Chirp Chirp: Can someone please explain twitter to me?

To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, conformity is the last refuge of the unimaginative. But alas, I have become unimaginative and succumbed to social pressure. I just joined the 21st century and got myself a twitter account. #exciting!

Yes, I know I am possibly the last 20-something-social-media-entusiast in the world to get one.
Yes, I know I don’t need yet another social media outlet to procrastinate through.
No, it’s not going to stop me using twitter to procrastinate.
Yes, I know that I am very late to the party.
No, I have no idea what I am doing or how to use twitter.
Yes, the main reason I got twitter was in anticipation of 2013 #Qanda starting
And yes, the twitter narcism has already hit me.

To be honest, I feel like twitter is just going to cause me anxiety. Simply setting the account up took me an hour. Firstly, I couldn’t decide on a twitter name (my name is mildly impossible to spell and even harder to pronounce). Secondly, after initially picking 10 people I wanted to follow, I looked back on my choices of politicians, activists and news broadcasters and realised I am boring and people will judge me. Thus I reworked my list and added a comedian to it to make me look more interesting. Can you smell the narcism and need to be liked?

Anxiety

Lastly, twitter is going to give me anxiety because I don’t know how to use it. I have enough trouble expressing myself through a blog where I can ramble on for hours to make my point. How am I going to make witty remarks about my pet peeves and Ryan Gosling the world in less than 140 characters? #itsimpossible #Iliketoramble

I know that I live in a world where todays 20-somethings live by the philosophies of ‘didn’t twitter it, didn’t happen’ and ‘history is made through facebook photos’ but I just don’t think my life is that interesting to warrant people reading 140 character long updates on it.

I’m fairly sure you don’t want to know that I just had a gluten-free strawberry gelato, that I have a hangover from too much wine and that I’m pretty sure gluten-free strawberry gelato doesn’t actually do anything to cure a hangover. I’m also pretty sure you don’t want to know my opinions on various TV as they’re happening or how my weekly laundry is going. But I know I need to stay with the times and update the world about my mundane activities on at least 4 different social media platforms. Hey, I don’t make the rules…I just follow them.

Assuming I actually learn how to use twitter it could be fun and entertaining. But I will make a vow to never tweet about salads or sunshine. I’m better than that.
Besides, salads and sunshine deserve whole blog posts and not just 140 character jokes.

And to get into the spirit of it:
#pleasefollowme    #letsbetwitterfriends 
#areyouallowedpunctuationinhashtags?        
#hashtag

You can find my twitter page @tgvozdic9

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Ramblings about Oprah, Barbie and Sushi. Also, I think I’m an insomniac.

I can’t sleep.
Like seriously.
I’m not jumping to conclusions (I really am) but I think I may have developed insomnia.
Or Hypochondria.
Definitely one of the two.

I’ve exhausted all other possible ways to procrastinate/ attempt to bore myself to sleep so 15 minutes ago I sat down to write a fun new post for y’all.
Yeah, I just used the term ‘y’all.’
Can you feel the insomnia hitting me?

Anyway, as I started writing I saw something about Oprah’s body shape over the years on my facebook feed and I thought, “Yes, now that you mention it, I’d like nothing more than to see Oprah’s body shape change over time.

The sad thing is, I actually thought that.

Then I proceeded to look at all 22 photos, spanning 22 years of weight fluctuations.

What is wrong with me?

Not only have I randomly become an hypochondriac insomniac; I am now looking at photos of Oprah looking normal, then being super slim, then looking normal again. It’s weird. Right? Not that her weight is fluctuating. But that I’m looking at a gallery of it. Actually, her weight fluctuations are a little weird too. As is the fact that the wider public is so involved in them. But that’s a topic for a latter post.

This situation also begs the questions: Who even came up with the idea to comprise Oprah’s body shape photos into a gallery on a news website? What reflection does that decision have on societies values? And frankly, who actually cares how much baby fat she’s carrying (or not carrying)?
She gives away cars, she’s allowed to look however the hell she wants to without being scrutinized.

But my point is the media’s emphasis on how women look is never ending. That notion is nothing new of course; we live in a world where girls aspire to look like Barbie…which means being six foot tall, kidney-less, having boobs that would make them topple over and being size triple-zero.

To accurately mimic Barbie, you also need to have creepy hands that can’t move.

Sure ‘Barbie can do anything.’ Except actually hold something.

But I digress. Thanks to the internet (and pretty much every other media outlet) we’re constantly inundated with celebrities looking slimmer than the straws they’re sipping their diet cokes with. And not only are we inundated with pictures of the media’s portrayal of women, we actively participate in gossiping talking about them and their weight (guilty as charged seeing as this post is about it). Thus we feed the metaphorical beast with every care we give about someone else’s body shape.

So it’s times like this I like to remind myself that:
a. Airbrushing isn’t real.
b. I’m okay the way I am. Even if I sometimes like to convince myself that the freckle on my nose is residue mascara.
c. Kate Middleton has a different body shape to me so there’s no point comparing myself to her. Besides she’s pregnant now so will soon cease having omnipresent photos where she’s looks likes she’s size 0.
d. No one is perfect. The japanese have a saying: ‘wabbi-sabbi’ which translates to ‘the beauty of imperfection.’ Thus our uniqueness is something each individual should celebrate. It also sounds like something that should go on Sushi…I’m now slightly craving sushi.
e. Buy sushi for lunch tomorrow.
f. I’m probably in need of some sleep.

Again, I digress.

Sometimes I just wish I can take out a billboard that says: “Girls, you’re beautiful exactly the way you are. Not everyone looks like a air-bushed, pregnant Kate Middleton. And that’s okay.

Relevant Someecard...

Relevant Someecard…


Completely Irrelevant Someecard...but it made me giggle.

Completely Irrelevant Someecard…but it made me giggle.

So I may have a crush on Daniel Craig (I’m so sorry Ry!)

Those of you who frequently read my posts may have noticed that I have a mild crush on Ryan Gosling. And by ‘mild crush’ I actually mean a colossal crush that leaves me frazzled, occasionally unable to function in the real world and often losing whole afternoons in a delusional state planning our wedding and writing him love letters. I even posted a love letter as a blog entry, which you probably didn’t read…and despite the link I just provided, you probably still won’t read. But it’s a blog rule that I have to at least provide you with the link, both to prove how tech-savvy I am and to pretend like you actually care.
Hey, I didn’t make the rules, I just follow them.
Anyway now I’ve forgotten what this post was actually about…ahhh this is what happens when I think about the future father of my children.

Right, this post is to admit that last night I may have cheated on Ry (we’re on a nickname basis.) Now normally cheating is not something I would ever condone, but Ry and I have been rocky for the past few months. His relationship with Eva Mendes has been bothering me, not to mention my preoccupation with Scandinavian men whilst away has gotten in the way of me obsessively thinking about him. Like I said, things have been rocky. So last night, whilst watching Skyfall, I may have accidently fallen in love with Daniel Craig.

Now I know what you’re thinking; I’m only 22 and he is 44 so literally double my age and probably far too old for me. But age is just a number and next year onwards he will cease being double mine so really it’s fine.

Before I go on and say anything about Daniel Craig, I think you should take a moment and look into his eyes.

They actually defy science.
They’re the color of pure ice cold water dripping of a glacier. When his gives off a cold stare, you feel warmth looking at him. His stare just gives off a torrent of passion and emotion.
And then you look at his whole face and its perfect. It’s symmetrical, strong, beautiful and masculine. Friendly, but dangerous.

But enough about his perfect face, lets talk about his perfect body. You can tell he is in perfect shape because he can film those long chase sequences in James Bond films and not even look winded or too red in the face after them. It’s also obvious he has a perfect body every time he wears a tailored suit. Or when he walks out of the ocean in tiny swim trunks. He actually is the sexist person to ever emerge from a body of water wearing next to nothing.

Yeah, that happened.

But most of all I think my attraction to the sex God Daniel Craig comes from his portrayal of Bond. He’s not a boy that’s cute and adorable but doesn’t know anything. He’s not a guy whose cool, carries a guitar and has commitment issues – again just playing by the blog rules.
He is a fully grown man who can grown a proper beard and has thrown a few punches in his life . Daniel Craig may be the reason I’m going to go to the movies to see Skyfall again. He may also be the reason why men who wear suits, swill hard liqueur and live dangerously turn me on.
And as for Ry, he’s floating between the guy and man stage. But hopefully after this temporary break and me watching the last 3 James Bond movies a few times over, we can reconcile our differences and be back together soon.

The headless chicks are hot.

Are you the type of person that pays attention to mannequins in clothing shop displays? Because I am. I analyze their facial expressions, body language, whether they have feet, the shoes they’ve got on, what their shoes say about their personalities, how skinny they are (on a scientific scale of 1 to Posh Spice) and what they’re actually wearing. If I like their clothing (and it’s seasonally appropriate – mannequins that wear shorts and singlets in winter annoy me) then I’ll go into the store and see what all the fuss is about.

Now for those unaware of Australia’s ‘fashion’ outlets, Sportsgirl is a pretty big one. They are mainly aimed at 15 to 35 year old females and sell everything from jeans to party dresses and accessories. Think of them being like Zara, only half the quality, double the price and with considerably more leopard print. Nonetheless, Sportsgirl seem to be a staple store for when you need to buy clothing or want to get into serious credit card debt. I put sportsgirl’s popularity down to their headless and fabulous mannequins. I frequently walk past my local store and see the mannequins. I have become so familiar with them that I have named them Abby, Laura, Sophia, Joan and Mildred.

Just kidding, that would be weird.

The mannequins are so well dressed they make the impossible look, well, possible. Which normally you think would be a reflection of amazing clothing, perfect mannequins and an expensive stylist. But you see, there just has to be more to it. The clothing at Sportsgirl is only well…nice. I write ‘nice’ preceded by an ellipsis to signify a hesitant pause, because while I like most of the clothing there, I find much of it…interesting. So interesting in fact, that I have some questions I’d like to ask Sportsgirl:

  • What is with your obsession with fluro yellow?
  • Do you actually think anyone above size 8 can pull off fluro yellow pants?
  • Why do you mix so many prints on the one item of clothing? Stripes and spots shouldn’t belong together.
  • I’d like to know why you insist on mixing sequins and prints on everything too.
  • Whose grandmother did you steal the crochet jumper from?
  • Why don’t you let me nap in your change rooms?
  • High rise flared jeans and denim jackets are back in fashion are they?
  • Are we still in the 1970’s?
  • Why are you selling 5 types of clogs? Please tell me they’re not making a comeback.
  • When you say ‘sale’ do you really mean ‘a couple of dollars off’?

But I digress, what I really want to know is how do they make the mannequins look so good!? No one on the planet can pull off sequins and leopard print with more sparkly sequins with fluro yellow jeans and clogs! Yet, I see the mannequin and all I want to do is go in and buy the aforementioned ensemble. I get the logistics behind dressing headless mannequins, it’s similar to dressing a headless doll, or a boy, or a heavily-sedated dog. But I just don’t understand how they do it. When I try to pull off the whacky combinations they do, I end up looking like a homeless person on drugs.
Regardless, their master plan is working. Along with infuriating me, the irresistibly quirky mannequins are enticing me into the store.  Now all I gotta do is find an outfit to match my fluro yellow clogs…

A Sportsgirl shop front.
I want the toys in the background. And the mannequins.

 

It’s like winning the lottery, but not.

This morning, upon checking my email I found out that I’d won the lottery on three different continents, a lawyer from Russia emailed me with details of an inheritance owed to me (evidently I’m the only known living descendant of a deceased millionaire) and I was bombarded with details and special deals for penis enlargement therapies. Despite the generous half price discount and knowledge that ‘bigger is better’ I reluctantly had to say thanks, but no thanks. It was somewhere in between deleting viagra emails and reading about erectile dysfunction medication that an email from the Nigerian National Space Research and Development Agency (NASRDA) caught my eye. Without a word of a lie, the email read:

Subject: Nigerian Astronaut Wants To Come Home
Dr. Bakare Tunde
Astronautics Project Manager
National Space Research and Development Agency (NASRDA)
Plot 555
Misau Street
PMB 437
Garki, Abuja, FCT NIGERIA

Dear Mr/Ms. Sir,

I am Dr. Bakare Tunde, the cousin of Nigerian Astronaut, Air Force Major Abacha Tunde. He was the first African in space when he made a secret flight to the Salyut 6 space station in 1979. He was on a later Soviet spaceflight, Soyuz T-16Z to the secret Soviet military space station Salyut 8T in 1989. He was stranded there in 1990 when the Soviet Union was dissolved. His other Soviet crew members returned to earth on the Soyuz T-16Z, but his place was taken up by return cargo. There have been occasional Progrez supply flights to keep him going since that time. He is in good humor, but wants to come home.

In the 22-years since he has been on the station, he has accumulated flight pay and interest amounting to almost $ 15,000,000 American Dollars. This is held in a trust at the Lagos National Savings and Trust Association. If we can obtain access to this money, we can place a down payment with the Russian Space Authorities for a Soyuz return flight to bring him back to Earth. I am told this will cost $ 3,000,000 American Dollars. In order to access the his trust fund we need your assistance.

Consequently, my colleagues and I are willing to transfer the total amount to your account or subsequent disbursement, since we as civil servants are prohibited by the Code of Conduct Bureau (Civil Service Laws) from opening and/ or operating foreign accounts in our names.

Needless to say, the trust reposed on you at this juncture is enormous. In return, we have agreed to offer you 20 percent of the transferred sum, while 10 percent shall be set aside for incidental expenses (internal and external) between the parties in the course of the transaction. You will be mandated to remit the balance 70 percent to other accounts in due course.

Kindly expedite action as we are behind schedule to enable us include downpayment in this financial quarter.

Please acknowledge the receipt of this message via my direct number 234 (0) 9-234-2220 or reply email.

PLEASE KEEP THIS REQUEST CONFIDENTIAL. 

       Yours Sincerely, Dr. Bakare Tunde

Wow, how lucky am I to receive this opportunity? Who needs an University degree with business propositions like these!? I couldn’t help myself; so here is the email I wrote back to NASDRA. 


Dear Mr. Bakare Tunde,

Thank you for your email and generous proposal. I’m so honored that out of the 7 billion people in the world, you’ve entrusted me with the important role of saving your cousins life. I feel like I should start by apologizing for my late response. Please do not take this to mean I am anything less than overly enthused about your proposal. For some incomprehensible reason your email was sent to my ‘spam’ box and I only discovered it this morning.
 
I am absolutely horrified to hear your cousin has been in space for the past 22 years. Surely that’s some sort of human rights violation? Albeit, an unprecedented one. Nonetheless, I love the sound of your deal for three reasons:

1. It’s straightforward and makes perfect sense.

2. You’ve obviously done your research.

3. I like the notion of receiving 3 million dollars for doing nothing.

Now, whilst your email did vaguely explain how it came to be that your cousin is currently in space, I’m struggling to understand a few of the finer details. Would you be so kind as to indulge a few of my questions?

(a) Where exactly in ‘space’ is he? Can we google map his location?
(b) How hasn’t your cousin turned into jelly yet?
(c) How is he entertaining himself? Is he currently watching the Olympics? If so, is he as bored with them as we are?
(d) Remind me again, how is he not jelly yet?
(e) 
By ‘bringing him back’, do you mean in a small plastic container with just his remains?
(f) You stated, “he’s in good humor, but wants to come home.” He’s been in space for 22 years and is still in good humor? Really? Even Ghandi would have cracked it by now.
(g) Does your cousin have any mental retardations which would explain the fact he’s still in ‘good humor’?
(h) How is the internet connection up in space? 
(i) Does he have any conclusive proof that aliens exist yet?
(j) What about unicorns?
(k) The ‘progrez flights’ that are bringing him supplies, why don’t they also give him a lift home?
(l) Do you or he blame the Soviets for this ‘mishap’?
(m) What kind of compensation will your cousin be looking to receive when he returns and from who? It’s just that Europe and the US don’t have a lot of money right now so I’m wondering how his court case may affect the markets. 
(n) Why doesn’t your organization fund his trip back home? Surely NASRDA has some spare change hiding behind the couch? 
(o) Are you in regular contact with your cousin? How do you know he’s still alive and not floating towards another galaxy as we speak? 
(p) How exactly has your cousin been getting oxygen to breathe for the past 22 years? 

Now Mr. Tunde, I also have a minor confession to make. I foolishly didn’t read to the end of your email before acting on it. So, before I got to your express request to keep the information confidential, I became absurdly excited and began ringing friends and saying silly things like “I’m rich! I’m rich!”
I admit, I went over the top, not just with my prideful and presumptuous pronouncements, but with the sheer number of people I rang. I literally contacted every single person I have ever had even the shortest conversation with, some of whom work for Government departments such as the Australian Federal Police and ATO. Do you think my unrestrained exuberance could in any way have compromised our imminent transaction?
If the answer is no, I would also like to know, what exactly are my tax implications for this transaction? I, like you am very keen to do this by the book so am just wondering.

Thank you for taking the time to read and answer my questions. I look forward to hearing from you shortly about the next steps in our transaction.

With kind regards and a little too much excitement,

Tijana

Here’s hoping I get a reply. 

 

What I’d rather be doing right now:

Yeah….he’s pretty high up on the list.

WHAT DO WE WANT?
PROCRASTINATION!
WHEN DO WE WANT IT?
TOMORROW!

Right now, my to-do list is the size of a football field. And it’s full of ‘important’ things I should be doing. Like my taxes. Or packing up my life into boxes to move house. Or organizing the boring details of my trip (who actually ‘needs’ insurance?) I leave in less than a month and have nothing more than a ‘vague’ idea of where I’m going. And by ‘vague idea’ I actually mean ‘no idea’. You see, I really need to get onto doing something about my current situation. But I don’t wanna. All these things are annoying and get in the way of my life. I’m a baby wrapped up in a 21 year olds body. All I want to do is get up whenever the hell I want to, do whatever I feel like during the day then go to bed at a completely unreasonable hour and complain throughout the whole ordeal. Is it really so much to ask for!?
So rather than starting to check off things on the giving-me-anxiety list. I’m going to list what I’d rather be doing right now. After all, I deserve a break after spending the last hour painstakingly comprising my to-do list.

1. Sleeping
Sleeping, whilst one of my all-time favorite activities it’s never something I want to do when I’m supposed to. Ie. at 2:30am on a Monday night, I’d rather stay up and watch 5 episodes of Breaking Bad in a row than sleep. But the second I have to do something odious; like wake up in the morning, sleep is the only thing I can think of. Likewise, when I have to head off to work, sleep is the only thing on my mind.

2. Blogging
Or more accurately, refreshing the wordpress dashboard to see how many people have viewed my page or liked my post (if you’re reading this, please shoot me through a ‘like’. Refreshing the page 100 times and having no statistics change is frustrating. And will probably break my computer. And is the definition of insanity). But I digress. Why bother going out to the post office to pay bills when you can bitch about them online? Or why bother going out to buy groceries, when you can better spend your time writing witty posts about your inability to cook.

3. Looking at pictures of Ryan Gosling
I have some flawless logic for you now so get ready:
If the universe wanted me to be productive it wouldn’t have created Ryan Gosling. It also wouldn’t have created the internet. Or pictures. And it sure as hell wouldn’t have put easily accessible pictures of Ryan Gosling on the internet. The universe (and Google) are conspiring against me.
There. Logic. Boom! It’s not my fault I’m unproductive. It all makes sense.

4. Watching Parliament Question Time
Yup, unfortunately I’m being serious here. It’s an incredibly good way to pass time. And what’s more, you feel like you’re being productive and smart as you’re watching it. Thus it’s a guilt free procrastination tactic. Parliamentarians are possibly the only people slower and less productive than me, leaving me with a feel-good-feeling every time I watch them ‘debate’ something.
Plus (as if I hadn’t already convinced you) question time is comedy gold. Once you get over the fact our Parliament is for the most part an absolute waste of time, our tax payers dollars are going to fund nothing, the leaders of our country spend more time attacking each other than the issues and you stop fearing for the fate of our nation and humanity you start to see the lighter side of it all.

5. Deciding the names of my future children
Now Mum, don’t fret, I don’t want children any time soon. But I’d like to be prepared for when I pop them out, name them, then handball them onto you to raise for the rest of your life. Again, I blame google. So many sites have popped up with baby names. It’s only reasonable that I’m going to go on them and spend hours naming my unborn babies. My top 3 names for boys and girls are:

Boys: Oliver, Nicholas, Luca

Girls: Lara, Ella, Leila

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Ryan should probably have a say in what his kids are called too. But he has a big say in their surname given I will gracefully concede that battle and allow them to be Goslings. So I think it’s fair I get to chose their first names.

6. Learning a new language by watching SBS World News without subtitles.
I’m a big fan of different languages and foreign accents. They excite me. I’m feebly learning Russian at the moment. Watching Russian news in the morning I feel really helps with my pronunciation (this is a complete lie, but it isn’t going to stop me pretending it’s vital for my Russian education.) And once again, I’m being quasi productive and smart whilst procrastinating. It’s genius.

7. Looking at someecards
Yup, I’m a sucker for someecards. Who needs to spend time and effort being witty when you can just memorize the one liners on that site? Or shamefully use an ecard to add humor to just about every blog post (guilty as charged). I can spend hours on that site doing ‘research’. It’s contribution to my IADD (Internet attention deficit disorder) has been staggering. Here are some oldies but goodies:

But at the end of the day, do you know what would be better than doing all these things? Writing about doing them all. And look, I did and something got done! I can now add and cross off ‘write blog post’ on my to do list. Now to actually do something productive…Ugggh

You had me at neurotic.

I’m pretty convinced I was dropped as a baby and my brain broke. It’s the only logical explanation. The thought occurs to me on a daily basis. This morning it was set off by listening to Alanis Morissette’s ‘Ironic’. Now don’t get me wrong, I adore Morissette (Jaged Little Pill got me through my teens) but the song ‘Ironic’ really annoys me. Nothing in the song is actually ironic.

“Ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife”
Ten thousand spoons? That’s an awful lot of cutlery. What kind of place has that many spoons and not a single knife? I suppose it could be a shipment of spoons, but then why are you hijacking a truck of spoons?

“It’s like rain on your wedding day”
It would be ironic if it happened to Ra, the Egyptian Sun God. Or Mother Nature. It’s just unlucky if it happens to anyone else. Do Gods even get married? How about Mother Nature? Is she married to Father Nature? Maybe she’s a widow?

“A traffic jam when you’re already late”
That’s not even a little bit ironic. That’s unfortunate. And hideously frustrating. Anyone whose ever been down Punt Rd trying to make the start of a game would know.

“It’s like a free ride, when you’ve already paid”
Get it together Alanis. What’s so free about a ride you’ve already paid for? Even if you’re slapping down coupons, it’s still doesn’t count as free. And even if you get a ‘free ride’ you should know that whoever gave you that ride is probably going to ask for something in return and you probably aren’t going to like what they ask for. But their argument would be valid as you took that free ride and now you owe them something.

Maybe the whole irony of the song is that it’s not ironic at all? Now that’s something to think about.

You might not think this is a big deal, but this is the crap that preoccupies me.
I’ve lost track of the useless things my brain thinks about. When librarians die, do they get buried according to the Dewey decimal system? If you eat more sugar, are ants more attracted to you? Is there an easier job in the world than being an Ice-hockey referee? Step one: Learn rules. Step two: Ignore rules. Why isn’t the number 11 pronounced onety-one? Why did the Easter Bunny bring eggs? Rabbits don’t lay eggs! Can animals commit suicide?
It takes only the smallest thing to set my brain off on a flight and I lose half the day.

It’s not just the thoughts I have that worry me. It’s the fact that my brain takes over my body and I develop what kind people call ‘idiosyncrasies’ and what everyone else calls ‘crazy behavior’. For example, I have to walk on the right side of people. I couldn’t tell you what happens if I walk on the left of someone as I’ve never done it. Every time I try, my brain goes into such a frenzy that I can’t focus on anything until I swap sides and walk on the right. If there’s three people walking, then I’m happy being in the middle so long as the person to the left of me is taller than the person to the right. If they’re not, then we play the swapping game until my mind is settled and can focus on walking in a straight line without falling over. Yup, this is what I deal with everyday and then feebly attempt to convince people it’s ‘quirky’ not ‘crazy’.

My brain also loves extremes. I either love or hate something. I don’t believe in a middle ground. If I’m going to go the gym to get fit, I’m going to go 10 times a week or not at all. If I start a TV show, you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll have it finished in a maximum of three days. Afterall, sleep is for mortals. If I read a book, everything else is life is paused until I finish it. You’re talking to the girl who read all 7 Harry Potter books in 8 days. If getting addicted to something was an Olympic Sport, I’d be holding a gold medal.

True to form I have recently developed a hydralyte electrolyte supplement drinking problem. I think you should read that sentence again out loud. It turns out it’s a killer way to get rid of a hangover. Which ties in nicely with my mild love of wine. To be fair, not many people would describe my love of wine as ‘mild’. But my mum reads these posts, so I have to play it down. But back to the hydralyte electrolyte supplement drinking problem. The only catch to it, is that you’re drinking something kids drink when they’ve had diarrhea or been vomiting. So you can imagine it’s a little weird when you’re buying it in bulk at the pharmacy or drinking it at work whilst pretending you’re a ‘proper adult’. At least I’m staying nice and hydrated. You should try it some time. The apple/black currant flavor is my favorite.

My brain also causes me trouble when I’m out running errands. Buying toothpaste for example. Simple task you say? No, not for me. Buying toothpaste has been known to give me a panic attack in the middle of a supermarket then consequently leave me blowing in a paper bag for 20 minutes and running to Mummy for help.

Toothpaste Brand: “Do you want gel or paste?”

Me: “Ahhh what’s the difference? Which one is better? Paste I suppose? Otherwise I’d buy tooth-gel?”

Toothpaste Brand: “Do you want whitening?”

Me: “Sure”

Toothpaste Brand:  Do you want tartar control?

Me: “Well yeah, I suppose so. You guys are the experts.”

Toothpaste Brand: “Do you want ‘sensitive’ toothpaste?”

Me:”Well now that you mention it, I do have sensitive teeth, so I suppose so? That being said, if my toothpaste is going to cry and take everything I say to heart, then no, I don’t want sensitive toothpaste.”

Toothpaste Brand: “Do you want extra whitening?”

Me: “…ummm well yeah, sure. Why didn’t you just put the ‘extra whitening’ in the last batch?”

Toothpaste Brand: “Do you want clinical white?”

Me: “Huh? Why is clinical white recommended by dentists and the others aren’t? What’s wrong with the others!?”

Toothpaste Brand: “3D whitening?”

Me: “Wait, what?”

Toothpaste Brand: “How about cavity protection?”

Me:“Why wasn’t I getting that before? That seems quite necessary?”

Toothpaste Brand: “How about extreme clean” 

Me: “….”

RISKy Business.

Hear-ye! Hear-ye!
Calling all wannabe dictators and born warlords to the table.
Bring out the inner despot in you.
We are at war.

Enter a world where there are 42 territories. Plastic men attack and defend in their dictators honor. The dictators drink, swear and lie more than Kim Jong Il (may he rest in peace).
There’s a land bridge between North Africa and Brazil. And everyone aspires to be Hitler. Although, some would argue capturing Russia is important so maybe not quite Hitler.

That’s right. Welcome to Risk. The board game that ruins friendships.

Risk was invented by the French. Which actually explains a lot.
It’s all about concurring the world, losing what you’ve conquered, losing friendships and then getting really frustrated because you just can’t hold Asia. And everyone keeps kicking you out of Kamchatka.

I found myself playing Risk last night. I know what you’re thinking and I agree: it’s an epic way to spend your Saturday night. Last night was the first time in a long time that I’d played, and upon brushing up on the rules I quickly found myself in the predicament of hating all my friends.
It started off well enough. It takes about 30 minutes to set the game up (I’d advise bringing snacks). You have to roll for who goes first, pick your color, count your troops, hope and pray you get Australia, get your starting territories, become depressed upon not getting Australia, then pretend to build a strategy as you randomly place troops down. You also have to fake like you know what the hell is going on. Quite a process!
By now, you’re committed. And anybody who leaves before the game is over is required by law to be stoned to death. And not in the good way.

Next, each player gets a ‘mission’ card and the mind games begin. Everyone starts guessing what mission card you hold and then quickly forms an opinion on how best you should complete your mission. Without interfering with their agenda or killing any of their troops of course. Now, this would all be fine if it was not for the unwritten rule that everyone needs to scream their plans and ideas at you, at the same time and continuously for the next 2 hours.

After accepting your headache and inability to actually hear yourself think, you start to play. Yes, this is about 40 minutes into the game and no, you haven’t actually stated playing yet. See what I mean about the snacks?
Playing involves drafting, attacking and reinforcing.  Drafting means you get extra men for holding continents, trading cards and just starting a turn. Given the complicated rules (and the amount of alcohol consumed during the set up process) you could do with a calculator just to figure out how many troops you need. Given it’s a minimum of 3 per round, if you get a number smaller than 3, round up.

Next you attack. This is where it gets messy. Friends are lost, treaties are broken and everything goes to the dogs. Your friends call you names that they wouldn’t call their worst enemies. Then continue advising you on the course of action you should take that is in keeping with their agenda. They call you a few more names. You finally choose a place to attack. The attacker (you) and the defender (the person calling you names) both roll some dice until someone who understands the dice part of the game tells you whether you’ve won or not.

Here you take a moment to stop hating your friends and start hating the dice Gods. Your 18 attacking troops are defeated by 5 defending troops. Anger consumes you, your ‘strategy’ falls apart and people are still yelling at you. But that’s just part of it. Your opponent has Canadian snipers, and your rifles are broken. That’s life.

Finally you reinforce. You take a moment to be with your thoughts, mourn the lost and wipe your tears. You send troops from one territory to another in hope you won’t get killed in the next round. You silently pray to the dice Gods and patiently wait 30 minutes until it’s your turn again. All whilst continually yelling at everyone exactly what you think they should do to ensure they don’t interfere with your agenda.

At the end of the day, it’s all a bit of a fun. Who needs friends anyway? Besides, the best part about Risk is stabbing your ‘allies’ in the back.
Help Blue out. Get Red off his back. Get Blue to bash his head against Yellow. Meanwhile take out Black. Worry about inconspicuous Grey. Find Blue has killed Red, and is on the verge of destroying Yellow. It would be foolish to help Blue take out Yellow. He’s got that under control, and would mean you have to clash. Consider breaking treaties. No, you’re a good person. You have been allies with Blue for the last 2 hours, and he has left his backside open, trusting you to defend it. Break treaties. On your turn, you cash in your cards, and march your troops through Brazil. Blue immediately realizes what you’re up to, but it’s too late. You move through South America, destroying Blue’s stronghold. Crippled, he can’t stop your menacing reign of Greeness, and is eliminated in the next two turns. Tears ensue. Expletives are used. And everyone is still yelling.

So, Adolf, how do you propose to take Russia?

So Adolf, how do you propose to take Russia?

The moral of this story: Risk destroys friendships.

Hypochondria is the only disease I don’t have.

Disclaimer: This post is (mostly) fictional. It is also passively aggressively aimed at people in my life. 

I don’t mean to alarm anyone, but this morning, I woke up with a headache. I know what you’re thinking. Initially I thought it was the end of the world too. But don’t fret, for I’ve found a light at the end of the tunnel. This light is otherwise known as copious amounts of paracetamol (that will probably be the cause of my future liver disease). And so long as you don’t shine the metaphorical light in my eyes right now, I think I’ll make it through this challenging period in my life. Just. 

Now my headache could be due to me trying (and almost succeeding) to replace all the blood in my body with wine last night.  It could also be due to the sinus infection I’ve been suffering from. Alternatively it could be brain cancer. Or Lupus. I’m looking into it now.

You see, I’m a big believer in self diagnosis. Why spend time and money on ‘medical professionals’ and tests (which are almost always false negative) when everything you could possibly need to know about your life threatening condition is one Google search away?

Typing ‘headache’ into google yields the following responses**: “Is your headache a sign of something more sinister?”, “Carbon monoxide poisoning, the headache that can kill you”, “Headache: The only true brain tumor symptom” and “Short-lasting unilateral neuralgiform headache with conjunctival injection and tearing: the fight for a cure.”


Well now that you mention it Google, I think my headache is a sign of something more sinister. Carbon monoxide poisoning sounds like something coming from Tony Abbott’s mouth. And God knows I don’t want to contract that. I don’t even know what a short-lasting unilateral neuralgiform headache with conjunctival injection and tearing (SUNCT for short) is. But there’s a high possibility I have it. And there’s no cure, which is even more concerning. However, at the end of the day I still think it’s a brain tumor. Headaches are the only ‘true’ symptom after all.
See, who needs doctors when self-diagnosis is so much fun!?

Now to repay my loyal readership base of 7, I’m going to write a comprehensive list of symptoms and their causes that will ensure you never have to spend time and money going to the doctor again:

Headache: Brain tumor.
Or short-lasting unilateral neuralgiform headache with conjunctival injection and tearing.

Swelling of glands: Lymphoma.

A new freckle: Skin cancer.

Dizziness: Iron deficiency. Or AIDS.

Nausea: Congratulations! It’s going to be a boy. Now lets read up on all the things that can possibly go wrong.

A sore leg: Huntington’s disease. Or cancer.

Hot flushes: Menopause.

Cold flushes: Menopause.

General frustration and higher than average inclination to kill people: Menopause. Or PMS. Probably PMS.

Cough: Life threatening pneumonia.

Heartbeat over 60 beats per minute: You’re having a heart attack.

Paper cut: Flesh eating disease.

Any other symptom: Lupus. It’s always lupus.

Now readers also remember, an annual full body ‘just in case’ MRI is always a good idea.  Worrying about going blind, especially whilst driving is normal. Taking every supplement known to man is vital for your survival. A sore wrist is a sign of smokers foot. Investigatory surgeries on the lump in your thumb that you’ve had since you were a baby are completely necessary. A poor mattress will give you cancer.
And if by odd chance you find yourself at the doctors, maybe ask for a second opinion on your hypochondria? I know I will be.

**All responses are legitimate Google results.

Title goes here!

Okay so I’m pretty new at this. Blogs seem to be the ‘it’ thing these days so I figured why not? It’ll surely be a more productive waste of time than sitting at home watching mind numbing reality TV shows; otherwise known as my regular Tuesday night.
I initially thought starting a blog would be quite a quick and easy process. Oh how wrong I was!

Step 1: Google WordPress.
Easy enough.

Step 2: Open an account.
Again fairly painless. Remembering my password may be a bigger issue but I digress.

Step 3: Set up a ‘theme’ for your blog.
Well 3 hours later, my extremely anal retentive mind has settled on one. And by ‘settled’ I mean have left it the same long enough to write this entry.

Step 4: Set up a color scheme.
Now a normal person would probably just chose two colors they like and go with it. But no, not me. After going through just about ever color option known to man, I settled on orange and grey. Quirky, but modern and inviting I thought.

Step 5: Pick a display picture for your ‘theme’.
Okay so here is where it all went wrong.  I initially chose a colorful map of the world. Given my blog will be partly travel writing (other part ranting) I deemed a map of the world appropriate. But the colorful map didn’t suit the orange and grey color scheme, and we can’t have that can we!? Back to step 4 we go.

Step 6: Lose your mind.
Ahhh finally something I’m experienced in doing! Well a further 3 hours later, we have the finished product. A paris themed display picture (which will no doubt be changed 14 times by tomorrow) and a blue and cream scheme. As quirky as orange and grey? Probably not. But at least it gives me an excuse to say ‘cream scheme’ over and over again.

Now after all that, I’m thinking maybe spending my nights watching bad reality TV is probably the better way to go…

Ow and for the record, this is me:
Meet me.