Mamma Mia – Friday’s Here Again!

My my! How can I resist you? I suddenly lose control, Friday, there’s a fire within my soul! And this weekend I’m out out out celebrating!

Girlies, I’ve had a great few days and I’ve plenty of reasons to whip up a storm on the dancefloor. Something has happened and it’s something good. I can’t stop smiling and I’m not even talking about a guy! So I’m going out dancing and I’m taking you with me! Your feedback this week has been great so drinks are on me. No hangovers allowed. Only dancing and laughing! See you Monday x

Step. Smile. Pause. Engage.

You’ve made an arrangement. It’s for a certain time at a certain place. No problem. Fast forward 2 hours and, doing a quick timecheck, you realise that you might have to forego the smokey eye look tonight and indeed, throwing your top on a radiator to ‘iron’ out the creases might just have to do as well cos you’ve spent waaay too much time looking for that lipstick and now you’re late. Feckit anyway. Calm. Breathe. Breathe again. And relax. ‘Cop onto yourself’, are the words you hear in your head, but they’re not instilling a huge amount of confidence. Ok, Ok.. money, keys, lippy, phone. Check. Pause outside door and confirm that you don’t in fact need anything else. Walk and walk and.. ohjesusiforgottobring… Too late! Can’t go back. Or can you? No. And breathe again. You’re in 5inch heels, concentrate on getting from A to B in those instead. I can walk, I can walk.. no need to run. Ladies don’t run. Flick of hair. Taxi driver mistakes it for a nod and a wink and 2 seconds later you’re smiling as you realise that you’ll be on time after all. But oh the shame of the taxi pulling up right outside the pub you’re meeting at, it’ll just look so staged. Oh! Nothing you can do now, just sit until either the taxi driver or the doorman opens the car door for you to slink out of. Accept. Smile. Pause. Arrange legs. And glide. And glide. Glide right to the bar and try to remember not to shout at the young fella that takes your order. And smile. And repeat your order in a less nervous tone. And sip, SIP your drink. And turn and turn. And make the phone call. Confirm where the rest of the group are. And smile. And walk. And smile more cos they look like normal people. And smile even more cos you actually don’t know what you were worried about. And smile even more cos that girl with the gorgeous lippy complimented your earrings. And smile cos you weren’t the first person to spill a drink – not that it mattered anyway, you’re having too much fun to point out something as stupid as that. And then smile some more cos you’re not really sure why you were nervous in the first place. 

Saturday it is then girlies!

I’m Telling On You!

I relayed this story around the kitchen table the other day and even thinking about it again now, I’m giggling away to myself! I had queued for the 7.15pm train to Galway, the Wednesday night of raceweek. Seat booked, as I knew this train would be full. I was among the first, say, 30 people in the queue as I’m managed to get there early enough. I’d even paid the extra to book a seat, because you can’t be too careful. Myself and my trolleybag got onto the train, but my seat number didn’t seem to exist. I walked up and down a bit but definitely there was no seat 67. When myself and my trolleybag walked back down the platform and asked ‘the man’, we were told that ‘the wrong train arrived and to just take whatever seat we could find’.
I settled myself into a seat, took out my book and spent ages dodging the low flying hatboxes. Three girls got on and couldn’t find their allotted seat numbers. I explained that there was a carriage mix up and that it was officially ‘first come, first served’ in relation to reserved seats. They thanked me and sat down opposite. Well! Wasn’t I glad I’d booked a seat! I couldn’t believe how many people were pouring past me down the platform. I felt sorry for the guy that sat directly across from me as he’d a flight booked but missed it due to traffic, turned around, made his way to Heuston and just about got on the train, getting the last of the seats you can reserve, he told me. Heading to Raceweek is like that, awful chatty – my flight down last year was like party central and it left Dublin Airport at 8am!
Anyway. I started reading and the train pulled off. The next thing, this hand nearly took my nose off and slammed down on the table;
‘YOU’RE IN OUR SEATS!’
‘Eh, well, there was a problem and…’
‘LOOK! I HAVE A TICKET YOU KNOW. AND SO DOES MY BOYFRIEND. AND YOU’RE IN MY SEAT!’
‘Well, there’s been a mix up and they were expecting another carriage and I was told just to sit..’
‘LOOK HERE! THIS, THIS IS MY SEAT. DO I HAVE TO CALL SOMEONE?’
‘Well, you can if you want but as my seat doesn’t officially exist and I was told to sit where I could..’
‘I BOOKED THIS SEAT YOU KNOW?!’
‘I booked my seat too but CIE made a mistake and..’
‘I’M GETTING SOMEONE TO SORT THIS OUT’.
So, off she, her considerable hatbox and even more considerable arse went, dragging her very silent, weedy looking boyfriend with her. Now, you can imagine that this wan had caused quite a stir. I could see people looking down the carriage as she roared at me. Things settled down again and the guy who arrived seconds before her pointed to the Supermacs bag and Coke on the table and asked ‘Lads, do any of ye own this? It was just sitting here?’.
I spent the next 15 minutes rolling my eyes at the sheer brassiness of yer wan. She was so rude, wouldn’t let me speak. Oh a right nightmare I’d say.
Then, all of a sudden, a very familiar hand was slammed down on the table in front of me.
‘I’VE COME BACK TO TELL YOU HOW RUDE! YES, HOW RUDE YOU ARE!’
‘Oh, it’s you. Quite frankly, I think you are the one being rude here’
‘LOOK, LADY! AND I USE THAT TERM LIGHTLY BECAUSE EVEN THOUGH YOU LOOK LIKE A LADY, YOU’RE SO RUDE FOR NOT GETTING OUT OF MY SEAT, THAT YOU CAN ONLY HAVE BEEN DRAGGED UP IN SOME GOD FORSAKEN GUTTER! RUDE RUDE RUDE!’
I tried to say again that she in fact was the one being very rude, but at this point it was all I could do not to laugh in her face! The guy opposite me was in knots laughing. The girls opposite were under the table in fits of laughter. I could see people standing on seats further down the carriage, trying to get a better look. The guy beside me looked petrified, but only because he was scared stiff he’d fall into her cavernous cleavage!
And then, still having not raised my voice I said to her, ‘I think you’re mistaking me for someone you recognise from the gutter you were brought up in’ and went back to reading my book.
There was an almighty Sigh! and a Tch! and a Hmph! worthy of Miss Piggy at her best and off she went. I got a few ‘Fair play te ye’ looks and when the laughing stopped, someone shouted ‘Lads! Look! The Supermacs bag and Coke is gone! Ah sure all that givin’ out must’ve made her fierce hungry!’ And the laughing just started all over again.

Sounds Great! Good For You!

So, there we were, in HQ, discussing what we could remember from the previous weekend, when Limerick Girl starts telling me about meeting up with a crowd that she was in college with. She stopped to sigh and roll her eyes and said how it was ‘one of those type of evenings’. Ah yes! the ‘I don’t give a fiddler’s about what’s going on with you, I just want everyone to know that I’m married with kids, living in a huge house, just got promoted and am living the kind of life you could only dream about’ type evenings. Or as us single [oh the shame!] people refer to as ‘Evenings with the Bitches’. So, Limerick girl went from conversation to conversation, shrugging her shoulders saying ‘Ah! Things are grand with me, I’m working in a different part of the company, still living in the same place I was in a few years back, still single yeah, but sure things are grand, I’m happy enough, well sure I’m single yeah, but sure no big deal. Really. You seem more worried about it than I am right now! Sure lookit! I’m fine! Things are fine. I just don’t have a lot of news’.
Then in return, or perhaps in addition to that she had to endure the ‘Oh, well moving is such a pain, but we had to really, two kids take up a lot of space and so do the cars and the snooker table and sure the garden in the last place would never fit a pool, let alone a pony! Oh! We’ve another wedding next weekend! And we were in John and Claire’s cottage in Achill last weekend, Sean and Clodagh’s the weekend before that. Lord! When you’ve his friends and family to fit in aswell as your own it’s just a nightmare! And we were at little Sorcha’s First Communion ‘do’ before that – great excuse for a glass of Chardonnay in the afternoon!’
Continuing on with, ‘Do y’know, between the kids and then my Stephen’s work ‘do’s’, I haven’t a minute to myself! But that’s what it’s all about, settling down and having kids! Haven’t a minute to myself anymore! I’d love to be single again, able to go out whenever I wanted, the thrill of meeting a new man – are ye sure you’re still single? I just don’t understand why! Anyway! Oh don’t mind me, I’m only joking! I love my Stephen, he’s great with the kids and he’s a Senior Partner now, did I tell you that? Wouldn’t swap him for the world! And there’s only four Senior Partners in the company and my Stephen is one of them.’
So, after all the head tilting and sighing and hands of sympathy on her shoulders and pep talks of ‘Don’t worry, you’ll meet someone great. Any day now. Aaannnnyyy day now’, Limerick Girl noticed that the conversation started to change a bit. Each time someone would sit back down at the table, there’d been another crisis with the babysitter taking ages to answer the phone or wondering where her husband was, when it was plain to see that he was last seen having a great time with some young wan near the bar. There were a few bitchy comments exchanged. Eyes hit the floor when questions were asked about so-and-so. The girl who had had a few more drinks than everyone else looked decidely upset and ran off to the Ladies at one point. One of the others whispered into Limerick girl’s ear that herself and her husband don’t sleep in the same room any more. Another broke down and announced to everyone that her husband was having an affair but is sticking with her for the sake of the kids. Another announced that her husband’s business was in trouble but both families think everything is fine.
Oh how alcohol lubricates the lips! Not one person in the group seemed to be genuinely happy with their nuclear family and astronomically sized houses. Except Limerick Girl, who, not having either, at least had her dignity and hadn’t lied through her teeth to keep up with the Jones’ and the Murphy’s and went home happy!
She just told it like it is.

Enough With The Mo, Already

Lookit, I feel I have to first point out that charitable donations are the way to go, including that all those rollercoaster ‘I’ve jumped off a cliff’ or ‘treked through several continents’ type efforts and are extremely admirable ways to spend your time while collecting for the greater good. However, I’m only feeling pain right now due to the absolute onslaught of facial hair coming in my direction. I feel totally attacked by ‘overfriendly’ follicles and eager to please pustules of keratin sprouting out from, well, Jesus, Lads, from all around me! I can’t help thinking that those Munster guys have a lot to answer for – sure how many impressionable males were watching the mighty game last Tuesday and felt that the only way to express their testosterone was to simply stop shaving? Even though they were due in work the following day. And the day after that. And the day after that got their supervisor to supposedly donate to the cause, no more questions asked. Ah lads, please! No girl, NO GIRL, let me tell you, likes to kiss a ‘tache.. there’s maybe a bit of leeway given to a ‘bordering on’ sexy goatee, but there’s nothing attractive about sucking on coarse hair dangling from an upper lip. And, at some point, most likely at 3.30am in your place, just after remembering that we bought pizza on the way home, that, well, having to actually point out you’ve a slice of pepperoni and a green pepper sitting somewhere between your nose and your mouth really doesn’t make us want to kiss you again. In fact, it might just make us Girls want to retreat into our fleecey pajamas, switch on more reruns of ‘Sex and the City’ and eat peanut butter straight from the jar. Wha? If you lot are going to do your thing, we’ll do ours.

Get Into The Friday Groove

Get up on your feet, yeah step to the beat, Boy what will it be? Ooohh how cool was Madonna circa 1984/85? The red lips, the tousled hair that actually had just gotten out of bed, the masses of jewellery wrapped around her wrists and neck. The lacey fingerless gloves! It was long before she turned into a veiny, muscly, control freak robot obsessed with Kabbalah Smalah, botox and small children from Africa. I wish she’d stayed in this groove that we all loved her for. As for her role as Susan in the eponymously named ‘Desperately Seeking Susan’, well Susan just didn’t care! She strutted up and down the street, nabbed a quick slug from her neighbours drink while standing at the bar and dried her armpits in the ladies after working up a sweat on the dancefloor. And she gave boys those kind of looks, you know the type I mean, the ‘eyebrow eyebrow, I’m up for it’ kind of look.

It’s hard to resist a bit of a shimmy to a song like this. And I’m not the type of girl to say no to a bit of Madonna. But proper Madonna – and I think you all know what I mean by that! So, it’s Friday! Get into the groove, Girlfriend!

Everyone Wants a Furry Friend

I’ve already mentioned the various ‘fur’ that lives near me and I thought it was time I updated you on the little black & white cat. I’ve bumped into him quite a few times in the last couple of weeks. And while I always stop to chat for a few minutes, he’s taken to following me along the footpath until I stop again and resume our chatting and ear scratching! It’s very cute and he becomes quite vocal when I tell him I have things to do, have to go and then he just follows me again. Last weekend, I was walking home and I saw him sitting at the gate of one of the houses. As I got closer, I began to smile, I was happy to see him. Upon turning his head and realising it was me coming up the road, he gave a ‘Miaow’ and ran towards me! His ears were on full alert and his tail was trying to keep up with the rest of him as he picked up speed. And so the chatting, ear scratching and tail-wrapping around my ankles began! He’s such a lovely little kitty. And so, wasn’t I delighted all over again the other day when I met him along the road and he ran towards me again! Now, he got distracted by something, probably a billowing leaf or a butterfly or whatever and he dashed into a nearby garden. Fair enough, I thought, he has stuff to do, like myself, and off I went.
I had just started walking off when I saw another friend [human!] coming towards me. It was Spike’s Dad. So, we stopped to chat, catch up, as you do and then I told him that he was the second friend I’d met along the road. I explained that I’d met the little black & white cat and was telling how the kitty now runs towards me to say hello. I turned to point out the garden he’d gone into when on cue, the little cat came out onto the footpath again and ran straight up to me for another ear scratch! ‘See?’ I proclaimed, ‘we’re great friends!’. And with that, Spike’s Dad realised he was running late and we said goodbye.

Later on, I was heading out to watch the rugby. Naturally enough, I was wondering if the black & white cat would be out and about. There was a couple walking in front of me. The little kid started shouting ‘Cat! Caaaattt! Caaattt’, and the Dad told him ‘Not to shout as the Cat wouldn’t come out if he heard shouting as he might be frightened by it’. The Dad continued by saying that if they didn’t see the cat this time, that hopefully they would tomorrow. As I was passing them, I was chuckling away to myself. I was about to turn and say, ‘I saw the little cat earlier, he’s fine! He told me to say hello and that he might see you tomorrow’. But I stopped myself. Glitter! They will think you are a complete lunatic! So I said nothing, just walked on, secretly delighted that I had in fact seen the little kitty only a few hours previously.

Go On The Munster

Lads, ye were feckin great. Mighty performance.

Oh, how my chest puffed up, when mere mortals and mere Leinster guys that were sharing my pub space were thinking the same as me.

Oh, how I leaned forward to catch every throw, to pick up every ball, to kick every ball.

To quote from many, many moons ago, ‘If you prick me, do I not bleed?’

Oh, I bleed.. and when I do, it’s a rich, rich colour of red.

*Update* It has come to note that I’m not the only female to notice the, ahem, charms of Munster hottie, Paul Warwick.

So, for purely selfish reasons, I had to update this post. Those steely eyes! That strong jawline. That manly chest!

Enjoy!

Now It’s Your Move

I came across this ‘What Board Game Are You?’ thingy and it turns out I’m ‘Checkers’ or Draughts as we call it in this part of the world.
So, am I ‘Draughts’? You know, I think I am;
I am logical and rational which, in my opinion is the only way to separate the wheat from the chaff in order to look at situations – but then, I would say that, wouldn’t I?! Sometimes I practically see a series of boxes in my head and mentally drop each point into a different box. And then if it’s a complicated issue, well, that’s to say that when it’s complicated, I tend to want to make a short list of what’s what and tackle it from there. But I definitely see the whole picture though, that much I’m very good at doing.
And then moving on, it’s fairly logical [see what I did there?!] to assume that I appreciate simplicity among all the layers as well. I hate narrowmindedness and refuse to judge unless I know the whole story. The last bit I like – playful, good natured and I don’t take things too seriously – that’s not bad!
So, why don’t you take the quiz and let me know who you are!

*Update* Apologies, the link should be fine now! Just double-click, ignore if a ‘Snap Preview’ or ‘Out of Memory’ comes up!

Drop. Spill. Break. Mess.

There is always one. I’m talking about the messiest person you’ve ever met, everyone knows someone that creates a big pile of mess everywhere they go.
It’s as though this person simply can’t get from A to B without dropping something, spilling something or breaking something. You’re in a restaurant and they pull their chair back too far and bump off the person at the next table before knocking against the table as they sit down which causes the little vase with the single flower to fall over, water flows all over the table, the vase rolls onto the floor and breaks and as this person turns to look for a waiter to get a cloth, the waiter has seen all this happen, gets to the table too quickly and he gets an elbow in the ribs for being efficient. And all this happens as you’re still standing beside the table, mortification spreading throughout your entire body and after a sharp intake of breath you realise that it’s now a few minutes later, you haven’t breathed since and you’re just wondering if it’s safe to sit down yet.
A simple trip to the Spar for late night supplies gives the guy behind the counter his only bit of entertainment of his entire shift as Mr or Miss Messy leave a trail of destruction throughout the shop; picking up a newspaper by just one corner results in a page in his hand and the rest of it on the floor, all he does is ask if you want an apple and it seems like an entire orchard rolls down the aisle, this person always picks up a can from the bottom of the pile and tins of beans compete with the apples for floor space. The frightened looking girl behind the hot food counter literally just finishes saying how hot the aluminium tray is when it bounces off one hand, a second and then results in a pile of barbeque sauce and chicken wings on the floor. At the till you just stand back hoping he’ll just pay, which means you can leave and you hope the security camera footage appear in a You Tube Top Ten.
You often wonder how the person hasn’t killed himself yet in some kind of freak accident that could only happen to someone like Mr Messy.
You know that you risk everything you own when you allow Mr Messy into your house. And you never mean to invite him over; he just appears at the door or trails after you and a few mates when you’re leaving the pub at closing time. I couldn’t believe just how much damage a friend of a friend did in my place once. Spilt wine, broken glasses, knocked ashtrays, kicked over bin, books knocked off shelves, biscuits trampled into the carpet. Every time he moved I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable sound of something else breaking. He was telling a story and with one sweep of his arm he knocked everything off a nearby coffee table. I asked him to leave before I lost the will to live. He somehow ended up in my place again some months later. I warned him not to touch anything, not to move and only breathe when I said it was ok. He promised he wouldn’t even pick up anything, would just sit with no sudden movements. I watched him like a hawk. Yet he still managed to knock everything off the same coffee table when all I think he meant to do was scratch his head. He’s not allowed come back to my place ever again now.