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I was at a ball the other evening (I know, I’m basically Naomi Campbell minus being a total nutslug) and some friends and I were discussing our new obsession: Storage Wars. If you’ve been trapped in Simon Callow’s beard and haven’t happened to watch it, then I’d like to confirm it’s the best television programme in the UNIVERSE. Think of Paul Burrell with Princess Diana memorabilia up his bum and you’ve got my happiness level upon finding the next episode on Sky planner.

Anyway, it made me have a think about some of the other things that fall into the ‘I really like it but I really shouldn’t’ category. So here’s like, a pocket-full… there’s many, many more…

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1) Squeezing spots

That little yellow dot. The bullseye of the spot world. The second I catch a glimpse of a mound on someone’s back/shoulders/face, I’m on it like Michael Le Vell on an underage teen (allegedly).

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2) Celine Dion

She is a French angel. I’m not threatened by her amazingness but I’m not not threatened by it.

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3) Fitspo posts on Instagram

I don’t get a frothy vagina from exercising. It’s quite fun and I do it so by the age of 40 I’ll still be able to see my own feet and won’t have an arse crack which smells of soil and brie. Check out my Instagram timeline though and it’s *full* of tanned bodies, exercising tips, healthy food and rainbow coloured gym clothes. Why? Because it makes me feel as though I’m on Laguna Beach in hot pants, eating avocado and rollerblading. When really I’m in Milton Keynes. Eating noodles. And watching Storage Wars (OBVS).

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4) Leaving drinks in my bedroom

I’m tidy, and have an obsession with cleaning kitchens. But I also have a tendency to leave cups of drink peppered around my bedroom ’til they grow a nice little mould layer and I have to sliiiiink downstairs and get rid of the evidence before my boyfriend tells me off for being a skank. He might have a point.

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5) Playing football

As a bloke, you can go play in the park with a football and that’s just fine. As a girl, you can either play for a proper woman’s team or that’s IT. You don’t just go down the park with a ball. You don’t. (If YOU do then can you shout me so I can come?) The best thing about living with a boy is that he has a ball and we can go kick it in the woods. Makes me happier than a fat person being allowed to wear a t-shirt in a swimming pool.

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6) Old men with ponytails

I imagine them to smell of Gandalf, knowledge and pipe smoke and I want to stroke them. If they also happen to be American then they get 15 extra Brownie points.

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7) Putting every single call on loudspeaker

It makes me feel like Kim Kardashian in an emergency. Speaking of which…

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8) Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

I’d say 98% of people would rather wipe their bum and find blood than watch an episode of KUWTK, and I understand that. But I love that the smallest problem can make Kim do an open-mouthed cry and by the end of the episode, she’s earned enough money to get over it.

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9) Cotton-Eye Joe

It is IMPOSSIBLE to feel sad when this song comes on. Anything that’s SO terrible it makes everyone lose their inhibitions works for me. I once watched a boy at school choke on some potato salad and do a sick during a Christmas party because he was so happy this song was being played. I think that says a lot.

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10) Laughing and discussing other people’s Facebook statuses

“Had a lovely day with the fam. got up early did washing took kids too mums had a roat dinner (LOL thanks mum!) came home n snuggled on the sofa wiv hubby. Bliss”

Screen-shotted. Sent to all my friends. Have a great laugh.

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11) Clicking on Daily Mail articles with ‘WARNING: Graphic Content’

Oh good. A photo of dead children. Yep, that’s someone hanging from a bridge in Mexico. Oh awesome, a soldier shooting a naked civilian in the face why did I click on this again? Why am I on The Daily Mail website? Why am I such a horrible human? Why does it always rain on me? Is it because I lied when I was 17?

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12) Disliking anyone who talks about the forces

I don’t dislike the forces. I just hate people talking about it. I’d sooner high five your nan in the face than listen to you bleat about ‘our boys’.

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13) Thinking bad thoughts about girls who innocently write ‘wifey material’

If you do that one more time I’m going to have sex with your boyfriend.

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14) The nickname ‘babe’

My tummy feels a bit like fuzzy felt when someone calls me ‘babe’. It feels a bit less fuzzy when ‘baby’ gets used. Fuck right off to drown in a swamp if you’re even contemplating ‘princess’.

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15) Frankfurters

I know they’re made from cow eyeballs and pig gooches but they’re YUMMY cow eyeballs and pig gooches.

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‘Lads’ mags promote sexist attitudes and behaviours. They normalise the idea that it’s acceptable to treat women like sex objects.’

The above quote comes from the mouths of UK Feminista and their #losetheladsmags campaign. And to me, a past Nuts employee and feminist, it’s way off the mark.

Women (and men) all over Twitter are currently getting themselves into a bare boobed clusterf*ck on essentially, the right to show the female form. It’s been suggested that supermarket staff can successfully sue employers in respect of forceful exposure to pornographic material and that environments where these sorts of magazines are hostile and offensive. In my mind, this is a gross overreaction. I find salmon a huge threat to my wellbeing but I’m not about to kick off #losethesalmonitsmellslikerottingbilge campaign.

As a feminist, I don’t much care for men shouting at me to whack my flaps out when I’ve popped out to grab some loo roll from Tescos. I don’t appreciate being called a slutbucket or whorebadger. I’m not keen on the negativity put upon the promiscuity of women, while men are free to pump a whole catalogue of vaginas and get a high five from their mate Darren. But what I have absolutely no problem with, are grown women choosing to take their clothes off for money, for a specific audience to enjoy looking at them in their own homes.

Having spoken to Nuts’ readers on numerous occasions over Twitter, I can safely say none have ever appeared sexist or given the impression they view women as a walking set of norks. Some, strangely, idolise glamour models… but that’s their prerogative. I like Marlon Brando, some bloke in Wigan likes Lucy Pinder bent over a motorbike. It’s a matter of personal taste.

And where does it stop? If certain individuals aren’t happy with publications featuring breasts, do we also ban Men’s Health & Men’s Fitness showing naked chests? Do we stop Torso Of The Week in Heat? They’re all bodies. And if UK Feminista want us all to be treated as equals, then photos of scantily clad men shouldn’t be readily available for women to get frothy over either.

In a day and age where magazines supposedly ‘for the sisterhood’ circle rippling cellulite and suggest ways in which to not look like such a massive fat biffah, lads’ mags are at the other end of the spectrum. They promote curves and feature happy models. Yes they’re airbrushed and might still portray unattainable figures, but at least their waif-like thighs aren’t torn to shreds by the vitriolic words of other women.

If I were to really pick holes, it would be that the girls maybe aren’t given enough of a voice within the mags themselves. I wholeheartedly believe that readers would jump at the chance to dribble over hot women with something to say, rather than a voiceless set of tits… and maybe that’s something to look at. On the other hand, I still feel as though a certain cluster of feminists would get their knickers in a twist over any sort of opinion coming from a woman who shaves her beef cave and wears make-up. But it’d be nice to give it a go.

As women, we shouldn’t feel as though we can’t have smokin’ bodies we want to show off. You shouldn’t be considered a certain type of woman if you like being sexy. We should all be able to whip off our clothes and recite Proust. And if men want to stick around while we do so, then that’s just wonderful. I vote save the lads’ mags… they’re harmless, tongue-in-cheek and a great promoter of the sh*ttest tattoos currently in existence in the UK. Leave ‘em be.

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Let’s not get it twisted… none of us are under any illusion Katie Hopkins’ recent Twitter paroxysm is for anything other than another 15 minutes of fame. She IS a putrid embodiment of nescience and superciliousness, but she’s also a media-savvy woman whose eagerness to gain notoriety overrides being a positive role-model to her children.

Hopkins, back in 2007, was in The Daily Mail giving her vaginal cavern a jolly good airing in a field with married Met Office colleague Mark Cross. Prior to this, she’d also ridden fellow Apprentice star Paul Callaghan’s tummy banana because apparently, getting through a few weeks in a confined space with males WITHOUT getting frothy-knickered is just too darn tricky for poor Katie.

I’m not an overly judgemental person. She could bang a transvestite while clad in custard and PVC and that would just be nice for her. However, launch a bunch of belittling tweets including the likes of ‘Dear @marksandspencer, are you able to stop unmarried mothers from shopping there on Wednesdays as they unsettle me?’ and it tugs at my squirrel a tad. Along with the Twitter tirade comes the laughable appearance on This Morning where she berated ‘geographical’ names for children only to admit one of her own goes by ‘India’. Everything this walking, talking clump of bilge water exudes is contradictory.

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Hopkins professes to be an astute business woman, yet her only success in life seems to be groin-f*cking her way into the spotlight and making sure she stays there by being a judgemental basset hound in a wig. Anyone lower class may NOT approach her. Her offspring may NOT play with anyone who doesn’t go by the name Tarquin or Penelope. Called Stacie, Jordan, Summer, Kimberly or Kylie? You’re ‘predisposed to becoming an unmarried mother #fact’ as tweeted last week.

Today, she’s decided Kelly Brook’s a little chubby.  Also that lots of housewives could do with losing some weight and work towards being a size 8 like herself. Considering Hopkins regularly channels ‘it’s 1986 and I’m waitressing at a Tory garden party’ I’m not entirely sure she’s the person to check in with when it comes to ones appearance but who knows.

In a way, I hope Hopkins’ head is SO far up her own arse cave that she sticks to her word and forces a sheltered life upon her children. Then hopefully they’ll grow up with similar values and won’t want to throw themselves under a juggernaut after reading up on her. So far, all they’ve got to work with is that you can get into England’s most awful papers if you talk about how ginger kids make you want to sh*t your hips out and how naming your child something other than Victoria means you probably grew up on a skip, masturbating with a bottle of White Lightning.

The best outcome with all this would be for at least one of Katie’s daughters to hit 18, decide leftie-living is the way for her and start selling falafel from a campervan with a few lesbian friends. It’d also be pretty wicked sticks if Hopkins’ vagina closed up like an angry venus flytrap. Sex is all she’s good for, and once we’ve eliminated that source of income/attention, she can hopefully be out of our lives for good.

 

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“Kim Kardashian got married, divorced, a new boyfriend AND pregnant all in 1 year. I had a man say he wanted to wank in my hair”.

And that was the tweet which ended up on my boss’ timeline and prompted her to follow me. I won’t lie, for a second my tummy churned the same way it did when my mum found a bag containing handcuffs, the morning after pill and lube in my wardrobe aged 16 BUT luckily for me, my employers are kindly. And having a personality/opinions (or in this case, just stating true fact) doesn’t mean I end up standing outside the job centre eating a Greggs’ pasty like a well-oiled unemployed machine.

 Sadly, however, the same can’t be said for everyone. And if you’re not using an anonymous account you’re probably sweating from your arse crack every time Bill from Accounts asks if you ‘use that Tweeter thing’. Or you’re making your account private. Or, if worse comes to worst… being suspended purely for writing something you might not necessarily preach to your nan.

I totally understand why you have to be careful what you say. Of COURSE you shouldn’t be allowed to tweet merrily about meetings, or your boss, or how much the company profit was that year. Or that whenever you go into the toilet after your colleague Kelly you have to chew your way through an aroma of last night’s curry like an angry Pacman. THAT’S a tad daring. And yes, if do tweet such matters then you SHOULD worry about repurcussions.

 However… when you’re actually living your life and not stuck in the hamster wheel of hell that is you’re working day, then I can’t understand why it’s criminal to have free reign on what you want to tweet. We all have sex, we all have occasional (or in my case, pretty frequent) less-than-positive thoughts on other humans and we all know people who go on the X Factor are retards… so why can’t we talk about it?

 You might tweet about wanting a flight of stairs to Final Destination Tom Cruise… you might tweet a video of a bulldog humping a shih tzu (definitely didn’t know it was spelt like that)… but it doesn’t mean HR are going to walk in one day and find you having a stranglewank in the stationary cupboard while a long line of clients wait for you to finish is it? So why the uproar?

 We’re constantly being told you need to make yourself stand out to prospective employers, show that you’ve got personality, make them remember you. And then, in another breath, we’re being told it’s a no-no to mention anything possibly deemed offensive. At ANY time, ANYONE could put out a tweet that might upset SOMEONE, so how are you meant to cover yourself? Just never go on social networking sites?

Of course you COULD stay away from social networking sites, but then employers want you to be current too. Ahead of the curve. One step ahead of the next big thing. And no matter what profession you’re in, digital media is HUGE and completely cutting yourself off from it is impossible.

 I don’t have a solution for this. My post isn’t really even up for discussion. In my opinion, if we live in a world where you can’t express yourself (through WORDS I hasten to add, it’s not like there’s uproar because individuals are going round c*nt-punting others) then I give up. And if we also live in a word where certain members of staff will ‘dob’ their colleagues in to management for being a bit vulgar on a Saturday night after a glass of wine, even though NONE of their tweets have EVER mentioned work then THEY are the people we need to be firing. For being the sort of twats who went twice on Show And Tell at school. And who are probably so uptight even a fisting from Stretch Armstrong wouldn’t relieve them. When there are Twitter accounts run by paedophiles and racists, we shouldn’t really be focusing our attention on bored housewives or over-worked 20 year olds who like to use the word ‘vagina’ a lot. Let’s get our priorities in order and maybe… who knows? You don’t like what your colleague’s talking about? Don’t read it.

 (I’ll be expecting a call from HR for this)

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So, earlier I was relaxing in bed, watching Band Of Brothers and eating Reese’s peanut butter miniatures when a certain Daily Mail article was brought to my attention. Every week, a video blogger (Emily Hartridge) puts together a ’10 Reasons Why’ video and it’s usually HILARIOUS (if you’ve been trapped under a dead owl with only the smell of rotting maggots and the sound of your own open-mouth wailing for amusement).

In this week’s treat, Emily (and weirdly, Zoe Hardman) discuss why women are strange. Like… craaazy. Totally gaga. And it’s SO FUNNY! (It’s not, I now want to lean my ovaries over a bunsen burner)

Here, I’ve picked five of their astronomically appalling examples and refuted them. Because essentially, it’s ‘weird’ women like Emily and Zoe generalising that give the rest of us humans with flaps a bad name.

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1. We get paranoid if our boyfriend doesn’t text constantly.

The article reads, “If men go out with their male friends, Emily says, and don’t text their girlfriend every five minutes, they’re obviously having a lap dance.”.

Right, well this is codswallop for starters. If my boyfriend went out for the evening and spent the whole night texting me I’d worry his friends were all as dull as David Cameron’s gooch. Then I’d tell him to put his phone down. Then I’d function as a normal human who can cope being manless for more than 27 seconds without having a strop induced stroke. And most others I know would agree. (If they don’t, then they’re the type of women who make boyfriend shrines out of tampons and used condoms so run for the hills and save yourself before she starts talking to you about scatter cushions).

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2. We like sniffing chocolate.

We like eating chocolate. If, in 2013, you’re still the type of woman who sniffs chocolate and calls eating an eclair ‘naughty’ then you’re far worse than anything Gary Glitter ever did.

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3. We think you’re cheating on us if you don’t like sex.

Nope, we don’t. We just think you’re an idiot and then try every way possible to seduce you, no matter HOW repellent it may be. Just remember ladies, when you’re doing the ‘sexy biting lip’ thing, bite the bottom lip, that’s the BOTTOM lip. A nibble to the top lip makes you look like Gabriella JCB-Chin from Made In Chelsea and no-one wants that.

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4. We don’t fart.

Nah, we don’t actually. We don’t poo either. Or burp. Or get the bum-sweats at the gym. Or find crumbs in our bra hours after eating. Or verrrrry slowly smell our armpits to check we’re OK in the morning before you try to spoon us. And we definitely don’t have to apply foundation just above our top lip in porta loos every 9 minutes at festivals because we’ve sweat it off gyrating to Wiley.

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5. We get men to fix our gadgets without trying ourselves.

Yeah lol, we do. Lol, like… sometimes I just, dunno… I just get to the TV and it like won’t come on so I just bang my boobs against it and twiddle my nips to try get signal and sometimes it works but then OH SOMETHING PINK! I’m gonna go put some fake eyelashes on lol.

Being poor at technology and gadgets isn’t an unavoidale side-effect to having a uterus. I lived with a guy who couldn’t change lightbulbs… both sexes can be idiots.

So, triple Nectar Points to you ladies. If yanking feminism back by the pubes 15 lightyears was the aim then you’ve succeeded. Luckily for us, most people who read The Daily Mail smell like bins and think Gala Bingo on Wigan pier is a top night out so I don’t think we need worry. Anyway, best dash… need to go make sure I’ve had a text in the last 4 minutes or BOY is some lapdancer going to get a WKD and a roundhouse to the face.

This week I read an article titled ’25 Things That Turn Your Man On!‘ Basically, a popular women’s magazine asked the good men of Twitter what got their horn a-honking and put them together in a handy article so us ladies could jot them down in our Cath Kidston diaries. Here are some of the more intriguing suggestions…
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1) “Rich girls, I want a sugar mama”
 
I imagine that THIS guy wears D&G belts, enough hair gel to drown a fieldmouse and generally acts like a bellend. The sort of bloke to walk around Bluewater for 9 hours, not because he’s shopping but because he’s forgotten where he parked his Mum’s car. Plus, we all already know what turns him on. Doggy style… so he can rob your purse while you’re not looking.
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2) “Good credit”
 
This made me do a laugh with my mouth. Good credit as in no CCJs? I can just imagine the smouldering scene now; “Ooooh yeah Leanne, talk to me. Tell me how the bank are happy to give you a second credit card.” I bet this bloke gets turned on by skirting boards and a girl who can complete a successful three point turn too.
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3) “Girls who swim”
You know how some fisherman used to knob skate in their boats when they’d been away at sea for ages because their faces look like vaginas? Exactly what I think of when I read this quote.
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4) “Someone who looks after themselves”
Gents, I get this. No-one wants to strut round BHS with Hayley Croppers’s burns victim sister, even if she IS a hoot and has an impeccable credit rating… but be careful. If a girl checks her reflection more than she speaks a well-structured sentence then this is a warning sign. She SHOULD take pride in her appearance but it shouldn’t be the only thing… make sure she’s not a hot mess. You’ll be able to check this by asking her a question on something than ISN’T in The Daily Mail sidebar of shame.
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5) “Women who wear boy shorts all the time”
 
ALL the time? I happily wear girl boxers but ALL the time? It’s not hugely sexy when you’re getting down to it in Topshop ‘AHOY THERE SAILOR!’ pants… you look like a sultry 13 year old and for goodness sake, if 2012 taught us anything its that 13 year old’s are off limits. At least TRY not to get embroiled in Operation Yewtree.
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6) “A girl who can spin around while riding it”
 I’m confused… so you want us to go up and down AND round and round? Like some sort of sexy possessed-girl-out-The Exorcist head? What if we can’t gather up momentum and it all gets a bit awkward and weird? And while you’re waiting for us to do the whole 360 degrees, your chap loses interest and then we’re just squashing a softie while doing a sitting pirouette? I’m not down with this one guys.
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7) “When a girl knows my past but judges me for who I am now”
 
This one’s a bit alarming… what HAS he done in his past? I mean, obviously there’s stuff we’d rather our partner not know. I wouldn’t be ecstatic if guys I dated knew about me going bird watching when I was eight and becoming a member of the RSPB (complete with monthly updates, be quiet some of it was interesting) but I can’t imagine anyone judging me for it (stop judging me). I have a feeling the guy who made this comment is the type to have ‘haters’ and drink alcohol from bottles in brown paper bags while smelling of heroin and bum. If even HE’S picky about what turns him on then there’s no hope.
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8) A chick that will play PS3 with me”
 
I’m ignoring this because the person in question said ‘chick’. He’s obviously not had a ‘chick’ in a while. See also; ‘bird’ and ‘the missus’. (That said, I’d overlook the names if he wanted to play Crash Bandicoot. I like Crash Bandicoot).
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9) “That early in the morning or late at night phone voice”
The voice where you sound like you’ve deep throated 15 cigarettes? The voice where you sound like the love child of Frank Bruno and Bet Lynch? The very same voice that squeaks “WhatisitwhyareyouringingIdon’tknowwhatshappeningfuckI’mlatecoronationteapartySamsung’ when you answer the phone because you’ve forgotten how to work your tongue? Yeah it’s dead sexy that. I believe this man’s probably referring to the fake, sultry voice we practise 5 nanoseconds before answering the phone.
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10) “A woman who doesn’t need make-up and keeps it simple”
What looks bare-faced and smells bare-faced? That’s right! A girl with make-up on. Sorry to break it you to, but very rarely will the girl you’re in the early stages of dating be fresh-faced when she says she is. Lesson: What she says; “Oh don’t loooook at me, I’m not wearing any make-up”. What she means; “Oh shiiiiiiit, that tiny bit of make-up I dabbed on probably just rubbed off and now I look like crap so I’ll just tell you I haven’t got any on.” If a girl gets out the shower after impromptu wet ‘n’ wild sex looking the same as when she jumped in, then she’s a keeper. OR, she knew to wear stay-put foundation and waterproof mascara just in case like the rest of us. If you don’t believe me, next time you hear this declaration, grab her chops and rub a towel ove… actually don’t. Unless she’s got the early onset on Alzheimers you’ll be in huge trouble. And if she HAS got the early onset on Alzheimers then come on mate… get her to a doctor.
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11) “A girl walking around in my t-shirt”
 
A lot of women’s magazines give out pointers on how to appear adorable so men will want you for a girlfriend (I know, it’s weird). The top three will always be ‘walk on tiptoes’, ‘do a cute yawn-stretch’ and ‘wear one of his t-shirts’. No-one notices when I walk on tiptoes because I’m knee high to a gnat’s cock. Cute yawn-stretches make me look like I’m pushing my breasts into your breakfast. But I will borrow your t-shirt please. Not because I want to be your girlfriend, but because I love baggy things with ‘Wayne’s World’ splashed across the front. Please don’t get pissy if I rub fake tan on it though.

So there we have it… it’s not all about sexy underwear, tasteful lighting and friction… who knew? Turns out you’re better off taking life advice from O.J Simpson than men on Twitter. Guarantee the next man I date likes the spinning on the cock thing. Wish me luck… it ain’t gonna be pretty.

So… I haven’t written anything in a while because I got a new job. This means I don’t get to eat multi packs of Wotsits while staring at girls’ boobs and watching hilarious cat videos all day anymore, I actually have to do stuff. But tonight, I’m going to give it a whirl. And I thought, seeing as I’ve been single for two years now (I know, I’m basically Cliff Richard, but just a lot less gay), I’m going to talk about…

What I’ve learnt from dating this year (you might have already guessed that from the title… well done you)

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1) The *second* you buy nice underwear, you’re cursed.

We’ve all been there… you’re looking through your knicker drawer and there’s a choice of Banana Man pants, a nice silky bra that doesn’t have matching knickers because you lost them behind a bin in Malia and an Ann Summers leotard you wore age 18 which makes you look more whoretacular than Jodie Marsh’s clit ring (disclosure: she may not *have* a clit ring). So… you venture out to buy some nice new sets of underwear, because the guy you’ve been dating suggested a ‘DVD night’ and we all know that’s code… only to never, EVER end up using it. You’ll either decide you don’t actually want to bump uglies, or he’ll bin you or you’ll meet unexpectedly in a bar a few days later when you’re full to the brim on vodka tonics and not give the slightest toss that you’re wearing massive period pants because all the rest were in the wash and go home with him (Men, you probably won’t be aware of what period pants ARE. Apologies for that. Women you most definitely will).

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2) Some men might dump you on your Birthday.

This one’s self-explanatory. In fairness, I did seek revenge by drunkenly pretending I was horse, cantering up and kicking him hard and this is why I’m single isn’t it oh god.

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3) Men are like boomerangs.

I have a slight problem. A guy can be going great guns up the ‘Yeah, He Doesn’t Annoy Me’ scale only to fall riiiiight back down to the bottom again after one minor slip-up. This can be anything. He might have a weird laugh. He might think it’s OK to drop a ‘lol’ into conversation. He might speak to shop assistants just that little bit too much and make us all feel uncomfortable and it’s over. Done and dusted. Then, you’ll be sitting at home eating cheesy mashed potato on the stairs with a spoon or watching your Band Of Brothers boxset, only to have a ‘oh hi stranger ;)’ text flash up. I genuinely think a bloke would have to catch a girl rimming Dean Gaffney before he’d stop sporadically getting in contact and even THEN I’m not 100% sure.

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4) A lot of men just… well… aren’t very interesting.

I won’t moan on about this for too long because obviously there are some guys who are REALLY brilliant. But I do tend to meet humans who are about as fun as a tour round the house Ann Frank was cooped up in. If you’re like that to talk to, we’ll just imagine your penis puffs out dust and wailing ghouls as opposed to bodily fluids and attempt to find a way to back out of date numero deux. Which leads me to…

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5) It’s very, VERY rare to find fit and funny.

If you have a boyfriend who’s hot and makes you laugh ’til you get that horrible ‘oh hang on, right I need to stop laughing or I’m actually going to..shit a bit came out’ feeling then nail his knackers to your bedpost. On an average night out, the majority of us will either be working out a way to create Bernard’s Watch, stop time and flee the bejesus away from a beautiful man who keeps chatting to us about how much he can bench press or wondering, could we? COULD WE fancy the guy with the multicoloured glasses who’s really making us laugh with his dinosaur impressions?  If you have a hot and hilarious, marry them. And then when they die, preserve them for scientific purposes thank you.

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6) You might have a type, leave it. If only for a second.

I have a pretty strict type, a mould if you will. But this year, for no particular reason, I dated a few that were completely and utterly nowhere near it. And it was nice! Normally go for a dark haired guy? Try a blonde. Always a fan of sporty men? Try someone who throws a ball like your nan. Like being weed on in bed? Try not being weird. It sounds silly, but you can learn from even the shortest, strangest, most abysmal relationships and sticking to what you know isn’t always the way. That said, if Spencer from Made In Chelsea grinds his smarm-leaking cock against you, back the heck away. No-one needs that.

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7) Don’t ever doubt a man’s determination to bed you.

Don’t think I really need to go into this further. Let’s just say a five date rule is POINTLESS. Oh, and if a man thinks he’s in with a shot, some might forget to mention they’ve got four children and a girlfriend.

Image8) Some people will date for the sake of dating.

Some girls (I’m afraid it is usually girls), get involved with men just so they’ve got someone. I’ve never really understood this… if it was a toss up between sitting on my own or listening to someone I didn’t really care about jabber on about how far he got in Tekken Warcraft Sims of Duty then I’d pick being lonesome. Although, after two long term relationships I can confirm the best way to appreciate your own company is to share a flat with a partner who shouts “POLICE, CAMERA, ACTION’S ON IN 5 MINUTES” while you’re trying to have a wee (that means poo obviously. I just can’t say that because I’m a girl).

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9) It’s really, really fun to date no-one.

That’s right. For quite a while, I had a dating cull. And my flaps didn’t fall off or ANYTHING, it was actually really nice. I didn’t have to send mindless texts to boys who were really gorgeous but couldn’t quite grasp that ‘alot’ isn’t a word, I didn’t have to put up with ingrown hairs thanks to incessant shaving, nor did I have to make sure my tweets were toned down in case he ran for the hills. Luckily, I have a few close friends whose love lives are equally barren so we could all drink cocktails and laugh about vibrators together (drink Peroni and play darts) so I didn’t feel like I was missing out on anything. Sometimes when I needed a bin bag putting outside it was a bit tough but I got through it (left it for someone else to do).

Image10) Didn’t do a number ten because I really want to go and make some dinner but here’s a photo of a monkey holding a dog.

Just to finish off, I know this works for both sexes. I don’t think for a second that guys have it easy… nightclubs up and down the country are full with girls who could easily compete for the top spot in a Miss Dagenham contest and I don’t envy you attempting to make lame small talk with them at ALL. I just ask that you don’t mention how much you bench press.

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