Strange Fruit

Knowledge is knowing that tomato is a fruit, wisdom is knowing that it would taste bloody  awful in a fruit salad (and whilst I digress, did you know that banana is a herb that actually tastes pretty good on pizza?)

Anyway...

As I creep closer towards the flirty 30 club, I feel a strange sense of relief. I loathe nightclubs and I'm expecting my 30's to be filled with gluten free baking, fine wine collecting and out of body experiences in New Orleans with Mr Amazing. There's a certain comfort and confidence that comes with coming of age (I like to refer to the 30th as the er... second coming) For example:

I used to avoid wearing monochrome when dining out so as not to be mistaken yet again for the waiting staff. Now, I wear whatever the hell I want and if someone is fool enough to try and order from me, I  happily take that order and inform them that there will be a slight delay with the food but if they order champagne at the bar, it will not be added to their bill. Eat that!

So on that note, here is my 2 pence worth on embracing maturity, with a special dedication to those who are old enough to remember way back when Britney was allegedly a virgin and to those who come from a simpler time where one could not use the internet and the house phone at the same time.

Negative people will appear in your life as frequently as a TescoPretabury Metro pops up on a patch of land. Though we may prefer to support our local shops, buy organically farmed produce and mop up our balsamic reductions with artisan bread, there will come a time when you need muscovado  sugar at 7 am on a Sunday so we must recognise TescoPretabury's place in society. This is my long winded way of saying embrace the naysayers for they usually work in your Finance or IT  Department and can make your life heaven or hell.

You cannot 'tolerate' something you believe to be equal to yourself and by that reasoning I don't believe in tolerance nor do I wish to tolerated, endured or accepted. Sometimes you may be misjudged or mistreated but never take the ignorance of others to heart.  

Don't wait until you hit a certain milestone to get working on that Bucket List. Once in a while it's extremely liberating to stop over thinking things and just go with your intuition.

Don't make excuses for a love interest. You know when I realised that 'I'm not ready for a relationship right now' was bullshit? When I told the lie myself! I don't believe there is a single person on this earth who would not want to love and be loved so if someone does not respect you enough to give you the truth, respect yourself enough to move on quickly.

Never date when you are feeling vulnerable. You will only attract bottom dwellers who aim to keep your self-esteem as low as their position on the eligible bachelors list (somewhere above Iain Duncan Smith but below Charlie Sheen)

Unless you're very lucky, a friend or partner will wrong you and try to justify their actions by saying it was done out of love. This act, in itself is a mark of unrepentant insincerity. When a person tries to pee on your head then tell you it's raining, make sure you have you umbrella ready before they get their pants down!

I can't eat what I want anymore but that's cool, Woman cannot sustain humanity on Haribo alone and apples are marginally cheaper.

The twenties are a beautifully troublesome period full of learning, collecting material things, uncertainty, entry level purgatory and the daily struggle of usurping those bitches who seem like they're out to get you.  Now spotting that Island I can swim to for rest, nourishment and salvation, I see a time in the near future where I can focus my energy on the things that really matter and have time to ponder once again on why people buy expensive bottles of wine that they don't intend to drink for years. I sit on my Island as a BOSS!

Xx

The Queen's Speech

You've got to hand it to dear Queen Lizzie. She stood in the cold and rain for hours waving at her loyal subjects whilst thinly veiling her dismay at a rather flaccid looking flotilla. To top it off, she had to endure not one, but TWO performances from Robbie Williams. Apparently she threw her iPhone at Gary Barlow afterwards, appalled that both Adele and One Direction were missing from the line up. I would never have kept it together that long.

The extra long weekend, the soggy bunting, the cry of unused barbecues, the hellish hangover, has put me in a  reflective frame of mind. We are now six months into 2012, and despite achieving a great chunk of my New Year resolutions, the arguably most important one, still remains untouched. I'm still out of love with love.

I can't quite pinpoint what it was that set me off on the course of romantic self-sabotage. Perhaps it was the newly married, and extremely flirtatious man who was drunkenly sharing tales of his sex tourism. It could have been hearing the story of the guy who turned to his  lover in bed and said " The girl I like may be single soon and I really want to keep myself available, but I'm happy to keep our thaang going in the meantime". Or " I got to 30 and decided to propose because she's the prettiest of the bunch and annoyed me the least." Most likely cause, is my penchant for megalomaniacs... They tend to dress well and I love a man in a good suit.

With a defense mechanism higher than Bobby Brown, it's easy to see why one would chose to date such men. You can make a thorough assessment of the risk before getting involved, that way, the chances of getting hurt are minimal. As are the chances of being happy.

Life is like a box of chocolates, it doesn't last very long for fat people. So with that in mind, I'm making immediate changes. I'm going to live a little, take risks and even drop my PDA ban. It's taken me a long time to realize that letting a few bad experiences taint the way you view love is one of the most harmful things one could do to oneself. And surprisingly, I mean that with no hint of irony... If the Queen can tolerate Paul McCartney singing the same song at all of her shindigs 60 years in a row, then making a romantic gesture won't kill me.

Xx

Love Me, Love My Blog

I recall eavesdropping on a conversation in which some male colleagues were discussing the physical attributes of their coworkers. It went a little something like;

Fat Bald Guy: I think I should get rid of Relatively Attractive and CERTAINLY out of my league girl.  Working with your Mrs is a f*cking nightmare, she keeps pulling me up on my flirting, it's like we're married or something. If I wanna keep my options open, that's my prerogative... Have you seen the new blonde in events? Ooosh. I'd destroy the hell out of that.

Possibly Impotent Old Man: Who's this? Girl we wouldn't be discussing if she reverted back to her natural mousy brown colour? Oh yeah, I'd love to have a go on her. (If I could. I'm crying on the inside)

Male Samantha Brick: You's lot should broaden your horizons. Kinda girl I want won't be found here. If she don't look like Kim Kardashian, I ain't interested. Don't get me wrong, these girls are OK for a bunk up but I'm not committing to anything less than a 10. Have you seen Cheryl Cole's pic in today's Daily Mail? She's looking rotten.

Marketing Lackey: Don't care much for Cheryl, the fat b*tch.

It's no secret that many men are shallow and delusional, but a valuable lesson can be learnt from this misguided bunch. We are all commodities. If you want to attract a better rate on the open market, your shop front should not look like a closing down sale...in Libya.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with aiming high, in fact, I encourage it, but any fisherman will tell you, you cannot catch salmon with a cardboard rod.  If you have a set idea of the kind of person you want to settle down with, you really have to ask yourself why this perfect person would want you.

Not such a pleasant thought perhaps, and rarely one tackled with the required honesty. It's not about being someone else to attract someone who may not exist, it's about being the best possible version of YOU.

• Addressing the things that make us unhappy and taking steps to change them. There is nothing attractive about a girl who listens to Morrissey whilst crying into an empty ice-cream tub.  
• Really looking after yourself, physically. (Slimmer people make better stalkers)
• Being secure in your own gorgeousness so that you don't need constant reassurance...(you know that's annoying, right?)
• And most importantly, you should be looking for someone who'll enhance your life rather than bring in a missing element. Broke ass people take note, being self sufficient is sexy. 

Xx

BFF'S

 

In some strange way, it seems that everyone around me is trapped in an abusive relationship.

 I have a friend who constantly succumbs to the whims of a man who is completely unworthy of her. He only calls when he wants something, namely instant gratification and someone to play nurse for the evening. If they go out, he spins a pitiful tale about  accidentally cancelling his cards, giving his last £20 to endangered dodo's or being forced at gunpoint to spend his entire salary on Hermes cuff links (he doesn't get paid much). So she accepts yet another IOU, knowing full well, he'll never pay her back. She spends the rest evening being upstaged by his iPhone.

When they go out with friends, he reveals the little secrets she thought were just between them, plays on her insecurities, flirts/sexually harasses everything around him, then laughs and tells her she's paranoid if she questions his behavior. To add insult to injury, she has accidentally been copied in on an email in which he demeans every fibre of her being- from how easily she forgives - to how he is certain of the fact that he could sleep with her boyfriend anytime he wanted to.

Yes, you read the last bit right, for imagine this scenario is not with some loser of a boy, but with someone you call a friend. How can behavior like this be so unacceptable from a man yet many of us are accepting this crap from our girls? I used to be afflicted with such bitches until I learned the value of my time and friendship. Having put together a highly scientific study of the human leech, I've come up with a simple check list that'll help you spot one before you're sucked dry (steady).

• They run a spectacular gamut of emotions in a five minute conversation; a conversation in which you are barely allowed to speak.
• They fell out with their old best friend for "no reason- not at all my fault-she suddenly turned psycho"
• You drop all of your plans to assist in her emergency- and promptly discover this emergency is which pair of heels make her look the most shaggable. 
• Keeping up with  her love life requires a librarian, a secretary and a small news desk.
• She insists on borrowing your clothes, though they are too small for her. She then tells you she looks better in them. 
• Others say shes excitable but you'll learn to love her. This simply means she is a dick, but you'll get used to it. 
• You know the name of her first pet; she forgot you had your leg amputated yesterday. 

Bad Bitches

Its been an age since I last blogged  and my, what a lot has happened in that time. 

In summary;

• I've restricted drinking to twice a week meaning 75% of the people in my life are now intolerable.
  
• I'm three glorious months into my health kick and have the self-righteous glow of a wealthy cleric. 
  
• I've moved into a wonderful flat, the only downside being an agoraphobic housemate who has been driving me crazy with her passive aggressive post-its and eerr...dirty protests... Rather than let her creepy whistling piss me off (much) I've decided to use her as my inspiration to work even harder. Yes, 2012 is about being happy, successful and at peace with myself.

So with this new ethos enhancing my life like Photoshop on Madonna's face, you can imagine my amusement at being labelled "over-confident" by three different men. One being a grotesque middle manager who's flirtations are met with deadpan put-downs, the other, an ex who I think has only just discovered fire, and most amusingly, a random date I had. 

This 'date' was with a guy, who despite having an MA in Philosophy or some other subject people who love the sound of their own voice like, seemed rather simple. He spoke only of his last Black girlfriend (alarm bells), who he took to the Seychelles and she dumped him on arrival. After I listened to him bore on about sending her hate mail, mild stalking, prank calls in which he tells her to fuck off and die, and putting photos of attractive girls on his Facebook profile to make said ex jealous, I decided it was time to put the cocktail down and conceal the nearest weapon under my sleeve. On discovering the entire relationship lasted 5 weeks, I told him to seek help (the only words I contributed to our conversation)  He then proceeded to tell me that I obviously hate men and have a massive ego.

After I finished laughing my fine ass off, I though I'd better come on here and vent some faux-feminist rage.

Yes, after all the things I've been through I am still confident. Sometimes, sometimes it's a mask that protects me from the vile creatures that inhabit this world, but mostly I am confident because I know I am a great girl. 

Now, if you're expecting me to lower my standards for you, or be bowled over when you act like a gentleman, or expect me to accept less than the best treatment from you due to your 'status'- then I'm afraid you'll have to suck my metaphorical.  

 Oh and Liz from Zimbabwe...call the police girl!

Yes (Wo)men

 "Advice is something we ask for when we already know the answer but wish we didn't..."

Now I've thought about this one long and hard, and, although friends are usually the first port of call in a romantic crisis, they absolutely shouldn't be.

The reason we turn to our friends is because deep down, we know they will tell us exactly what we want to hear. Even I tend to favour telling a friend to 'give it more time', rather than tell her that the overwhelming sound of her biological clock is clearly obscuring the sound of her boyfriend's bullshit. When we ladies gather together, we seem to get geed up on this chick-flick mentality that there will always be a happy ending. Even Jennifer Aniston knows that's a lie!

Things is, you already know whether or not he is an arrogant twat who is unworthy of your time and if so, stop repressing your instincts, stop the delay tactics and the whining and do something about it!  If, on the other hand, you know he's 95% perfect and was just having his man-bitch monthly, then please don't subject your friends to hours of analysing his every mind-numbingly inane move. It comes across as self indulgent gloating, especially when one has the audacity to subject a single friend to this without supplying wine and cheese.

 If your partner is pissing you off you need to tell them, no one else. Don't expect to change your Shrek into Daniel Pimentel. You can't polish a turd but you can roll it in glitter. But, if said man remains a stinker, don't be afraid of pulling the chain, on your own, just like your parents taught you.
 Seeking advice is a false sense of security blanket. It's securing someone else to blame when things go wrong. It leads to self doubt, which in turn, is an act of self sabotage and is about as healthy as a deep fried Christmas pudding.

So let's have a little more confidence in ourselves, a little more faith in our significant others and save the bawling for genuine crises. (Like 6 lb weight gain!!)


Photo is Girl with Balloon by Banksy

Big Men...

I'm often baffled by the notion that women prefer bad boys. Who and where are these 'women', who are gagging to be ball and chained to some unimaginative, inattentive, arrogant oaf? Apparently they're more exciting, like you never know when they're going to remember their wallets or which one of your friends he's going to poke.

Who is perpetuating the myth that if we stick with the bad boy, he's going to transform into a man worthy of a hallelujah? He won't. That's the thing about dicks: they're thick, selfish and  utterly useless after a short spell of exertion.

This is going to be a really unpopular statement but: I find SATC's Mr Big really irritating. I fail to see why this womanizing, cradle-snatching, late-for-his-own-wedding, commitment phobic man is attractive? 80 percent of the Carrie's girly lunches were spent moaning about Big's cheating or disappearing acts. I remember watching at 15 thinking, "do women still have these conversations at 40?" 40, for sods sake! If only Carrie spent less time neighing and whining, and more time building her self-respect, she would have got her dream wedding instead of his.

So, why is this extremely wealthy playboy with a dodgy ticker, so appealing to women? ...oh, wait!  Mr Big probably isn't the best example. He's bad-ass in an Ivy League way, and when an apology is accompanied with the gift of your own walk in wardrobe, it's hard to stay angry. But why aren't there many thoroughly good, totally faithful and beautiful boys in the movies? Ones that don't die at the end of the film and go on to have a library named after them. Men with a heart like Forest Gump but without the er... never mind. How about less movies where women are winging on about some Alfie wannabe and a little more recognition for the nice guys. It's taking a lot of women FAR too long to discover that relationships are not supposed to be shit   unfulfilling. Remembering a woman's favourite perfume, restaurant, song and flower is pretty sexy in my book, so give me Aiden any day!

Showmantic

"If I had to choose between loving you, and breathing, I would use my last breath to say I Love You"

If the above quote made you feel all gooey inside, you should probably stop reading this and go here instead.

Don't get me wrong, I adore romance in all its tacky, scattered rose petals, chocolate covered, champagne guzzling glory. What I'm not keen on is an entire commercially driven day dedicated to public displays of affection between: couples who are far too old to be tonguing each others dentures in public, couples who think it's OK to dry hump against you on the tube, couples who obscure your view at the theater with their stupidly large Valentine's teddies, emo tweenagers who bandy the L word about like they invented it and, most vexing, the Kooples

Lets be real. Valentine's day is all about the showmance and nothing else. It's dead behind the eyes like a lonely atheist on Christmas day and, like chrimbo, it's all about bragging to the other kids about what you got from 'daddy'.

I don't want to celebrate anything that doesn't come with a day off work. I don't want to feel obliged to do something special just because Hallmark wants me to and I don't want to feel like a sour faced rixatrix if I'm alone on the day. I want to fill (almost) everyday with romance, every Sunday morning with sumptuous breakfasts in bed and make Valentine's day redundant...we're in a recession after all.

Having said (or ranted) that, I'm not averse to receiving plenty of roses tomorrow, and I don't mean the shitty chocolates either... ;-)

XxX

The F* word...

I was watching some stand-up last month and the comic came up with the following brilliant, but very crude comment on the state of modern relationships:

“I’ll tell you why teenage pregnancy is so high these days, fingering has gone out of fashion”

Ok… I’ll let you recover from that one… He has a very valid point though. Despite being comfortably out of my teens I still feel pressure to conform to this skip all the bases, casual- multiple –monogamy culture. Being a rebel, I don’t conform but there is undeniable pressure to do so. If you don’t you’re seen as backward, will probably be left behind on the scrap heap, be rubbish when you do meet ‘The One’ or you are simply the anti-Christ of feminism.

Why are we rushing to get to the bit that ultimately lasts about 3 minutes? And why is everyone giving it up so easily, worse still, criticising those who chose not to? You don’t have to be a man of the cloth to believe that sex should at the very least be with someone you know reasonably well…or at least their real full name because I’m almost certain you didn’t pull William Windsor in All Bar One.

Going in search of some random, sweaty, meaningless encounter just sounds a little bleak to me. A lonely generation of shallow, unhealthy, Twitter obsessed people looking for something to fill the void. I’d rather not, thanks. I'm no nun (I don’t think I'm kinky enough for the role) but what is the point of all of this indiscriminate sexing?

Are we so pressed for time that we can’t participate in little romantic gestures any more? We even have the time saving magic of text... But then I forget the messaging rules, never more than 15 a day and you can only put kisses at the end if they do something exceptional unless they respond with a kiss first, in which case you have the option of reciprocating…YAWN. True romance is dead. Here is it's tombstone and underneath lay a thousand sonnets written in vain.

Every trend comes to an end, so I hope that this one does too. And soon. I don't want to cut to the chase, Kiss chase is the best part! So let's bring it back along with heavy petting, sharing your last rolo and making puppy dog eyes at each other over loveheart sweets. I don't care what everyone does privately but I'd rather not be part of an age-group that has record STDs. It's just not sexy fresh.

Besos Xx

So hard...

London Underground at rush hour…looking around at the old man who hasn’t been offered a seat, the disinterested mother ignoring the fact that her feral offspring are disturbing us ‘would be in a better mood if I wasn’t so late and hung-over’, city workers, one can’t help but wonder, when did we all become so hard?

This morning whilst making the unnecessarily complicated transition at Kings cross from the Piccadilly line to the Northern, a lovely young man smiled at me as we crossed paths on the stairs. Rather than smile back immediately, my initial thought was, ‘what the devil are you looking at?’ Then I remembered the skilled make-up job I had completed between Turnpike Lane and Caledonian Road, and I thought, ‘oh yeah, I’m looking pretty cute today, better smile back’. But alas the moment had passed… and I realised my pre-elevenses self is a bit of a…well… you know.

In my opinion, state of modern women today leaves a lot to be desired. Scowling when men hold doors open for us, drinking ourselves to the point where we could be mistaken for someone with severe learning difficulties, using obscenities (yes, I say some pretty crude things myself but very rarely swear.) Scary pregnant women, with the threat of impending under-carriage down-pour, splattering on your beautiful shoes, brusquely demanding your NON FREEDOM PASS SEAT as her horribly large (no, I’m not sorry for that one) abdomen casts an expectant shadow over your Evening Standard. Undercuts and Dr Martins? Lord! Where has that feminine softness gone? Bring back the pretty dresses and flowing hair (weave allowance permitting.) Feminine charm is alluring and very powerful in the right hands so why are we so opposed to it?

How far does this modern ‘edgy’ attitude transcend into our romantic lives? Too darn mutha double-dutching far, I’d say. All of this power-suit wearing, ball busting, androgynous, feminist overhang from our parents making eyes over teeny portions of food in some Thatcherite eatery.
Yes women are equal to men…in terms of intelligence. There is no need for us to be drinking pints and adjusting our underwear in public. We are not men and why the hell would we want to be? I cringe at the thought of having to endure a random semi or worse still…smegma.

Wearing pink in the office does not make you a bimbo. Wearing stilettos does not make you a loose woman. Using your feminine wiles to get your male colleagues to help you with your work load is fine because in life you must use whatever advantage you have to get ahead. I’m not suggesting that this is the only power that women have. Far from it. It just seems to me that we are displaying overtly masculine behaviours, with our (not myself included) foul mouthed, binge drinking, rugby playing, shagging around, gave birth at my desk-to hell with maternity leave-if baby needs me tell it to hit me up on my BBM, ways. If that is feminism then I don’t want it! Testosterone and women is just plain ugly.

So let us embrace the fact that we are different from men. Lets not judge a woman who is content to be a housewife. Lets be nice to our female colleagues and stop this passive aggressive back stabbing. Lets accept compliments gracefully, and smile when doors are opened for us, and not be offended when a man wants to pay the bill. After all, men are here to ensure our happiness so what’s a flutter of the eyelashes in return?

XxX

A little S&M...

Having tried it, I must say I am not a fan. I'm not talking about gimp masks and spanking, I'm talking about the torture we inflict upon ourselves daily. Are we thin enough, tall enough, rich enough? Does it matter? HELL YEAH IT DOES! So after years of obsessing over my ass, crying over boys and banishing carbs I decided to give myself a break and get on with being happy. This is my secret guide to a less tortured life.

1. The ex. Remain perfectly calm when you see him,even smile and ask him how he's doing. If you're finding it difficult to play nice (believe me I know it's hard) then imagine the various ways in which you could kill him (my favourite is an American history X biting the pavement style execution) whilst you discuss how well you're doing. Crying and acting like a demented crack-head will not remind him of the amazing girl he is missing. Breaking up is sad but it's a great time for reinvention and focusing on your talents so don't waste it nibbling on Ben & Jerry's. (Unless Ben and Jerry happen to be stunning models...mmmm giggety)

2. Your fat thighs. Moaning about this does not burn calories. Take immediate action and put on a pair of stilettos, stat! You'll look taller and thinner and tone your thighs as you go about your daily routine. Let's be honest, we're all happy being slimmer so don't buy into to this big is beautiful and I'm really happy shit. Save the lies for Jeremy Kyle. Cut 300 calories from your diet and exercise during your lunch break. The pounds will drop off quickly with minimal effort and the effect on your confidence is incredible. Have you noticed how your skinny friends always give you highly calorific gifts on your birthday? The sabotaging bitches! Send them pork scratchings as a thank you...when you leave the room, trust me, then will eat it. They get fatter, you get thinner. Win.

3. I HATE MY JOB!! This is a serious affliction and I'm sure no one is immune to the Monday morning dread. Take some time to think about what you really want from life. What makes you happy? You spend so much of your life at work so if you hate it do something about it before you turn suicidal. Make a plan. Think of all the little steps you need to take to make your dream a reality. What's holding you back? It won't be easy at the start but think about the big picture, struggle now and be happy later or have an unhappy but easier time now. As for the fitties out there... you know how to get to the top anyways
;-)Yes, it's unfair but it's life.

4. Am I pretty enough? No? Are you wearing MAC? No? Well there you go then.

Make the best of yourself. You only have one life to live so don't save the Victoria Secret lingerie for a special occasion. Breathing is a special occasion. Put it on now. Doesn't that feel sexy? Good. Put on your favourite scent, spend an extra 5 minutes on your face and wear a smile. If you look great you feel great. Simple, shallow truth.

XxX

Hidden depth?

When men talk to me all I seem to hear is blah, blah, vacuous and blah. From bankers to lawyers, when faced with an attractive woman all eloquence seems to go out of the window. Some men even act foolish to the point where you want to call their parents up just to tut down the phone. I don't care if you saved a life with your bare hands today, keep them off my ass!

With highly educated men who are prized for their intellect I am disappointed to find that universally, the sought after trophy wife sits very well on the mantelpiece with the MBA ACA PhD...

At first you love the attention, to be the pretty thing and object of desire. When I say at first... I mean when you're 17 and it's all exciting and new. Give it a couple of years and you start seeing the dull reality of it all. The world is full of beautiful faces and pussyfat-trolls have easy access to Maybelline! You realise that outer beauty fades and that any relationship based on appearance fizzles out pretty quickly when you're knee deep in baby shiz and tripping over your tits. (So I hear...)

With this in mind, any serious commitment becomes epically scary. What happens when you're older, fatter and grey? Do you get traded in for a younger model? Do you sit around looking at each other in disgust wishing you had someone interesting to talk to? What REALLY scares me about this question is... what happens if I wake up next to an old, fat, wrinkled, hairy, smelly old bastard. Yes my friends...I too am a shallow and hypocritical monster and I am petrified of it!

I loathe worship of the superficial. But, BUT I do have a strong preference for a certain type of man. Though to distinguish myself from the shallow I like to refer to this as a set of standards befitting to an entrepreneurial goddess who takes meticulous care over her shrine, subjects and manifestations. Translated into bollocks non grata: I'm a smart up-start who takes very good care of herself and I expect you to be the same.

To be shallow, in part, is simple human nature. We all want the best for ourselves and the future lives we'll create. If that means coming together (ahem) to conceive 6foot tall, Abercrombie modelling astrophysicists then hooray for evolution. Just put some thought into it. None of this marks out of ten nonsense that seeks to gratify women by aesthetic value alone. This is particularly amusing when you think of who is holding the score cards. How many 5's do you know who insist on having a so called 10's? The system works both ways and we are tallying up your rating too! At the end of the day, we are all pretty similar in wants, needs and desires. We all love the pretty! All I ask is that you use that gorgeous mind of yours and try and make it a little less obvious boys ;-)

Only the shallow know themselves. Oscar Wilde
XxX

Mr Perfect.

In order to get to my ideal, I must first warn you about the types of unsuitable men who seem to be in frightful abundance.

1. The wasteman. This man calls the guy behind the counter at 'The Chicken Cottage', boss. This is because, being unemployed, he does not know the correct usage of the word. He spends his days delighting the passengers on London transport with his MC-ing skills but can't be assed to sing his own kid/s to sleep. He approaches you on the bus (normally eating chicken & chips) by asking 'What you saying B? You gotta man? Child please, I noticed you didn't touch your oyster card on the reader as you got on the bendy. If you can't afford to take yourself from A to B then don't expect to C me.

2. The bully. This man will tell you the sky is green, not because he thinks it is but because he expects you to believe everything he says without question. He will use emotional blackmail, public humiliation, physical and mental abuse to achieve this. If you were the one who was wronged and end up tearfully apologising to the wrong doer, get out of there A.S.A.P!

3. The egocentric. The world revolves around this charmer. His constant need for attention is draining and often leads him to seek affection from other women. He is deeply insecure, self obsessed and a complete bore. He usually spends hours in the gym and may take steroids to build up those guns. Darling, your body is getting bigger but your manhood has shrunk, jog on.

4. The stray. You are gay, don't fight it. Stop wearing my French knickers, you are stretching them.

5. The cretin. The troll that won't take no for an answer. Some women are worn down by all the constant flattery and awkward offers of dates. Don't give into this pity peddler. When you refuse his advances for the 15th time, he'll spread a rumour that you are a lesbian. Lay off the tuna sarnies at lunchtime, you'll only fuel the rumour.

6. Peter Pan. You are a 50, I am half your age... the answer is obviously no. And the skinny jeans. Stop it.

7. The double dipper. Ashley Cole, Tiger Woods, John Terry, Eddie Murphy, Jude Law.... enough said.

There is a special type of man known as 'The Boris Becker', but this deserves it's own special blog...

Now the mythical beast I like to call Mr Perfect is defined as thus: Simple, (not mentally) ambitious, funny, honest, loving, (nothing like numbers 1-7) loyal and intelligent. How can such a short and uncomplicated list feel like an impossible ask? Is the answer to find a man for each of these qualities? Nice...but impractical. I like to think that we all possess these qualities in varying measures making Mr Perfect a little more human. Just be real, don't settle for anyone who doesn't treat you like a princess and don't make the mistake of assuming outer beauty reflects inner...

Lots of love,

Ms Perfect. XxX

Facebook is full of sexual predators...

...as well as sexual prey and it can be a very dangerous place to loiter.

We have somehow managed to remove the 'I wonder what so-and-so looks like now and is he single?' because it's so easy to find out. One little click and you are presented with a small selection of carefully selected, taken from the most flattering angle, helped by the seductive lighting of a swish bar, uber-gorgeous photos (from 2006).

So you add-reminisce- flirt and the 'fun' begins. Here is where the danger lies or perhaps lays is more apt... This is the dotting the i's and crossing the t's of modern dating. No stone or pretty boy left unturned, no old flame left unburnt.

It seems like everyone is at it or has tried it so I must ask this question. Why? Why are we hiding behind the safety of cool online persona's? Why are we reincarnating crushes that have disappeared from our lives for some reason and should probably stay in the sanctity of infallible daydream?

And then I thought a little more... What are the alternatives? What happened to random chance meetings (with sane, good-looking, intelligent and employed men)? Where has all the spontaneity, fireworks and epic romances vanished to?

In an era where people rarely have time for a leisurely lunch and in an age group too young and beautiful for online dating it seems that F-Booking is the way forward. Texting is the new love letter and posting amusing youtube clips on each others walls is the new mix-tape. And why the hell not? Just remember one thing: The same rules apply! (See previous post) and the boy you went out with in sixth form is probably not as perfect as your hazy sepia toned memory. Do it anyway.... it's fun.

But have a look at this article before you do. http://http//www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/facebook/7508945/Facebook-linked-to-rise-in-syphilis.html

Play safe XxX

Don't hate the player, be the player.

I like to keep things simple but alas, simplicity in the world of dating seems to have died like my appreciation for Eddie Murphy. This is because somewhere in our grey matter we have decided to over analyse, over complicate and over compensate.

When you find yourself crying on your girlfriends' shoulder relaying the beautiful night you spent with this months 'the one' and your despair about him being scared of commitment despite the fact that he thinks 'You're wonderful', remember one thing. He doesn't. If he did he would be with you. You see how clear things become when you remove the bullshit? You like a guy and you want to be with him? Yes? Well it works the same way for men too. The difference is men play the field, this is something women should do too. The more you explore the more you understand how the game works and of course you're less likely to cling desperately to the first man you 'connect' with. Cringe.

Now I'm not promoting 'ho'ishness at all. Just because a man buys you dinner does not mean you pay him back by tasting the cotton from his Calvin's. Your company is worth every penny of that lobster and Champagne meal and don't forget it. By dating lots of men you get a clearer idea of what you like, you spot the losers quicker and you have a ball on the path to love. There you go. Simplicity restored.

(Just remember to change your number when you get engaged...) Xxx