People ask me all time what I think makes a man attractive. I can’t say. But I can say what makes a man not attractive.
Last night I was in a restaurant waiting for my friend to arrive. While I was waiting, I decided to scrutinize all the men in the room and note the most unappealing moves. There were the obvious ones: using a Blackberry, nose-picking, taking a call, etc. But there were also some lesser known moves.
If the goal is to be sexy, here is a list of things a man should never to do in a restaurant:
Licking your fingers.
A handsome man in a suit was licking his fingers after devouring a piece of shrimp tempura. Is this really necessary? That’s why God invented a napkin. Unless you’re at a Bar-B-Q, there’s no reason to lick your fingers. And even at a Bar-B-Q, if you’re over the age of ten, it’s questionable.
Using a breadstick to emphasize your point
Batting the air with a breadstick does not enhance your masculinity. Neither does pretending you’re a conductor and waving it in front of an invisible orchestra while you speak. No one should require a breadstick to communicate with authority. This also applies to a chopstick.
Reading the menu out loud
There was a couple on a date and the man was shouting the menu across the table even though the woman he was with was neither deaf, nor four. She was looking down, reading it for herself. He wasn’t suggesting things either or making comments along the way. He was simply reciting it to her. And because she was British, she was too polite to tell him to stop. Nothing is less attractive than a man yelling: “Shi-tacky mushrooms”
Admiring oneself in the mirror
There was a long mirror on the wall behind the banquette and men were seated facing it. Most of them were doing a good job of discreetly glimpsing every now and again. But one man in particular was clearly struggling with having to look at his date. The only thing less attractive then a man looking in the mirror while at dinner is a man looking in the mirror at another woman who’s just walked in.
Gargling the wine
Chipmunk cheeks are not sexy. Swishing liquid around in your mouth is not an attractive move. If we’re married and you’re in front of the bathroom sink with a mouthful of Listerine, naked, it’s cute. If you’re in a restaurant, gargling the first taste of wine it’s not cute. It’s annoying. You can taste it without swishing it. Take a sip like a normal person.
Slurping
If you’ve ordered a drink that comes with a straw, there is no reason to for anyone to hear you consume those last few sips. Let them go. Or, order a new drink and start over. There is no woman who will find this attractive, Unless she’s looking for Homer Simpson.
If she asks the following questions:
1. Why didn't you answer your phone?
2. Why didn't you call me back?
3. What are you thinking about?
4. What are you feeling?
5. Who were you talking to?
6. Can I talk to you for a second?
7. Did you miss me?
8. Do you love me?
9. Do you mean it?
10. Are you listening?
11. What did I just say?
12. Can you turn the TV off?
13. Do I look good in this?
14. Can I get a backrub?
15. What's the offside rule?
Read why a woman is hard work
If you’ve ever been invited to something and you don’t want to go, it’s hard to know what to say. The truth? That never seems like a good idea. Try telling someone you just don’t want to go out. Unless you follow it with a detailed explanation and are able to argue your case like a skilled trial attorney, it's not going to work. The most common excuse is “I feel sick.” But everyone knows that’s code for: I’m not really sick.
Here are some excuses that might elicit a more understanding response:
1. I can’t go out, I went out last month.
2. My doorknob is broken – I’m locked in.
3. There’s a spot on my face. I think it might be Chicken Pox. Which is contagious.
4. I’m expecting a phone call from Madonna in Malawi.
5. I might be inspired to write something so I have to stay near a computer
6. My boiler broke and I haven’t had a shower for weeks.
7. The boiler repair man is here and I can’t leave him alone
8. I’m practicing staying home for when I have children
9. An hour from now I predict I’ll be very depressed. You won’t want to be around me.
10. I've taken a vow of silence. Except to tell you I can't go out.
** And to get uninvited: “Do you mind if I bring along Heather Mills?”
Because they want a quiet life. And they can’t handle women’s explosive emotions.
This is what I’ve been told. From a variety of different men in a variety of different circumstances.
Really? If this is true, then it implies men feel they are consistently at a disadvantage. Falling short, never doing enough, and always - on the defensive.
Or maybe they lie to get away with stuff. Maybe not revealing something is about feeling in control. But then maybe when a women asks, “Who was that on the phone?” she isn’t being a nag…she's curious.
When a man says he lies because he wants a quiet life – it suggests he had no choice.
And then even if he accepts responsibility for the lie, that’s only because it’s part of the strategy for achieving quiet life status.
So lying is the armour they wear to protect themselves from women who occupy the moral high-ground. But are women really to blame for putting men in this position?
When I lie it’s for self-preservation.
Having watched Heather Mills on television this week, one thing was clear. Heather Mills is better than me. Why? Because she gives. She gives to charity. Who do I give to? No one. And not only am I am not giving to charity, but I’m not talking non-stop about how much I give to charity either.
Because if you’re going to give to charity, the main thing is to talk about it. People need to know how generous and caring you are. What kind of humanitarian doesn’t publicize their good deeds? It hardly counts if you’re not mentioning it every chance you get.
What’s the point of marrying a billionaire icon if you can’t let the world know you’re arguing about how he’s not giving enough to charity. If there’s any argument worth having, that’s the one.
If I ever marry an ex-Beatle billionaire icon I can only hope I’d be magnanimous enough to argue about that. I’d probably end up arguing with him about insignificant, selfish things. Like his snoring too loud. Or forgetting we had a fifth house. And then when we got divorced and I played the tapes I’d secretly made of us arguing, who would care?
A friend of mine recently got divorced. She bought an Apple iphone. We met for dinner and she showed it to me. She seemed happy. She could point her finger at a name or number in her address book and not have to dial.
A few days later she called me in tears. She left it in a taxi. “Where are you calling from?” I asked. It was a sensible question. She was calling from her land line at home. I felt good knowing she knew my number by heart.
But she was upset. Losing her iphone was worse than her divorce.
She could rebuild her life without her husband. But rebuilding her life without her address book? That was unbearable.
When someone has lost something by accident, there will always be someone who points out it’s their own fault. What good does that do? When I thought I lost my computer, a man standing on the immigration line said, “If it mattered that much to you, you would have taken better care of it.”
Why was he saying this? Scolding me. He wasn’t my father. I have difficulty with these people. I try to block them out but I can’t. I looked at him and said, “You must be perfect. You must never make a mistake. That must be nice. But don’t lecture me.”
He didn’t know what to say after that.
If there was a fire and I lost all my stuff, I wouldn’t care. I would start over. I can’t think of anything I would miss that I couldn’t replace. What difference does it make holding on to photographs? I have a memory.
When you think about it, aside from a human being or an animal, what is there really worth saving?
Sometimes someone will say something and immediately, I’ll lose interest in continuing the rest of the conversation.
A few years ago I went out with a man who ended a message on my answering machine with “rock on”
As in, “I’ll try you again tomorrow….rock on.”
What’s wrong with good-bye? Or nothing at all. Just hang up. We weren’t meant to be.
I’ve discussed this with a few of my friends and I’m not alone. Certain sayings can be an instant turn off.
Here is a partial, not comprehensive, list of things people should stop saying:
1. Pardon my French (after cursing)
2. Anyhoo
3. We’re not in Kansas anymore
4. Rock on
5. What’s the plan Stan?
6. Give me a shout
7. Fancy Shmancy
8. I’m just calling to say howdy
9. Hell-o?
10. Who’d of thunk it?
People in London have been curious. What was it like to pitch a TV show in LA, they ask. I tell them it’s a lot like being the guest of honor at a dinner party. And everyone is eagerly waiting for you to get to the funny part of the story, looking at you, waiting to laugh. Only no one is drunk.
Just before the meeting begins, an assistant will ask if you like your bottle of water room temperature or chilled. A friend of mine says he always messes this part up and asks for: “A little bit of both.”
I suggest preparing. If you have sensitive teeth, as I do, room temperature is best.
Once the meeting begins, the agents will greet the executives and the executives will greet the agents and then everything will get very quiet as people sit down, exhale, and stare at you. There’s a lot of performing involved in pitching. The goal is to get people really excited about your idea – which is the exact opposite of what I’m good at. If only it was about finding reasons why something won't work.
If the aim is to pitch a TV show that someone's interested in, I can't help. But here are some tips on what not to say:
1. I can’t really explain it, but trust me, it’s funny.
2. Does everything always have to be successful?
3. After watching this show, people will feel miserable.
4. I heard you passed on CSI
5. People say I’m difficult to work with but I don’t think I am.
6. You look so much like my nana
7.. Before I tell you my idea, let’s talk about Burma
8.. Is it true you’re the person who tried to kill Seinfeld?
9. There’s nothing sexy about this show.
10. I think we might have the same psychopharmacologist!
People have been writing about the "spontaneous" phone call Rudy Guiliani took from
his wife during his NRA speech as though it was real.
It would have been great if it had been for real. That would have been something I could respect. A man who is available to answer his cell phone any time? It doesn't get any better then that.
What's his position on gun control? Who cares! He answers his phone no matter where he is or what he's doing. Too bad it was fake. Every woman who has ever gone straight to voice mail would have voted for him.
I am the world’s worst blogger. Which is pretty bad if you consider how many millions of people have blogs..
People who procrastinate are misunderstood. Just because we don’t do something doesn’t mean we’re not thinking about it. And feeling guilty.
Thank you to everyone who wrote me about my Andrew Smith piece...
Time passes. It was April a few months ago and now it’s August.
What have I been doing? I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about all the things I have to do. I’m good at putting things off. It’s kind of a skill. How is this going to help me in life? It’s not.
I will now answer some of the questions I am frequently asked:
Why don’t you get Skype?
Because I’m afraid of technology. And I enjoy using the telephone.
Have you seen Facebook?
No. Even though it sounds like the ideal social situation for me because it means not having to get dressed or leave the house - I prefer to think of all the people out there I am not connecting with and all the opportunities I am missing out on.
What about Hilary Clinton’s cleavage?
I find it disturbing that everyone is so focused on this when choosing to wear a pink blazer is the real issue.
Worry of the day: working on my laptop is giving me a hump..
Last night I was on a flight that had digital TV service. At first I was excited to watch. What a mistake. There was a story on CNN about drunken pilots. One pilot had poured vodka into his Starbucks coffee cup. Another had to be driven to the airport because he wasn’t sober enough to drive on his own. How is it that my 4 oz of Metrogel gets confiscated because we're only allowed 3.5 ounces (even though it was half empty) but the person flying the plane can get through intoxicated?
Passengers never know what really goes on when they fly. Part of the same story talked about how air traffic controllers often get less than 3 hours of sleep then do back-to-back 8 hour shifts. I switched the channel.
Next was the Weather Channel and the headline was: Severe Weather Alert – don’t fly if you don’t have to.
I changed to E! Entertainment news. Halle Berry has revealed that at one point, she thought about suicide. Who hasn’t? I’m wondering what the thought was that entered her head that stopped her. Maybe it was: What am i doing? I’m hot!
Then there was story on Heather Mills. Every day in America there is something on her and her courage. She was on the Ryan Seacrest show and someone called in and said they had initially made a judgment on her based on what she read in the papers and now that she knows the ‘real’ Heather, she just wanted to apologize to her on behalf of the whole country. Heather breaks down and starts crying and says how all she ever did was fall in love with someone and give up seven years of her life for him. Then, her surgeon talks about the operation she just had to “heroically" allow her to appear on Dancing with the Stars.
What else. On Fox news the big story was on Imus – an American radio talk show host – being fired for making nasty racist comments. So much for free speech.
There was gossip show that reported various socialites had been dancing on tables. Who dances on tables? I can't imagine what it would feel like to think: dancing on the floor isn't good enough. I need to be on top of a table.
I turned the TV off and thought about a funeral I went to recently. That cheered me up. There was a liturgy available for any type of death. Someone who lost a loved one too early or death from old age, or death from an illness or death from loneliness. Loneliness? I didn't know someone could die from that….
Yesterday I was asked to comment for an article about London being superior to New York and to give some reasons as to why it’s better in London. I had a lot to say. Here are some of the things that didn’t make it into the piece:
People in New York don’t actually see each other in person. It takes weeks of scheduling and planning to meet for a coffee which at the last minute, will most likely be canceled. I have a friend who lives in my building – one floor above – and we e mail when we are both at home. Every so often we’ll talk on the phone. But I haven’t seen him in months.
Everyone says how exciting it is that New York is a 24 hour city but I’ve never understood the appeal. Do you really need to have a gym open at 3 AM? I like that in London, things shut down at 11pm. When I wake up in the middle of the night I never wonder what everyone else is doing. I know what they’re doing: sleeping.
Complaining is how most New Yorkers communicate. Myself included. The only people in NY not complaining are the Brits but that’s just because they haven’t been there long enough. After a few years in New York, the neurosis kicks in and they start going to doctors, discussing ailments, hating themselves – then they get back to London and the anxiety lifts.
Also, Londoners don't go to doctors as often as New Yorkers do so as a result, there is much less talk in general about sickness.
In London, you'd need to know someone for years before they would mention (which would take place in person) a medical procedure they've had. Whereas in New York, you can ask a stranger on the elevator how they're doing and they'll tell you they've just had a biopsy.
Actually, I kind of like that about New York...
A few weeks ago in New York I was a leaving a restaurant when the manager asked how the meal was. So, I told him I thought the appetizer salad was overpriced for what it was. Four pieces of romaine lettuce for $15? “There should at least be a slice of tomato.” I smiled. He didn’t.
“On the other hand, “ I added, “The lighting in the ladies room was perfect.”
He had no idea what a huge compliment that was. But that's because most restaurant people don’t understand what a difference it makes. When I go to the loo to wash my hands, if I can’t see myself in the mirror or, even worse, if I can see too much of myself – it sets my mood for the rest of the meal.
The whole point of going to the ladies room is to look in the mirror while washing germs off our hands. If it was just about peeing, we’d wait until we got home.
When someone is hired to design the lighting for a ladies loo the first question they should ask is: would I be able to tweeze my eyebrows in here?
This problem only exists in fancy restaurants because in the cheap places, there’s a light switch. The trendy places have lighting that can’t be adjusted and it’s frustrating to get in there and not be able to see. Quite often, I'll be carrying a contact lens in my hand that needs to be re-inserted. It doesn’t need to be lit like a hospital, but there should be some visibility.
In London, the lighting in Luciano’s loo is ideal. So is the lighting in the loo at Le Caprice. It’s dark enough so that you don’t see what you really look like but light enough so that you can apply eyeliner without scratching your cornea.
First, a google alert update: every alert I’ve gotten so far is for something that's appeared on the timesonline site. I already know my name will appear there. And, why am I being alerted to something that’s been on the web for ages? That’s it. Time to move on.
This past week I bought a paper shredder. Since the bank fraud incident, I’ve become even more paranoid. I didn’t think that was possible. But it is.
I’ve been shredding everything. It started with bank statements, phone bills, etc and when those were gone, I moved to junk mail and catalogues. The sound of the metal slicing the paper was so satisfying. Hearing something instantly destroyed. I couldn’t stop.
I was shredding a credit card statement when the phone rang. "Can't talk. Shredding."
I had to shred all the time. But sadly, mail only comes once a day. So I was shredding anything I could find. Thai food delivery menus? Shredded. Old photographs of ex boyfriends? Shredded. I nearly shredded my birth certificate which I thought would be kind of symbolic.
I predict in the future there will be someone on Oprah hyping Shred Therapy. People will write down their fears and unpleasant memories on flash cards, shred them, and heal.
Yesterday I was handed a flyer on the street and I held on to it and brought it home just to shred. That can't be good.
A friend of mine told me about this last night. “Every time someone mentions you on the web,” she said, “Google will send you an alert.” My first thought was, characteristically, dread. Why would I want that? All those alerts coming in all the time … it will be a distraction.
But then she pointed out maybe there’s stuff being said that I would want to know about.
“There could be a lot of people you don’t know about who don’t like you.”
So I changed my mind. Who could pass that up?
What a mistake. Now, I’m waiting. And waiting. And there hasn’t been one alert. Not one.
So depressing. I’m now obsessively checking my e mail to see who’s not talking about me.
I called my friend. “How long does it take?” I asked.
“Oh, right away. You’ll see. They pop up all the time.”
“How do you know?”
“That’s what happened to me when I put my name in.”
Maybe I didn’t do it right. So I took my name out and put in “Hillary Clinton” just to see what would happen. Before I was even done typing, there was an alert.
Now that I know it’s not broken, I put my name back and have returned to receiving nothing.
This can’t be good for my self-esteem. But I’m hanging in until I get one alert.
How long will it take? A month? A year? I’ll keep you posted….
What’s the difference between an excuse and an explanation?
The other day I was meeting someone for lunch and I was half an hour late. When I arrived, apologizing profusely, I approached the table and I could tell that whatever I was about to say wouldn’t matter. I could have been held up at gunpoint. I could have been in a car accident. I could have been in a car accident and then held up at gunpoint and I knew what his response would be. "Well you should have left earlier.”
And blaming it on traffic is the worst way to go. There’s always someone who will point out: traffic doesn’t make people late, it makes late people later.
So how far in advance am I supposed to leave to make 100% sure I’m not late? If I have a lunch plan with someone do I leave after breakfast?
But if you think about it, the person who is waiting has it easy. They’re inside, sitting at a table with a glass of wine, quietly fuming. Whereas the person who’s rushing not to be late is on the verge of a stroke. We're stuck in a tunnel of darkness underground with no way to escape, sweat dripping, the mobile has no signal and the train isn’t moving. And, worst of all, you know that when you arrive and say “The tube had delays” or “Traffic was terrible”, you might as well be saying “I don’t care about you” because that’s all they hear.
Why is it that people who are kept waiting never seem to think about the people who are late? It’s very inconsiderate.
It is 2:45 am and I have a situation. About 3 hours ago, I spotted a spider in the bedroom. I was just about to get into bed when I saw it climbing up the wall. My initial reaction was to feel grateful that I had not yet turned out the light. What if I hadn't known it was there? Thankfully, I saw it. I stood on the bed and panicked. All sorts of things went through my head.
First – the article I read in the tabloids about the invisible spider – highly poisonous - that came in a bunch of bananas and bit a woman – or was it a man – it bit someone. And they nearly died.
.
Second – I thought of a friend of mine who years ago was bitten by a brown recluse spider while she slept and then nearly lost her leg.
Third – I thought of how I could never go on I’m A Celebrity - even though I’m not a celebrity and would never be asked, it didn’t matter – the point was there are spiders in the jungle. Loads of them.
I felt a surge of admiration for all those celebrities. Even though I couldn't remember who they were.
At this point, I’m standing on the bed wondering who to call and what to do. It was too late to call a friend and, who would I call anyway? Liza in New York? She's got her own problems with mice. This is what a husband is for. I’m fine most of the time on my own but I really just need someone to deal with things like spiders in the bedroom late at night.
Someone needs to come up with a 24-hour hotline to call for Emergency spider, bug, and vermin situations.
Just then, as I’m thinking of all this…I can see that the spider has moved to the ceiling and is now sliding down. At least I think it’s the same spider. I watch as it slides - not so slowly either - inches away from where I had just been standing. It was like a horror movie.
If I hadn't moved it would have landed on me.
So now I’ll be up all night because there is no way I can go to sleep. Who can sleep with a spider in the room? It could crawl up my leg or into my ear.
I decided since I’m up all night anyway to go on the web and I googled: “Spiders in London.”
BAD IDEA. I’d thought it might be reassuring if I could spot the spider and see that it wasn’t deadly. But I hadn’t counted on all the close-up photos of all the spiders. Then, under the heading “UK Spider Bites” it said: It may come as a surprise that a dozen or more spider species resident in the UK are capable of.…
I couldn’t bring myself to click and find out the rest of that sentence.
Now it’s 3:30 am. I keep looking up at the ceiling every 5 minutes making sure there aren’t any spiders descending. This spider wasn’t tiny either. It had long longs that looked very…spidery. And, it’s still alive. Only now I don’t know where it’s gone. It could be in my boot, waiting to bite my toe.
I don’t know what to do. There are other people out there who have been in this situation, I’m sure. What happened? What did you do? Are you still alive?
All sorts of people live in my building in NY. Yesterday I was in the elevator at around 7 pm waiting for the doors to close when a man got on at the last moment and pressed 14. Normally I don't talk to people on the elevator. But he was wearing scrubs. “Are you a doctor?” I asked. He replied yes, he was. “Do you live in the building?”
He told me he did.
Suddenly, I was excited. “What kind of doctor are you?”
“I’m a gastroenterologist.”
“A gastroenterologist? I need a gastroenterologist! Can I get your card?”
He paused.
“I don’t really like to treat people who live in the building.”
“Why? Because they know where you live?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“What do you need a gastroenterologist for?”
“I think I have IBS”
“You don’t have IBS. It’s stress and diet.”
“How do you know?”
We had reached his floor and he was about to step off the elevator but not wanting to be rude, he held the door from shutting with is arm and continued the conversation.
“Why do you think it’s IBS?”
“Because I’m bloated all the time and…” Just then I realized rather than have him hold the elevator, why not get off at his floor? I stepped off the elevator.
He looked disappointed. Now we were standing in the hallway.
“I’m telling you,” he said, “It’s stress and diet.”
“What if it’s not? What if it’s colon cancer?”
“Do you have a history of colon cancer in your family?”
“No.” I paused. “Not that I know of.”
“Ok,’ he said, reaching into his pocket, and backing up. “Here’s my card. I gotta go. Dinner’s on the table”
I thanked him and when I got upstairs to my apartment, I put his card on my desk. I'll keep it but I probably won't call him. He's right, it would be weird. I don't like people checking out what I'm bringing back from the supermarket - why would I want to run into someone who knows what going on in my intestines?
I've been untangling the mess from bank fraud. Because I'm neurotic and paranoid, I have never shopped online, banked online, or used my atm/debit card for anything other than cash. Now I discover, none of that matters.
I went to the atm machine (on my birthday) and discovered my checking account had been drained. Someone cloned my banking card number and ordered thousands of dollars online from a catalogue in Paris. No one can tell me what was ordered but they think it's medical equipment. (EFM Paris?)
Everyone that I spoke to in claims, fraud, etc would look at my file and then there would be a pause. "Wow this happened on your birthday? That sucks." Thank you.
When I asked questions like, how did this happen? The response was either "We don't know" or "Any number of ways." They would then list the number of ways (such as online purchase) none of which applied to me.
When I asked how I could protect myself from this the supervisor in the claims department said, "You can't."
When I asked how I could prevent it from happening again he said, "You can't."
He told me every second of every day there's someone out there working on ways to steal my money.
Then he said: "You could keep your money under your mattress. But even that's not safe. Your apartment could burn down."
Ariel Leve is a New York based senior writer with The Sunday Times Magazine.
Together with investigative features and in-depth interviews she writes a humerous weekly column, Cassandra. She has twice been nominated for British Press Awards. This year she was highly commended as Feature Writer Of The Year. She has written comedy for television and is currently working on her first novel. Click here to read her Cassandra column
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