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Posts Tagged ‘Success’

Me in 5 Years?

I actually picked up 20p off the floor today. It’s come to that.

Before you judge me, let it be known I gave it a hand sanitiser bath before popping it into my purse next to that losing lottery ticket I couldn’t quite bring myself to throw away.

Who knew you can’t get a loan for a Masters? Not me. Hats off to NatWest really for allowing me an overdraft the size of Brazil. Not that I’m worried about it or anything, I love a good challenge, and digging my self out of that one, is going to be just that.

I remember earning some money somewhere along the way, but since the only thing I ever invested in was my feet, we’re back to square one. My maths is rusty at best, so correct me if I’m wrong, but with the help of my blackberry’s calculator I worked out that over the years, I’ve spent approximately £3000 on shoes.

My next pair perhaps?

Now, I didn’t want to have to whip out the finger of blame, but I’m convinced that my parents have been encouraging this unfortunate obsession on the basis that without savings I’d be forced to live with them until the age of 35.

To any other culture this would seem an inprobable explanation, but us Greeks like our kids where we can see them. Where we can ensure they are eating four square meals a day, and only bringing home acceptable suitors (wealthy bankers who grown their own tomato plants and are in possession of a stereotypically Mediterranean  long baby finger nail).

“Love grows” my Grandma tells me, “what you need is stability”. They may as well give up this pretence of happiness altogether and nudge me down the aisle, to Abba’s Money Money Money proving my fellow students right once and for all.

I should elaborate. Way back when in sixth form, I had been voted “Most Likely To Marry For Money”. I personally don’t know where they got such an idea.

Yes I’d like to be rich, who wouldn’t? (Walk in wardrobe’s don’t build themselves you know). And yes it’s probably going to take me a while (because as I’ve discovered, working in the media industry involves a lot of working for free). And okay, if I were the “sleep your way to the top” type of girl I’d probably get there a lot faster. But damn it my morals are always getting in the way of an easy life.

So until success busts a groove over to my ends, London keep dropping those 20p’s and I’ll keep picking them up. And one day, when I can spare them, perhaps I’ll drop a few back.

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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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Got My Heart.

Commercial radio stations are like my Mecca. I am a radio presenter, if not in practicality then definitely at heart. So perhaps it was apt that my visit today was to Heartfm.

Whilst in my dreams I am the voice London wakes up to, London eats lunch with and London drives home to – in reality I am a masters student. Keenly I study the art of Broadcast Journalism, hoping one day to be massive (career wise of course, though with my muffin addiction you just never know).

Sitting upstairs in conference room one, I wonder if anyone would notice if I kidnapped one of the presenters downstairs and took their place. I feel they probably would.

In my mind I script what I would say if by some bout of insanity they offered us a go on the mic. It’s possible, I tell myself, perhaps Heart radio are in the market for some fresh new talent.

“Good morning London” I mentally recited, “if you’re not a morning person you’ll be happy to know it’s just gone 12o’clock”. I looked up to check I hadn’t started to accidentally reel my little speech aloud; since no one seemed to so much as throw me a glance, I felt free to continue talking in my most radio-ey mental voice. “This is Miranda Athanasiou and you’re listening to heart-fm”, because yes that’s right up here I’m a kick-arse real life presenter for a real life radio station.

“If you’re wondering who to thank for this mornings sunshine, that would be me. The rain was depressing me so I had a word”. No, no. Sounds like I’m trying too hard. I’ll have to work on that.

I could do it better. I know I could. Something about seeing that bright red LIVE light puts an end to my usually mad ramblings and gives birth to a very cool, very witty young lady. While being opinionated hasn’t much helped in my venture to find a man, in my bid to get my dream job, I feel my liability becomes advantageous.

The beautiful blonde newsreader whose name I have forgotten asks us what we want to do after our degrees. “I’m going to be a radio presenter” I say. “Going to be?” someone laughs. Mentally I am not always so confident, but uncertainty gets you no where, so I try to convince myself more than anyone that dedication is all you need to succeed.

And if I’m mistaken about this, I think for now I’d rather be oblivious. Allow me to sit at home, sip tea from my new bright red ‘more music variety’ mug and ponder how happy I’ll be when I get to talk to the world.

Tea, 2 1/2 sugars, strong.

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