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This is a question Procrastination

Outlook is a wonderful tool, but not when it keeps reminding you that it is now 96 weeks since you were supposed to finish a report you haven't even started yet.

Just how lazy are you? How long will you put off the essential or the inevitable? What do you fill the time with?

(We're too lazy to write something funny here. You do it.)

(, Thu 13 Nov 2008, 18:18)
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This question is now closed.

Lazy & borderline nasty..
A friend of mine used to live in a bedsit.
There wa three toilets, one on each floor..
Three Bedsits per floor,hence "shared w.c"
In each of the bedsits there was your own shower cubicle....

Too lazy to walk 10 paces to the toilet when you could just pull back your curtain and pee in the shower.nice!
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 16:04, 3 replies)
After much scrimping and saving
I treated myself to an Xbox 360 for Christmas/my birthday last year.

Played it lots, enjoyed it greatly.
GTA 4 came out, and I got about half way through before it stopped working.

I tried a different game.
Didn't work either.

Hmmmm... It wasn't the typical "red ring of death"...
Worked out that it was a laser fault.

That was March.
I really need to send it off before the warranty runs out in December.

My justification for laziness is "I've got to unplug a load of stuff to get the serial number from the back".

I make myself fuckin' sick sometimes.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 15:42, 14 replies)
about 10 years ago
I was window shopping in my local Dixons checking out he new games when I saw one that caught my eye. Grim fandango eh?, thought I I'll have to get that it sounds good.

I just got a copy off ebay.

I lent it to a mate as I had some work to do. I really ought to go round and get it back. But not right now I have some papers to shuffle.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 15:34, 2 replies)
I really wish I'd put off telling my family I was gay.
Turns out I wasn't.

Hey! it's an easy mistake to make.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 15:22, 8 replies)
I guess I am putting off growing up
Lets see how I do with this brief questionnaire covering life waypoints a typical 31 year old male is likely to have passed:

1) Education - "Check"
2) Job - "Check"
3) Car - "Check"
4) Place of residence - "Check"
5) Wife & children & actual responsibilities like wot normal people do you sad little man - "Ummm, i'm thinking about getting a cat...does that count?"

It would break my mothers heart if she knew that she would will never have grandchildren because I can't be bothered.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 15:11, 14 replies)
I bought the Wii Fit
As I can't be bother with the gym. Does it count?
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 14:34, 8 replies)
Finger Food
In order to avoid the need to wash up plates/knives/chopping boards etc, I've now become a journeyman in the world of cutlery-free sandwich making.

By using one hand to spread the butter, cheese and chilli powder over the bread, and t'other hand to platform my creation, research suggests that this has reduced my need to wash up by as much as 100%.

There were a couple of slight drawbacks though. Namely overdoing it on chilli powder before putting the sarnie in the toaster, resulting in what onlookers will go on to describe as 'the black spicy cloud of death which put the smoke detector in spaz mode for 10 minutes', and going on to indirectly promote eyewatering pain through the medium of spice across my face and wedding tackle.

Apologies for length and girth, the swelling should go down soon.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 14:30, 4 replies)
I'm writing this...
...from my Blackberry, as I've just washed up on a desert island after a shipwreck.

I need to build shelter, start a fire, find food.

Oh well, I'll get it done by Friday.


R. Crusoe
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 14:24, 2 replies)
Well, I was going to reply to every story on last week's QOTW with "That's mine you bastard, give it back!"

But frankly I couldn't be arsed.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 13:36, Reply)
At work
I printed off a pisstake of those inspirational cooperate posters


I never got around to getting some blue tac off one of me colleagues so I could put it up next to my desk
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 13:22, 1 reply)
I was going to type this last week...but you know how it is

As a fresh faced 17 year old snee, I started learning to drive, did quite well at picking up the skills required, and didn't cause too much of a menace on the open road - time for the test.


Bugger. So young snee thinks "I'll take it again in a bit..."

~~~ time passing ~~~

January 22nd, 2008 - the fateful day I finally re-took and passed my driving test.

Yes, I waited until the relatively easy one part test was replaced by the 2 stage theory then practical test.

I love driving.

Length? 23 years between tests...
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 13:15, 3 replies)
oh seedy...
procrastination.the electrical handyman's woes.
(based on someone i know)
8 years ago,friends aged parents "can you fix me wideo recorder",
"yeah just bring it round",5 years later : " i see that video's still here in bits","yeah i'm doing it" "are gonna do something about it or shall i bin it for you ?" ,"i'll phone up owner,hello do you remember me i'm repairing yer video,you still want it back,you do, oh right good, its just that someone was trying to throw it on the tip like an idiot".

" see ! they still want the video ! "

just recently,eight years after original aquirement" see that vids still not repaired"," yeah i'm doing it ,been trawling the net for 2 years trying to get obsolete parts that went out in 1990".

" just chuck it away"," nah bad for environment,give it a few more years,something'll come up ".

multiply that by 100 videos/tellies/computers/radios/radiators door handles/pron/squeezing blackheads in mirror/junkmail/etc etc etc. : procrastination.

jesus.45,never had relationship.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 13:14, Reply)
A few years back, one bright saturday morning, I discovered I had run out of bread. However, feeling lazy, I couldn't be bothered to make the five minute walk to the local shop to get more. Luckily, whilst I didn't have bread, I did have flour, yeast, and other sundry ingredidents. I then spent several hours mixing, kneading, and baking a loaf of bread in the oven.

Was worth it to avoid walking to the shop though.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 12:44, Reply)
Dream Diary: The final Part
I’m happy that the QOTW has fallen in such a way that I can write this up as I believe that my sons teacher has a teaching method that fits well with this weeks subject.

For a bit of an update for anyone that hasn’t read any of my previous posts, a few weeks ago my son was given a dream diary by his happy clappy moon worshipping teacher and for every night my son couldn’t remember a dream I #ahem# added a few creative ideas to the diary ( Big thanks to all B3tans that suggested ideas – I used the ones suggested by Axeman Jim and Evilscary).

I was then sent a letter to meet with his teacher and have just come back from the meeting.

The teacher started off explaining that the homework my son had handed in was clearly not his own work and that due to the fact that he had used a kids show from the 80’s and also using words he (My son that is) would not understand. Due to my ideas I had ruined the maths lesson for the whole class.

My first reaction was “Clearly she doesn’t watch Challenge, Knightmare used to be on every night” and then my brain kicked in again to say “Did she just say ruined the maths lesson? WTF?”

Turns out the diary wasn’t anything to do with the creative writing side of things, they were using the results of the entire class to create a bar chart showing what everyone was dreaming about during a week. I was shown the finished chart, my sons results had been removed so there was no separate columns labelled Hugo Myatt or binary (there was one for Hollyoaks and one for X Factor though, which leads me to think that todays kids have sod all imagination).

I asked the useless teacher if the whole dream diary idea was just an easy way to avoid giving the kids any homework for a week and she burst into tears and fled the room, therefore ending our meeting (What does she do if the kids play up? I didn’t ask her the question in any threatening way and even the wife admits that it was a pretty shit homework task for maths).

I’m pissed off now as I was in the mood for a decent rant at her AND I had to convince my boss to allow me to leave work for this meeting while using up a couple of my days dinner hours to go see this woman.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 12:32, 9 replies)
I've been putting off
breaking up with my boyfriend. Don't get me wrong - I care about him a lot and the sex is awesome. Trouble is, he swings from attentive to indifferent to callous in the space of a day and I'm fed up anticipating the moods of an emotionally unavailable man. My mates are sick of hearing the latest woes. I'm sick of telling them.

And so, after much agonising, I composed the ideal speech in my head (the words "fuck" and "off"). I mustered all my dignity and convinced myself that the next time he was mean to me I'd leave him for good.

Did I? Did I fuck. Instead I bought a new fishing rod and went fishing with him. Why do today what you can put off to some other time?
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 11:56, 54 replies)
This is a shared living area
Living with other students has given me an almost Solid Snake worthy approach when it comes to avoiding the inevitable cleaning. Granted, if I've made a mess I'll clean it, but when some other neanderthal has sprayed the bowl I'm not going to get on my knees and scrub for glory. I'll be sneaking out of the house in a cardboard box before I become a shitwiper.

My current accommodation's bathroom is an airtight cell which is no stranger to the wall mould you get from the combination of damp environment and paint schemes(has nobody in Berkshire heard of bathroom tiles?). After the whole house adamantly refused responsibility to scrub up (as it'll need cleaning again in a fortnight anyway) the inevitable 'clean me' messages began to be scraped into the scummy interior.

Such fingernails have never taken a battering equal to my response. A full paragraph denying my existence as the magical bathroom fairy, capped off with an etch of Tinkerbell. It took me nearly an hour to do. I think I could've just gotten rid of the mess in half the time, but by jove I'm British. This is what we do!

I've also managed to avoid throwing the used bog rolls into the recycling bin by turning it into a 3ft tall pyramid next to the toilet over the past 6 months. It's called Trevor and I'm so proud of him he's got his own little flag on top. I make a note to salute him every time I go for a piss.

I now have leprosy.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 11:52, Reply)
I must be really thick.
I had to look procrastination up in the dictionary. Am I the only one?

Trouble is, it sums me up perfectly.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 11:45, 2 replies)
waited too long...
to leave my ex husband. It made me a very bad girl.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 11:35, 1 reply)
I have to make life decisions based around my procastinatory tendencies
I used to do my homework in the car on the way to school, on the day it was due in. Any large projects would be shoddily produced at the very last minute.

So when it came to choosing a degree, I picked Maths because it wouldn't involve writing any essays.

I like to think I could have got into Oxbridge, but one of my teachers told me that the learning there is largely based around self-study and tutorials rather than lectures. I would have got fuck all done! So I didn't bother applying.

Instead I picked my university on the fact that they didn't make you do a final year project/dissertation. You could if you wanted, or you could just do some extra modules instead. Lovely.

I should really have done an MSc afterwards, but that would definitely have involved a dissertation. Naaaahh.

It all worked out OK though, I have a job where I can faff about on teh internets lots. Yay!
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 10:41, Reply)
I feel I wasnt honest enough last time
in my earlier post so here goes again.

Dear Women

The reason we havent done what you asked is that you noticed it needed doing, not us. We dont give a shit. When you go away, we live in our undercrackers, and tidy up in the 3 minutes before you arrive back, and fake it.



Dear Men. Some tips.

Spraying a little Mr Sheen in the lounge implies we have been polishing. Of course we havent, we've just sprayed a little Mr Sheen in the air. Found some dust? We missed a bit. But women forgive us because we tried.

The hoover leaves little tracks on the carpet like a well groomed lawn. This can be replicated fairly easily by running a book along the carpet a bit, against the grain. A well placed 'hoover line' in a womans line of sight as they come in the house implies we've hoovered the whole house. Shifting a few key items of furniture a few millimetres implies we not only hoovered round, we moved them and to hoover properly. She found some dirt? We missed a bit. But at least we tried.

Squirting some bleach down the bog, again implies further cleaning. In reality, we squirted some bleach down the bog.

Whilst youre in the bathroom - dont jif the bath/sink/other enamel. Jif the taps. They come up beautifully after about 5 seconds. They go very shiny, and distract from the rest of the room. Believe me, shiny taps pretty much override any bits you dont do.

Fluffing up the cushions on the sofa - is a quick and easy technique that fools the observer into thinking more must have been done. The genius of this trick, is that its a finishing touch. Finishing touches - by very definition - are done at the end. They imply many hours of previous work.

Kitchen floors can be cleaned thus; throw a tea towel on the floor, and then stand on it. Shuffle around in the dirtiest bits. Job done.

Washing up. I dont have a good one for this if you dont have a dishwasher. Other than leaving everything in the sink to soak for a day or two and then rinsing off under the tap. Obviously everything in the world pretty much dries on its own, this is a timing issue. What is however the icing on the cake - is putting everything away, and wiping down the sink and kitchen tops. This, I have found, pretty much guarantees that you are really thoughtful and thus, she wont leave you when youre 48 and bald. You'll at least get to 50 when so you wont feel as bad when you fall back on Plan B for your life - which is essentially to live in a cool flat, and pay high class escorts to fuck you until you die happy.

All of the cleaing tips above can be completed - and I mean all of them - in 3 minutes or less.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 10:20, 6 replies)
Procrastination can be life threatening!
Maybe TMI, but I have spent my entire adult life procrastinating about having a smear test, cos let's face it, it's pretty embarrassing and undignified.

I finally gave in to the little voice in my head a few weeks ago and had one done. I'm now booked in for surgery later this month to have some of my ladyparts removed :(

Have regular smear tests girls, it can save your life!

[joke about cocks to lighten the atmosphere]
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 10:20, 8 replies)
I've just lost the game
Now you've all lost too..

Muh hah hah....
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 10:08, 8 replies)
I spent Sunday at home, in my pants, doing nothing
...well, up until around 11pm. My phone rang, which is weird since nobody EVER calls me. It came up number witheld, and I normally don't answer those because it's either a) a survey or b) some credit card company telling me I owe them a king's ransom. But since it was a Sunday evening I figured it couldn't be either and picked it up.


"...hi....[my name]?"

"Yes? who is this?"

"It's Sarah"

Now Sarah was my first girlfriend who I haven't spoken to in exactly 1 year. While we parted on good terms, her choice to go and sleep with a married cocaine dealer shortly after we split meant I didn't really want anything to do with her. Given the fact that she lives in Birmingham and I live in Dover meant I didn't have to worry about bumping into her. Anyway, it was kinda weird getting a call from her out of the blue. As soon as she confirmed it was me she burst into tears.

"I've fucked up, I've fucked up so much. I don't know what to do any more."

"What's happened?"

"I've just fucked it all up! I'm scared. I'm frightened. I'm frightened. Come and see me. Now."

"What the hell are you on about? I'm in Dover."

"So am I."

Now by this point my stomach had sunk. I cannot put into words how much I've grown to loathe this girl in the year since we last spoke. I watched her go from being my first love to a bullying, lying, cheating, attention seeking slut and I actually shed a genuine tear of happiness the day we split because it felt like I was actually free at last. And now here she was, back out of the blue, 250 miles away from her home, demanding to see me. She'd had a habit of pulling the old damsel in distress routine when we were together, but that normally involved me going up to Birmingham to go and "rescue" her.

"What the hell? Where are you?"

"I'm on the seafront in my car. Can you get down here?"

And so, at half 11 last night I find myself walking the 40 minute trip from my house down to the beach. I'm absolutely frozen, half asleep and very anxious as to what's going on. I have to take the long way down to the beach, since being in Dover at night is only a good idea if you consider puncture wounds a fashion accessory.

So I make my way onto the promenade. Sarah had said she had the same car, which was a horribly garish shade of blue, so I was pretty sure I'd find it quickly. The promenade is about a mile from one end to the other, so I started to walk along, burying my head in my collar and pulling my hat down as much as I could to keep the cold sea air out. I was pissed off. Why couldn't she have just left me alone? Why did she have to drop her fat arse into my life again like a celulite nuclear bomb, and destroy the frankly wonderful life I'd made for myself since she left?

I made it to the end. Her car wasn't there. I checked all the side roads that branch off the promenade - nothing there. Now Dover only has one seafront - where the hell was she?

I keep calling her mobile but nobody answers. Was it a wind up? It was definitely her - I know her husky, whiney West Midlands drawl, and I could hear the horns of the ferries in the background when she called me.

Then, in an otherwise totally empty carpark, I see her car in the far corner. I walk up to it, my stomach feeling heavier with each footstep I took towards it. I approached from the rear, expecting to see the silhouette of her cheap nasty perm against the repeating glare of the lighthouse. No silhouette. She must have gotten a haircut. I went down the passenger side of the car - I walked all the way down here, the least the bitch could do is give me a passenger seat in the car with the heaters on. I bend down and look into the window. The driver's seat is empty. I look up and do a 360 turn of the empty carpark to try and spot her. Nothing. So I shout rather a loud expletive and head back to the beach.

So I try and find a shelter that wasn't filled with drunk, masturbating hobos, scootch up into a corner with my knees up into a foetal position to protect myself from the cold, and ring her phone again, and again, and again.

Finally, on my 23rd attempt, I hear a click and a hello. but it wasn't her; it was her mum, sounding rather pissed as I had apparently woken her up.

"Sarah called me. She said she was in Dover and asked me to come meet her at the beach, and she's not here! Do you know where she is? If this is some kind of joke it's not fucking funny."

"Who on earth is this?"

"It's [me]!"

"You awful, awful man!" She then burst into tears. I wasn't expecting that.

"Sarah died 4 months ago you bastard!" She slammed the phone down.

My head started spinning. My heart was pounding. Dead? I mean I hated her, but not that much. How did it hap...hang on.

Who the fuck called me? And why did they have Sarah's car?

I don't know why, but I felt the need to run as fast as I could back to the car park and check the car again. This was madness. Was it a dream? The stench of alcohol, weed and piss, the relentless November sea spray and driving wind slapping my face confirmed it wasn't.

I sprinted across the carpark and looked in the window again. She couldn't be dead. I spoke to her an hour ago. Her car was in front of me - it was all real.

Then, a hand on my shoulder. I feel nails digging into my skin.

I turn around and see a

Well, that killed half an hour. I should probably get back to work now.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 9:45, 26 replies)
Geeky fun with Procrastination
Anagrams... So shoot me.

For some reason I've managed to work out that it's an anagram of "Ocarina tits-porn" out of it.

Or even, "Stair-action Porn"

But - thinking on a Daily Mail theme you get "Crap Nation Riots" or "Pro-Nation Racist"

Hmm... come to think about it, you can also get "Onanistic Parrot" which in it's own way makes up for the others being a bit shite.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 9:10, 7 replies)
My good reason
Thirteen years ago, when the Internet was just starting to become what it is today, I was a geeky computer hippie discovering the highs of lows of marijuana, flitting between jungle, Nirvana and Oasis, and spending weekends in the pub, playing pool and getting pissed. I was twenty, carefree and loving it.

Then I met Clare.

I'd seen her a few times in the pub. She was going out with the local speed-freak, who also played pool. We laughed and joked and flirted a little but, not being one to step on toes, I just kept it platonic, although my geek-sense told me there was a spark.

A few weeks after we first met, we bumped into each other in the pub. She'd split up with speed-freak and was steadily pickling her sorrows. We spent the night getting leathered and wandered off to the park for a snog and a fumble. This was unusual for me - I didn't get much attention from girls so when we finally went our separate ways I bounced back to my house with a beaming grin.

A couple of weeks later, I got a call from Clare. She'd left home as her dad was being abusive and she was sleeping rough. I told her she could stay at my place for a couple of nights to get herself sorted. And that's when we hooked up.

I won't go into too much detail as my previous post from Beautiful but Bonkers tells the most part of the story. Suffice it to say that we were terrible for each other.

When she fell pregnant, I knew instantly I should leave. I wanted desperately to get away from her. I knew I was being manipulated and backed into a corner, but I put it off, I sided with my moral mind and tried my level best to make things work for the sake of our child.

So I put off the separation I knew would ultimately come, through the pregnancy, birth, and much of the first year of our daughter's life. Ultimately, the continued aggression, arguements and lies all got too much for me, and I necked a few strips of prescription codeine and a couple of packets of paracetamol on top of a bellyful of beer.

Thanks to an observant friend and excellent service during a night in A & E, I came through. But even this didn't move me to split with Clare. Our child was what bound us together, and I really wanted to make it work for her sake.

So again, and again, I put it off, until finally, finally I snapped. A week before our daughter's first birthday, I broke up with them.

I say 'them' because that's what it was - to get away from Clare, I had to lose every-day contact with my daughter.

Fortunately we managed to arrange access and now, almost twelve years later, our daughter and I get on famously.

But I'd much rather she was there for breakfast every morning, and dinner every night.

You can see why I put it off for so long, right?
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 9:03, Reply)
A few years ago I had the chance to buy a signed, numbered, limited edition print of a piece of Banksy artwork.

It was all above board, from a genuine gallery who dealt in Banksy's stuff. The prints were about £200 each (this was before he became massive)

I didn't really know who he was, I just stumbled upon a cool looking picture that I thought would look cool in a frame on our wall. I "uhm'ed and ahh'ed" about it for a couple of weeks, they sold out and I thought "Oh well, never mind"

I read recently that one of these prints sold for £13,000 at auction.



(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 9:02, 1 reply)
Just one word -
(I'm not the only one right?!)
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 3:33, 1 reply)
people think I'm a vampire
but honestly, dying is totally on my 'to do' list.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 1:20, 1 reply)
I just found this on yahoo answers which I think takes the biscuit for any essay related procrastination.
"Who is socrates and why was he killed for just asking questions?
please tell me. i have a 2000 word essay due tomarrow".

What an idiot.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 1:15, 6 replies)
Ah so there is a word for doing nowt!
2 weeks ago i decided to empty my loft of stuff that had been there untouched for over a decade.
There are boxes in my living room, bedroom, hallway and bathroom.
2 binbags of crumpled newspaper from stuff I actually unwrapped and investigated and then put outside with a handwritten sign saying 'free help yourself'
Most of it is still there :(
Every morning I wake up, trip over something and tell myself I should move that.
At least one pile of stuff between my bed and the loo has probably been weed on whilst half asleep and dreaming that ive woken up and gone to the lav.
Every day I think I must move that lot, but have a cig and a cup of tea, then another cig.
Ive cut down on the cups of tea as I dont want to open any soggy cardboard boxes right now.
Mr Trebus would be proud.
2 weeks ive been stepping over stuff rather than deal with it.
Procrastination at its finest.
(, Mon 17 Nov 2008, 1:08, Reply)

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