Wednesday 29 January 2014

Why being a woman is WAY better than being a man.

Historically women have had a pretty shit deal in comparison to men but as we have progressed and men have realised that we are their superior equal, I for one think it is rather splendid being a woman in a so-called 'mans world'. Now we get to do all the shit that men do but can still use our feminine wiles whenever we fancy. We put up with that crap for years, it is only fair that we get to pull out the damsel in distress when need be. 

So next time you start to moan about our hardships (having to wear make-up, dealing with our monthly foe) see them as advantages. Because be honest, painting your face is fun and we'd be livid if someone took away our foundation.

Let's examine then, what it is that makes us the way better sex to be.

We can use how easy it is to make men uncomfortable to our advantage. The great thing about being a woman is that men don't/don't want to understand women and being the intelligent creatures that we are we have learnt to utilise this. There are two things that men can't deal with; tears and our lady time. If you want to get rid of them for a bit either cry about your failed poached egg (what? It RUINED your breakfast) or ask them to go and buy you tampons. These are your get out jail free cards ladies, use them wisely.

We can use make-up to enhance our looks. If you are a guy you pretty much have to accept that this is your face and it will always be your face. But we women can use all sorts of make-up wizardry to make our lashes endless, our skin luminous, our lips juicy and blemishes a thing of myth. Note that I used the word enhance. Obviously most of the time, underneath all the war paint, we all look sublime anyway...well maybe not Barbie.















Our hair is a playground. Our hair may give us a lot of grief but for most of us it is quite literally our crowning glory, so it would devastate us if our options were short, not quite as short or...deep breath...bald. How boring boy hair must be. We can highlight it, cut it, curl it, straighten it, ombre it, plait it (I could go on) whilst combing it slightly more to the left is about as exciting as it gets for guys. All those hot sticks and tongs are not instruments of torture they are our toys. That's not to say it's not a lengthy game. The whole 'just rolled out of bed' look? Yeah we wish, it took half an hour of curling, an hour of waiting for it to drop and a futher 15 minutes of careful teasing so it looks messy not tatty. Suck on that next time you think we haven't made an effort.


We can dance in bars without looking like complete fools. One of the best things about a night out with the girls is getting to drop it like it's hot (even when it probably isn't) and revel in our delusion that for that drunken moment we have the gyrating hips and sexual allure of Beyonce. I'm all for equality but if you're a boy and you do more than a slight sway, you WILL look like a nob. We love Justin Timberlake and pay good money to see him thrust rhythmically at us on stage but if he walked in to a bar and started popping and locking we'd be a little bit sick. It's not the time or the place.



Fashion is much more fun for us. Oh the joy of shopping (on the days when everything seems to fit nicely that is, on those bad days we run the risk of carrying the title arsonist around with us for the rest of our lives), we can experiment with so many prints, shapes, patterns and lengths. We can be sophisticated, girly, sexy, slutty, demure, quirky etc. whilst men can be smart or drum roll.......casual. Take awards ceremonies for example, it's no wonder the focus is always on the women. Here is how the commentary would go otherwise:

 "Here comes Brad with Angelina and just look at the cut on that black tux...and here's Leo, looks like he's gone for a charcoal grey suit...oh no sorry, it is black... ohhh but you can always rely on Johnny Depp to push the boundaries. Look at the satin lapel on that black tuxedo, a big risk but it may have just thrown him into the fashion stratosphere..." 

We'd be on the edge of our seats...






If we get cold, there is always a mans coat we can wear. When you're planning on dancing the night away, you don't want to be lugging a coat around with you. One of two things will happen; stuff will get spilt on it or you will lose it. Men however will always wear a coat or jumper in winter and out of a sheer desire to be masculine, they will freeze and give it to you at the end of the night. So make your boyfriend take his duffel coat that night or if you're flying solo scope out the guy with the warmest looking outerwear early on and walk to the taxi rank with him. Bonus if he's hot.


We can enjoy candles without being mocked. Man, woman or dog, everyone loves a candle, fact. The way they change the ambience of a room with their pretty little flickering flame and titillate the nostrils with their delicate fragrance. But whilst we can wander round Zara Home smelling every last one thinking long and hard about whether to go for coconut vanilla rather than just standard vanilla, men have to swiftly knock the least feminine one they can find into their trolley during a dash around Asda and pray that the cashier wont see it hidden amongst all the beer. And god forbid they light it when their mates are round, even though secretly all of them are dying to get the matches out.





We don't have to deal with having a penis. I know men probably don't see this as an issue (they bloody love their little soldier) but I cannot get my head around having something of that size attached my crotch for my entire life, especially if that little soldier constantly gave the game away by standing to attention whenever he was, er, happy. And all I can think about is the discomfort. How do they sit on a bike?! Lance Armstrong may have had his medals taken off him for doping but I think he deserves them for simply sitting on the seat for that long. Ouch.

Women can stare all they want and not be pervs. When men leer at women they're considered disgusting and pigs (even George Clooney would lose his charm if he was slobbering over a pair of double d's) but if women eyeball a male adonis it's all in good fun, plus their egos love it. Bit of a double standard but what can you do? Women grow up to be cougars, guys just become dirty old men. 

Urinals are gross. Public toilets in general are not the place to hold a gathering but there is nothing more disgusting than the overwhelming stench of a urinal, it actually stings your eyes. Not only that but where is the privacy? Yes women often share a cubical with a friend but we know this person, why should anyone be expected to urinate infront of a complete stranger?! I can sort of understand why guys would rather wee in the street, although I do think that is more out of laziness than a desire to avoid said urinals.
  
We can drink fruity looking drinks without shame. When summer hits nothing is more refreshing than an ice cold glass of rose or a fruity little cocktail, but for some reason it is just not acceptable for a guy to drink a passionfruit daquiri through a straw. Order a beer or go home.





We hold all the sexual power. As Ross Gellar once wisely pointed out, women can use sex as a weapon. Men are always up for it so if we want it, we have it. If we don't want it however, they don't get it. And then they sulk.


We've always been crafty buggers. Behind every great man and all that...

Monday 20 January 2014

10 things that annoy me about Sex and The City

As a woman I do love Sex and the City but after watching it from the beginning again I can't ignore the many ways it infuriates me sometimes.

As the shows protagonist it is understandable that Carrie comes under fire more than Charlotte, Miranda or Samantha, but out of the four of them she really can be a complete arsehole. Not only does she say some ridiculous things "sometimes I would buy Vogue instead of dinner, I felt it fed me more" (excellent role model) she is so bloody needy. Who the hell says to their boyfriend "just tell me I'm the one." If you have to force it out of him, you're probably not.

Here are 10 things that annoy me about Sex and The City. There are more but 10 is a nice round number.

Carrie just can't help but wonder. Carrie absolutely loves preceding every rhetorical question with "I couldn't help but wonder." I understand that her articles are meant to be all thought-provoking and what-not but seriously? I couldn't help but wonder, is there no other way of verbalising your thought process?

Miranda's a clever lawyer so she can't care about style. Miranda's character is too intelligent and serious to even dream about wearing decent outfits. Women can't practice law AND be stylish all at the same time, don't be silly, that would be asking too much of our intellectual capacity. Clearly it had been a particularly trying week at the office when she blindly chose this get-up.



Charlotte is actually a bit of a goer. Charlotte may be considered the "prudish" one in SATC but I'm almost certain she's getting it more than Miranda and Carrie. Well before she got married to Trey MacFlaccid that is. What's the point of having a three date rule if you simply wait until date three, get your end away and then discard the guy straight after anyway? Oh and it's OK to throw this rule out of the window for an actor who she met in the gallery, well you know he is famous even if he is a tool.

For someone in PR, Samantha could be a tad more discreet. For example the episode where Samantha books in for a massage with "extras" (that she didn't receive) then exclaims rather loudly that she paid a lot of money expecting to be "eaten out" at the Women in the Arts dinner.  How can someone be such a successful PR exec when they themselves are pretty much a PR disaster? Carrie probably couldn't help but wonder about this one for days. 
 

Carrie can't afford a bra. She may be able to afford a lovely one bed apartment in the middle of Manhattan and to swan around solely in high end designer clothes and shoes (what bank is still giving this woman credit?) but her writers salary couldn't stretch as far as as some boob support. What's the point of having a no nudity clause if you're going to let it all hang out anyway SJP? FYI, we've all seen your nips.

No-one would pay £400 plus for some of those shoes. In the early series of SATC some of the footwear was unquestionably hideous. I know that it was the nineties but come on, they still had eyes. How could someone drop a ridiculous amount of cash on and revel in the beauty of a pair of shoes that shops in St. Helens wouldn't even stock? Check out this video that features some of Sex and the City's WORST shoes.




I know what you're thinking, those blue ones with the flowers. Vom.

Why do they all have their own apartments? I can understand Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte renting their own gaffs but would it not make more financial sense for Carrie to buddy up and rent a two bed with someone? She doesn't even use the bloody kitchen anyway. I would like a breakdown of her incomings and outgoings. Unless she's moonlighting as a high-class escort someone is definitely bankrolling her on the sly.

They make our love lives seem pathetic. Considering they meet all sorts of eligible men at the gym/park/work/vet/psychiatrists waiting room (alarm bells Carrie)and go on an average of three dates a week, they make that guy we meet in a bar once a month, awkwardly text for a couple of days and then never see again seem pitiful and our efforts rather futile. Cheers guys, you carry on moaning about that great guy whose penis is just too big...

If you're Carrie's friend prepare for everyone to know all your shit.
If I was Charlotte, Miranda or Samantha I wouldn't tell Carrie jack shit. Carrie's column is pretty much her diary so effectively she just uses her friends relationship issues as fodder to pay her rent. I also can't help but wonder (hopefully I'll get tired of that soon...) if Big had read her column (and he definitely would have, it's Facebook stalking without the stalking) surely he would have realised what a douche he was being and if Aidan had read it wouldn't he have known about her affair?

Some of Carrie's outfits are actually ridiculous. Yeah so she took a few fashion risks but if we hadn't been brainwashed into thinking she was a style icon and we'd seen our next door neighbour swanning around in some of her ensembles, we'd assume they'd been hitting the gin. Take these looks for example:

 
1. Carrie actually enters her apartment wearing this which means she has been outdoors in it and the streets of New York have seen her fanny.

2. I can't even look at this one for too long without feeling a little nauseous.

3. The lack of tights and the hideous sandals tells me it can't be fur coat cold. Is there even anything under the coat? As my grandmother would have said, all fur coat and no knickers.

4. Don't even get me started on how pointless this belt is.

SATC, I still love you in spite of your flaws but if you do make a third film please attempt to correct some of these issues. I haven't even gotten into what annoys me about the films but they ABSOLUTELY didn't need a car each in film two, carbon footprint guys...





Friday 17 January 2014

Where did all the tall men go, when did they all cease to grow?

Now I am not by any means heightist, some of the people I care about most barely meet 5ft, but as a lady of 5,7 with an inherent love of heels, I do have a predisposition for men who hit the 6ft mark. It has come to my attention however that these days they are rarer than a clothed Miley Cyrus.




I have written a poem to highlight this epidemic. And you thought Pandas were having problems. 


This tale is one of sadness and woe,
a tale of men who failed to grow.
In fairytales both prince and knight
are depicted as the perfect height,
but it seems that my perception
was a total misconception.
The fairer sex are ever taller,
whilst men it seems are getting smaller.
If height of man is what you seek,
the future would appear quite bleak
Were taught we would look up at men,
in many ways we look down on them
A princess who would know my plight?
Surely that would be Snow White.
Like me her skin is rather pale
and rarely she sees the taller male.
The seven of whom she was a guest,

didn't even meet her breast.
The first man who went past her shoulder
would be the one to ever hold her.
If you find a giant hold on tight,
another may not be in sight.
And make sure that you take his seed

as tall gents are a dying breed.
Get down to some hanky panky
to ensure that future men are lanky.

Cast aside the sorrow and woe,
and pray the men of tomorrow will grow.





If tall people could pair up with fellow tall people that would be great. 

Stop the crisis now.

Wednesday 15 January 2014

Things NOT to do in the gym

With it being January and all this "new year, new me" balls floating around peoples heads (which lets face it for 90% of the population is probably going to last another week at best) the vast majority have put down the turkey, dusted off the old trainers and vowed to be leaner than a Victoria's Secret Model by summer. Totally attainable...



As a fairly regular gym goer for the past couple of years (a cycle of 5 visits in one week followed by 1 visit in 3 weeks averages itself out...) I have made many gym errors that have left me red in the face for reasons other than over-exertion, so I will impart my wisdom upon you fine people in the hope that your own gym experience is more bearable.

Don't wear the wrong attire. An ill-fitting sports bra will make you feel like your boobs are about to fly off, you'll be hoisting up the crotch of the wrong leggings every 2 minutes and you will realise what you're made of when running with a french-knicker induced wedgie for 30 minutes. I've done it and quite frankly I wanted a medal.



Don't wear a full face of make-up. I have actually seen women in the gym wearing false lashes and bun rings. You just look like a nob. You aren't in the Call On Me video nor is this the TOWIE work-out DVD.




Don't ask the personal trainer for advice if you're new to exercise.
They will show you exercises that whilst effective will make you want to vomit and they WILL stand over you for 45 minutes and watch you do them until they're satisfied you wont be able to walk tomorrow.



Don't over-estimate your physical prowess.  That Zumba class you went to a couple of months ago was piss easy, you'll definitely be able to do it after 45 minutes on the treadmill. Wrong. You're being out-danced by the 70-year old in the corner and hoping you'll collapse just so you can be carried home.



Do not think of the gym as a place to meet Mr Right. You will have heard all that gash about the gym being a great place to strike up a conversation with the opposite sex. Yeah, throw that idea away. Firstly, if you're doing it properly, this is a place you'll be beetroot and sweaty and won't want a hot man to come within ten metres of you. Secondly, men go all Zoolander in the gym and are more interested in looking at their own muscles. There is a reason for the big fat mirror in front of the weights area. 



Leave your flexibility at home. I am a fairly flexible person and to get the most out of my stretches and maintain this I have to go in for a fairly deep stretch. Once, whilst alone in the section of the gym designated for this very activity, I thought it would be OK to go for it. There I am standing with my legs akimbo in as wide a V as my body would allow only to bend over and spot a stunned elderly gentleman innocently about to embark upon some light exercise. All stretching is now done in the privacy of my own home.



Don't try to exercise like a man. You are not a man and nor do you want to look like (or be) a man. Yes it's tempting to try to out-do the bastards but we do have to face facts that physically the majority of them are faster and stronger. Would you really want the mindset of someone who responds to this:



Well done Reebok, alienate all of your female customers.


And finally one thing to DO in the gym.

Some ACTUAL exercise. This may seem fairly obvious but the amount of times I have queued up for a treadmill that someone has been walking on for TWENTY minutes is ridiculous. And FYI Powerplates are not for sitting on, the fat won't just vibrate off, sit on the floor and let me squat. Just because you have been to the gym doesn't mean you have actually been to the gym.


DISCLAIMER: I am in no way, shape or form qualified to give real advice about exercise, these are just some general musings of mine. By all means ignore this and do all of them but do them at your own peril. Don't blame me when your breasts are unbelievably sore because you decided to wear the sexy bra...


Sunday 12 January 2014

10 Valentine's cards that won't make you vomit...hopefully.

Valentine's Day is always a point of contention amongst many. It's the holiday equivalent of Marmite you either love it or you hate it, with loved up couples usually making up the former contingent and more often than not bitter singletons occupying the latter group.

Now I've always fallen into that unspoken area of indifference when it comes to Marmite, and I have the same sentiments about Valentine's day, but one thing I cannot bear is sappy mush. Over-emphatic compliments and declarations of undying love make me cringe. Even if Johnny Depp told me "If I was dying I'd use my last breath to tell you I love you" (I genuinely have seen this on a V-day card) I'd die right back inside. Not only is that nausea-inducing how do you go about timing something like that? Lies, all lies.

 If you want to enjoy the holiday without all the saccharine bollocks, cast your eyes on these wonderful cards. They almost make me want to buy somebody one.

 

Well they do. Show your creepy weirdo some affection. Dean Morris Cards, £2.00

   

Give me an MC hammer reference and you CAN touch this. Scribbler £2.99


If this doesn't say "I'm yours for eternity" I don't know what does. Scribbler £2.99


Biscuits are the kind of compliments I can handle. Joy, £2.50


Nothing sexier than an inhaler. Scribbler, £2.99


Straight to the point, no dicking around here. Actually that depends on your definition of dicking around... Scribbler £2.99



Show me a man who's in it for the smile and I'll show you a LIAR. Scribbler £2.99


Genius. A great pun will do it every time. Funky Pigeon, £2.99



The foundation of every epic romance. I bet Mr Darcy didn't turn up without baked goods. Etsy, £3.12


My personal favourite. There's no better security than knowing your other half has lost all notions of undying love and given up. This is it. Moonpig, £2.99


These are just a small selection of what is out there so there's really no excuse for lame Valentine's cards. Puppies are cute but they're also needy. Something to think about...

Tuesday 7 January 2014

Ode to a broken nail

A broken nail is not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but if you have ever taken the monumental step to grow your own nails and tenderly care for them until one by one (after much filing and buffing) they all reach the desired length, you will have endured that cruel moment when one of the nails you have so lovingly cared for breaks. That one failing, a blemish on an otherwise perfect landscape. 

I was grieving such a loss today so have coined a little poem in its honour.


Each nail was healthy, full of strength,
I'd filed them to the perfect length.
On the gloss my eyes would linger,
an elegant end to each finger
But I'd seen it coming, seen the tear,
and what was next I couldn't bear.
A manicure of such beauty,
cut down in its revelry.
The index nail had met its fate
and talk of growth did not placate.
The tip had torn for all to see,
its coveted curve just a memory.
Lost as to which way to go,
file them down or let them grow?
We'd lost a member of our team,
A broken nail, a broken dream.



Fingers (and subsequently nails) crossed, in two weeks said nail will be standing as tall as its sisters without any other snappages along the way. Otherwise I give up.