Last year I read Sarah Knight’s book ‘The Life Changing Magic of Not Giving a Fuck’. On the verge of a self-inflicted melt down spurred on by the inability to say no, I thought I could use all the help I could get (don’t worry, friends – I’m in a much more ZEN place right now – but thank you for your concern).
In the book, Knight teaches her readers to make a ‘Fuck Budget’ in order to prioritise the things in their life. The idea is to avoid using up all our energy on things we don’t actually want to be doing. Instead she urges her readers to concentrate all their positive zen (or ‘fucks’) into things we *should* be doing in order to have more ZANG for the things we *want* to be doing.
And true to its title, this book changed my life.
At the time, with Knight’s guidance, I made a mental ‘Fuck Budget’ to help me see the light.
Below is a comprehensive list of the things I have recognised since which I have accepted I don’t give a fuck about, and have subsequently stopped wasting my time and effort on; I urge you to do the same.
My intent was not to offend anyone with this list – if you are really into coating your face with a thick layer of foundation with a trowel, whilst sipping on a matcha tea smoothie and watching Matt Preston in the background scoffing an ice cream parfait infused with the essence of a virgin peacock, then that’s fantastic! You do you* (the subsequent name of book three in the anti-guru’s no fuck’s given trilogy – I’d highly recommend a read)!
It just felt so liberating to write this list, and although it is in no particular order, putting pen to paper solidified the idea that it’s ok to stop pretending to care about these things.
In a funny twist of irony, self-help books are one of the things I don’t give a fuck about – but hey, there’s always exceptions to any rule, right?
I have a lot of habits, most of them bad. But, thankfully, an addiction to coffee is not one of them. It genuinely blows my mind how some people seem unable to function, are literally a bumbling mass of bed hair and bad energy until they wrap their mitts around a steaming cup of brown muck. Apart from the fact that it gives you ass breath, surely those morning pit stops are adding up and costing you a small fortune; I’d rather an extra 5 minutes in bed, and an extra 2 cocktails on Saturday night.
And let’s not even get into the soy, weak, double foam, sugar free, decaf versions… are you for real? If you can’t say your coffee order in 2 syllables or less, you’re probably the but of your local barista’s joke.
I do get it, I’m an absolute tea snob and I only like my tea my way… but that’s why I don’t order tea when I go out.
Coffee. Nup, don’t give a fuck about it.
2. Spas, Saunas and Hot Springs
Basically anything that combines extremely hot water, humidity and often overly large crowds of strangers. I don’t care how pretty the backdrop is (I’ve been to the hot springs in Iceland with a Microsoft Screensaver-esque view whilst it was gently snowing down on me – still didn’t give a fuck… read about that horrid ordeal HERE) but chances are, I’m just not that into it. I get way too hot, way too quickly; it feels like I’m being boiled alive and my limbs could be disconnected from my body with a gentle tug if they’re left to simmer long enough; I just don’t find it relaxing. And frankly, the change room situation gives me the creeps. Although I probably see more private parts within those confines than I do in my sex life, the little pools of freezing cold, stagnant water you need to dodge between like mouse traps, the dislodged Bandaids and the showering before you enter rule (which I always disregard but hey, if I’m disregarding it who else is disregarding it and how often do THEY shower!?)…
I can’t even. I just don’t give a fuck.
Iceland – yup. Wasn’t a fan, and the opposite extremities in temperature was just confusing.
3. My Kitchen Rules and Masterchef (and basically any competitive cooking show on TV)
I don’t like watching people eat. I don’t like seeing people get upset by other people who think they are better than others. I don’t like people cooking as if they were in a chemistry lesson. I don’t like bitching and drama. I don’t like huge plates with tiny bits of food on them… and safe to say, this pretty much sums up the snippits I’ve seen of these shows.
Also, on a whole other side note of fuckery, having spent 10 solid years + in the hospitality industry, I think it’s safe to say that these shows are the cause of why everyone thinks they’re an expert on food, and these shows can be blamed for an immense increase on food being sent back to the kitchen (probs spat on and replated) with people bitching and moaning about this or that – if it’s shite, shut your mouth and just don’t go back… simples. There’s literally thousands of places for you to go. Get off your high horse, and go and find another venue to cram overpriced wild salmon caught by one legged bears served with a side dish of kale shredded by baby woodpeckers into your pie hole.
Even looking at this picture makes me feel angry, hungry and a little ripped off.
Same goes for home renovating shows. Just no fucks could be given.
4. Star Wars and Star Trek
Safe to say if you profess your love of these films is in your Bumble bio, you just got a left swipe from me.
I don’t care how much you resemble Henry Cavill. It’s a no from me.
5. Supplements and Super Foods
As I sit here shovelling an almond croissant down my throat knowing full well I will be in my bathers next week when I land in Europe, it becomes apparent to me that I give zero fucks about fad diets, super foods or vitamins and supplements. I have all the good intent in the world, I guess I just can’t make that kind of commitment to 18 various pills and powders each morning and a veggie drawer full of kale.
This is probably why I am heavily buxom. And I’m ok with that. I can gym. I can look in the mirror and think, “yeh, we can work with this.” I can “watch what I eat” (including watching myself have a tiny bit of chocolate every day – hey, some people are addicted to crack cocaine, I’m addicted to chocolate); but when it comes to the multi vitamin, women’s health caps and the protein bar washed down with a litre of coconut water, count me out.
Allocation: Zero fucks.
6. My Number (Your Number)
This may come as a bit of a shock to some of you… but… I am not a virgin.
I think I stopped giving a fuck about my number when I realised I wasn’t going to be married with kids by the age of 22 as per ‘the plan’.
My theory is simple. As long as you’re safe and as long as you’re respectful, as long as you can avoid having a reputation of the village bicycle and as long as you always listen to your gut… who gives a fuck (hint: not me). I like to think that one day when (if) I meet Mr Rest-of-my-life, he won’t give a fuck about my number, and I can assure you, I won’t give a fuck about his number either. We all have a past. It’s 2017 (editors note: This was *actually* written in 2017, back in a time where I was writing lots but didn’t have the guts to actually POST any of my writing in a public place). Do what makes your soul sing, and if that’s having a little howzy-doozy every now and then with Tom, Dick and/or Harry, you do your thing girl (and pass on my number… you never know).
No fucks were given last weekend. No fucks will be given this weekend.
P.S. my sex life does’t frequently involve the inclusion of pineapples but I thought this pic was rad… plus – BOOBS!! Definitely booby envy with this babe.
7. Germs and Cooties
I think germaphobes breed germaphobes. Mum and dad always had a “5 second rule” kind of parenting philosophy. Guess you gotta do what you gotta do to survive raising 4 kids… I don’t really give a fuck about germs – and I think this is because I’ve never really truly, badly been affected by them. I never get food poisoning, I rarely get sick… I don’t really catch bugs (although there was that time I was admitted to hospital for one week when they thought I had Meningococcal… but that ended up being a blood infection caused by my partying and excessive alcohol consumption both at Portsea Polo and Heineken Day on consecutive days after I had my wisdom teeth out – you win some, you lose some).
I think this was a bit of a cycle – the more weird shit we ate, the more germs we were exposed to growing up, the harder our stomachs became, the less we got sick, the more brazen I became with facing up to germs.
I recall one night finding a Cruella De Vil cigarette holder at a party and proceeding to use it myself for the remainder of the night…
I don’t give a fuck about using your toothbrush – I’ll do it. I’ll eat off any food van from any side street in any country in the world (my favourite was eating at a restaurant in Thailand where I accidently walked past the ‘open kitchen’ behind the restaurant on a trip to the loo to see the barefooted ‘chef’ cooking over a massive pot, cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth, sweat dripping off his overworked forehead, cats jumping around all over the place like it was a jungle gym – if I didn’t get sick then as if I’m scared of Box Hill?), I’m sure these quirks just add to the flavour of the food.
Stomach of steel.
Germs? I don’t give a fuck.
8. Foundation and Mineral Make up
Genetics has blessed me with many things – amongst all the little gems like the Italian thunder thighs and the small mosquito bites I try to pass off as breasts, I was lucky enough to be slipped the gene for good skin. I think I missed the make up boat way back in high school when all my friends were spending their McDonalds money on the new Benefit concealers and the latest Mecca highlighter.
Looking back now, it is evident I didn’t give a fuck, even back then.
Don’t get me wrong – I love dolling myself up as much as the next drag queen… I am just happy to survive the working week with my bare essentials of drug store bronzer, blush and mascara, jazzing it up with some shimmer and liquid liner on the weekends with a look that says “I’m approachable but I still like to party.”
Even when I do get all dressed up for a night out, don’t bother asking me for lippy or some powder or a hair brush if we bump into each other in the bathroom – I never bring extra supplies. Once I’m done, I’m done; I ain’t got time for no re-applications during the night.
And mineral make up? If I don’t give a fuck about supplements and health food, do you really think I give a fuck about what’s going on the *outside* of my
body (clue – NUP)?
Yeh I get caught up in the all consuming trends such as: scrunchies – out, 50 CFM bands on each wrist – in… and skinny jeans – out, baggy boyfriend jeans – in, wait no, skinny jeans back in again… I’m all about a casually tucked tee (that takes 30 minutes to re-apply the *casual* look after every toilet break) and a cropped leather jacket that can take me from office to after work drinks and out to the park on the weekend… but… don’t ask me if I’ve seen *insert new trendy label’s name here*’s new floral print dress or the latest range Kimmy K designed for Gucci – chances are I’ll have no idea what you’re talking about, and couldn’t really care less.
Constantly being freezing, slightly soft around the edges and possessing a frugality which forbids me to invest in clothing and accessories without ensuring a 2 week buyer’s remorse, limits me to a small wardrobe of sensible pieces which can be mixed and matched to create whichever look so strikes me at the time… Yes most of my clothes are from chain store Bardot with a few classic Target numbers thrown in to keep you on your toes; but I rock it. So whatevs.
If you ask someone who their favourite band is and they answer with Mariah Carey and Madonna, they’re probably not gonna be hard-core music fanatics.
I always have music playing! My taste is just so eclectic it’s like Eminem had a house party and invited Spandau Ballet, La Roux and the whole cast of the Rent Broadway Production, before Maroon 5 showed up and initiated an orgy and all sorts of other mayhem stemmed from there… how do you explain that kind of music taste to the guy you just matched with on Tinder?
One look at my Playlists entitled ‘Sweet 60’s,’ ‘Pole Fitness,’ ‘Bangers’ and ‘Slow and Tender’ – you can see why it’s just easier to say “I like a bit of everything”.
I don’t listen to triple J, I have no idea what songs are in the top 10 and I still can’t understand why Madonna’s ‘Like a Prayer’ is not number 1 on the charts world-wide… I have my faves and they make me feel good (or they make me cry, depends what mood I’m vibing, really), and that’s ok with me.
Thinking Pearl Jam was new kind of spread for my croissant is fine with me – no fucks given.
Cats are like most boys I’ve encountered in my life.
They act all aloof and demand your attention at their beck and call… they are arrogant and temperamental and just when you think you’ve got them all figured out, just when you think you can start hanging out and enjoying each other’s company and building a relationship together, they fuck off and scratch the shit out of you or avoid looking you in the eye. Shady animals. No fucks given (by me or them, clearly).
I could probably go on and on – but these are the most urgent ones that I find myself in the minority of when it comes to fuck giving.
A quick research poll shows that these are the things that my fellow friends and family do not give a fuck about:
- Judging and bitching about other people
- Visiting historical/cultural sights whilst travelling
- Fine Dining (I swear to god that came up, I didn’t just add it in again…)
- Pumping a shit out quickly just because they know someone is waiting to use the toilet
- Competitiveness (this one clearly didn’t come from my sister who is the most competitive person I know)
- Wearing make up
So the next time you’re around me and the topic swings to one of these items from my list, please don’t be surprised if I up and walk away.
Is it time to write your fuck budget? I think so.