Now, I've never been the most tolerant of people. I'm judgemental, opinionated and often narrow-minded. It's been said that your first impression of someone forms during the first three seconds of meeting them. I probably don't even give them that. I'm not promoting this aspect of my personality in a positive light. It's really not something I'm proud of. But I feel this summer I changed for the better. I realised that I should cut people some slack. And they may just surprise you. What caused this change? What cured this intolerant, unforgiving attitude? Seven weeks in Uganda this summer with a boy that can only be described as the epitome of everything I hated. He was arrogant, rude, blunt to the point of embarrassment, a complete flirt and at times, selfish and inconsiderate. Yes, on paper this was my worst nightmare. How on earth could I survive seven weeks in Africa with this character? In any other situation, I honestly wouldn't have given him the time of day, let alone a conversation. But the situation demanded teamwork, cooperation and yes, tolerance.
I wouldn't call myself a prude but I'm certainly not a girl that finds sexual innuendos or even toilet humour slightly amusing. These kind of jokes are usually received with a frosty stare or look of disgust, alerting the joke-teller that this is not appreciated, or even acceptable to me. But I realised over time that asking him not to make innuendos or rude jokes was asking him not to be himself, and frankly being a flirt was who he was. It was unreasonable to ask him to change just because I felt uncomfortable. Yes, he could tone it down slightly, but I couldn't ask him to be someone he wasn't. It was only after I realised this, that I actually began to appreciate the person behind the front.
He was definitely unlike anyone I had ever met. His opinions and perspective were so far removed from my own that at times, I couldn't quite believe what he was saying. I learnt to listen rather than judge, understand rather than criticise, accept rather than dismiss. I don't think it would be an exaggeration to say that I've changed because I met him. He gave me an insight into attitudes that I would never have even attempted to understand before. One of the best things about this relationship is that I can still be myself but have a friend like him. It makes for some interesting discussions let me tell you. So I guess the moral of the story is not to judge a book by the cover. Give people a chance because you never know what you may find.
Monday, 27 September 2010
Women Drivers: The Theory versus The Truth
Now I am the first one to condemn anyone who pokes fun at women drivers. The feminist in me would never allow somebody to put half the population in a box labelled 'bad drivers'. I would rather stick needles in my eye than betray my fellow women. However, a few encounters have lately forced me to view things a little differently.
The first encounter, much to my embarrassment, occurred when I was attempting to park my car between a BMW and a Mazda. The space was tight, and my skills admittedly were limited. I managed to somehow wheedle my tiny car into such a position that I couldn't move backwards or forwards without severely damaging either car. After around 15 minutes, I decided to face the facts. I was stuck. I began to panic, and glanced around hoping the drivers who had stopped around me would be sympathetic enough to allow me a little more time (although, for what I had no idea). And then he, who can only be described as a gentleman caught my eye and mouthed, 'shall I park that for you?' I nodded so quickly, I only hope it didn't look too pathetic. Around two minutes later my car was perfectly parked.
Desperately grateful, the damsel in me gathered the only words I could think of in gratitude: 'thank you, you're a lifesaver, thank you so much!' He simply shrugged off my admiration, as if he had only done what any person would have done in that situation (which of course was entirely untrue as we were surrounded by many drivers who either chose to ignore me or become more frustrated at the wheel.) I, however, felt like he had just given me his last rolo.
He was gone as quickly as he appeared, and I watched him zoom away in his black sports car. Now I am the last woman on this earth to wait for a knight to come to my rescue. If I'd have lived in the sixties, I feel sure I would've been involved in bra burning to promote women's rights. But I feel that situation forced me to accept that driving might be just a 'man thing.' Otherwise I'd probably still be sat in that car park.
Maybe there is a reason why there are no successful Formula One women drivers. Maybe there is a reason why there are no women presenters on Top Gear. And there is also a reason why the theory of women being exceptionally bad drivers exists. Yes, I'm afraid it might be true: men are (on the whole) the better drivers. In the world of motoring, women should take the back seat. And I've come to accept this fact...gradually. After all, women do own the world of cooking, cleaning, ironing and oh so much more. So maybe we can afford to give it to the men just this once.
The first encounter, much to my embarrassment, occurred when I was attempting to park my car between a BMW and a Mazda. The space was tight, and my skills admittedly were limited. I managed to somehow wheedle my tiny car into such a position that I couldn't move backwards or forwards without severely damaging either car. After around 15 minutes, I decided to face the facts. I was stuck. I began to panic, and glanced around hoping the drivers who had stopped around me would be sympathetic enough to allow me a little more time (although, for what I had no idea). And then he, who can only be described as a gentleman caught my eye and mouthed, 'shall I park that for you?' I nodded so quickly, I only hope it didn't look too pathetic. Around two minutes later my car was perfectly parked.
Desperately grateful, the damsel in me gathered the only words I could think of in gratitude: 'thank you, you're a lifesaver, thank you so much!' He simply shrugged off my admiration, as if he had only done what any person would have done in that situation (which of course was entirely untrue as we were surrounded by many drivers who either chose to ignore me or become more frustrated at the wheel.) I, however, felt like he had just given me his last rolo.
He was gone as quickly as he appeared, and I watched him zoom away in his black sports car. Now I am the last woman on this earth to wait for a knight to come to my rescue. If I'd have lived in the sixties, I feel sure I would've been involved in bra burning to promote women's rights. But I feel that situation forced me to accept that driving might be just a 'man thing.' Otherwise I'd probably still be sat in that car park.
Maybe there is a reason why there are no successful Formula One women drivers. Maybe there is a reason why there are no women presenters on Top Gear. And there is also a reason why the theory of women being exceptionally bad drivers exists. Yes, I'm afraid it might be true: men are (on the whole) the better drivers. In the world of motoring, women should take the back seat. And I've come to accept this fact...gradually. After all, women do own the world of cooking, cleaning, ironing and oh so much more. So maybe we can afford to give it to the men just this once.
Sunday, 26 September 2010
There's health and fitness, and then there's the gym...
'Oh my god, are you OK?' was the question that greeted me upon returning from the gym one afternoon. 'Yes Mum, I'm fine.' After reassuring her I was still alive, and downing another bottle of Buxton, I reminded myself for the umpteenth time why, oh why, I was doing this. It wasn't that I disliked running on a stationary machine, sweating away all traces of last nights make-up or having to face the reality that there were women out there with much more toned abs than me. After all, why wouldn't I enjoy this? No, as much as I have tried to convince myself of my unconditional love for the gym, in all honesty I could think of 102 better things to do with my time.
Ah, the gym. The number one hot spot for arrogant, self-obsessed, yet muscular (if this is any compensation) fitness fanatics. You know the type. The please-ask-me-what-I-bench-press type. As I perspire the water content of my entire body, I can't help but feel a pang of envy as these super humans stroll past. Their perfectly toned physiques, their ability to run whilst appearing unflustered and their determination to make lifting 200kg look easy. Yes, I admit a tiny part of me wants to be a part of their exclusive club. However, the larger part of me believes that this is shallow, pretentious and quite frankly, a waste of time. I find the men, on the whole, are the worst. Leaning by the exercise machine boasting loudly to their equally muscular friend about how much they weigh, I feel a strong urge to throw my bottle of Buxton at their heads. Now, I appreciate a bit of muscle as much as the next woman, but do I care about how much you weigh? Or what you bench press? Or how many sit ups you can do whilst lifting a 100kg weight in your mouth? NO, I never have and I never will, and I can't help thinking there are many women out there that feel the same. Did it ever occur to these alpha males that we might find this a little bit boring? And as much as women like to look at a bit of muscle every now and then, we don't want it constantly beaten into our eardrums. Personally, I'd rather talk about cake with a guy who was morbidly obese.
The women, I find easier to forgive. Perhaps because I can convince myself that women feel under more pressure to be what men want. As pathetic as that is, I can sympathise with them more easily than the ignorant fools with the over sized muscles. Maybe that's just me.
Having said all this, the gym allows for the ordinary ones among us (you and me) to join in order to lose that holiday weight, or shed 100 pounds. And for that reason, I'm entirely appreciative. Let's reduce obesity in the UK. Let's all join a gym and devote some time in our busy lives to look after our own health. But let's do this without obsessing over our abs, cellulite or muscle. After all, it's what's inside that counts, right?
Ah, the gym. The number one hot spot for arrogant, self-obsessed, yet muscular (if this is any compensation) fitness fanatics. You know the type. The please-ask-me-what-I-bench-press type. As I perspire the water content of my entire body, I can't help but feel a pang of envy as these super humans stroll past. Their perfectly toned physiques, their ability to run whilst appearing unflustered and their determination to make lifting 200kg look easy. Yes, I admit a tiny part of me wants to be a part of their exclusive club. However, the larger part of me believes that this is shallow, pretentious and quite frankly, a waste of time. I find the men, on the whole, are the worst. Leaning by the exercise machine boasting loudly to their equally muscular friend about how much they weigh, I feel a strong urge to throw my bottle of Buxton at their heads. Now, I appreciate a bit of muscle as much as the next woman, but do I care about how much you weigh? Or what you bench press? Or how many sit ups you can do whilst lifting a 100kg weight in your mouth? NO, I never have and I never will, and I can't help thinking there are many women out there that feel the same. Did it ever occur to these alpha males that we might find this a little bit boring? And as much as women like to look at a bit of muscle every now and then, we don't want it constantly beaten into our eardrums. Personally, I'd rather talk about cake with a guy who was morbidly obese.
The women, I find easier to forgive. Perhaps because I can convince myself that women feel under more pressure to be what men want. As pathetic as that is, I can sympathise with them more easily than the ignorant fools with the over sized muscles. Maybe that's just me.
Having said all this, the gym allows for the ordinary ones among us (you and me) to join in order to lose that holiday weight, or shed 100 pounds. And for that reason, I'm entirely appreciative. Let's reduce obesity in the UK. Let's all join a gym and devote some time in our busy lives to look after our own health. But let's do this without obsessing over our abs, cellulite or muscle. After all, it's what's inside that counts, right?
WAGS to Riches
Coleen Rooney currently features at number 8 in the top ten richest self-made women. Yes, a 'self-made' WAG. I almost fell off my chair. It would be true to say that the Liverpudlian wife of Wayne Rooney used her rather lucky claim to fame to jump start her career. For those of you who don't know, her career involves writing a style book, being the face of Asda, writing a magazine column, making a fitness video and of course being there for 'Wayyy-ne'. Her TV show, 'Real Women' received many bad reviews, one stating that Coleen 'carrying around a Chanel handbag worth around a grand ain't exactly showing off your realness is it?' On a serious note though, if Coleen thinks that the biggest problem in this world is the modelling industry's dislike for women larger than a size eight, WAGs are more delusional than I thought.
There is a social stigma attached to being a WAG, and the likes of Abbey Clancy and Danielle Lloyd (to name just a few) seem to have facilitated this. Why should being unemployed and grabbing money off your partner be something to be proud of? However trife it sounds, I'd like to think women of today would want to gain some self-satisfaction from their own achievements rather than exist on someone else's salary.
We live in a privileged society bursting with wealthy women with nothing to do. Surely we as a society should encourage these women to give to charity or volunteer? Although the thought of Danielle Lloyd in an old people's home does make me smile, you never know, maybe they could make another dull reality series based on it? At least then they could become self-sufficient and able to pay for their own Prada handbag.
There is a social stigma attached to being a WAG, and the likes of Abbey Clancy and Danielle Lloyd (to name just a few) seem to have facilitated this. Why should being unemployed and grabbing money off your partner be something to be proud of? However trife it sounds, I'd like to think women of today would want to gain some self-satisfaction from their own achievements rather than exist on someone else's salary.
We live in a privileged society bursting with wealthy women with nothing to do. Surely we as a society should encourage these women to give to charity or volunteer? Although the thought of Danielle Lloyd in an old people's home does make me smile, you never know, maybe they could make another dull reality series based on it? At least then they could become self-sufficient and able to pay for their own Prada handbag.
Saturday, 18 September 2010
As long as we both shall live?
Whoever came up with the idea of spending the rest of your life with someone? Waking up every single morning to inevitably look at the same face staring back at you? Being accustomed to their bad habits, smells and eating patterns for as long as you both shall live? Most romantic comedies end at the point where the male professes his eternal love for his supposed 'soul mate'. They never seem to film the part where she picks up his smelly socks off the floor or he leaves his dirty dishes in the sink, 'cause lets be honest, who would want to watch that? More importantly, who would want to live with that?
Most girls have at some point, pictured their wedding day with the beautiful dress, tearful speeches and infatuated perfectly polished groom waiting at the end of the isle. But I'm sure it's a much lower percentage who have actually thought about what comes after the fairytale. What does the 'happily ever after' actually entail? Well for a start, you should leave your independence at the altar. You have just entered a three-legged race. From this day on, you will be bound to this person for the rest of your life (unless you request a divorce.) Your significant other will leak into every aspect of your life, wholly drenching your existence. You are to give up your name, your freedom and even half of your bed. These are all to be sacrificed in the name of true love. We must surrender our life as we know it and embrace this person and all that they are. Idealistically, if you find the love of your life you would do this in a heartbeat. Realistically, the sacrifices are colossal. Especially if you value your independence and life as you know it.
This is probably the most negative blog you've ever read, and for that I apologize. I can feel the realist in me oozing out at every word. I must say that I do believe in love, and that there is someone for everyone. But I've come to realise that every relationship you have with someone is a compromise with the relationship you have with yourself. A wise person once told me never rely on someone else to make you happy: happiness should come from within. This has led me to believe that we should assess how much we are giving up being in a relationship. Is the sacrifice greater than the gain? Because the biggest tragedy would be losing yourself.
Having said all this, I know there is a possibility I could meet someone who I would willingly give up everything for. But they would have to be pretty spectacular. Watch this space.
Most girls have at some point, pictured their wedding day with the beautiful dress, tearful speeches and infatuated perfectly polished groom waiting at the end of the isle. But I'm sure it's a much lower percentage who have actually thought about what comes after the fairytale. What does the 'happily ever after' actually entail? Well for a start, you should leave your independence at the altar. You have just entered a three-legged race. From this day on, you will be bound to this person for the rest of your life (unless you request a divorce.) Your significant other will leak into every aspect of your life, wholly drenching your existence. You are to give up your name, your freedom and even half of your bed. These are all to be sacrificed in the name of true love. We must surrender our life as we know it and embrace this person and all that they are. Idealistically, if you find the love of your life you would do this in a heartbeat. Realistically, the sacrifices are colossal. Especially if you value your independence and life as you know it.
This is probably the most negative blog you've ever read, and for that I apologize. I can feel the realist in me oozing out at every word. I must say that I do believe in love, and that there is someone for everyone. But I've come to realise that every relationship you have with someone is a compromise with the relationship you have with yourself. A wise person once told me never rely on someone else to make you happy: happiness should come from within. This has led me to believe that we should assess how much we are giving up being in a relationship. Is the sacrifice greater than the gain? Because the biggest tragedy would be losing yourself.
Having said all this, I know there is a possibility I could meet someone who I would willingly give up everything for. But they would have to be pretty spectacular. Watch this space.
And so it begins
So I'm starting a blog. As an opinionated aspiring writer, it shouldn't be too difficult to fill the page with words. Although I would much prefer the old pen and paper to this blogging malarky, this seems to be the direction the industry is taking...if you can't beat them join them, right? And I might just learn to love it.
This appears to be an appropriate time to introduce myself, but I think my future blogs will give you an insight into who I am better than any description I could write. That's if you're interested of course.
The advantages of blogs like these (it seems I'm liking them already) is that you know when someone is reading your work, or if your words are just lost amongst the other 23937 billion web pages on the Internet. But yes, views and maybe even comments would be much appreciated, and maybe the 'undiscovered' webpage could be discovered? Who knows?
This appears to be an appropriate time to introduce myself, but I think my future blogs will give you an insight into who I am better than any description I could write. That's if you're interested of course.
The advantages of blogs like these (it seems I'm liking them already) is that you know when someone is reading your work, or if your words are just lost amongst the other 23937 billion web pages on the Internet. But yes, views and maybe even comments would be much appreciated, and maybe the 'undiscovered' webpage could be discovered? Who knows?
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