Full disclosure: I hate reading travel blogs.
Let me be more specific. I hate reading travel blogs unless I’ve got a holiday booked and they’re about somewhere I’m going/want to go. Then I can’t get enough. But unless that’s the case I avoid them. What’s to like about someone else (who’s probably prettier than you) gallivanting across the globe to experience new cultures, eating amazing food and generally having a real good time about it?! They can charitably spare a few minutes to smugly write it all up for the people watching on from their desk jobs and Saturday night television. Bah! Humbug! Unless it is someone dear to me, I am the Scrooge of travel blogs. Continue reading
I don’t want to be smug or anything, but I’m on a month long European holiday. I’ve sunned myself through Croatia, yodelled through Austria, and am about to hit up Germany before moving onto the UK. Ok I lie… the whole point of going on holidays is to be smug about it to everyone. That and to experience different cultures and have a pretty awesome time doing it – I suppose. But my smugness really came back to bite me on the flight from Sydney to London. Here’s what happened.
Flying anxiety, take-off delays and knowing I had a middle seat didn’t suggest a breezy flight, but the promise of what I was heading towards kept me cheerful. Continue reading
I’ve been on Tinder for about 48 hours now so I guess you could say I’m a total pro…
For those of you that don’t know, Tinder is a dating app with the aim to “discover those around you… and connect you if you’re both interested”. Based on your Facebook data the app recommends matches which you can like or pass. If you both choose ‘like’ then you are matched up and can message each other. Your profile consists of up to five photos, your age, any mutual friends, and a tagline. Basically it’s the simplest, most superficial form of internet dating: it’s speed-dating of the internet.
Two nights ago my male housemates, who both use the app, convinced me to join so they could “check out their competition”. After connecting my phone to the Apple TV the three of us went through my potential suitors, the boys shouting at me to swipe left (Nope) or right (Like) to guys they thought were cool. Things got judgemental… like Year 8 High School bitchy. We argued, we laughed, and we were down-right scared.
I’m worried this guy is only 9 miles away…
Continue reading Lately I’ve noticed a few alarming things about myself. Things I would have never dreamed I’d say, do or be. It’s a scary reality and it’s happening fast… I am becoming my parents and this is how:
There are a lot tough questions in life, some of which may never be answered… Which is the path to true happiness? Is there life after death? Should I cut a fringe? And perhaps the most pressing of all*: how do I know it’s time to make the switch to adult radio?
Recently I learnt that the target age of my favourite music radio station is people 18-24, yet the adult talk station I would progress to is broadly aimed at those aged 40+. This leaves me floating in some kind of radio-station-limbo-land… much like an unused tampon, lost in a handbag. Continue reading
Recently a good friend of mine (let’s call her Catalina…) needed a bit of cheering up. Being on the other side of Earth my usual strategy (performing a liturgical dance to the music of Shania Twain) just wouldn’t do. Instead I used my refined skills in online procrastination to pull together a bunch of my favourite smile-inducing-interweb-things to send her. Then I thought maybe we could all use a few cheeky grins so I have put together a selection of them here. Also it is the Easter long weekend and I’ve got a lot of business* to get through so I wanted to get this post up quickly. And on that note…
1. Sloths… Let’s be honest, I could do ten awesome things just about sloths but I’ll try and contain myself… SQUEEEEEE-BABY SLOTHS BATHED IN TEA AND HUNG TO DRY ON CLOTHES HORSES!!! Um… also… baby sloths in onesies spooning. And yes Sloth…. you can fly! Continue reading
Can you feel the ocean breeze? Smell those freshly mowed lawns? Hear those birds (you know the ones, they go booooooooo-woop)? The sensations of leafy suburbia – where I’ve taken respite from my inner city life to house-sit for a couple of days – feel good. I came for a bit of peace and quiet and easy beach access, but got a whole lot more than that. And it’s hard not to compare it to my usual residence in the grimy inner city.
So how do they stack up?
In the morning…
Suburbs: Sunday morning sleep-ins may come to an abrupt halt due to the sounds of birds (seriously it’s like a fricken rainforest out here), small children and lawnmowers.
Inner city: You are gently lulled awake by conversations of friendly locals as they drift past your house on their daily trip to the rehab centre. I don’t know why, but they prefer to converse with each other by shouting from opposite sides of the street. Continue reading
Warning: I wrote this sick with a cold and maybe should have edited it, but I really want to go to bed. So please read quietly and pass the cough syrup.
Valentine’s Day is the worst. It is the worst for everyone. I’m not just saying that because I’m single and alone and please someone won’t you love me? *cough*
My earliest memory of the day (besides when I just made cards for mum – SHOUTOUTZ MUM!) was a massive disappointment. I was about 11 and purchased a packet of Starbursts lollies and composed a love letter to deliver to my primary school crush. Keeping them hidden in my desk all day I awaited the perfect moment. Continue reading
the blank notebook 