“How are the interviews going?” July 31, 2008

“If they’re still going then they’re not going well.”

 

They’re still going.

 

Had the interview for my dream job this evening.

 

Even though I had practised typing really fast while performing Grease is the Word standing on my head all at the same time nerves came and gobbled me up.

 

My hands were shaking, I was choking on my words and talking like Johnny 5 on speed. I’m so pissed off with myself because I should have had this one in the bag. I even had contacts.

 

I wish I knew what came over me. Every other interview

 I’ve been a little nervous but still remained in control of my tongue and limbs. I am my own worst enemy sometimes, and then we all are in our own ways.

 

My way is this: I worry too much, I beat myself to a pulp about things that happen everyone, then I eat, put on weight and beat myself up about that. I have well a truely wedged myself in a rut over the past month or two, harrassing myself for “failing” when I just haven’t nabbed the one post that dozens of other people are also applying for, which essentially means all of us that have been turned down are normal and the people getting the jobs are just freaks really, oddballs if you will.

 

Mr. Sleepy reminded me today that I am in fact still young (the early onset of dementia seemed to have erased this piece of information from my memory). I have plenty of time to work what’s the rush? He says this as a man with a job by the way but then someone has to feed us (mmm…lady of leisure. I think I’d be good at that. That must be what he meant by that ).

 

From here on in I’m going to try my best to lay off the punches and give myself a break. I say this with the greatest of intentions, kind of like “I won’t eat too much this Christmas”. Two days later a search party finds the victim in a food coma on the living room couch covered in a duvet of sweet wrappers.

 

No I don't have money to put in your hat, I'm a lady of leisure....Sweet wrapper?

Could I have chips with that dream please? July 31, 2008

This insomnia lark is beginning to get tedious. I wouldn’t mind if I was normally this way inclined but on a regular day I could sleep through a stampede while lying on a bed of nails. Seriously, my mum used to vacuum my room when I was asleep in bed during the summer holidays as a kid. Whatever is causing this 180 needs to be crushed and fed to the pigs.

 

You may be delighted to hear that Ewan won my hand in his Connect Four battle against Keanu. Fortunately, Keanu has been crying down the phone to me ever since, I’ve started seeing him on the side. Tonight, however, my overactive imagination is leading me in another direction. 

Tonight I become Agent L. Miss. My mission, if I choose to accept it, is to capture Prince Charles and Camilla saving the world from future attacks of the uglies. Once in captivity I would overlook the extensive reconstructive surgery that both targets will undergo in order to give them that “human” look.

 

Being the super woman that I am I accept the mission without hesitation (I do like a challenge) but I make it clear that I may not be successful. Charlie understands.

 

 Here is the appeal to the general public for any information…

Wanted

 Prince Charles and Camilla

They are to be charged on numerous accounts of animal impersonation. Prince Charles is said to have superhuman hind legs and may be spotted in or around areas of shallow water. Camilla likes apples and Silvermints. Approach with caution (and from the left in Camilla’s case).

 

An artist's impression of the subjects in question as seen eating garlic and cheese chips in Abrakebabra, Drumcondra.

 

 

 

 

Result: The mission was not as successful as we hoped but we managed to dress the frog prince in a suit and put a large amount of feathers on Camilla’s head to try draw one’s attention away from the horsiness. Kind of a “shove the dirt under the carpet” job.

 

 OK I’m hungry now…craving chips! Ugh!

Until next time.

This post will self destruct in 5 seconds…

5….

4….

3….

2….

1….

Still counting?….

….

……..

eh…boom!

 

UPDATE 2:38am 1/8/08: I can’t believe nobody noticed this (here I was believing some of you are smart. SMRT) I can’t believe I only just noticed this now…it’s genius! The frog in the picture above (artist’s impression) is the picture of the horse sideways….Prince Charles and Camilla are the same person. Didn’t think one could marry one’s self. Royals, strange folk.

Holiday Blues July 29, 2008

 

Can’t sleep once again

I spent most of my evening scanning the internet for last minute sun holidays to anywhere. My face looked something like this guys as I came across expensive dive upon overpriced hole.

 

I stumbled back to good old Buget Travel after leaving their site in tears last week as my hopes for a holiday in 2008 were ripped apart by their lack of affordable escapes. But to my surprise they are out to please at the moment.

 

So I called Mr. Sleepy (this is kinda sticking now) all excited reeling off the great reviews on this place in Egypt that is cheaper than anything we’ve seen since we started looking. Now Mr. Sleepy is normally the voice of reason (when he’s awake that is), he has the money smarts, I am very sensible at the best of times but eh I have a tendency to believe I have a pot of gold in the garden where all the leprechauns live. OK so I’m down right frivolous when it comes to pretty things, shoes and anything of a treat nature like holidays. So I’m going for the hard sell with Sleepy and he says “YES”.

My Little Miss Indulgent squeals with joy as a more composed Little Miss begins to lead the oh so generous Mr. Sleepy (and might I add an extremely handsome, you-won’t-be-disappointed-when-we-get-to-Egypt-wink-wink Mr. Sleepy) through to said offer and the steps that followed. As he neared the end of step 5 he said “will I hit book?”, (Little Miss Indulgent does a back flip off Dun Laoighre pier and into the Nile) I’m diplomatic “Do you want to go?” “Yea do you?” “Hell yea”. I can hear the sweet sound of the mouse click on the other end of the telephone line.

 

I continued to float around the house on cloud nine for another 20 minutes or so before I remembered, I don’t have a job. My bank account is alot lighter these days. Can I really afford this?

 

It was clear now that not only was I away in La la land but Mr. Sleepy had flew over the cuckoos nest as well. Phone rings. It’s Mr. Sleepy. Shit. He’s woken up now too. Shit Shit SHIT. Holiday bliss has waved it’s pretty little hand and fecked off out the window. He has come to his senses.

 

So now we’re talking as two rational human beings who once again understand their financial standing since, well since I’ve been out of work. He was a ickle bit cross. Partly because he let himself get carried away on that balloon ride over the Nile and partly because my flighty tendencies infuriate him so much (even though he secretly loves them). Have I mentioned he is an incredibly handsome, you-won’t-be-disappointed-when-we-get-to-Egypt-wink-wink Mr. Sleepy?

 

I think he has forgiven me a little bit now for sweeping him away on the Budget Travel bandwagon. I’m going to try my hardest to get a job sorted before we go I promise. If I fail you have permission to call Scarlett Johansson and give her my ticket

 

Anyone have any jobs going? I can type pretty fast, perform Grease Is the Word alone and stand on my head…tah dah!

What do you say to a cup of tea? July 28, 2008

Make me feel better…please!

 

I come from a family where tea came in bottles for the babies, cups for the ladies and buckets for the men. A member of the tea society I was not, until I moved abroad for a few years and convinced myself I would feel at home with a mug of Lyons every evening. Being totally honest it did work and I am now a believer that tea can fix a broken heart, shattered confidence and can wire a plug in mere minutes.

 

Saturday night witnessed yet another heroic act on behalf of Lyons Quality Tea. His strength and sweetness managed to rescue me from the poisons of alcohol and relieved me of my greening complexion. Not only did he achieve this but he then went on to return the spinning room to its sober serenity.

 

Two doses later he put me to bed. At 2pm he greeted me with another dose to tackle my ticky tummy. I knew he was keeping an eye on me all day when he later appeared at a friends house for another few helpings.

 

He has been so good to me through the years, picking me up when times were hard and untangling me from the many binds I have found myself in.

 

He is my Lyon.

Here we are on our holidays last year

Hiccup Hell July 25, 2008

 

Warning! May cause Hiccups.

Did you know stress and hogs could cause hiccups?

 

This morning I attended yet another job interview, which I felt, went quite well. They were a younger panel than I’ve faced in the past and seemed to really like me (fingers crossed!). However, I do hope it was the quality of my answers and not the hiccups that impressed them.

 

Waiting in a small room. Alone. First interview candidate of the day. Wiping my sweaty palms frantically in anticipation of the many handshakes ahead. Hiccup. I don’t have any water. Hiccup. Footsteps. Hiccup. Door handle creaks. Hiccup. Hold my breath…1, 2, 3, 4. Good Morning. Hiccup.

 

At this point my mind is racing, I switch on the wit and charm, hoping to draw attention away from the impostors. I am rewarded with a smile, a chuckle and assurance that I shouldn’t worry about it. Time to get down to business…

 

Well, I hiccupped through the entire interview and have yet to stop. I have tried holding my breath, drinking upside down (don’t ask-it usually works though) and I am still going. This is without doubt my longest stint with the hiccups and so I decided to google the bastards. I came across this interesting bit of hiccup trivia on http://www.thelongestlistofthelongeststuffatthelongestdomainnameatlonglast.com (what a name):

So what was the longest hiccup fit in the world?

The biggest cause of hiccups is eating to fast.

Back in 1922 Charles Osborne of Iowa must have done just that, because he got a case of the hiccups. Actually his hiccups started while he was weighing a hog.

This was no ordinary case, it was a world record hiccup fit, it lasted 68 years up until they mysteriously stopped in 1990, hiccupping an estimated 430 million times. He died 1 year after his hiccups stopped.

In the early years Charles Osborne hiccupped up to 40 times a minute, which in the later years slowed to 20 times.

Charles Osborne, however, did manage a somewhat ordinary life, he was married twice and had 8 children.

 

I always wanted to be in the Guinness Book of World Records as a kid but Mr. Osborne is one man I’d rather not challenge. Hopefully weighing hogs is the only cause of long-term hiccups.

 

If anyone has any weird and wonderful remedies I am willing to give anything a go.

 

Mr. Sandman bring me a dream July 24, 2008

Can’t sleep.

 

I’ve been staring at the ceiling since 1am as Mr. Sleepy purred quietly beside me keeping his Beyonce antics to a minimum for a change. I have spent the last 2 hours creating images from the shadows stretching across the bedroom from the parting in the curtains, deciding whether I will sleep better with one or two legs outside the duvet and wondering why the “politically correct” are so over sensitive.

 

I would elaborate here but I can’t quite process my thoughts at this untimely hour. I am presently pondering what sort of dream I would like to have when I return to my leaba with one leg outside of the duvet (two would be too daring). I’m torn between sky diving with Yoda and tea with God. Then there is also karaoke with Martin Luther King or knitting with Stallone. Mmmmm.

 

Perhaps a trip back to the future with Dr. Brown where I would meet my wrinkly self and better half along with the rugrats, among which is a drug dealer, student doctor and amateur magician. Our drug dealer would be our favourite child as he no longer freeloads, he has found food and board at the well known establishment that is Mountjoy, serving 5-10 which means we are only responsible for the other two for the next 2-7 rotations of the earth. Our student doctor is bleeding us dry and our amateur magician has killed 87 pigeons and 14 rabbits to date.

 

The ending? We head back to the present day in Doc’s DeLorean, with the aid of the trusty flux capacitor and book Mr. Sleepy in for a vasectomy.

 

Maybe I should just settle for Keanu Reeves and Ewan McGreggor battling it out for my hand. First to 10 in Connect Four.

 

Who will win? Me thinks it’s time to find out…

Love Hate Relationships July 23, 2008

Over the past few days my moods have swung through people, frightened small animals and quite literally turned my boyfriend green.

 

True to most mood minefields, loved ones are generally the ones who suffer and I am very much the girl with the curl in that when I am good I am very very good and when I am bad I’m a royal pain in the ass. Sorry.

 

My moods can be altered in the blink of an eye like many other women I know, so during this time my boyfriend prefers to walk with his back against the wall so he is prepared for anything. Unfortunately my pleasant demeanour led him into a false sense of security yesterday and he let his guard down. He, however, was fortunate that he is not responsible for pricing lady items in Super Value, make-up line Sally at the check-out on the other hand is still frozen to the spot with one ear dangling in front of her scanner.

 

I would love to meet whoever is responsible for taxing tampons and sanitary towels. I don’t recall choosing monthly torture in the form of cramps, headaches, mood mines, and I certainly don’t consider the whole experience a luxury. Now I apologise to any gentlemen who are reading but I’m sure you have suffered at the hands of a girlfriend, wife, sister, mother, friend, neighbourhood wench and can understand that PMT is no holiday for any of us. Taxing the whole show is just twisting the knife. Baby items are tax free as they are not a luxury, I’d like to know how many more ears do I need to collect before lady items are free of tax and correctly placed in the necessity category where they have always belonged?

 

On a lighter note I did meet a man who improved my mood to no end and soothed the wounds I inflicted on my ever-patient boyfriend. His talent is fudge making and our joy was to see him at the Summer festival in Bray on Sunday. (Same place I made C.A. green dragging him on my thrill seeking mission for the trip to Bray-amusements!) This man goes by Tomás Póil and is the genius behind Man of Aran Fudge. Unfortunately his mood altering creations are not to be found on shop shelves: “I don’t like shops, I like people” he smiled as we eagerly quizzed him on how we would get our next fix. He’s a market and festival man so we’ll have to follow him to Dun Laoighre Farmer’s Market this Sunday (27th July 2008) and keep an eye on his website from then on. If he’s in your area and even if he’s not I strongly recommend that you track him down with plenty of money to hand because you will not be satisfied with one bar or even one box.

 

Apologies to anyone who has suffered damages as a result of this month’s mood mine. Look at it as a learning exercise. You’ll know better next month! J

 

Something we are not July 18, 2008

Each and every one of us at some point in our lives has wished that all or part of us was different. I had a “I wish my hair was straight” phase for years when I was younger before embracing the mop of curls that inhabit the top of my head and attacking it with modern day frizz ease products. Lately it’s been an “I wish I was thinner” phase as my love for the restaurant experience has plonked itself on my waist. Then there’s always the “Oh I wish I was tanned and not milk bottle with red patches” phase that pops it’s ugly head up every summer.

 

 

We all wish to be something we are not at some stage in our lives even if that is merely a child wishing to be an adult long before their time. The vast majority of us are lucky that our wishes to change ourselves do not extend beyond the superficial but unfortunately there are many out there whose hopes for personal change are rooted in cultural context and the skin they find themselves in.

 

 

The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison is a fictional book that communicates the horrors of these wishes in the heart-wrenching story of Pecola Breedlove.  While this novel is fictitious it embodies a reality that fits so many people even in western society today. Pecola is a young black girl who yearns for white skin and blue eyes as they are considered the essence of beauty.

 

 

This book begins with the ending, thrusting the reader into the turmoil that is Pecola Breedlove’s life. It’s a novel that forces you to take a look at how other races experience self-loathing as a result of skin tone and the treatment the receive in turn. As Pecola suffers at the hands of her father because she is the blackest, the ugliest child, Morrison highlights the frightening effects of racism.

 

 

While this novel is set in 1941, it was written in the late 60s and published in 1970. Morrison did so as the message still applied as it does today. It pained me to listen to a friend from India speak of her longing for white skin, as it would offer her opportunities to transform pipe-dreams into realities. Another friend changed his surname to a more English version in order to land an interview for his dream job. These are two fabulous people who have turned their back on their own race because they view it as a hindrance, the factor that has prevented them from getting where they wish to be in life.

 

 

The Bluest Eye captures this side of racism a side many of us will never encounter in real life. I strongly recommend this book to anyone whether your interest is in the depths of cultural division or the intricacies of human nature there is something in here for everyone.

 

 

Word of warning, have the Kleenex ready if you’re that way inclined.

Forgiven not forgotten July 16, 2008

As I sang the song “Nelly the Elephant” to myself repeatedly this evening and played my new ring tone (Saved by the Bell theme tune) to help transport a few friends back into the past with me, I wondered will I ever get fed up of the exceptionally well written music that filled my early childhood.

Nelly and I were firm friends from a very young age. I vaguely recall torturing my parents with her “album” on many a family outing. I also remember when my first copy happened to be stolen along with the car radio when in Dublin one sunny afternoon in the 80s. My dad remains a suspect on that one as he didn’t foster the same respect that my brother and I did for Nelly’s masterpiece. Thankfully a healthy pair of toddler lungs ensured that mum rushed out to purchase another copy to shut us up on those rainy days (we all know now who she preferred listening to).

There are so many other catchy tunes that I associate with different stages of my childhood that raise their heads for a humming day every now and then. Today I can still sing Nelly’s No.1 hit word for word and it is unlikely that I will ever forget the joy she brought to my life by sharing her touching story of how she was united once again with her family. “Nelly the elephant packed her trunk and said goodbye to the circus…”

Pity she couldn’t make it to Oxegen this year.

Overkill July 16, 2008

I appear to have hit a wall. Following last weekend’s drunken debauchery my brain cell count has deteriorated. I have no actual evidence for this other than that my head is lighter than normal and thinking has become rather difficult.

 

Over the past couple of days I’ve been subjected to reruns of the weekends blurred adventures and they are ultimately getting in the way of tasks at hand. Job searching.

 

Before you begin sending me donations know that I only have a little part time work so I only need money for Saturday nights and new clothes, shoes and a sun hat (burnt my ears badly L) and a week away to some sunnier region (the stress has been mighty lately).

 

Anyway, walking in and out of the different interview rooms, each with a grossly oversized table and six piercing eyes probing into the reasons why I applied to their organisation await my enthused arse licking disguised in a big blanket of charm and sweetness. Same thing, different room.

 

Regardless of my batting the eyelids routine and my flashy knowledge and experience of all things required for these jobs I have failed to get anywhere. “It’s who you know”, people keep telling me. But my contacts are limited so where does that leave me? How do I let them get to know me in 15minutes when there are so many narrow minds still roaming out there?

 

I have managed to stir things up in every interview about 5 minutes in when the topic of my course change arises. I studied abroad for some time before realising I wasn’t doing what I wanted to do and was going along with it because it made so many people in my life happy. Coming home and changing course was for me, for the adult me, not the junior infant whose overactive imagination remained with them until late teens. I grew up and made a mature decision to do what was best for ME. Thing is I have a sneaking suspicion that these interviewers I have been encountering aren’t seeing things from my point of view. (Their narrowing eyes and the plush red colour entering their cheeks as they strain to understand things from my perspective have been two of the warning signs.)

 

It’s unfortunate that some members of older generations still see changing career path as quitting. In my opinion if I was to have remained on the route I was originally taking that would have been quitting on myself. Am I making sense?

 

Some people may say that I should take the former course off my C.V. altogether seeing as I didn’t complete it. Thing is what I learned there would be of great benefit to my present career (if only they could wake up and see that). I have been hoping that some employer out there will get on board and see the picture for what it really is.

 

Am I merely partaking in wishful thinking or are there fresh thinkers somewhere over the rainbow?