon for the 20th time and, for the first time, wasn’t showing signs of giving up. At this point, I had entered five half marathons and pulled out every single time for various reasons, but the main one being - I had no integrity. I could convince myself a thousand times over that I “preferred running shorter distances” or that I “get shin splints” (I have never had shin splints, and I’m sorry if I told you I had in the past), but the crux of the matter was - I gave up when it became too tricky.

So imagine my delight, dear reader, when I made myself a promise to treat myself to a Garmin watch when I had completed an 8 mile run and actually did it! I drove to Best Buy on Pico Blvd and picked out the cheapest Garmin and spent a quarter on my week’s salary in order to gain slightly better statistics on my below average runs.

(The running is key to the HT story. I’m not just bragging, although I suppose I am slightly bragging.)

It had been a week since HT and I had met as he had travelled home to his family ranch (excuse me????) in Austin, and I was busy being Nanny Mcphee to Angel Girl Kelly (baby). There were too many vegetables that needed pureeing, too many baby signs to learn before I could see him again. We had texted back and forth a bit but, despite my desperation to find someone who wants to date me and my chronic phone addiction, I’m a rubbish texter. The chat was pretty mundane from both ends and I was looking forward to seeing him in real life to remember his handsome face and southern charm. When plans were being made for our next date I mentioned I had a ten mile run (YES, TEN MILES) to do the next morning so something non-booze related ending with an early night would be preferential. He politely agreed and suggested a bike ride down to Hermosa Beach with a picnic. Yes! Dreamy! Finally! It’s happening! A man with similar interests to me who listens, is respectful, and fit to boot! Not to mention a US native and can therefore get me a Green Card pretty easily (I would do anything to live in Venice for the rest of my life).

I went to bed that evening with a freshly shaved and exfoliated body, set my denim shorts and girly top out alongside a picnic shopping list to get from Whole Foods, giddy with excitement for the following morning. I just looked back at my diary of that evening and I really did sound like a hysterical teenager.

Until I woke up the next morning:

“Hey Laur, you need to get to the main house as soon as you’re up”
“Make sure you shut all the windows and doors, put some towels down by the seals too”
“I’ve moved the cars to higher ground across the street”
“Make sure you put all the plugs in the sink and bath, the cockroaches will come up otherwise”

Ah! Of course! A 5.1 level earthquake followed by unprecedented flash floods across Los Angeles! It was a pretty manic morning. Roads were shut, our phones were going off with emergency government notifications every hour, everything was flooding. Shops and restaurants were shut, and people had been sent home from work for ‘safety’. I’m not one for patriotism but the whole fiasco made me quite proud of the British drainage system.

HT text to ask if we were still on for a date. I was equally confused at his lack of awareness of the situation and impressed at his ‘keep calm and carry on’ attitude. I agreed, despite the protestations of Enok and Bonnie, who were completely dumbfounded that there would be anything for us to do for date #3. He hadn’t invited me over, and I certainly wasn’t going to invite him to my flooding granny’s annex with a single bed at the bottom of my friend/employer’s garden.

HT picked me up outside my front door, head to toe in waterproofs and a big grin. I had never been so attracted to a man so fully clothed. He suggested we walk until we find somewhere open for a drink. I gently reminded him I wasn’t drinking and he shooed it away. We walked for about half a mile before reaching Jameson’s Pub, an Irish bar on Main St in Santa Monica. Jameson’s is known for being a local dive that you go at the end of the night. I didn’t even know it opened during the day. My friend and I spent a few hours there once and ended the night snogging a pair of travellers in Baseball shirts after convincing them I was Irish for roughly four hours. PSA - Four hours is a long time to keep up a sh*te Irish accent. What I’m trying to get at is, this isn’t a place you go on a sober date.

Reader, I’m going to stop the story there. I don’t want this blog to become a one-sided version of why all of my dates didn’t go any further, as these men deserve a right to reply. So what I will say is, it ended with said Irish bar, one giant pretzel, ten pints of beer and two diet cokes. To give the story away a little bit more, I still managed to go for my 10 miler the next day, with a completely clear head.

So long, Cowboy.

I’ll tell you what - this one hurt a lot for some reason. Still can’t put my finger on it, but it did leave a big sting that took a while before I could go on another date. I went home to Enok, Bonnie and Angel Girl Kelly and moped about being single, 30 and childless.

“Will it ever be my turn?” I asked repetitively.
“Of course it will be, the right guy is just around the corner!” They echoed.

Of course, they don’t know that for certain. I’m 31 now and very much still single. It’s pretty scary, not knowing if having a family will ever happen for me. Earlier this year I found out one of my ovaries has completely stopped working, and the other is on its way there too. I am trying to date, but I’m so bloody scared of it going wrong again. It’s tricky to keep putting yourself out there, especially when it just seems to ‘work’ for everyone around me. And what happens if I were to find a good guy, who knows if I’ll ever be able to conceive? These are thoughts that are consistently weaving in and out of my head.

Christ, that wasn’t a very funny post was it? Thanks for enduring the whine! Will be sure to regain some perspective after 10 minutes in the sunshine later.

A very quick Happy Birthday to one of my top three best friends, Charlie. She is my rock, and gave me the confidence to start this blog again, so if you’re one of the few people who are still enjoying HMIC, you have her to thank! Haaaapppy Biiiirrrthhhdaaayyy to youuuu. You are the tiniest foghorn with the biggest heart who makes me lol the loudest. Love ya x

See you next Thursday! x

08/04/2024

Easier reading here: https://helpmeimchubby.com/giddyup-cowboy/

Hello!

Happy Thursday. Today’s post is brought to you from my living room; my phone is on Do Not Disturb, there’s a “Chill Lofi Beats” playlist on, and I’ve set a timer not to look at my phone for 25 minutes. I am completely addicted to my phone, is anyone else? I bloody hate it. I don’t smoke or v**e, not a big drinker, never gamble, but that tiny device in my hand? He**in.

Before I get to The Handsome Texan, I thought it best to briefly recap why I was in Los Angeles. Looking back, I gave next to no context as to why I was there or why I left. Picture this, you’re in Mexico City with your long-distance best friend, Bonnie who lives in Los Angeles. You’ve just come from a tiny Mexican island where unfortunately your relationship ended. Back home, you work remotely for a clinical trials company. You’re lonely and unfulfilled. Everyone around you seems to be making big moves, having babes, getting married, buying houses.

Bonnie is four months pregnant at this stage, and she’s anxious about how she’s going to handle returning to work after the babe is born. She only gets FOUR MONTHS maternity leave. She doesn’t really want to put her baby in day care, and nannies are hard to come by.

“I’ll do it” I blurt out.

“Hm?” She replies.

“I’ll come over and be your Nanny! For as long as I can! Please, let me!”

I’d been to visit Bonnie and Enok (false names, although I’d love to have a friend called Enok) in Venice three times at this point. To me, it’s paradise. The beach, the w***y brunches, going from being a 5 to a 7 just because of my accent, celebrity spotting, just gorgeous. I was newly single and had zero dependents. If not now, when?

Angel girl Kelly (again, fake name, but baby Kelly? Lovely) was born and eight months later I flew to LAX. I have to admit, I was slightly reluctant to leave, my delusional self believed that a man I had been on one date with after a chance meeting at Weymouth Quayside was the one. Had I thrown away the love of my life over a six-month stint in California? Spoiler alert - he ghosted me three weeks later.

Back to The Handsome Texan (HT).

After our dreamy bacon-wrapped dates, wine and ice-cream-fueled date; I woke up the next morning to a text from HT saying he had a really fun night and would love to see me again. I was in disbelief. This man was objectively better than me in almost every way. Sexier, more successful, charming, well-read. The only advantage I had was having more hair on my head (did I mention he was bald?). Wanting to strike the right balance between enthusiastic and chilled, I responded an hour later reciprocating the want to see him again.

“What are you doing tonight? I’m going to this BBQ beach party with a group of friends, you should come. Be warned, it’s Barbie-themed.”

Excuse me? The next night? In the UK, anecdotally speaking, there is a certain dance that happens where you leave approximately 4-5 days between dates so as to not appear too desperate, regardless of how much attraction there is. It appears in the US that dance does not exist. Two nights on the trot? I never knew how to dance much anyway.

I plucked out my pink satin skirt and trotted the four blocks to the beach, where HT was waiting for me in a bright pink shirt and cowboy hat. My dreams were coming true. To me, there is nothing more s*xy than a man confident enough to be a lil’ bit silly in public.

He took the four-pack of wine tinnies I had brought and led me to his pink-clad friends. His hand was once again, on the small of my back. I melted. Yes, Handsome Texan, I am too feeble to carry these 187ml cans, please carry them for me as I am but a tiny weak girly! I was genuinely grateful to have two free hands as I tried to navigate myself through a quarter mile of hot sand as gracefully as one can in a maxi skirt to a group of 70 strangers.

Handsome Texan didn’t leave my side all night. He would occasionally take my tinny, give it a little shake and fetch my next one without me asking. He would bring me into the conversation with new people and would take me to the side to ask how I was. Although we both socialised heavily, it was clear that our focus was on each other. Dear reader, it was electric.

Hands cupped with a dramatic swing for comedic effect, we walked back to Bonnie and Enok’s house. Four lots of 187ml tins of wine down, I was ready for a smooch. I hadn’t been smooched for about three months at this point and was worried I’d lost any knack for smooching I had previously developed. This is fine, Laura. You can smooch! You know how to smooch! Just open your mouth, as wide as you can and angrily waggle your stiff tongue in a left and right motion… Correct?

“I’ve had another really great date, Laura”

“Me too, HT.”

“Same again soon?”

“You know it.”

He leaned in. Oh yeah, here we go. He leaned in to kiss, my cheek. Gave me a nod with his cowboy hat, and trotted off into the night.

Damn Texans.

See you next week x

**Pictured by Bonnie - Me leaving for said second date with HT

27/03/2024

Tomorrow's blog title✨
See you tomorrow at 7pm!

21/03/2024

Easier reading here: https://helpmeimchubby.com/blog/

Hello!

Welcome to Help Me I’m Chubby; the ramblings of a woman in her early thirties trying not to unravel under the pressure of finding a life partner on Hinge, whilst also trying to hold up a cool, chill-girl exterior. I’ve somehow found myself an unwilling participant in a race against time. Participants include my rapidly sagging face; pathetically propped up by Botox, my equally rapidly declining egg reserve, and finally, my breasts, which once sat up defying gravity, but have now found themselves taking two or three tumbles at the end of every bra removal.

As the quest to find someone (anyone)whom I may have a slight connection with continues, I’m trying to squeeze every piece of joy out of life too, whilst trying to do an absolute Jay Shetty and find some purpose.

I moved to Los Angeles for the summer and completed the obligatory half marathon, which seems to be a rite of passage for every childless thirty-year-old. I quit my corporate marketing job in clinical trials and became a Nanny to an eight-month-old baby. And I applied for 300+ jobs in London, only to visit on my return to the UK, to discover that London scares me.

Perhaps, unluckily for me, one thing I’ve consistently enjoyed has been writing this blog. I quit blogging in 2020 and always, always thought about it. I love it! Writing about myself, who knew? Self-indulgence disguised as creativity, sign me up. Anyway, in the past three months, I’ve had roughly seven people mention this godforsaken blog to me. It was less pitchfork-wielding “Bring back the blog!” demands but more “Didn’t you have a blog?” whilst awkwardly standing beside each other in a pub queue. Nonetheless, I took it as a sign.Help Me I’m Chubby is reborn. And, look, I know we aren’t calling ourselves/each other chubby anymore, but I made the name in 2014 so, please don’t cancel me. The main worry I have is that TikTok has destroyed our attention span so much that nobody will ever read past the second paragraph. Time will tell, dear reader. Time will tell.

Let’s begin, shall we?

The Handsome Texan

Picture this, you’re three months into living in Venice (One thing I learnt from living in California is that if you live in Venice, you do not say you live in Los Angeles. You live in Venice and you’re proud). You’re ovulating and feeling like a social butterfly. It’s Saturday night goddamnit! You live in Venice! It’s time to get out there! You put on a little yellow summer dress, grab your Kindle, lipstick and ID, and take the three-minute walk to Venice Beach Wines (VBW) to park yourself for the night and look like the cool, mysterious gal.
(This is where I switch back to first person)

I’m two wines in and roughly ten pages into my book when a pair of girls sit next to me and we start chatting. They happen to be sisters and we get along like a bloody house on fire. We swap numbers and they invite me to their bottomless brunch in West Hollywood with them the next day. They leave, and I have a pep in my step. One more wine, please Waiter!
Wine number three is sliding down my throat an absolute treat when I check my phone to see a message from a handsome Texan I had given my number to on Hinge a few weeks back, turns out I hadn’t responded…

“Hey Laura, I’m at Penmar with some friends. What are you up to?” (Penmar is a golf course that hosts fun outdoor live music every weekend. It’s also the golf course that a drunk Harrison Ford once crashed his aeroplane into in 2015)

“Hey, Handsome Texan! I’m just at VBW with a book and a glass of wine”
“I’ll ditch my friends and come and meet you”

Oh God. Oh God, Ooh God. I rushed to the toilets to check my teeth for remnants of the bacon-wrapped dates I ate with my wine, before realising all I’d eaten with my three glasses of wine was three bacon-wrapped dates and I was, in fact, quite pi**ed. No time to dwell on that now, Laura; you’ve got a handsome Texan to meet! I plonked myself back in my seat to try and regain some resemblance of sobriety and confidence, even three organic wines couldn’t produce the latter.

Handsome Texan arrived a few minutes later and was as handsome as he was chivalrous. I never really thought I was into chivalry; I can pull my own chair out, and I’ve always had the dexterity to open my own car door. But my God, how quickly my morals went out the window when that man put his hand on the small of my back and pulled out the chair that I had previously sat on for three hours. After five minutes of chit-chat, he confidently beckoned over the waiter, asked for a plate of bacon-wrapped dates and proceeded to tell me how delicious they were. I nodded with a forced smile whilst trying to guestimate how many dates one would need to consume in 90 minutes before a toilet-related emergency ensued.

We shared a bottle of wine and drunkenly complimented each other’s accents, outfits and faces. We laughed at how gross it is that Brits say “Where’s the toilet?” as opposed to “Where’s the bathroom?” (the only language change my time in the US which has stuck) as he got up to find said bathroom. He sneakily paid whilst he was up there and hushed my objections to Venmo (bank transfer) him the money. He suggested Ice Cream at Jeni’s Ice Cream and we stumbled over, arm in arm. Max from Catfish was behind us in the line and we both said hi before making a joke about not catfishing each other. We ate ice cream on a bench on Venice Beach looking at the Santa Monica Pier and I was very, very happy. Life is great. The Handsome Texan walked me home and I fell into a nice, drunken slumber.

The Handsome Texan will receive a second chapter, coming next week.

And that’s it! The first blog is out of the way. Felt good writing it. Hopefully, you enjoyed reading it. I’m trying to think of ways to modernise this, maybe I could do little audiobook episodes on Spotify reading out the blogs? I mean, it won’t be reading it. I’m so shrill and nasally, every stranger I meet thinks I’m saying Nora, rather than Laura. Narrator volunteers welcome! Feedback is very much welcomed in the comments.

See you next Thursday! x

20/03/2024

Tomorrow's blog title. Giddyup 🐎
See you at 7!

14/03/2024

Very happy/nauseous to say Help Me I'm Chubby is back after a four-year hiatus (apart from a few pop-ups here and there)! The internet has changed in four years, and I'm scared.
New posts every Thursday at 7pm, starting 21st March!

28/04/2021

This week we cover all the big issues like DJ Dick and sniffing your pants. Enjoy! 🩲🎧
Link to listen is in our bio or just search us on Spotify or iTunes!

26/04/2021

Have something you would like us to discuss on the next episode? Get in on the conversation and use the link!

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSduA4O8KQKjNzb61RkB3giDmlgiGJI62EPQA8fqaXVlXZcNeA/viewform

14/04/2021

Morning! This week we talk about the hard hitting questions such as "What do you lie about?" And "What's your worst dating story?". After that it gets a bit grim...funny though! Enjoy x

31/03/2021

⚡WE ARE LIVE!⚡
Series one, episode one is now live on Spotify. We love the episode and hope you do too!
Enjoy and let us know your thoughts in the comments! https://open.spotify.com/show/3jj53Q4OA2C5DLLmL1ayvp?si=uInQqIvjR-q30T7qDyqsvg&utm_source=copy-link

Listen to 4 girls, 4 babies and an STI on Spotify. Fancy some new friends? Wanna chat about irreverent and irrelevant happenings? Up for a laugh at anything and everything? Drop in for a seriously self-deprecating yet uplifting sit down with the 4 girls, Hannah, Richelle, Frankie and Laura. Every ep...

30/03/2021

⚡️ EPISODE 1, SERIES 1 is on its way to you!⚡️
We will be answering one of the questions suggested by you beautiful bastards; mostly relating to serial killing, s*x working, and our combined abilities to run a country.

We have LOVED your questions so far and we aim to get around to them all, but the first drop will be short, sweet and introductory.

Do continue to ask anonymous questions using the form

https://forms.gle/Vt5uedCNKrVA8AyeA

The weirder the better.

*xworker

23/03/2021

Listen. We recorded a first episode. It was mediocre, we deleted it. For our ACTUAL first episode we want you to decide the questions we discuss. No subject is off limits and those we don’t use in the first episode might make an appearance in a later show. All submissions are anonymous!
You can ask us questions on the link below orrrr do it the old fashioned way and slide into our dms!
https://forms.gle/Vt5uedCNKrVA8AyeA

21/03/2021

Help me, I'm chubby has now left the building.
And in it's place is a shiny new podcast! Introducing...4 Girls, 4 Babies and an STI
It's me and my 3 best mates talking about all the topics you loved from Help me, I'm chubby in audio format!
We think it's really funny, and hopefully, you will too. (If you don't think it's funny, please tell us it is, our egos are too fragile)

First episode will be out this week!