My New Youtube Obsession

Some of my favorite things in the world are Comedy, New York City and YouTube. I spend hours at a time watching Vlogs, shorts, trailers, reviews, how-tos, fails and more. Recently, I discovered a web series, created by two female New-Yorkers, Abbi Jacobson and Ilana Glazer. It’s called Broad City and it gives an insight into what it’s like to be a single and somewhat dysfunctional female 20-something living in the Big Apple (my dream future).

It’s hilarious.

Unfortunately, the camera work and direction isn’t too flash but I can look past that seeing as the two girls pretty much wrote and produced the series more or less on their own. Plus, it’s super quirky and awkwardly funny.

I give it 7/10.
They haven’t posted an episode for about a year now but they’ve been doing a bit of promo stuff lately so I have a feeling that a revamped new season is in store… I’ll definitely be on the look out for that.

Check it out!

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A Week in the Life of Me: Day 5- Sunday

I slept through most of the day again because I was up all night last night watching The Glee Project (awesome show by the way… so trashy and over-dramatic. It’s better than glee I reckon).

I’ve been playing guitar for a while so I had a bit of a solo jam in my bedroom this afternoon. I thought maybe I might try to sing and see what happens because YOLO… right? I whipped out le trusty MacBook Pro and recorded myself on photo booth. Turns out I can’t sing LOL.

I got my work roster for this week and I have a shift everyday. Not happy. Now I’m in a bad mood. Hmph. Short sentences reaffirm my dissatisfaction.

These are some of the reasons I dislike work:
-I’m not allowed to wear nail polish
-My uniform consists of tailored pants and a flared, three quarter length shirt (what is this… the 70s?)
-I have to wear my hair pinned back (I have bangs so pinning back my hair is difficult and unflattering)

Doing this “A Week in the Life of Me” thing has kind of induced a mild existential crisis. Usually, I don’t deeply consider the way I choose to live but now recounting my actions of each day I’m starting to question what exactly I’m doing with my life. Am I wasting time?

Looking back on the week so far (especially the past few days) I’ve not really done anything super productive. I feel like I need to write and create and learn more.

I’m contemplating going to New York City for a solo holiday next year. Maybe even for just a week or two. It’s a pipe dream of mine to obtain a social media internship while over there, but in the back of my head I know that an American company isn’t going to hire an Australian student (despite my charming accent and abilities to file things, enter data and hold multiple coffee cups)

Hmph.

So this is my Sunday.

My First Time (in New York City)

When I was 16 years old I was offered the amazing opportunity to go to New York City with 30 other girls as apart of a creative arts tour hosted by my high school. The moment I received the letter which informed me that I was a successful applicant I couldn’t believe it. As corny as it sounds it was a dream come true. New York was a place I had always wanted to go and having the opportunity to attend with a bunch of close friends would undoubtedly change my life. Even now, two years on, when I think back to that very moment I found out I’d be experiencing the big apple, my tummy still turns with joy.

On September 20th, 2010 after a 24 hour+ flight, we arrived in New York. It was night time when we got to Manhattan Hotel, just around the corner from Times Square. I couldn’t believe that it was real life. After we got settled, to celebrate our arrival, all 30 girls were joined by the 5 teachers on a group adventure to Times Square.

It was… I couldn’t even…Words can’t- … just wow.

I could honestly go on forever about my two weeks in New York but I’m going to try not to blabber on. So here, I present to you, freshly scanned from my adorable New York diary, the entry my 16-year-old self wrote detailing our first time experiencing Times Square:

Image

In case my writing is difficult to decipher, the general jist of the story is as follows:
Collectively, we gathered on the glowing red steps right in the middle of Times Square. A man, who clearly had feelings of bitterness towards tourists approached us yelling “get off my mother-fucking steps, mother-fuckers!”.

And here, I am, moments after it happened:
ImageMy greasy, untamed hair teamed with the sloppy gettup and baggy eyes make it clear that I just hopped off a very long flight.

It was a wonderful welcome-to-New York gesture. Really though, us being a bunch of teenage girls found it hilarious. From then onwards, a group of friends and I adopted ‘mother fucker’ as our noun of choice.

There’s no doubt about the fact that going on the tour changed my life. I’m yet to go back but my bedroom walls are scattered with New York postcards, maps and polaroid pictures taken in the Abercrombie & Fitch stores (nom nom shirtless models).