Womens glossy mags have reached a new low. After finishing reading an article instructing women whats the best sexual position for burning 400 calories (or 1000 for you flexible ladies) I throw my hands up in despair. Surely having sex is supposed to be about having fun, enjoying yourself and feeling closer to your partner? Why would anyone want to have sex with 'if i stay on top thats an extra 150 calories burnt off!!!' in the back of your mind. What happens if a man has the problem of erm (trying to think of a polite way to say this) 'coming too soon' - would the woman get angry
'Damn you!!! Are you trying to make me fat??! - we had at least another 10 minutes to go and I could have burnt 200 calories in that time!!!'
Perhaps men will benefit though. If we are the self-obessesed lard arses these magazines make us out to be, then surely we should be wanting it day and night, and push ourselves into all manor of strange positions in order to shift a few pounds.
I dont think men care though, as long as they get 'some' I dont think they're too bothered. But women who have sex to loose weight should be ashamed of themselves!!
Maybe I'm old fashioned, maybe I'm a lazy bugger - but I think that men should still give up their seats for women on the tube. Firstly let me apologise for the increase in transport related blogs. I recently moved house and for the first time ever Im getting the tube into work. So anyway, I cant help but scowl and shout 'fuckwit' in my head everytime a seat becomes available and a man jumps in first. I think its impolite, after all men are meant to be made of substance and erm, sturdy stuff. They shouldnt sit and rest their legs, they should stand and be manly and give up their seats for us weak women folk.
I've even started sighing and looking wistfully at seats in the vain hope that someone will give one up for me. Its never happened - but give me time.
What is it that defines an alpha male? And what is it that makes alpha males so attactive? In my personal experience of dating alpha males, the good qualities have been confidence, self assurance and ambitition. Im naturally quite shy and think im attracted to these characteristics as I feel more confident around a confident person.
My ex - mini oz- could be defined as an alpha male. When i was dating him, he was the one in the driving seat. At the beginning i think i interpreted this as him 'looking after me' when in reality he was just looking after number one. He was confident but cocky, he was ambitious - but was an estate agent (tosser) he was self assured - yet highly arrogant.
Alpha males are fun. They (appear) to live life on the edge, they make you feel like you almost have to compete to be with them, they make you question your choices and decisions. And because they are so confident, you doubt that you'll meet anyone as good as them. Everyone - for that while- seems like a wet blanket in comparison.
However, i came to realise that i dont want an alpha male, yes i wanted to date someone who was confident and was going places - but i dont think i found that in a 5ft australian estate agent. I think girls need to date an alpha male at one point in their life. Only because how are you going to know how to avoid dating another bastard like if you've never dated one in the first place?!
Feminism. It gets on my nerves. Im not anti-feminist, I believe in equal rights for women, I just cant stand this breed of high-powered go getting women who adopt a masculine persona in order to 'get to the top of their game.' Equally I cant stand these women who delibrately make themselves look un-attractive in frumpy clothes and no make-up because they feel that women should not dress up for men or society,
Yesterday whilst walking through Soho, I walked past the newly opened Playboy shop. There was a protest going on outside by a group of women - I bet myself that all of those women would be wearing sensible shoes. And yes they all were. What I think these women fail to realise is that feminity is something thats not a bad thing, it can be used to empower a woman. In the nicest possible way, its a lot easier to wrap a man around your little finger if your eyelashes are heavily mascared for some serious battering of the eyelids. I enjoy dressing up and putting on make-up and I like to look nice for whoever Im dating. It doesnt make me less of a person, it doesnt make me an airhead. We live in a world where people judge others based on first glance - so the first glance that someone has of you might as well be a good one.
Although personally I wouldnt do glamour or nude modelling, I dont think theres anything wrong with it. In life most of us make money out of our talents or skills- I dont think glamour/nude modelling is anything different to that. And I personally think those sensible shoe wearing protestors should experience this or at least try to understand it from a different perspective before protesting about it.
I am a commuter. I get the tube each morning to work. In fact, I get two tubes to work and both are equally packed. Whilst on the tube this morning sandwiched between a 40 year old business man and a young trendy goth type, I realised (in horror) that i was in kissing distance between the two. Kissing distance is the distance between you and a guy/girl - you know, when your about to kiss and both of your heads move very close together. That stage just before the inevitable kiss. If i moved forward a centimetre or two, i would be in easy reach of ramming my tongue down either of their throats. Not a nice prospect, but even less of a nice prospect at 8.30am in the morning.
So this happened on tube number one, I spent the remainder of the journey staring studiously at the floor, hoping and praying the tube didnt break suddenly thus projecting me onto either one of my kissing prospects. As an added precaution, I buried my head into my pashmina as an extra layer of protection.
Anway, on tube number two - which is always slightly less packed - i thought i wouldnt have the same problem. I didnt. I had a live kissing show instead. I spent 10 minutes stuck next to a loved up couple. And not loved up in the sense of cute hand holding and looking admiringly into each others eyes, I mean in the sense of sucking each others faces off. And boy were they sucking each others faces off. There were only a few brief moments when they came up for air, the rest of the time was spent smooching and slurping away right infront of me. Im no prude - infact im rather an affectionate person, however first thing in the morning standing next to someone less than 5 centimetres away from my face is not my most affectionate time.
By the time i got to work i felt violated - my personal space (which apparently is a foot around you) had been used and abused. Tomorrow morning I shall stuff a jumper up my top and pretend im pregnant to get a seat to avoid another sex show scenario first thing in the morning.
My family is working class. We never had two pennies to rub together, we wouldnt put the heating on in the winter to save money & we live the south east, the land of the chav.
Middle class people are frowned upon in my family. There are certain characteristics of middle class people and certain things they do that my family would call 'wanky' Such things would be shopping at Waitrose, driving posh cars and wearing any form of beige clothing. But thats not to say we dont have any manners. My Nan is a lady - graceful and elegant. The younger girls in my family are what you could call 'done up' - we pile on our make up and make the best of what we were given.
Recently, I have taken a terrifying slide into middle-classdom. It started a while ago actually when I adopted the saying 'Lets do lunch' Although subtle at first, I realised the other day that I am infact a 'media daaarling' person who lunches. I now am in the process of buying fur - vintage fur I hasten to add, but out of no-where I have decided that 'I simply must own a mink collar'
Tonight was the icing on the cake. Although I am a fussy eater, when I do eat a proper meal its never anything fancy. Tonight I cooked a stir fry - I used herbs (corriander) I even used ginger. And afterwards, whilst wearing my black silk dressing gown, I wanted a glass of red wine. I didnt drink the red wine as I could SMELL that it was off.
I almost feel like I should down a Smirnoff Ice in a Weatherspoons, pick a fight with a random and wear a sovereign ring (I actually own one) in order to get back to my roots. But in the mean time I shall recline on the sofa wearing my silky dressing gown and read my book.
In order to track where you've gone wrong in life so far - it has been suggested that you write out your goals and then the outcome. So here we go:
Goal - to leave then workplace within a maximum period of two months and find a better paid more enjoyable job.
Result: It took nearly seven months, a soul destroying amount of interviews and countless fake 'dentist' appointments before I was finally offered a job (which incidently paid the least amount of money and was the furthest away out of all the jobs I applied for)
Goal: To move out of London and towards Kent
Result: I ended up in North London
Goal: To set up a regular direct debit into a savings account
Result: I have just applied for another credit card
Goal: To settle and chill out after a hellish few months
Result: I aim to make some drastic changes within the next 6 months to a year
Goal: To travel more
Result: I went on a long weekend to Seville...with work....and shared a room with a 40 year old first time mother.
Goal: To get cracking on writing my first book
Result: I have writers block
I can't talk about him. I can tell stories, mention him in conversation - but i cant speak of my feelings for him. Everytime i think about him i feel an overwhelming sense of emptiness and grief. Its almost like a physical pain, an aching in my chest- like someones ripped out a piece of my heart. The feeling of helplessness is overwhelming because i know theres nothing i can do to bring him back. To sit and think about that is unbearable.
He was ill for a long time. In fact i wasnt even told he had cancer. I remember once he came round to visit and mentioned it in conversation to my Father. I felt awful as it must of looked like i knew he was terminally ill - but couldnt be bothered to say anything. Apparently he'd had cancer before and fought it. The cancer came back - it spread and tore through him, until one day he couldn't fight it anymore.
I remember going to see him in hospital. His skin was almost transparent, you could almost see the life drained out of him. He wanted to go, he was tired of fighting, tired of living an existance where he was in pain. He died of cancer. The cancer was caused by smoking.
Despite seeing his pain and the misery his death caused - i betray him by smoking. I dont know why i smoke, Im not addicted, i dont even smoke every day so its not a habit. I must be such a let down to him. The biggest lesson in life he taught me was that smoking will kill you. And im the biggest fucking idiot for not listening to him.
I cant even begin to say sorry.
Today I went to the Dali exhibition at the Tate. It was amazing, you could spend hours looking at one of his paintings and still not make any sense from it. Everything was so intricate and beautifully composed yet it was completely illogical. Afterwards we went to the pub for lunch. Continuing with the surrealist theme, whilst i sat there eating my lunch and drinking my drink, a troupe of Morris dancers appeared. From no-where. I still cant figure out what was more surreal....
One of the many (ha!) strings to my bow is that sometimes,very occasionally I work as a model. I kind of fell into it and have had odd jobs here and there. However I'm under no assumptions that I will ever be a proper model, I'm about a foot to short and 10 stone overweight to be one. Plus I think the side of my face at a certain angle looks like a kettle (see previous post)
So anyway, in the work that I do get, I'm quite fussy about what I will and wont do. I'm very aware of the fact that the industry is made up of pervy men who claim that posing in a pair of see through knickers with legs wide open is 'arty' I was once even told by a photographer that I would be best suited to glamour work and I should really do some glamour shots with him to boost my portfolio. The problem is that if a man were to buy a copy of Playboy/FHM etc and see me topless, they would probably want a refund. My 32b's just wont cut it in the world of glamour - I think that photographer just wanted me to pose in my pants for him.
Topless/nudity etc is a big no no in my book. Infact I always rather enjoyed turning down any work which would involve that - I liked taking the moral high ground. That was until a few days ago. I had an email from a female photographer about a paid assignment which would involve getting my kit off. I was all ready to say no until I read the part about my payment..... and now I'm in two minds about it. On the one hand its good money and I would be working with a woman (who I sincerely hope is not a lesbian pervert) but on the other I have no control on what/where the pictures are used and I would be terrified if anyone I knew saw it. As far as I know the pictures would be tasteful, nothing vulgar - but I just cant get the thought out of my head that some old dirty man would get his kicks out of it.
Hmm, decisions decisions. I would like to think I had more moral substance - but it seems I'm prepared to part with it for a small fee.
