Women really are from Venus

We all know that women and from Venus and men are from outer space. Men can’t understand why women need so many pairs of shoes, why they get a bit emotional once a month and they really don’t get the fact that we can’t map read.

Men, a word of advice: when a woman says she is fine it means she’s not. When she asks if she looks fat in her new dress she wants you to say no, not well, now that you say it and if you are in a restaurant and she asks you whether you would like dessert she would really like you to say yes. This is because she wants to order that sticky toffee pudding but feels she will look like a pig if you don’t have one too.

If you ask a woman to map read and she looks a bit worried please bear in mind that this is because she can’t read maps (yes, I know lots of women can, I’m not being sexist, just speaking from experience). I cannot tell my left from right so when you ask me which way you should turn and I say “that way” I expect you to look at me and not the road. Yes I know this is dangerous but it takes me a while to work out which way left is and which way right is. Also, please don’t ever ask me to direct you at a roundabout with lots of exit points. I find this very very scary. I also don’t like it when you ask me which exit you need to take from the M1. As a man I expect you to know these kinds of things. My job is to sing along to the radio and feed you as you are driving 90mph.

To me a car is just a car. I don’t care if it goes 0-100mph in 2 seconds or that it’s got an amazing engine that purrs like a cat. Actually when I said a car is just a car that’s not true. I’d quite like it to have a big boot for all my shopping and I’m also quite partial to air conditioning. That way you don’t have to wind down all the windows so that my hair gets messy.

Also, I am not really very interested in that amazing goal that some footballer I have never heard of just scored. I might perk up if he is good looking but I will quickly lose interest. Watching Match of the Day on a Saturday night is my idea of hell. So is watching Top Gear or anything on the Men and Motors channel. I will never appreciate the assets of Jade on Page Three of The Sun and the Daily Star is not, and never will be, my newspaper of choice.

When I say the word need I mean it in the loosest sense. My needs are different to yours and yes I do need 40 pairs of shoes and 20 bags. Each pair of shoes has been carefully selected to match an outfit and each bag has its use.

When I say that Carrie from Sex and the City is my heroine please don’t say “what that bird off the telly with weird dress sense?” Carrie is unique and you will never understand why she is a fashion icon.

If I cry when watching a soppy film on TV don’t laugh at me. The chances are I have PMT and anything will make me cry.

Yes I do know all the words to “I will survive” and yes I probably had a crush on a member of a boy band when I was a teenager.

I’m sorry if you don’t appreciate the full value of a bar of Dairy Milk. Chocolate to me is what a pint of lager with your mates is to you.

I must go now, I need to have a good old fashioned gossip with my friends.

Useless words

My favourite word is plop. It’s an onomatopoeia dontcha know (and just you try spelling it without using spell check).

I might have told you this before but I will tell you again just in case you have forgotton. I work in the communications industry (well, when I’m not taking a career break that is) so words are my livelihood. I like words and I like my job most of the time but there are occasions when I wish I'd trained to be a chef or something. I usually think this after I have dealt with a sales person or an ad agency creative. There are a lot of fools in my industry, especially in the world of marketing. Marketing people like to make up words or give them new meaning. It makes them feel like they are doing a gre-at job. Here are a few examples:

Virtuous circle – oh please. This is usually accompanied by a hand movement which involves making a big circle with your arms. As if you didn’t know what a circle was.

Sexy – as in this product/advert/brand is ‘really sexy’. No, it’s a tube of toothpaste. Justin Timberlake is sexy and so is George Clooney. Toothpaste is not, and never will be sexy.

Added value – one of my all-time favourites. Marketers love this phrase. They use it all the time, especially when they are trying to sell something to a client. If a marketer uses this in conversation run for the hills.

Advertorial – it’s an advert but it contains editorial. I know, let’s create a poncey new word for it. Who are you? David Brent?

Synergy – Hmm. Even the thesaurus in Word doesn’t know what this means.

Ramp up – Now this one sounds like it belongs in the 1990s, along with ‘Greed is Good’ and ‘Yuppies’.

Blue sky thinking – this is what they say when they are trying to be creative. How sad.

Thinking outside of the box – actually what I’d like to do with you people is put you in a box. And lock it. If I am in a good mood I might make some holes in it just so that you can breathe. How’s that for added value?

Why men are like shoes

A while ago I started writing a book with a friend of mine. It was called ‘Dating Disasters and how to live happily ever after (sort of)’. One of the chapters was entitled ‘Men are like shoes’ and I thought it was rather good. So I am sharing it with all you lucky people.

My theory is this: shoes and men are very similar (in a random kind of way). Like shoes, there are many different varieties of men. Some are comfortable like a nice pair of trainers and others are totally useless, rather like a pair of six inch stilettos which hurt like hell. Some men are like a pair of wellies: wet and not very nice to look at. Are you beginning to see where I’m coming from? Good.

Kitten heels (definition for male readers: kitten heels are thin and not very high, they have a sort of hourglass shape)

Every woman should own a pair of kitten heels. They look good, are reliable and most of the time they’re quite comfortable. Sometimes they get stuck in grating and dodgy paving stones but you just get them re-heeled. A good man is like a pair of kitten heels. Reliable, stylish and comfortable.

Kitten heel man: stylish and good looking, a bit like your best gay friend.

Stilettos (high skinny heels and are not very comfortable)

Stilettos are sleek, stylish (unless they are white) and have killer heels. And therein lies the rub. They may look good but they will never treat you right and will probably give you blisters. Stilettos are addictive and can look very sexy. However, they are not practical and if you twist your ankle in them it will hurt.

In short, stilettos will make you cry.

Stiletto man: good looking, but shallow and will definitely break your heart.

Slippers (shoes that you wear indoors, usually very warm and not very sexy. Note: women do not wear those stupid high heeled marabou trimmed slippers you can buy in naughty underwear shops, they are uncomfortable and could cause serious injury especially if you do the vacuuming in them)

Every woman owns a pair of comfy slippers. They are a bit like a nice, reliable bloke. You come home, kick your heels off and put them on. Slippers will never let you down and will keep you snug and toasty.

Slipper man: dependable, comfortable and reliable. In short, your dad.

Trainers (men: you will definitely have at least one pair of these, they are your weekend shoes, the other pair you own are for work)

Trainers kick ass. They can look cool, are comfortable and you can wear them all day without them hurting. They’re dependable, don’t look dorky and you can run a mile in them. Every woman should own at least one pair.

Trainer man: fit, good looking and comfortable: your boyfriend of five years.

Boots (no, not the thigh high PVC variety)

Boots can look very sexy, keep you warm and dry when it rains. Practical and stylish, boots go with just about anything. They also come in different, ahem, lengths.

Boot man: sexy and stylish a bit like that guy in the office you’ve had your eye on.

Public transport

Now this is one of my favourite topics. Public transport seems to bring out the worst in people and many of them turn into one of the following breeds.

How many have you spotted?

ipod ignoramus
The ipod ignoramus is a little bit deaf so handle with care. This breed likes to listen to its ipod very very loudly. So loudly in fact that you are unable to hear your own ipod even though you are sitting at the other end of the carriage. This breed has adopted a rhythmic nodding of the head as well as an irritating knee twitch. Sometimes it hums or sings, note also that it is tone deaf. It has little regard for anyone sitting next to it and if you ask it to turn their music down it is highly likely to turn it up even louder. Related to this breed is the music muppet who likes to listen to music (usually music with lots of profanities or a really awful techno beat) via its mobile phone. This breed obviously cannot afford headphones. Do not ask it to turn it down. It is likely to stab you.

Favourite tube stations: the ipod ignoramus is not fussy.

The creature with tunnel vision
Often seen reading the Financial Times, this breed seems to have developed 'tunnel vision'. Strangely this breed is unable to see the pregnant woman standing two feet away from it. Neither is it able to see the elderly gentleman clinging on to the handrail for dear life or the person with a white stick trying to find a safe place to stand. So engrossed is it in its pink paper that it does not realise that its legs are actually taking up two seats (this particular breed is usually male) and that its newspaper is now touching the person sitting next to it. As you are trying to get passed the suit I suggest grinding your heel (this works best with a stiletto heel) into its foot. You will hear its primeval roar in the next carriage.

Favourite tube stations: Moorgate, Bank, Liverpool Street and Aldgate.

The door/pole hogger
Ah yes, this particular breed seems to be the bane of most commuter’s lives. The door/pole hogger seems to have developed a relationship with inanimate objects. It is quite insecure and always has to have something to cling on to. It seems totally incapable of stepping out of the carriage to let others passed or moving down the carriage. As you try and get passed this breed I suggest that you give him a swift poke in the ribs.

Favourite tube stations: the door/pole hogger doesn't care but quite likes rush hour

The tourist
The poor tourist. You have to feel a little bit sorry for this breed. It doesn't realise that it is not acceptable to smile, maintain eye contact or talk to anyone on the tube. It also doesn’t realize that there is a strict etiquette – push or be pushed. You can usually spot this breed a mile off, it stands on the wrong side of the escalator, peers frequently into a guide book and thinks that Leicester Square is pronounced Lye-ces-ter.

Favourite tube stations: Leicester Square, Piccadilly Circus, Westminster and Oxford Circus.

The person with really bad BO
You do not want to be standing next to this particular breed. Especially in the summer. This breed has the capability to knock you off your feet – literally. The invention of deodorant seems to have passed this breed by.

As you walk past this breed, I suggest you pop a roll-on into its pocket. It will thank you for it. Maybe.

Favourite tube stations: this breed is not really fussy but the more crowded the better.

Kebab Kid
Kebab Kid smells. A Lot. Mostly of takeaways and alcohol. The Kebab Kid thinks that it is perfectly acceptable to pollute the environment with the smell of greasy meat. Kebab Kid also likes to vomit. Particularly after consuming 10 pints of Stella and a kebab and chips. If you see Kebab Kid, move away.

Favourite tube stations: Leicester Square and Camden Town, particularly after 11pm.

The person with large rucksack
This breed is a bit stupid. It doesn’t realise that wearing a large rucksack on its back really really irritates people. It has no sense of space and distance (rather like a cat with no whiskers) and thinks that no-one will mind if it bumps them a few times.

Duck if you think this breed is about to turn around. If you don’t it may be painful.

Maybe its because I'm a Londoner

I have lived in London my whole life. I even went to University in the big smoke. Sometimes I get a wee bit homesick and there are some things I really miss about my dirty, smelly and expensive home town:

1. John Lewis. The closest thing here is probably Macy's and you need a whole day to get round the bloody thing. All I want is a needle and thread. I don't want to have to travel up eight escalators to get it.

2. Cab drivers that actually know where they're going and don't drive like madmen. Also cab drivers who smile and don't try to pull out before you've even got the door shut.

3. Being able to go into a sandwich shop and not be faced with a million questions: which bread would you like, which dressing....Enough already. It's great having a choice but sometimes you just want a cheese sandwich. That's it.

4. Decent TV. Yes, I may have 30+ channels to choose from but most of them are rubbish. I miss the BBC and specifically that gorgeous guy in Spooks.

5. Being able to watch the news without thinking that the world begins and ends with the US. Their definition of world news is news that actually comes from outer state (that's state, not space, although I feel like an alien sometimes, particulary when I order a blueberry smoothie. For some reason that word baffles them everytime).

6. Being able to listen to a radio station that plays more than one kind of music. Here, everything is compartmentalised - rap, soul, rock, indie. They seem to assume that if you listen to rap then you don't listen to rock.

7. Decent shoes. Ohmygod, I need an Office or a Faith. The shoes here are awful. The only decent ones cost squillions of dollars (Choo's, Manolo's etc.)

8. Being able to cross the road safely (here, cars can turn into a street on a red light - its very annoying).

9. Dogs that are treated like dogs. Its the fashion here to carry round them round in poncey little bags. Dogs like to walk, not be carried around like some stuffed animal. Put him down.

10. Chocolate. They just don't make it right here. I am having withdrawl symptoms for a Dairy Milk.

Things I don't (and won't) miss about London.

1. The prices - the subway is $2 per ride and you can travel anywhere you want. There's none of that zone rubbish.

2. Dog poo. Where I live you have to watch your step because its everywhere - if you don't clean it up here you are fined. I like that.

3. Chuggers - I hate those annoying people who try and stop you in the street by blocking your way. You can't walk down Regent Street without encountering at least 10.

4. The Tube. Its dirty, smelly and very expensive. Its also full of twats who would fight you to the death for that last seat. Have it, you look like you need to sit down - all that extra weight and all that.

5. Londoners. Let's face it, Londoners are rude and obnoxious (see tube). They don't hold doors open, push their way on the tube before people have got off. Contrary to popular belief New Yorkers are very polite. They hold doors open and don't fight for seats on the subway. Its just more...civilised.

I have run out of complaints which I guess means I really am a Londoner at heart.

"Maybe its because I'm a Londoner, la la la..."

Fashion

I have a theory. It may not be an orginal one but hey ho. My theory is this: fashion designers are in cahoots with gym chains. Why do I think this? Hello, have you seen what's in fashion this season? The average woman in the UK is a size 14. Yes, a size 14. So what delights do designers (and high street designers are just as much to blame here) have for us? Leggings, jumper dresses, bodies and ankle boots. That's what.

Here's my problem with all of these items. I'll take each one in turn.

Leggings: Lots of larger ladies wear leggings because they think they're flattering. What kind of mirror were they looking in? Leggings will never ever flatter you if you are larger than a size 10 and under 5ft 8". They just make you look even larger. I have been known to wear leggings myself. But only, I hasten to add, under a knee length dress. I did this because my legs are extremely pale and I couldn't be arsed to apply fake tan. Lycra is not a miracle fabric designed to hold in your tummy and large backside. Just the opposite in fact; its actually made to make you look like two tonne Tessie. Just don't go there. Please.

Jumper dresses: I tried aforesaid item on once in a shop in London. It was tragic. It clung to all my lumps and bumps and made my backside look as though two very large pillows had been stuffed down my knickers. The back of the dress was at least two inches shorter than the front (my backside caused it to ride up) and I looked at least 6 months pregnant. I did think about buying it just so that I could get a seat on the tube but then I remembered that Londoners are miserable sods who never give up their seats. Ever (ooh I feel another blog coming on....)

Bodies: My personal favourite. Which foolish designer thought us ladies might like to invest our hard earned cash in a top with knickers attached? Hmmm, great idea. Not. In the 1980s/90s when I was a young and foolish follower of fashion I actually bought a body and wore it on nights out. Have you ever tried to fasten poppers in a grotty nightclub toilet whilst drunk? I have and believe me it ain't a pretty sight.

Ankle Boots: Fine under a pair of trousers. Dreadful with a skirt or dress. Ankle boots cut your legs in half and unless you are built like a supermodel you are going to look stupid. Repeat after me. I will not wear ankle boots with a skirt. I don't really see the point in ankle boots to be honest. They look stupid unless worn under trousers. My advice, buy a nice pair of knee length boots. They'll go with anything. Actually, that's not true. They will not look good tucked into skinny jeans. Kate Moss can do this and look fab, the average woman on the street will look a fool.

And while we are on the subject of pointless items of fashion, I have to talk about a couple of my other favourites: the sleeveless polo neck and the shoes which have a label on stating: not suitable for outdoor wear.

First, the sleeveless polo neck. An absolutely useless item of clothing. What's the point in wearing something that will keep your neck warm and not your arms? Go and buy a polo neck with sleeves.

Shoes only suitable for indoor wear: I think they're called slippers.

Apparently mustard is one of the colours this season. Hello? Mustard? Who the hell looks good in mustard?

Oh, I love fashion!

Celebrities

noun:
1 {C} someone who is famous, especially in the entertainment business
2 {U} the state of being famous

Aah yes, the nations favourite; celebrity culture. Walk into any newsagent and you will be bombarded with a plethora of magazines devoted to the new religion that is celebrity. You can dress like Paris, diet like Nicole (I wouldn't advise it) or shop like Posh. Ask most young girls what they want to do when they grow up and they'll tell you "we want to be famous". When I was 14 I wanted to be a journalist and perhaps be on the news. None of my friends wanted to be "famous". Some of them wanted to be actresses or singers but then these are vocations. Just being famous isn't a vocation.

These days anyone can be famous (and often they are). You can appear on a reality TV show, shag another celebrity, have a famous father or just take your kit off for the lads once or twice. That's all it takes. And what gets me is other people actually look up to these so-called celebs. They buy their "autobiographies", watch their dreadful cable TV shows and spend their money trying hard to look like them.

I have no problem with real bona-fide celebrities - people that have talent and skill. But I do have a very big problem with all those D list celebrities out there who appear half naked in the gossip pages of a magazine you pay less that £1 for. These people are actually quite sad. I was watching an episode of the last Big Brother a few months ago (I was very bored and the contestants fascinate me in a weird way) and one of the inmates said that it was always his ambition to appear on Big Brother. How sad is that? My ambition is to write a best-selling novel that people read because its actually quite good. To actually say that your ambition is to appear on a dreadful TV programme full of sad little wannabes is tragic to say the least.

But sadly there are lots of people out there like this. People who want their 15 minutes of fame (because that's all they're gonna get) and their face (or breasts a lot of the time) in a trashy magazine that you pick up in the hairdressers because you can't be bothered to talk about holidays with the person cutting your hair.

I used to work for a national charity and sometimes these D list celebrities would actually ask to be paid to help promote the work of an organisation that does not make a profit. Nice.

Just because your partner/father is rich or famous doesn't mean that you are a celebrity. You might have a fancy wardrobe but being a clothes horse is not a vocation (OK, it is if you are a model, but you know what I mean).

Did you know that Jordan's (who is actually a very shrewd business woman and knows exactly what celebrity culture means) autobiography is one of the best selling hard-back books ever? Enough said.

The gym

I have just been to the gym. Now that I am a woman of leisure I feel that it is my duty to look good 24-7 (my friends will all be snorting with derision right now). I also need to burn off all the Caramel Machiatto's I have been drinking. I have a few issues with the gym. Actually I have a lot of issues with the gym.

Apparently, exercise lets off lovely happy endorphins in your head and you feel alive and great. This has not happened to me. Ever. Instead I feel hot, sweaty and out of breath. My face goes as red as a tomato and I feel like steam is coming out of my ears. As I push myself to the limit on the treadmill (currently I can run for about 5 minutes before turning into a red sweaty mess) all I feel is failure. I feel like no matter how hard I run or how fast I row, I will never, ever get rid of the lovely roll of fat which hangs over the top of my jeans. One of my friends calls this her muffin top and I think this is an apt title. Number one it does actually look like the top of a muffin and number two it was more than likely created by eating one too many of the sugary delights. I work out three times a week and in the eight or so years that I have been going to the gym my muffin top has not budged. Perhaps its my genes.

And why is it I always manage to place myself next to some lithe young thing who could give Paula Radcliffe a run for her money (literally). Whilst I pant and perspire she runs like a gazelle in her Stella MaCartney for Adidas lycra. AND she doesn't have a muffin top. Its just not fair.

The gym that I attend has lovely views of the Hudson River. Squirrels and birds frolic outside the window and people walk their dogs along the esplanade. Well, that's what I can see if I peer over the bloody great big TV screen that is perched on the end of my teadmill. Yes, why look out the window and admire the view when you can stare at crap American TV? Every singe machine has a TV attached to it (except the rower and no-one uses that except me).

I sometimes go for a run outside but I'm not very good. First of all I run way too fast and am out of breath within minutes and second of all I am very very clumsy and have been known to trip. In fact, I have sustained lots of injuries whilst trying to keep fit. Once I missed the seat on the rower - I can't begin to tell you how much that hurt....

My ambition is to run a Marathon. My friends say I'd be better off eating one (for those of you over the age of 30 a Marathon was the original - and best - name for a Snickers bar. But seriously I would love to run 26.2 miles. The only thing that puts me off is the training (yes, in order to complete the aforementioned distance you need to put in a few hours beforehand). The very thought of running through the rain and snow sends me to the nearest Doughnut shop. Also, I don't fancy having to apply vasaline and plasters to my nipples. Sorry. So for now, I think I'll watch it on TV, ponder over whether I should apply and then decide nah, I'd rather sit in and watch Lost.

And whilst I'm on the subject of Lost the new season (we call it a series, they call it a season - tomatoes and tomatoes and all that...) has started. Its very good and all you Brits out there should be very jealous of the fact that I get to see it first. Ner ner nernerner.

My first ever blog

Welcome to my first ever blog. Some say that blogging is quite theraputic and whilst I don't think I need therapy I'm quite happy to use it to vent all my frustrations about life in general. You see, I'm a complainer. I complain about EVERYTHING. Customer service, people who don't hold doors open for others, people with no manners, public transport (one of my favourites actually), technology, D List 'celebrities'. You see? Everything. And that's why this blog is called 'And another thing'. I could complain all day (much to the amusement (or is annoyance?)) to my boyfriend, family and friends. And who am I? Well, until last week I worked in Corporate Social Responsibility for an industry plagued by criticism. I was the Communications Manager and it was my job to promote the work of my organisation. Now, I live in New York City with my boyfriend who has been seconded out here. And its not all Sex and The City you know. For a start I'm not allowed to work which means I don't have an income. This is quite difficult when you are quite partial to a bit of shopping. We live about five minutes from Century 21, the best discount clothing store in the world. The UK might have TK Maxx but nothing beats Century 21. I have been here three days and have been in there twice already. Its like an addiction. I leave the apartment, walk to the end of the road and there it is, its red and white sign beaming at me like a glass of wine at the end of a hard day. Yes, I guess I am a bit of a shopaholic and I don't make any secret of it. I don't hide my purchases under the bed, I embrace them. I take them out of their bags, pull off the labels and hang them carefully in my wardrobe. There's none of that I am so ashamed that I have to hide all my purchases under the bed and try to forget about them. Oh no. Yes, I may have 20 pairs of high heels I have never worn (I can't afford cabs and high heels on the tube/subway don't really work) but at least the tags have been pulled off. But of course I won't be shopping (a lot) in New York. Instead I shall be amusing you all (well, those of you that manage to find my blog) with my moans and groans. So, there it is my first blog. Stay tuned folks.