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Archive for January, 2011

I’m a girl who likes her meat.

Don’t look at me like that, as a Cypriot I was brought up believing two things. The first is that anything edible can and should be barbequed. The second is that nothing compliments meat, like another side of meat.

You can imagine my concern therefore upon up-taking a two week vegetarian challenge, that the burger cravings might kill me. There was an honest moment of panic where I seriously considered carrying chicken slices around in my purse for emergencies, (I was however dissuaded by the prospect of hungry dogs chasing me down the street).

I also decided to document my progress as I went along, so my story would live on if I did not survive the challenge:

Day 1: To be honest I don’t see what all the panic was about. Scrambled eggs, boiled eggs, poached eggs, fried eggs… my solution to a vegetarian life. And I am happy in the knowledge that my lunch is only a fertilisation away from being real meat.

Day 4: Drove past KFC today. A little part of me wanted to do a head drive through their front window and live happily ever after with a bucket of chicken wings.

Day 5: My parents made steak for Sunday dinner. Twenty-one years of Sunday dinner and I don’t once remember seeing a steak. A blatantly tactical move to make me suffer. They bought me quorn. It tasted a little like breaded cardboard, but one jug of gravy later and I was a Yorkshire pudding away from a Sunday Roast.

Day 6: Started work experience at London Greek Radio in Finchley. I work oposite Nandos, McDonalds and Chimi Changa. My mouth could be having a chicken enduced party right now. Instead I’m eating a cheese salad sandwhich from the Cafe next door.

Day 8: I dreamt of burgers last night. No, seriously, I did.

Day 11: I accidentally burnt everyone’s dinner. They ate blackened lasagne and suddenly my little quorn burgers are looking very appealing to them. Unintentional revenge. Ha.

Day 13: Went for a curry with my girls. Now for the record, curry without meat is just vegetables with sauce. I’m just saying if I wanted mushy potatoes blended with onions and peas, I could have saved myself twenty quid and eaten processed baby food.

Day 14: Eggs, Peanut butter, pasta, bread, cheese, chocolate and about fifteen teas a day are what got me this far. There is a strong possibility that a permanent vegetarian lifestyle would be a short stop away from obesity for me. And having lived in the body of a chubby teenager I can confirm the double-chin look does very little for me.

Two weeks later and I’m just about ready for an onion-smothered hot dog.

Do I feel bad for eating meat? When I was younger I used to, I can’t say that I do any more. If I had a pet cow or sheep I don’t doubt I’d change my mind again, but seeing as my garden isn’t big enough for either, that’s not an immediate issue of mine.

As for my experience, what can I say…

Do I think I could live without meat? Yes.

Do I want to? No.

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I’ve never been a fan of metrosexuality; there’s something distinctly unattractive about a man who takes several hours longer than me to get ready for a night out.

My advice would be, if it takes longer than ten minutes to fix your hair in the morning, cut it off. If you have a deeply receding hairline, just own it and shave it off. And lastly if you plan to kiss a girl, she’s probably going to want to run her fingers through your hair, when she does this, she doesn’t want to get stuck in there, so seriously, go easy on the hair gel.

Shower. Every day. Don’t look at me like that. You may think this is common sense, but millions of others don’t. Having lived in halls of residence way back in my first year of university I learnt many things: canned spaghetti bolognaise takes a lot like boiled tomatoes, 100 shots of beer will probably make you sick, and men do not wash nearly as often as us women would like to think.

Also, I’m not sure if this turning-your-boxers-inside-out rumour is true, but I’m telling you from now, short of chlamydia, skid-marks on the outside of your boxers are about the least sexy thing a woman can find down there. There is never a good enough excuse for this. Someone broke into your house and stole every last piece of clothing you own? Manufacture a man-diaper out of towels if you have to, and waddle over to your nearest Primark.

Being an innocent and virtuous girl, I am in no position to confirm this, however I have it on good authority that some men don’t taste great. Don’t all rush for the Listerine; I’m not talking about your mouths. What you eat effects your body fluids, so perhaps instead of three burgers a day, consider switching over to a salad every once in a while. I’ve heard pineapple also works wonders, so how about you give it a go?

I know what you’re thinking, sounds like a lot of unnecessary work made up by women to feel like their men are contributing something to the relationship. And I suppose that’s fair enough, but next time your misses is ‘too tired’ to give you a little BJ, you’re going to have to wonder if some melon for breakfast would have resulted in a three-course orgasm for lunch.

Every woman likes a man who knows how to dress well; but when it comes down to it we’re all much more concerned about what’s underneath the Armani shirt. Every girl is different, some like men who wear designer brands; others really couldn’t care less what the guy wears as long as his mother didn’t make it.

Personally I have a particular aversion to men wearing pink or baby blue. But let’s be honest, if a girls been single for a while, upon meeting an attractive man, unless he’s wearing bright tangerine with baby pink trimmings, she probably wouldn’t care less about what he’s wearing.

Of course everyone’s different and the girls like myself who want Manolo Blahnik’s more than they want children are probably shallow enough to be a little put off by a man who dresses badly. But I beg of you, don’t hold it against us; we also happen to be our own worst critics.

If you happen to fall for one such (slightly) shallow creature, all is not lost. When in doubt: turn to dark jeans and black shirts. As for shoes, avoid dirty white trainers and pretty much anything with tassels.

Take it from me, what my advice lacks in scientific backing, it makes up for in life experience.

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