Facebook Rules

In the era of social networking, have you ever thought about how your chosen networking site gives away your age? If you have a Bebo account, then you must be a teenager. If you use Facebook to inform your friends of your mood, activities and photos then you are almost definitely in the 17 - 30 age range. Finally, if you still keep up your Friends Reunited profile, then move-over and accept that middle age is fast approaching, if not already a reality.

The boom of social networking over recent months and years is continuing, and today, life in London for a 20-something revolves around Facebook more than it ever has. My friends don't email any more, they post on my wall. They don't look at the expression on my face, they just check my status. They don't send me a birthday card, they just send me a 'gift' online.

For all its sins, social networking offers wonderful entertainment opportunities for the nosy amongst us. How many of you can admit to not checking out the profile of an old friend.... a colleague.... an ex?


Despite this, I think it's time that people stopped networking online and remembered how to conduct a conversation face-to face. Goodness knows what will happen next.... anonymous blogs? What a disgrace.

I'm back

Yuppie Girl is back. Two years on from my last blog, a lot has happened. I'm now fully qualified in my chosen profession and living with my very own Yuppie Boy! I should call him a man really, but given that I've labelled myself Yuppie Girl I'm going to stick with Boy for consistency.

After briefly venturing into the world of co-habitation with two other people (far too cramped), we decided to branch out into our own one bedroom flat (rental of course - the credit crunch affects yuppies too). The joy of leaving the world of flat-sharing cannot be described! I have quite happily given up what began in university halls eight years ago and was so much fun for so many years. How on earth did I tolerate the mess, noise and bad habits of others for so many years?!

Some of my 'favourite' (I use this term loosely) memories of my co-habitation years would have to be:

- Having to label all food items with my initials at university (and this often not stopping the hungry boys from helping themselves);

- Learning to sleep through the 2am fire alarm bells as my co-habitees felt the need to test the alarm after returning from a night out;

- My wonderful Aussie flatmate whose friend was supposed to stay on the lounge floor for three days and asked to stay for six weeks.. we kicked him out after one!

- Learning to live with grime and dust because on principal, I'm not cleaning up other people's mess!

Bitter? Intolerant? Me? Never. Either way, I've now closed the door on the world of sharing and fully embraced my new living arrangements. Having more disposable income than when I first ventured into the Big City, flat hunting was decidedly more exciting this time around. It took three viewings, not thirty, to find our new abode, and rather disappointingly it also involved a bidding war with Yuppie Couple number two.

So, I now live with my other half and no longer have exams to moan about, but much has remained the same. I'm still in the same job, the same neighbourhood, and the same position - yuppie-dom.

Back to Reality

Having been safe in the realms of studying and holiday for over 2 months, the time has come to finally return to the office.

Having had a fairly slow week, it is now Friday, and given that I am finding time to write this entry, and even slower friday.

Despite feeling fairly motivated about my job (despite a recent lack of pay rise), it doesn't make me jump up and down with excitement, and I'm wondering if this is a common feeling among yuppies.

I know that my boyfriend doesn't find his job particularly enthralling, and neither do some of my friends, so I decided to call upon some job satisfaction statistics.

After a quick Google search, I was directed to the UK National Statistics website to be told that in 1998, 47% of employees surverys were "satisfied" with their jobs. This doesn't strike me as a high enough percentage.

In search of something a bit more up to date and specific, I found a survey by Accountancy Age magazine from Autumn 2005.

It turns out that 74% percent of us would recommend our company (I would) and 56% of us wish to stay with our company (I do).

So why am I moaning, you ask? Perhaps because no one has asked me to take part in such a survey. In my line of business we regularly perform "client satisfaction surveys" to guage the happiness of our clients. Now why don't they do that with their staff?

Summer in the City

As we bask in the hotest July on record (or whatever.. I'm sure this happens every year), I've decided to share my thoughts on London parklife.

Having no beach / countryside / garden or even balcon at my disposal, the park has become my new best friend. I picnic in the park, I party in the park, I even blog in the park.

Last week it was the turn of Green Park - vast and central, this is a mecca for the office workers of the capital. Which is precisely why you shouldn't go there. Try Brighton beach, it will be less crowded.

Yesterday it was St James' Park - easily the most regal, with views of the palace - you might even spot a Corgi or two.

But the best park of all has to be Primrose Hill - snobbery and serenity in one!

Living 5 minutes down the road, I spend a lot of time there, and yet my celebrity spotting tally still stands at nil.

Jamie Oliver, Gwen Steffani, Jeremy Edwards, Hugh Lawrie.. all local reisdents and regular park frequenters, who are also regularly spotted by everyone apart from me.

Perhaps if I spent less time picnicing / partying / blogging and more time on the lookout things might be different...

Exams are the story of my life

Today I've been wondering if I can count the number of exams I have sat in my whole life.

I'm referring to external exams. Serious exams. Exams which dictate your future. Not school tests, or ballet exams, or even your driving test.

It all started with the Richmond Tests, when I was probably 9 or 10 years old. I remember these well because it was multiple choice and I rather enjoyed colouring in the relevant 'dot' with a pencil on my answer sheet.

The 11+ shortly followed - the first exam of many that would dictate my educational path, and potentially the most important. Had I failed this exam, would I be a Yuppie now?

I'm excluding SATs from this calculation, because I do not believe they are an accurate enough measure of achievement, and they certainly don't dictate your future. (For any American's reading this blog, a SAT in the UK is a very different type of exam to that in the US, and does not secure university entry.)

The next big thing was GCSEs. 11 subjects in all, so I'll call that 11 exams.

Then came A-Levels - old style in my generation, none of this 'AS'-business! I studied 4 subjects, 3 of which comprised 6 modules and 1 of which comprised 2 modules, that totals 20 exams in all.

University! I cannot justifiably include my first and second year exams in this tally, as they didn't really shape my future any more than letting me continue at university. The 12 exams I sat in my final year were the longest and most exhausting effort to date however, so I will definitely include those.

Total so far = 45 big, important and scary exams.

Now most people would stop there, but me? No. I am crazy enough to submit myself to yet more punishment with a professional qualification.

That adds 6 exams to my total of 45, but it still doesn't add any letters after my name..

...and that's because there are 3 exams left to sit.

2 of those fall in just 14 days time.

Time to do what I've been practising all of my life.. revise.

Its party season

Last night I attended a summer ball with my boyfriend. He's a yuppie too.

It was his work annual summer ball, and in true London yuppie style, it was virtually identical to the one we attended 10 days ago for my work. Same venue, same tuxedos, same casinos and chocolate fountains and fairground rides. We posed for the photographer in the same pose, although this time refused to pay £10 for the print (yuppie salaries aren't what some might think they are). At least I wore a different dress.

Despite all these identical parties however, I had a fantastic time! Some may shy away at the prospect of attending a party of 1000 people where your other-half is the only familiar face, but it was actually quite relaxing to know no-one there. No bosses to chat to and impress before you've had too much to drink, no-one to judge you for what you are wearing or how you've styled your hair.

We played an interesting game of averages - namely, batting above one's average. Could we find a couple where one partner was distinctly out of the other partner's league? This purpose of this game is to try and answer the question of whether or not in todays upwardly mobile society, there is such a thing as "leagues". Can a girl from a working class background who has made it to yuppie land, meet a old-Etonian and live happily ever after? Or, as was our question last night, will a pretty girl fall in love with a ugly man, or vice versa?

Despite our searching, we found only one mis-matched couple (ourselves being equated on both the looks and family background front) - she was slim and pretty, he was fat and well, not exactly handsome. However, it was easy to see that they were having a lot more fun that some of the gloomy faced couples with the well-matched pretty-genes.

The conclusion here? In the world of identical parties, featuring a crowd of identical yuppies, it was very refreshing to see a non-identical couple. And a happy one at that.

Hair Removal

Hair removal cream that stays on the shower.

That's what screamed at me from the packaging in Superdrug this morning. Well, that along with the bright pink £1 off label on the shelf. So obviously the combination of money off, something new and a a pink label meant I automatically purchased this tube of water-resistant chemicals.

I got home and poured over the instructions.. apply and leave for one minute before showering, leave for at least a further two minutes but under no circumstances more than 6 minutes. (No-one told me I would need a waterproof stopwatch too.) Always use the sponge (also pink) to apply the cream, and avoid contact with the a direct stream of water (that would be the shower then).

Anyway, in no time my calves are coated in cream (you guessed it, also pink) and after carefully guessing that one minute had elapsed I stepped into the shower. To try and guestimate my 2-6 minute window for the magic to work, I thought I'd shampoo and rinse my hair - surely that takes roughly that long? (Apart from when I'm late for work..) Whilst rinsing my hair, the water (as expected) runs all down the back of my legs and rinses off the cream! Charming.

So I admit defeat and use my nice pink sponge to wipe off the remaining pink cream. Much to my surprise my left leg is actually looking pretty good, but my right leg appears to have grown more hairs than when I first started!

Unsure of what my boyfriend will make of my new lopsided look, I reached for the pink razor....