Tuesday, October 26th, 2010
I spotted this story on a friend’s Facebook profile a couple of weeks ago and the first line read: ‘Have you ever spoken to a man? Then you’ve been lied to.’ Whoa. That’s quite the doozy right there. The general gist of the article is that all men are pathetic frauds who will say anything to get in women’s knickers. Right. And this is news to who exactly? But I think we need to distinguish between embellishment and lies. There is a graduation involved in going from telling a few porkies to becoming a full on Don Draper.
A few pork pies is when you make specific cultural references to impress someone – dropping nuggets about a popular TV show or band or cult classic film that you may not be all that interested in, or even know anything about, but you know it’ll make that certain someone lean in a little closer when you talk to them. I used to give it the smile and nod when someone made reference to something I have no familiarity with, now I’ll just straight up tell you I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen Twin Peaks or Apocolypse Now and I don’t feel like my life has suffered as a result. But I wouldn’t class trying to impress as a lie, just a way of finding an ‘in’ or a hook to stay in the conversation a little longer.
I’ve known a few spectacular liars in my time. Take for example, the ex boyfriend, who right after I had met the other girlfriend he’d been maintaining the entire time we were dating, stood on my doorstep and denied her very existence. He had no idea who she was, he said. He’d never even met her. Cut to a few months later when we’re in court (after he decided to burst in my house, assault me and steal some of my stuff that fateful night) and the girlfriend he denied ever knowing was sitting in the courtroom. Now that’s a lie. I also dated a guy who could give Don Draper a run for his money in the double life stakes. This guy had a fake name, whole other life I didn’t know about and kept up the rouse for four years – impressive. Oh yes my friends, my taste has been impeccable.
But women can tell the same degrees of lies. Men always make the argument that push-up bras, heels and makeup are the ultimate lie, but if they’re lies at all, they’re obvious ones. You can look at us and know, she’d look different without the heels and makeup. But then there’s the other end of the scale which results in ‘it’s your baby’. See? Whole other kettle of fish.
So as much as we all count honesty as an important factor in relationships, no one ever truly is. There’s a minefield of embellishments, half truths and harmless white lies to navigate and if you’re lucky, you never encounter the other end of the lie spectrum.
Friday, November 20th, 2009
After an intense Nando’s roundtable discussion recently (that Peri Peri sauce inspires some deep soul searching), in which a few of my fabulous, talented and gorgeous friends (I don’t hang with ugly people) recounted their relationship woes, I got to thinking about how to ease the troubles we all seem to have finding someone we can tolerate being around long enough to sustain something decent with. And I found the answer…..
That’s right amigos! I think it’s safe to say that since my last few relationships have registered pretty high on the worldwide richter scale of disaster, I don’t trust my own taste anymore. Seriously, since my past boos have included a crack head, a Napoleon complex-haver and a serial adulterer from The Village People, I have decided that I simply cannot be left to my own devices to meet men.
I still can’t bring myself to do internet dating, mainly because it seems to take just as much time as real dating. My friend told me it took her two hours to wade through the questions required to register on one site. Screw that noise. Who has that kinda time on their hands? So, to cut out all that BS, I say, I would prefer to have an army of people just looking on my behalf. Go out into the wilderness (whoa, I take that back. Go out into the city – you know it wouldn’t work out with me and a country dude) and bring me back a husband.
Here are a few guidelines to help you get an idea of the kind of guy I like. Preferably, the ideal candidate will be a mish-mash of all these things:
This fella brings the ‘hubba hubba’ and regardless of what people say, I think ‘hubba hubba’ is important in a life partner. Sure, his character on Mad Men is a complete asshole, relationship wise, but he’s creative, great at his job and he’s a presence. I could do without all his excessive drinking and smoking though.
Again, his character on The Wire is kind of an asshole, but as with Don Draper, he’s in a powerful position (given, it’s within a criminal organisation, but we’ll overlook that for now). I’m more attracted to his height and the way he carries himself.
Do I really need to explain this one? He’s a sweet slice of salt n’ pepper lovliness. To me, Clooney is the epitome of a gentleman. He’s charming, he has style, class and from what I’ve seen, a pretty wicked sense of humour.
My readers across the pond may not know who Stephen Fry is, but he’s an amazing actor and presenter. Sure, he’s gay, but whatever. This is probably the most intelligent man you’re ever gonna come across in life. He’d be hours, nay, a whole lifetime of entertainment. If I brought him home to my parents, they’d be very impressed, though they would, admittedly, have questions about why I’m dating a gay man.
Anyone who rolls with me has got to be funny and if anyone can bring the funny, it’s my man Jon Stewart. If I’ve got to spend a lifetime with someone, I need to be able to laugh my way through it.
Alright, so if you all could just get to work on that for me and report back with your findings, that’d be great. Mmkay. Thanks!
Monday, October 26th, 2009
If you’re not watching Mad Men, I suggest you hop to it. It has nicely filled the void left by my previous obsession, The Wire.
With the styling on this show, it’s hard not to fall in love with it. The lead female character, Betty Draper has a wardrobe to die for. Sure, she’s vapid, neurotic, self-centred and immature, but let’s look past all that for a second and focus on her banging garmentage (yes, I did just invent that word).
The roller set hair, the matching lips and nail colour, the petticoats, the cinched in waist, gosh darnit, this woman even manages to make smoking look attractive! Oh how I wish I was a child again and could go play dress up in her closet.
Not only is she the most stylin’ woman on the block, but she gets to be married to this dreamboat:
*cue Barry White music*
SweetLordInHeavenFatherOfAllThingsMercifulJesusOfNazarethJohnTheBaptist, how I want to do unspeakable things to him.
Work it out Betty Draper *two finger snaps in a Z formation* I ain’t mad atcha.
Friday, March 7th, 2008
Facebook status updates tend to fall into one of three categories; the inside joke (which maybe you and two other people on your friend list actually get), the non-update update (if you’re telling me you’re hung over, yet again, you ain’t updating me on shit – I know you’re a drunk) and the countdown (to a ‘major’ event in your life that most likely, no one else gives a shit about).
The countdown pisses me off the most. And so, to the girl on my friend list who ‘…is getting married in 18 weeks and 6 days!!!’ I must have a few words, because in about one minute and thirteen seconds, I may just delete you from my list.
Seriously – are you actually giving people the ’18 week and 6 day’ countdown? Are you aware of how long that actually is? It’s almost five months. Which is basically six months. Half a year. I have to listen to half a year of this shit? Is this it now? A daily countdown to the wedding is all that’s going on. There’s nothing else happening in your life? When can I expect hours and minutes in the countdown, because, as you can tell, I’m just itching to find out. Maybe next you can count how many ‘sleeps’ it will be, like you did as a child, in the run up to Christmas.
Honest to God, I can pretty much guarantee you that no one is as excited about your wedding day as you are (and judging by your three exclamation points, you’re pretty damn excited). I’m sure you sent the invites out about 2 years ago. Your peeps know when it is. You don’t have to give them daily reminders for the next six months.
I don’t know what it is about weddings that brings this out in people. But your status update makes me embarrassed to be a woman. I bet your fiancé isn’t counting down the minutes on his Facebook profile.
So, how’s about finding yourself a new hobby that will help those 18 weeks and 6 days go a little quicker? Yoga, chess, watching paint dry – all of which are exponentially more exciting than the countdown you’re currently involved in.
Be sure to let me know, via Facebook status update, how that works out for you.
I guess I’m the last person to catch on to this Mad Men series. My dad told me about it the other day because it just started to air in England. So, I got on the interweb and watched all thirteen episodes in three days. I frikkin’ loved it.
Set in the advertising world in 1960 Manhattan, it’s cut throat, anti-semetic, brutally chauvinistic and brilliant. Not like I was there, but by all accounts, it’s a pretty accurate representation of the time.
I love the vintage look of it. Everything seems to have a smoky film (which is probably to do with the hundreds of cigarettes puffed away each episode). Men were men, who drank scotch in boardroom meetings. Women were secretaries or good housewives.
The subtle humor is endearing, always either to do with gender roles or technology, like the line ‘It’s not like there’s some magic machine that makes identical copies of things’ – a particular favorite of mine.
The villain, Pete Campbell is so good I want to transport myself back to the 60s and personally sucker punch him. And am I the only one who didn’t realize that Peggy was pregnant?
But my main reason for loving this series is this:
Heelllllloooooooo daddy! Where have you been all my life? I take one look at this guy and want to throw on a frilly apron and bake cookies. Sweet baby Jesus – what a fine specimen of a man.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to swoon (and possibly bake cookies). Have a great weekend!