Conversations with my bank account

Despicable Me / Universal Picture via imgur

Me: You know what would be a REALLY GOOD IDEA?
Bank account: …what…?
BA: You don’t need it! You just bought one two weeks ago.
BA: No. Think of dinner! You like dinner right?
Me: yes…but….fluffy…
BA: You really need to stop anxiety shopping.

God. I hate it when my bank account makes sense.

How to care for A Guy


I’ve recently come into possession of a guy (The Guy). Dear dedicated readers (who-may-all-be-in-my-head-because-I-really-don’t-blog-good), you’ll know that it was a good number of years since I last had to keep one of these. And, they are very much not like keeping cactuses (who now live with my parents thanks to my worst nightmare flatmates) alive. They’re a lot more like puppies: needy, furry and I’ll admit it, kind of cute.

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Learning to cohabitate…


…with roaches. Dear god I hate roaches. Big ones. Small ones. Some as big as a reasonable sized rat that has probably doing steroids and too many bench presses at gym, bro.

If you follow me on Twitter, you’ll have seen my requests pleas about how to get rid of the pesky fuckers without burning down my apartment because deposits and references are needed when you can eventually afford to live somewhere where you can’t see your fridge from your bed.

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Them Retrenchment Blue


[Edit: I started this blog in mid-March, I’m gainfully employed again, but why the hell not post this]

Why hello, unemployment. We meet again! I know some people like to jazz you up and call you ‘Funemployment’ but honestly there’s nothing fun about a future of looming debit orders, lack of medical aid and zero inflow of cash. But times are tough and shit happens and I know it’s been less than 18 months since we last met, but, you gotta get down on Frid – oh, no wait. That’s not it. You gotta DOWN the Mainstay*

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The Problem With Tinder


I’ve said it before, I’m a fan of Tinder – because where else are bookish girls with a desire to go to bed early and make friends with cats going to find men? But, BUT there’s a problem (well, many) with internet/Tinder dating: It requires you to invest a large amount of time into people you don’t even know, let alone know if you like.


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Food Groups Of The 20-something

Trippy Cat Eating Pizza

Part of being an independent, 20-something year old adult is learning to feed yourself and not end up some kind of severe nutritional deficiency/disorder/disease/die. Admittedly, when I first moved out of home, I depended a lot of frozen vegetables and couscous. Cause like, EASY. But I’ve realised that perhaps to avoid getting scurvy (THIS IS A THING YOU CAN GET ON LAND), I had to improve my game.


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