Call me, maybe?…It depends if I have reception or not.

Of all the phenomenal and impressive things my iPhone Archibald (giving him an aristocratic boys makes me feel better about my life choice to spend 23 hours a day cradling him) can do, making calls and contacting people doesn’t seem to be high up on his list. Which is a little concerning considering that is the primary reason for which I have him. Another fine example of a woman giving her life to a man and getting nothing but disappointment back, but I digress.

You see Archibald’s main problem is that during a task I’ve asked him to do, such as accepting a call, he gets bored and then stops doing his task half way through. Basically, Archibald just ceases to function, as if Philip Nitschke had caught him in a bad mood.

Take for example the incident that occurred to me this past Tuesday. Whilst at Uni I ran into Joel the grad student, who upon seeing me, frantically bowed his head down, pretended he didn’t see me and started waking away at the speed of light.  Given my mild penchant for schadenfreude (or masochism, depends which way you view the situation) I called his name out. He awkwardly stopped and even more awkwardly started explaining why he hadn’t called me back yet.
This whole situation was unfortunate for obvious reasons, only one of which included the fact that my phone started ringing somewhere in what I can assume was the middle of Joel’s monologue. I answered the call only to have it cut out 5 seconds in. Archibald was clearly preoccupied with his desire to continue listening to Joel’s excuses.

To be honest, whilst the phone call came as a well timed distraction and exit strategy from the situation I found myself in, it did leave me wondering why there was a lack of reception given I was standing in the middle of a large University in Melbourne as opposed to say, sub-saharian Africa.

I quickly concluded that in these harsh economic times, telecommunications companies have realised that they can significantly reduce their overheads if they just stopped wasting money on providing phone coverage.

And in the case of Tuesday’s incident, the telecommunications company obviously concluded they didn’t need to provide service to rural parts of Australia, such as the Melbourne CBD.

Now don’t get me wrong, this lack of coverage is often a good thing. But there are also times when it’s not your mother calling, and you want to speak to people.

I should also clarify that this post is in no way an exercise in blame and I am not going to name and shame my provider, Optus. The same way I’m not going to complain about iPhones with whom I’ve had a long and tumultuous relationship.
You see, I used to have an iPhone 4 which meant that phone calls used to drop out whenever I did something dramatic, like stand up. But fortunately, my new iPhone 5 has fixed that problem by rarely being able to make phone calls in the first place. These days I’m just grateful if the battery lasts long enough to even allow me to attempt to make a phone call.

Don't even get me started...

Don’t even get me started…

We’re living in an incredibly technologically advanced society; can we please find a way to make and receive phone calls? Can we please just be able to communicate and share joy with one another? Can we please just be able to send drunken text messages at 2am and know they’ll arrive before we get a chance to regret them in the morning!?

As for Joel, maybe he did try to call but just couldn’t get through…?


Taylor Swift’s 22: A critical analysis

I currently have a obscene economics assignment where I have to ‘critically evaluate’ various papers that discuss the economic impact the current situation in Syria will have on both the Middle East at the World.

It’s thrilling stuff.

However, actually researching the assignment seems like a productive use of my time so instead, I’m going to critically evaluate ‘22‘. A song by Taylor Swift that I feel is rife with inaccuracies that simply must be rectified.

So from someone who is 22 and actually has the ability to hold a boyfriend for more than a week before writing a song about him; here are the more accurate lyrics:

It feels like a perfect night to dress up like hipsters watch girls in our pyjamas
And make fun of our exes, Tony Abbott
Uh uh uh uh
It feels like a perfect night for breakfast at midnight assignment writing
To fall in love with strangers To cancel on our friends, eat ice-cream and google Ryan Gosling
Uh uh uh uh

We’re happy free confused and lonely overworked, poor, exhausted and confused at the same time
It’s miserable and magical miserable
Oh yeah
Tonight’s the night when we forget about the deadlines, our looming Hecs debts
It’s time to call our parents
uh uh

I don’t know about you real adults
But im feeling 22
Everything will be alright if you keep me next to you give me an assignment extension and a loan
You don’t know about me
But I bet you still want to keep reading my mildly incoherent blog
Everything will be alright if we just
Keep dancing complaining like we’re 22, 22

It seems like one of those nights a uni night
This place is too crowded expensive
Too many cool kids hipster students
It seems like one of those nights
We ditch the whole scene and end up dreaming instead of passing out from far too much wine

We’re happy free confused and lonely poor, unemployed, exhausted and confused in the best worst way
It’s miserable and magical sad
Oh yeah
Tonight’s the night when we forget about the heartbreaks, the ever growing graduate unemployment rate
It’s time to accept we’re going to live with our parents until we 30
Uh uh

I don’t know about you and your tendencies to want to be a real adult
But I’m feeling 22
Everything will be alright if you keep me next to you I stop comparing myself to you
You don’t know about me
but I bet you want to You saw me at the pub worrying about the state of our country
Everything will be alright
If we just keep dancing complaining like we’re 22, 22

I don’t know about you how I’m ever going to finish my economics paper, 22, 22

It feels like one of those nights
We ditch the whole scene our theory that we’re actually sane
It feels like one of those nights
We‘ll won’t be sleeping with our insecurities
It feels like one of those nights
You look like bad news someone I wouldn’t find attractive without a lot of wine
I gotta have you, I gotta have you

I literally don’t know about you have any revenue
But I’m feeling 22
Everything will be alright if you keep me next to you world leaders start being better people
You don’t know about me
but I bet you want to You hear me constantly rant about socialism, feminism and kindness
Everything will be alright if we just keep dancing complaining like we’re 22, 22

Dancing Worrying like 22, yeah, 22, yeah yeah

It feels like one of those nights every other night
We ditch the whole scene and start appreciating our lives more
It feels like another one of those nights
We won’t be sleeping because of assignments 
It feels like another one of those nights
You look like bad news procrastination
I gotta have you, I gotta have you

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?


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 

You can find my twitter page @tgvozdic9

A Letter to PMS:

Hey Girl,

I think we need to be honest with each other here; the only reason you’re called PMS is because oestrogen-induced-manic-depressive-bipolar-disorder-prone-to-fits-of-psychopathic-rage is too long.

But I gotta hand it to you, at least you’re consistent. Since 2005, every 28 days you come into my life and make me want to turn into a unicorn just so I can stab everyone around me with my head. You curse my hormones, contaminate my thoughts, manipulate my appetite, and generally turn me into a sugar addicted screaming banshee.

FYI PMS, your material is getting old. Like getting me to sob at the Stegglers Chicken commercial filled with a happy family enjoying a meal together? Boring. Convincing me to eat a whole jar of Nutella to get a chocolate endorphin boost? Predictable. Encouraging me to watch The Notebook for the thousandth time whilst eating a family sized bag of popcorn and realising Noah doesn’t exist in real life and I’m never going to find him? Unoriginal.

You do realize PMS that you interfere with 25% of my life? Now let’s get this straight, a quarter of my life is in your hands just because I happen to have fallopian tubes? Seems a bit unreasonable don’t you think? I’ve honestly accepted my fate of suffering through the crimson wave for 5-7 days every month, but why must each period come with a week of pre-gaming!? Why do you insist that I eat everything in sight? Feel paranoid and insecure? Sob about menial things? Severally bloat? And then sob about bloating so much? WHY OH WHY?!?

The thought of your monthly return gives me major anxiety. I’m pretty sure it gives my friends and family anxiety too. We all live in fear of you and all the insane behaviours you cause. I just don’t understand why Mother Nature can’t send me a text to tell me I’m not pregnant rather than put me through this every month. Can you explain that to me?

I hate that I’m a stereotypical moody PMS-ridden woman. I hate all the jokes that get made about PMSing. I hate men who don’t have to suffer through it and therefore makes jokes about it. I hate that they don’t follow the rule of ‘No uterus no opinion’.
But most of all I hate that I can’t decide whether I want to kill someone or have a chocolate chip biscuit more. It’s this indecision that kills me.  


Exactly how I feel for a week straight.

PMS, if you happen to read this and hear my pleas, can you do me a little favour? Can you take it a little easier on me next month? I like my friends and my mental health and I don’t want to see either lost over another PMS-Induced ‘episode’.

Love and oestrogen,


P.S. Thanks for the bigger boobs. I know they’re only temporary, but they’re the only thing getting me through this week.

A Postcard from Croatia

Okay, someone needs to get me out of here!
I’m encompassed by intoxicating beauty, inconceivable tranquility and warm hospitality; all whilst being immersed in a culture and history that contextualises post-war Europe.
I’m surrounded by a plethora of rustic castles bathed in soft light and kissed by the gentle sun. I spend my days grazing on heavenly food and basking in the perfect weather whilst walking along breathtakingly beautiful beaches. I spend my nights revelling in world-famous nightlife and in the company of ridiculously handsome and excruciatingly delightful locals, visitors and friends.

If I don’t leave now I fear I’ll never return home.

If I don’t leave now, I will never feel content anywhere else in the world. For no where else is this awe-inspiring, this stunning and this exhilerating. How am I ever going to return home and continue living my life when I have seen and experienced paradise? How can I return to normalcy, knowing that my normalcy doesn’t include spending endless hours lying in lavender fields reading books and drinking wine, while birds chirp brightly? Or eating freshly caught fish whilst butterflies dance around me and the cool gentle Adriatic breeze blows over me.

How can I leave a place that is a jewel of the Mediterranean and not look back and dream of staying forever? A place that incorporates bewitching architecture, heavenly landscapes and Renaissance culture while at the same time, illuminating that the counterpoint of existential pain is humans’ deep capacity for happiness.

A place that irrespective of it’s geographical location; a part of the world that has played witness to so much destruction, heartache and tribulation is, like most of the Balkans taking steps forward to peace, stability and rightful prosperity. How can I leave here, part of a land that I emanate from and not be moved by it’s history, it’s trials and it’s beauty?

Someone needs to get me out of here before I irrationally decide to stay forever.

But I know at the end of the day, another home, far away from this one awaits me. And I’ll leave; reluctantly, but I’ll leave. For I know it won’t be long before I come back…

Layla and I with an amazing view in Hvar - an island off Split.

Layla and I with an amazing view in Hvar – an island off Split.

Good morning 2013; My head really hurts.

Why is alcohol a thing?blog-hangover

Like, what exactly compels us to drink our body weight in wine and then spend the next 24 hours losing our dignity and then either passing out underneath a fan or vomiting in a garden bed? Do we actually aspire to be that person walking down the street at 2am, mascara running, shoes in hand, pants unzipped screaming ‘souvlaki’ at the top of their voice? How is it that we lose our inhibitions so much that we deem sexually harassing the cashier guy at McDonalds in the interest of procuring breakfast McMuffins before the designated breakfast McMuffin time an acceptable thing to do?

Alcohol makes you it’s bitch. It takes your personality, remixes it, makes you do stupid things and then laughs at you.

This is at least the incredibly hungover me talking. You know the one that wakes up the morning after a big night and tries to recall why she’s sleeping on the floor next to her bed and why there’s a two meter tall stop sign in her room.

Now I know the saying goes that if you ever read about the evils of drinking, you should give up reading. This is why I’m going to stop writing about the evils of drinking and describe how it is I got myself into my current state. Anyone starting 2013 with a mighty headache would have like me, gone through the following stages:

1. The ‘this is nice’ stage
Hey, it’s only one drink. What’s the harm is just having one? It tastes so sweet and fruity. I mean, it’s basically a serving of fruit. It would be irresponsible of me not to have it. If God didn’t want us to indulge, he wouldn’t have made it taste like alcoholic heaven.
I do need to go home pretty soon though, I have work in the morning and things to do. Oooh what’s that, half price meals? Well I could go some potato gems. Yeah, the potato gems do make a compelling argument. And nothing goes with potato gems like another vodka cranberry. Bartender; another round!

2. The ‘I’m buzzed’ stage
Oh I feel amazing! My whole body is tingling, it feels like I’m rolling around in a pit of vibrators. I love it. Time to just relax and enjoy this drink. Or several more. I mean sure, theoretically I need to get up tomorrow, but realistically I don’t need to be out of bed before 8. It’s doable. I can just leave here, not sleep, run a half marathon around 4am and then go to work sometime after that fully refreshed. There’s no limit to my abilities right now. This is what life is about. Being out and having fun. It would be a shame to leave now. Maybe I could eat some more potato gems, but maybe I should just order a shot. Yes, I feel like a shot is what I need most right now. Yeah, a shot.

3. The ‘Heyyyyyyy’ stage
Have you heard this amazing story about my personal life? Look, it doesn’t matter what your answer is because I’m going to tell you anyway. And I’m going to do it at the top of my voice. As of this moment, everyone in this room is my new best friend and I’m going to talk to all of you until I have to pee. At that point I will awkwardly scuffle to the bathroom and when I realise there’s a long line to the girls bathroom I’ll bravely use the boys bathroom. There I’ll find another girl whose done the same as me and we’ll quickly realise we’re soul mates and will loudly gush on about how much we LOVE each others fashion choices.

4. The party must go on stage
Now comrades, no matter what happens this evening and no matter what travesty may befall us: this party does not stop. I don’t care if you have class in the morning or if you have to go home to your children. THIS IS SPARTA! Only the strong will survive. When we agreed to have the best night ever we knew we would have to make personal sacrifices. We can’t leave now. It’s only 3am. Only the elderly and weak go home at this geriatric hour. You must all do a round of shots with me.

5. The ‘I’m fine’ stage
Look I’m fine. You don’t need to hold me like I’m about to fall over. Look, I’m standing. Almost upright. I’m fiiiiiine. Just ignore those tears, I accidentally mentioned my ex boyfriend and my tear ducks accidentally swelled up. I’m fine, honestly, I’m totally over him.  And look, who cares if the bouncer is kicking us out? Lets just go to the McDonalds parking lot and then continue the party. I could go a cheeseburger or twelve anyway. I’m fine you guys, we don’t need to go home. It’s not even that late. The sun is barely up. Fuck these birds, that don’t even know what they’re singing about.

6. The pass out stage
Just a random question but does anyone have a bed I can sleep in? You know what, a bed isn’t really that important, maybe just a warm cot that’s not too close to an open door or window? Or even a bathtub? Look, I’m just going to have a little nap on the floor over here. My shoe is a really great pillow, and if I leave my clothes on I’ll be warm. Plus I’m not going to take my makeup off as it’s acting like a little blanket for my face. I’m content here, I just need a little nap and I’ll be fine.

7. The morning after
Oh I feel like death. I may have a hangover but my head hurts too much to actually confirm my hangover status. Why is everything so bright? Can you pass me that water bottle? I’m never drinking again. I have to go work. I’m a relatively fresh corpse. Is my head or stomach in more excruciating pain? I’m not sure. My mouth tastes and feels like a graveyard. Can you pass me more water? I’m cancelling work. I’ll go blog about my drinking experience instead.

Wine Hangoverwork

A guideline to driving (if you don’t want me to hate you)

car1I am in a perpetual state of fear and anxiety. And no, it doesn’t have anything to do with bush-fires, earthquakes or One Direction. I live in my state of terror because everyone out on the roads drives like a lunatic. And yes, I know that makes me sound like an old condescending adult. But in my defense; back in my day it never used to be like this.

So here it is. I’ve comprised a list of various driving malfunctions that you need to avoid if you don’t want me to loathe the very thought of your existence for all of eternity. Funnily enough, it’s also a list of great safety tips should you not want to kill anyone with your vehicle today.

Put. Your. Effing. Phone. Down.
Just so we’re clear, even if you spend the morning in yoga class; it still doesn’t mean you actually have a third eye in the middle of your forehead. Thus you can’t use said third eye to casually glance at the road whilst being face-deep into your phone.
Now seriously, are you really that bored by all the other cars and goings on that you can’t stop inhaling radiation from your phone for a little while? I know you’re super important and if you don’t answer your phone right that minute all the puppies in the world will die, but maybe, just maybe you can pull over first?

Green = Go
Look, I know life’s hard. You’ve been driving for a whole ten blocks since the last red light and you’re just exhausted. And I know sitting in one place for thirty seconds is impossible to do without getting distracted by the myriad of tweets and messages that must have flooded in since three minutes ago. Being you is hard. No wonder it’s impossible to see when the light changes color. I completely understand.


Or maybe you’re just taking a much needed break and can’t be bothered with things like 30 other cars behind you. You just do whatever you need to do. I’ll be here. Sitting until the end of eternity, waiting for you to figure out how to get your car to move forward at the speed of traffic.

Mind the gap
You know when you’re sitting at that red light, ignoring it lest it turn green and you might need to move again, and you leave that giant 6 meter gap in front of you? Can you explain that to me? I know your car is a special unicorn that needs it’s space, but chances are somewhere behind you is someone else stuck in the intersection. Be a Darl and shove a little forward will you?

The pretty yellow blinking light isn’t a decoration
I know that a car is like an apartment on wheels, but you still have neighbors. Thankfully, the rest of us don’t live inside your head so smart people with clipboards have designed a way for you to share your feelings about your directional choices with that clever blinking light. It’s called an in-di-ca-tor. Please use it. That way I won’t smash my car into yours when it changes direction with no warning at great speeds. Or when you suddenly slow from 60km/h to 10km/h because apparently it’s not possible to make a right hand turn at speeds exceeding turtle death.

The lines on the road are also, not decorations
Those pretty white lines, yeah, they go on either side of your car. Not in the middle. So stop veering into my lane. My car is in my lane. And I am in my car. I would like to keep all of this in a separate physical space from you and your car.
I’m no physicist, but if we combine our shared car space at an average speed, neither of us will be doing well. Just sayin’.
Also, if you’re driving 50kms below the speed limit and not letting me pass you because half of your car is in my lane; I may kill you.

It’s not a race
You don’t need to dart between lanes so you can go 0.03km/h faster. If the person ahead of you is going at (or very near) the speed limit the only things you achieve by darting lanes to get ahead of them are:
a. Successfully looking like a dick head
b. Endangering everyone around you

And also, just for the record you’re allowed to let people into your lane. You don’t own it. Sharing is caring. And frankly, if you’re going to let anyone into it, make sure it’s that guy who’s had his blinker on since the dawn of time.

Tanks SUV’s are unnecessary
You can read my thoughts on this issue here. In summary, if you drive a SUV on suburban roads I hope you get herpes. On your eyeballs.

Look, I know driving is a challenging flower but the sun won’t implode if you think of people other than yourself whilst doing it. If we all paid just a little bit more attention we’d all be fine. And I wouldn’t come home every day feeling like I’ve narrowly escaped death – or at least death by insurance premiums.

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.

What I’d rather be doing right now:

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


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