The Step Too Far

Discussing ways The Roomie could sneak alcohol into Electric Picnic….
Me: You could get one of those cute flasks from Urban Outfitters! Oh they have really pretty floral ones and you could just put your spirits in there and buy a coke or something when you get in there for a mixer.
The Roomie: Oh yeah, I might do that actually.
Work Chum: Or you can get one of those things you strap to your back!
Me: Huh?
Work Chum: You know, you strap the bag onto your back under your clothes. There are arm straps like a normal bag, but it’s fitted to your body and there’s a straw that comes out of it and over your shoulder.
The Roomie: Oh yeah my friend had one of them at a festival last year and we were all taking sips of rum from a straw – it was great!
Me: That is really great.
Work Chum: OR….you could hide drink under a hat.
The Roomie: Security might ask my to take it off though.
Me: Just cry and say you’re too embarrassed because your hair is disgusting and sweaty and you look hideous. You’re a girl – it’s believable.
Work Chum: Or say someone shaved part of your head the night before and you don’t want anyone to see.
The Roomie: Or say that I have cancer and lost my hair through chemo.
Me/Work Chum: *looking horrified* NO! You can’t!
The Roomie: Why not?
Me: Cos that’s just awful! And it’s too real!! And it’s an illness.
The Roomie: I could say I have alopecia.
Work Chum: GAH!!
Me: *covering ears* Stop picking real diseases! What is wrong with you!?
The Roomie: I guess I could just hide a small bottle of something in the crotch of my trousers…


The Importance of Being Sane

I was supposed to write this post on Friday night to keep you guys amused over the weekend, but then I became uber paranoid that some crazy internet serial killer would read it and then hunt me down and torture/maim/kill/etc me.

You see I spent the weekend on my own in the apartment.
And while I am fiercely independent and quite like my alone time, I hate being on my own in a house/apartment/caravan/etc.
It comes from the fact that I have a severely overactive imagination, I watched way too many horror films as a kid and I am now addicted to programmes like Criminal Minds and Supernatural – all of which have turned me into a neurotic coward (as demonstrated in the intro).

I genuinely spent the last week panicking about The Roomie heading off to Electric Picnic for three nights, leaving vulnerable, chaos-attracting, painfully-clumsy me to fend for myself.
Not that I’m sure how she’d save me if we ever were broken into, because she’s literally half my size.

I decided the best way to get through the first night was to get horrendously drunk with one Miss Whisty and therefore be far too sloshed to mind spending the night alone.
That plan worked VERY well….AND involved the best chicken ever.

I had a similar plan for Saturday night, but I was incapacitated with stomach cramps that day and could barely move.
Don’t pity me – it was completely my own fault  for eating bags of gluten during the week because I was too lazy to walk an extra ten minutes to the anti-gluten providers.
And so after my tea-drinking friend left me around 10pm, I spent the next six hours jumping at every little sound, constantly checking the front door was locked, putting things in front of my bedroom door and then moving them to go back and check the front door was locked again and just generally not being able to sleep.
I was also convinced I heard noises coming from The Roomie’s room and thought that someone had somehow gotten in and was hiding out in there until I was a sleep…and would then murder me, obviously.
I stood outside her door for 20mins barely breathing, straining to hear something.
I was also clutching a ladle at the time.
In the end I retreated to my own room…but kept the ladle handy, just in case.
Around 3am, the delirium kicked in and I had to consider the fact that this apartment could be haunted (again, I blame Supernatural) and I now not only had to worry about human murderers, but also those from ‘the other side’.
Google is a very bad thing to have at times like this.
I’m still hysterical.

It’s Sunday afternoon as I’m writing this, so I’ve no idea what kind of overreactions I’m going to have tonight, but I’m hoping I’ll be too tired for it to go on as long because I have work tomorrow.
Although I guess if I actually am murdered, it won’t really be an issue… #silverlining

EDIT: Yay! As of 9:06am on Monday 5th September, I am unmurdered!
EDIT#2: When doing that Human Verification thingy to post this on Facebook, one of the words I had to type was ‘kill’….*gulp*


The Ukulele

Last week on a rather dull trip to Argos to get clothes hangers, I purchased a ukulele on a whim.
That’s right – a whim.
As most of you who have befriended me on Facebook know, I’ve been a little in love with this video recently and I found myself really wanting to learn to play that song.
But – alas – I’m notoriously retarded when it comes to playing musical instruments.
I bought a guitar a few years ago, meaning to teach myself to play.
I spent 10mins trying to tune it and then gave up and never went back.
I have no patience and very poor hand-eye coordination.
So now it decorates my sitting-room.

But something has changed since then.
I made it past tuning the ukulele.
Testing my luck, I spent 15mins trying to learn a few chords, which went ok, but a hectic schedule meant I didn’t touch it again until late on Monday night….and something clicked.
Tuesday night I actually managed to play a song (not very efficiently or well, but shush!).
And on Wednesday night, I recorded it for your viewing pleasure!
Sure, I’m getting the hang of it, but I’m still pretty terrible, so you’ll get a laugh out of it.
Bum notes, forgetting chords/words, crazy faces when I make mistakes (which is a lot) and listening back, I think the uke may have actually been out of tune.
Oh and as many of you remember from a previous video, I’m not exactly vocally blessed (nasally five-year-old syndrome *sigh*), but I have to ‘sing’ it to keep time.

Also there’s a little message for all you lovely readers in there.

The things I do for you guys….
Let the humiliation begin!


(apologies for any volume issues….twas the best I could do!)


The Walk to Work

My thoughts after leaving the apartment building this morning….

Oh it’s a really nice day today.
Feels very autumny, which means the summer is on its way out and I can wear WOOL again….hurrah!

That fry-up The Roomie made me was really lovely.
I wish I had time for that every morning.
Although health-wise it’s probably best I don’t.
That being said, I did have chocolate for breakfast yesterday morning…

Oh there’s The Screen Cinema.
I’m so glad it’s practically in our back garden.
It’s so nice and intimate.
Oh! I must check when they’re showing Moulin Rouge – I never got to see that when it was first out in the cinema.
Ewan McGregor is so lovely.
*mental swoon*

Oh dear, that man is very drunk.
And propping himself up against that wall.
Too early in the morning for that kind of thing.
What’s he doing with his hands?
Urgh, hopefully I can walk by without him shouting something at me.
Dammit, he’s seen me.
And he’s turning to face me.
And….

OMG THAT’S HIS PENIS!!!!!!!!!!!!

*jumps back and makes disgusted face*
*half-runs by penis-wielding drunk man*
*bus drivers waiting for their shift to start enjoy a chuckle*

I instantly regret having those sausages for breakfast…..


The Dilemma

On Saturday night, I went out dancing with The Bessie.

We’re all about tradition when we do go out – €5 cocktails in Capitol Bar, dancing and whiskey (for me) and vodka (for her) in The Oak and then chicken fried rice (for her) and chicken balls and curry sauce (for me) in Charlies.
I’ll be honest, I’m not a huge club person – I’m much happier at a house party or at a casual night out in a pub.
The only reason I do concede to dancing nights is that I get to go the Charlies for food afterwards.
I love Charlies.
It has a reputation for food poisoning and poor hygiene, but I’m willing to risk it for their chicken balls and curry sauce, which are quite possibly the best things I’ve ever eaten.

And so The Bessie and I ended up sitting in Charlies on Saturday night.
I ordered a portion of Chicken Balls, Rice and Curry Sauce.
Sure I was only hungry enough for the chicken balls, but I was planning on saving the rice and remaining curry for breakfast the next morning.

I should explain this….I don’t get hangovers in the traditional sense.
A ‘Me’ hangover consists of being able to get no more than four hours sleep, having to eat a dinner for breakfast, and a having a general lack of balance and intelligence the next day.

I polished off the chicken balls in record time and lovingly mixed the remaining sauce into the rice and closed up the box.
“I have to whizz,” I told The Bessie; “Can you watch my stuff?”
I left my bag and coat with her as she made a dent in her chicken fried rice and I skipped off to the toilets.

I came back a couple of minutes later and sat back in my seat.
I looked at the table in front of me.
I looked at The Bessie.
I looked back at the table.
“The Bessie?”
“Yes?”
“The Bessie, where’s my food?”
“Oh the girl took it.”
I looked at her.
I blinked.
“What?”
“Yeah she was taking mine and I said she could take yours too.”
I blinked slowly.
I looked at her some more.
“You actually told her she could actually take my food?” I said in a deadpan voice.
“Yup!”
It took me a minute to process the information.
And then it kicked in.
“GAH! WHAT???? YOU LET HER DO THAT!!?? BUT IT WAS MY FOOD!!!! MY FOOD!!!!” I was so high-pitched at this point, only dogs could register what I was saying.
“Oh,” said The Bessie, obviously not grasping the gravity of the situation. “I thought you were finished.”
“I wasn’t! They were leftovers! That was my breakfast!!!”
“Oh well,” said The Bessie. “Sorry!”
“Oh well”???….all our years of friendship and she allows someone to take my food….have we even MET!?
“I’m going to see if I can get it back,” I said walking up to the counter.
The Bessie looked amused.
“Excuse me,” I said to the girl. “You took my food and I wasn’t finished. Can I have it back?”
She looked at me. “Your friend said you were finished.”
“Oh but I wasn’t. There was lots of rice and sauce left. Can I have it back?” I said smiling matter-of-factly.
“It’s in the bin,” she told me.
I felt actual pain when I heard that.
I blinked at her.
Well, the container was sealed.
So if it was in the bin, the food wouldn’t have touched anything bad.
It would be fine.
The girl stared at me.
I started back.
“Uhm….can…” I started.
I stopped.
She continued to stare.
I sighed.
I walked away with tears in my eyes.
I wasn’t ready to hit that level of low.
Not just yet anyway….


The Wordsmiths

In the office….
Me:
Casual Date Guy.
Work Chum: Yup, Casual Date Guy.
Me: Just Casual Date Guy.
Work Chum: Cos it’s so casual.
Me: Because it’s so casual
Work Chum: Just casual.
Me: So casual with the hanging out and the casualness and the being casual and the stuff. Casual Date Guy. So casual *thumbs up*
Work Chum: *thumbs up* Friend?
Me: *thumbs up* Oooo Friend!
Work Chum: *thumbs up* Football Friend!
Me: *thumbs up* Bwest Fwiend!!
Work Chum: *thumbs up* Awh Friend!
Me: *thumbs up* Your friend the footballer. Oooo Friend!
Work Chum: *thumbs up* Oh Car Friend
Me: *thumbs up* Ohhh Best Friends forever and ever…
*cue five more minutes of Inbetweeners references*

An example of two journalism graduates putting their wordsmithing abilities to valuable use…


The Acceptance of Self

Oh God, it can’t end like this.

How did this even happen!?
How did I get myself into this position!?

Everything had been going so well.
I was happy and comfortable.
I felt warm and safe.
And now there was no way out.

Am I really surprised?
I’m a walking disaster.
Obviously this was the way I was going to go.
No blaze of glory.
No great battle.
Just this.

I tried to shift a little to the right and then to the left.
Nothing.
I was completely stuck.
I was stuck in my swivel chair.

This is unreal.

I tried to untuck my knees from under the arm they were trapped beneath.
They didn’t budge.

“How did I even get them into that gap if I can’t get them out!?” I said out loud.

Oh God, I’m going to have to call the Fire Brigade to rescue me….again.
I’d have to sit here.
Stuck fast.
While they sniggered and chainsawed the chair in half.

Dying of starvation seemed like the better option in that moment.

I tried to move my legs again.
Nothing.

Urgh! This is ridiculous!
I refuse to be shamed like this.
Enough is enough!

I struggled and wriggled from side to side.
The chair was positioned in between my desk and wardrobe so there was little room for it to move.
But I didn’t give up.
I manoeuvred by body into an unnatural position.
And then thump.
I was on the floor.

I hopped up and dusted myself off, taking a quick look out the window to make sure no one had witnessed this recent bout of humiliation.
*phew*
Thank God no one saw.
Nobody heard anything.
And I didn’t have to call for help.
No one had to know.
I could be embarrassment-free this one time.

I smiled with relief.
And then I sat down at my laptop and began to blog…