The Email

Dear C,

My sincere apologies for the delay in writing this email.
As requested I am writing an email about my life.
I am performing near or at expectations.

Currently my life involves getting up at 6.45am, getting ready for work and leaving my house at 7.30am. I get into work at around 8.00am where I go about my random tasks (speaking of random tasks, did you know that the guy who played Random Task in the first Austin Powers movie was recently put in jail for torture and rape? Who’d have thought! But I digress!)

My house is going fine. I appear to be very messy. It is such a burden to be both messy and a clean freak at the same time. I mean, I want things to be really clean but I don’t have the time (cant be bothered) to clean up!!
I am considering hiring a cleaner but have no idea how to go about it! I mean, do you think I just go and find a Mexican like they do in The States? (or the European Mexican equivalent……..Eastern European?)
I’m guessing I don’t give them a key, which means I have to be there when they are cleaning?….making awkward small talk…
“so how long have you been in a cleaner….?”
“do you miss the mother country…?”
“so that’s what the attachment on the hoover is for…!”
…the effort of that!!!

But living along is fun!  I like it loads. Work is soul destroying but pays the mortgage so I cant complain!

How goes your apartment? And your life? We should meet up soon!

Apologies for the Dawson Creek thing…….liar!

Kindest of Regards,
J

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The Magic Faraway Spree

“I’m sooooo poor,” I sighed dramatically, flopping into a spare chair beside Work Chum.
“Me too,” she said forlornly.
“I just don’t have any money anymore,” I said. “It’s all gone on rent and bills and groceries, although I used to have more left over than I do now…I don’t know what’s happened!”
“I hate being an adult,” she said, thumping down on her keyboard.
“Yeah, me too!” I agreed. “I miss shopping. I miss it so much. My wardrobe just seems so stale and boring now. I need lots of money – a second job or a Lotto win maybe?” I added another dramatic sigh for effect. “I could do with a good healthy shopping spree! I really need a nice new winter coat and some lovely dresses. And shoes! And skirts that aren’t halfway up my arse, because I appear not to have bought a skirt since I was 19 and in college, when it was acceptable to have skirts that short.”
Work Chum laughed.
“And oh God, I need to revamp my underwear drawer,” I said, swinging in the swivel chair. “It’s just depressing at this stage and girls need nice underwear.”
“Yup,” she agreed.
“Not that I have manky greying knickers or anything,” I clarified quickly. “But you know, living with your long-term boyfriend means you stop worrying about how pretty your underwear is or if you’ve nice matching sets. He already knows all your girl secrets and how lace and silk is not a daily occurrence.”
I thought for a second.
“Where do you even by nice underwear these days when you’re an adult?” I asked. “I used to go to La Senza but that’s kind of tacky now.”
“Yeah, I never go there,” Work Chum told me. “I go to M&S.”
“Oh really?”
“Yup or Brown Thomas.”
“Oh yeah, there are some beautiful pieces in there, but they’re all so expensive,” I said.
She nodded. “But I have to go to those places to get bras to fit me.”
“You’re so lucky though,” I told her.
She shook her head. “No, it’s not that fun.”
“Eh, not that fun is being a AA cup up until about two years ago. I was was stuck with training bras or the occasional teeny A cup,” I told her. “It was only when I went on The Pill that I actually got boobs and even now…” I looked down. “Well they’re getting smaller again, because I’ve come off it…I should really get back on it. Just for boobs.”
“Ha, ha ha ha, ‘just for boobs’. But seriously it’s tough,” she told me. “And the bras don’t look that nice – they’re HUGE!”
I laughed. “At least it’s feminine though! You have a lovely curvy shape! I just go straight down in a line.”
We laughed.
“It’s so stressful,” she said.
“Indeed it is,” I agreed. “I think I’ll just go back to vests.”


The Crazy Heart

“He’s going out with that slut!”
I looked up from my computer at Work Chum.
“What?” I said, extracting my earphones from my ears.
“They’re going out!” she said.
“How do you know?”
“I saw pictures of them on Facebook. And she had her foot up on the table! She’s so skanky!”
“And unhygienic. Pictures of what? Show me,” I told her.
She got out her iPhone, found the damning evidence and handed it to me.
I looked at it.
Me: That’s a picture of her shoe…
Work Chum: An ugly shoe!
Me: Yes, ok they are horrible shoes. But it’s a shoe and him and his friend in the background. It’s hardly proof of anything.
Work Chum: But she’s hanging out with him and his friends! She’s meeting his best friends!
Me: Maybe she’s friends with his friends.
Work Chum: Not his best friends who are the ones he goes drinking with who are the ones that are there.
Me: Well maybe there are other people there as well and they’re just not in this one picture that was taken.
Work Chum: There’s definitely something going on. They’ve been talking on Facebook.
Me: That doesn’t mean anything.
Work Chum: I have really good instincts about things like this.
Me: Well sure, yes, she has been kind of throwing herself at him, but I don’t think it’s mutual. Don’t worry about it.

A few hours later….
Email from Work Chum: Oh God, she stayed with him last night and now they’re out eating ice-cream!!
Email from Me: How do you know?
Email from Work Chum: He put a picture of them eating ice-cream on his Facebook page.
Email from The Roomie: Are you sure he is seeing her? If he is that is really insensitive to put up a pic of them.
Email from Work Chum: Ok I need to see the photo on a bigger screen, there is a possibility that it’s actually his friend’s hand and not yer wan….therefore the YAY comment is actually funny and the whole ice cream thing is even funnier cos it’s just a couple of boys out for the day
Email from The Roomie: Oh cool so it may not be her?! Send us the pic and we can guess…

Later…..
Me: Work Chum, that’s a picture of two hands holding an ice-cream cone each! That doesn’t mean anything!!!! It’s probably not even her hand!!

A few more hours later….
Text from Work Chum: I don’t think it’s her hand. I had a look at her photos and her hands are quite small and chubby. I’d say it’s his friend’s.
Text from Me: Amazing! Now return to being happy like you were earlier when I was talking sense into you!
Text from Work Chum: Lol!!! I’m a loser…
Text from Me: No you’re not! Shush!
Text from Work Chum: Hahahaha ok, I’m a crazy stalker bitch and any man would be crazy to take me on! Crazy!
Text from Me: Crazy stalker bitch – more commonly known as “being a girl”. 🙂


The Past is Sitting in the Living Room

Last week, I was sitting on the couch drinking tea with my friend David, when I heard a key turn in the front door.
“Oh yay, you’ll get to meet The Roomie,” I told him.

In she walked with a smile and dropped her shopping on the table.
“The Roomie, this is David,” I said.
He held his hand out, with a “Nice to meet you” and she shook it, saying “Hi” with an odd expression on her face.

“I know you,” she said.
David looked panicked.
“Do you?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “We met on a night out, I think.”
David tried to compose himself.
“Oh right,” he said.
I looked from one to the other, taking in the awkward atmosphere.
“Does anyone want tea?” asked The Roomie walking out to the kitchen.

“Omg,” I said, hitting him as soon as she left. “Did you sleep with her!?”
“….no,” he said, looking doubtful.

When she came back into the room, I just couldn’t let it go.
“So how do you know him?” I asked. “Did you meet through mutual friends or something?”
“No, just randomly on a night out,” she said. “We just started talking to him and his friend. And then they took us to this place that served wine all night.”
“Oh I remember now,” said David, starting to look a little less stressed. “Em, and there was your friend…Julie?”
The Roomie gave him a level look. “Zoe.”
“Yeah, Zoe,” he said, looking uncomfortable again.

When The Roomie left to get ready to go out, I turned to David.
“So you didn’t sleep with my room-mate?”
“No,” he said looking relieved.
“And her friend?”
He looked sheepish.
“That is hilarious,” I said.

It’s times like this that I worry that Dublin is a leeeeeeettle too small….


A Couple-Off

Last week, The Boy and I returned to our old haunt, Eddie Rockets (fifties-style diner), where we used to spend most of our time before we lived together .

They were the gooey romantic days of our youth.
We’d spend hours talking and hand-holding over two pots of tea and a bowl of fries.
We’d gaze into each others eyes the whole time, of course and would be so desperate to be as close as possible to each other that one of us would have to move onto the same side of the table as the other so we could hug and kiss and gaze some more.
We had to make the most of those few hours a couple of times a week.

Dating for four years and living together for a year and a half changes things a little.
Ah yeah, we’re still in love and happy and blah blah blah, but at some stage, the hormones stop holding your brain cells prisoner and you realise you’re actually still two people and not one ‘couple’.
You realise you still have Life to attend to.
You also start to become aware of the other person’s faults and annoying habits and the gooey staring gets interrupted by bickering.
I guess you could say, you become a normal person again.
Only you’re a normal person in love.

So in Eddies that night, we sat there eating away in a comfortable silence.
As I people-watched,  I spotted a couple walk in.
They sat facing each other, never tearing their eyes away from the other half”s face.
“Newbies,” I thought to myself.

They held hands while they read their individual menus and then sat fawning all over each other.
“The Boy, come sit beside me,” I said, when our teas and his brownie arrived.
He obliged.
We squished together on the seat.
“Look at those two over there,” I said. “So young and in love. Probably together for about three months. It’s sickening. Is that what we were like?”
He laughed. “Probably.”

The Other Couple’s food arrived.
“Oh God…they’re sharing a plate of chicken tenders,” I said. I turned to The Boy, grasped his hand and gazed into his eyes: “I would never make you share your food with me!”
“I know you wouldn’t,” he said gratefully.

I watched them some more as I drank my tea.
“That is what we used to be like,” I said. “We’d spend hours in here all over each other, with nothing but chocolate malts and fries to keep us occupied. And now we’re ‘comfortable silence’ people. We know too much about each other, we’ve no stories left to tell,” I wailed
“Well that’s cos we’re old boring people now and you won’t let me tell you stories about my job,” he reasoned.
“All your stories about work are the same though! And I don’t bore you with stories about my job,” I said smiling sweetly.

They held hands again as soon as they finished their chicken.
“Urgh, they’re so trying to be the better couple,” I said. “Here, let me grope you…that’ll show them!”
The Boy just laughed.

The waitress brought The Other Couple more food.
“You know, I think that guy might be gay,” I said after a few minutes.
“And the girl hasn’t smiled once during the time she’s been here,” said The Boy.
That made me feel a little better, but I still felt a pang for the crazy hormonal “can’t take my eyes/hands/mind off you” days.
What if we fall out of love because we don’t have lust racing through our veins!!?

When we got up to the till to pay, The Boy told me to put my money away.
“You had a terrible day today,” he said. “I wanted to give you a little treat to make you feel better. This way you don’t have to cook and you don’t have to worry because you didn’t budget for this.”
I smiled.
That probably wouldn’t have occurred to the younger blinded-by-love version of The Boy.
I linked him as we walked back to our apartment.
A couple of years ago, I would’ve had to say goodbye to him at a freezing street corner at this point.
Now we were returning to our home

You can’t measure love in how physically wrapped around the other person you need to be to feel happy.
Yes it’s nice in the beginning, but you can’t go on that way forever: that’s just madness.
The real test is how well you do after that part fades away.
And so what if our brains can now function properly when we’re together!
We’re surviving through the good, the bad and the very bad times and we’re still together and still working for our future.
And at the end of the day, isn’t that a million times better than blinding and fickle lust?


I am a Sham

Lads, I’m so sorry about the last post.
I’m guessing that it was just as boring to read as it was for me to write and I apologise to those of you who gave it a shot out of loyalty.
It’s so mundane that it doesn’t deserve comments, so I’m turning them off.
It will be the leper of the blog posts on A Chick Named Hermia.
I guess it’s just one of those stories that you had to be there to appreciate.

So I’m making up for it with something that never fails to entertain:
A story about a time I frightened the shite out of The Boy.
*collective cheer*

This is the layout of the far end of our apartment (this will be important so that you can properly imagine the later scenario):
As you all know, one of my favourite pastimes is to jump out from behind random objects or around corners and terrify the living crap out of The Boy.
It’s great craic!
I can’t do it that often though.
If I did it every day, he’d be on his guard.
And that would ruin my fun.
So I space it out.

On Monday, I was feeling a little blue and decided I needed cheering up.
I hadn’t frightened him in at least three weeks so he was absolutely due one!
Yay!

I was took my time though.
You can get careless if you rush the process and then you waste a rare opportunity.
So I was patient.
The perfect chance came when he went into his bathroom to get ready for bed.
I had a moment of sheer genius.
In our closet, we have a long double-level rail, the top of which is completely filled with clothes.
The lower rail is left empty so we can store laundry bags in the space.

Knowing I had mere minutes, I had to be quick.
I pulled out the laundry bags, ducked under the lower rail and squeezed myself into the limited space between it and the wall…the area marked with the ‘X’ on the diagram.
After a bit of a struggle, I managed to pull the laundry bags back in and I sat (well, stood) in wait.

After a couple of minutes, The Boy came out of the bathroom.
I held my breath.
He stopped.
He could sense I was up to something.
Damn, this could ruin everything.
Those few seconds lasted forever as he just stood there, looking around.
Listening.

And then he began to move again.
Yes!!
He was feeling safe and secure in his own home.
The perfect time to have me give him a heart attack.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRR RRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHH HHHHHHHH”
I pushed the clothes hanging on the rail apart and waved my arms around for extra effect.

He jumped, closed his eyes and clutched his heart (he does that every time…for his health, I should probably stop doing this…soon).
“Did I scare you!?” I asked, with an adorable grin and all the excitement of a 3-year-old on Christmas morning written all over my face.
He nodded.

True Love.

EDIT: Judging by the comments, the start of this post seems to be making you all think there’s a lot of hand-wringing, sobbing and self-flogging going on in Chez Hermia over the last (uber boring) post.
It’s ok…you can relax, guys.
As you should have gathered by this point, I have a flair for the dramatic when expressing myself, so if I’m thinking “Oh Sweet Baby Jesus, that last post was fairly dull” it comes out as “OMG!!!! I am the WORST person in the ENTIRE WORLD EVER for even THINKING of writing that post! I should be shunned! SHUN ME, PEOPLE!!!”
I like to think it makes things a little more interesting around here!
So you can stop reassuring me in comments that the last post wasn’t the worst thing written since Twilight…I know it wasn’t AWFUL…it was just a bit boring.
But thank you for your support anyway!
🙂


Conversations with People Who Aren't The Boy

…just in case you guys were starting to think I had no other friends.

In the office…
Me: I’m going to the shop, do you want anything?
Work Friend: Oh yes can you get me one of those chocolate muffins with the stuff on top.
Me: Like the one I got you the last time with the weird icing stuff?
Work Friend: No, no, no, there are like, little cubes of chocolate…
Me: Oh I know the ones you’re talking about. We used to sell them in the shop I worked in. I used to rob the little chocolate cubes off them.
Work Friend: *look of shock*
Me: What?
Work Friend: Oh my God!
Me: What? It’s not like I licked them off. We used to freeze the boxes of muffins and then defrost what we needed as we needed them, so when I’d be getting some out for the pastry stand, I used to shake the box and eat the chocolate cubes that fell off.
Work Friend: *still looking shocked*
Me: Stop judging me! It’s not like I was gnawing them off with my spitty teeth! They fell off naturally…with a bit of help…and I always made sure there were a decent amount still left on the muffins.
Work Friend:*look of judgement*
Me: I wore gloves when I handled them!! I couldn’t afford chocolate back then, I was a poor student! Stop looking at me like that!!!
Work Friend: *JUDGE*