My friend just sent me a YouTube video of a Derek Hart theory which states that there are four types of man, slotting categorically under the following headings:
After I watched it, (you can watch it too by clicking here) I found myself researching other articles about different types of men, because, realistically four categories does not seem space enough to pigeon hole all the men in the world into.
In the hook up culture of today’s millennial generation, there is an abundance of apps that make causal encounters easier than ever before, including Tinder, Bumble and Happ’n to name a few, but in a world where one night stands are a mere click away and sex is pretty much readily available, the flip side is an generation who value monogamy and fidelity more than ever.
Sat on the sofa eating Pad Thai and half watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, my good friend (who’s never short of verbal ammunition for my blog) was talking to me about newly acquired boyfriends. To be more specific, she was talking about a mutual colleague of ours who recently coupled up, and has already moved into his place after only two months of dating.
Have you ever seen the film, ‘Just Friends?, where Ryan Reynolds explains the ‘friend zone’,
“The ‘friend zone’ is like the penalty box of dating, only you can never get out. Once a girl decides you’re her ‘friend,’ it’s game over. You’ve become a complete non-sexual entity in her eyes, like her brother, or a lamp.”
Not for the first time in my life – I have found myself relegated to the friend zone. I have become like a lamp.
The past two weeks I have learned a lot of things – including that hands and feet occupy the largest area of the brain when it comes to human senses; that’s why when your shoes are hurting your feet from all that dancing or whatever, the pain feels much more unbearable. (I KNOW!!!) Even more wild than that though, is that I can now confirm that men are actually crazy. They are insane-psycho, more-issues-than-Vogue and a daily newspaper combined, whack.
Packing is high up on the list of chores that I would 110% rather not do. It features much higher than hanging up washing, and just slightly lower than mopping the floor or putting clean sheets on a super king sized duvet (alone).
But fear not, babies, for I am here to guide you through the dreaded chore. With holiday season fast approaching, I am going to tell you my own personally designed Pamela Violets ultimate guide to packing. I am going to tell you what you should be taking, and what you definitely should not be taking.
I’m sitting in a cute little cafe called Ohh Boy, in the Aminta area of Athens, smiling like a slightly crazed person. I have an iced coconut coffee next to me, a cute dog opposite me, and a bowl of greek yoghurt, fruit and honey to the left of me.
Last week I blogged about how saying ‘yes’ to things that I’d usually find an excuse not to do, was changing life for me, albeit in a short period of time. Over the past few months, I have been reading a lot of books on how not to give a fuck about all the things I have given too many fucks about for too long, and somewhere in between all those words, I think I may actually have gradually started giving less fucks.