When Bad Days Turn Good

It's funny how sometimes it can take 'til about 10 O'clock at night before your day starts getting good. I only started work (the shit job) at one today but 7 minutes in and I was already enraged. Mum called in to get her purse at two and she said she could feel the anger. I'm not normally like this but I think I'm pretty stressed about going away and trying to juggle two jobs while fitting in time for everything else. Not to mention that I'm still feeling pretty bluee about breaking up. I felt like an absolute demon today.

But demon's must be entitled to some joy too because I had the pleasure of seeing little Martha not once, not twice but thrice. My dad also had good news today and I couldn't be more chuffed for him! And within the space of a couple of days I've found 3 people to meet up with in Mexico. The most important being young Danny Boy who came to visit me in Thailand. And while he was sitting at Noom's bar one afternoon as I was at school he befriended a dude, Chris, from Australia and a chica from Canada, Melodie. Later that night Danny proposed to Melodie and then he proposed to Chris. He also proposed to a few other people and although romance wasn't in the air for Danny that night, it was for Chris and Melodie who hooked up and have been together ever since. But they, too, are in Mexico and will be until July so Danny and I will are gonna visit them. Chris has promised to build me basketball hoop!

But definitely the best news of today is that probably for sure I will be getting full time hours with the good job, which means I can tell the boss of the shit job to go boil her head in a pan of fucking oil. Even if it all backfires on me I don't care. I'd rather go to S.America with less money and work there if I have to rather than work myself into a frenzy so that I'm all wound up for traveling, which I know would spoil the first few weeks away. There's more to life than working every hour God sends.

Gosh, is that the time? I need to get a good night's sleep for tomorrow I'll be letting the boss from the shit job know that I don't need the hassle and I just don't care.

My Lovely Sax

I was talking to Mel the other night. She was telling me how she'd paid a fortune for glasses lenses and it gutted her. I wonder how many people actually say "I should have gone to Specsavers" because I know I have. Everything's just a money spin. But how we both laughed as I reminisced about the time I went to trade in my old sax for the new one just after having a tooth pulled. I was in such horrendous pain that I heard the right numbers, I just got them the wrong way round.

I went home all chuffed with myself saying to Bert (who was there and witnessed the part exchange) how brilliant it was that I got a new sax for £80. Then Bert informed me that, no, they'd paid me £80 for my old sax and I'd bought the new one for £200. I didn't believe him 'til I pulled out my card receipt. I was pretty gutted. Then again, I had a new saxophone to console myself with. A lovely saxophone. That gets played once every few months. By Bert.

Nelly Has The Pleasure

So, I contacted Maltesers the other day via their website. I just dropped them a little line to ask about the MaltEaster bunnies they brought out last year. They have reassured me that there are plans to make chocolate bars but they will also be bringing out the bunnies next Easter. This might mean though that someone will have to post me a batch to S.America. God I hate this country but God I love the chocolate.

I'm totally at a loss in my life. Sitting here waiting in limbo for my trip. I feel disjointed. I have no kids, boyfriend, pets or plants. Nothing and nobody needs me and I feel kinda empty and void. The only person who needs me (or thinks she needs me) is Pearlie, and that's for things like taking her stockings off. My calling in life is so glamorous! Yesterday I was let off taking her stockings off due to being in 'bad form'. Nelly had the joy instead. I believe this was the interchange between stocking-taker-offer and stocking-taker-offee:

Offer: Right, so you want these stockings off then?

Offee: Aye, but where's Hannah? Hannah could take them off.

Offer: Hannah's in 'bad form' so I'll do it.

Offee: How could she be in 'bad form' sure she was off work all day!

Offer: That's why she's in 'bad form'. She'd rather be out working.


Anyway, Nelly was half right. I don't mind the odd day off but working all weekend and then having a Monday and Tuesday off isn't great for my social life. On the other hand, though, it is good for my traveling fund.

The Washing Machine Of My Mind

I'm in one of those moods today where I'm wondering: what's it all about? I'm not happy, or sad, just 'Ho Hum'. The pissy weather isn't helping. And I'm wondering why we don't have a National Dancing Day yet because surely that would put a smile on everyone's face.

Dylan Moran has the perfect answer for how he fills his day. He has no hobbies or pastimes, in fact, he finds them sinister. So what does he do with his day? He spends most of his time in the washing machine of his own mind, thinking: What's this? When does it end? Do I like it? I don't know. Oh, it's time to go to sleep. I can't sleep, I'm worried.

I'd quite like to employ a personal assistant at the minute, y'know, someone to basically think for me while I happily forget everything and play escape games. I'm pretty sure I should be making appointments to see the doc about vaccinations and I should probably do my ESTA thing and be looking into health insurance. The days are just rolling by and I'm no further ahead. The only thing that's in my head at the minute are leaving do's. I've already figured I need to have at least 6 parties to incorporate everyone I want to say goodbye to. I'll probably be dying from one big accumulative hangover by the time I board my flight but this actually seems like quite a desirable state to leave in. If I'm hungover I will be too distracted to worry.

Anyone know any good Irish bars in New York?

I Could Boke Thinking About It

Nelly and Bert had pumpkin soup for dinner tonight. It was homemade by Nelly using pumpkin's grown in Nelly's garden and chillies grown in Wee Les' Wee garden (I don't know if it's a wee garden but it can't be too big otherwise Wee Les wouldn't be able to look after it).

Due to bastarding toothache soup seemed like a damn good idea to me, but one mouthful of Nelly's pumpkin soup, with Wee Les' kick ass chillies, was enough for me to know that eating a whole bowlful would be a painful experience. My eyes lingered over the Cup-A-Soup but I thought I'd go for a can of Baxter's Leek and Potato instead.

As I poured the contents from the can I thought it looked different but I heated it up and buttered my bread and sat down to dine. After one spoonful I knew something was amiss. But how could soup from a can be fusty? I asked Bert to taste it but he'd just eaten the last of his marzipan bar and wasn't forsaking the sugary taste in his mouth for anything. I checked the date on the can. Fine. I remarked upon the weirdness of it to mum and she assumed that it was probably just not very nice soup.

So back to my bowl. I dipped some bread in and concentrated on the taste of butter. I ate half a slice of bread then chanced another spoonful. No way! The smell hit my nose before the spoon entered my mouth.

There's definitely something wrong with that soup!

I asked Bert again but he was still enjoying his sugar high. I took the bowl into mum. She sniffed. Just a stinking soup according to her expert nostrils. Then she tasted a mouthful and squealed.

Eeeuuuggghhh!!! It's sour!

I bloody knew it! I knew it yet I tried to endure it. Forced myself to eat half a slice of bread with it. And then the thought of it just turned me. Mum reckoned it tasted like snot. Bert scrunched his face up talking about rancid, slimy leeks. I am a little bit traumatised.

In other news: Fat Face Freddy is off the diet. Bert kept "forgetting" (Bert does have a terrible memory but I'm inclined to believe that he's just too soft to cut down Fred's food intake). So tonight when I walked into the kitchen and saw Freddy devouring a bowl of food the size of a small mountain I confiscated it. And then when I caught him finishing off what was in Holly cat's bowl I confiscated that too. At which point he decided if he couldn't eat the rest of his dinner he was gonna eat poor Holly cat. So, the diet's off. Purely for the sake of Holly cat of course.

Fat Face Freddy

The other night when Nelly was writing this post we got chatting about her obsession for dead animals. I reckoned I must have inherited this desire as I recall, when I was a youngster, taking great pleasure in retrieving any dead mouse or shrew the cat brought back. I liked to give them a proper burial. Mum was wondering was it just a thing children do. I said it must have been as I remembered big sister Z being most appalled when she saw a dead mouse, in a clear plastic freezer bag, sitting on the kitchen table one morning before school. Obviously I hadn't time to bury it before school and was keeping it in the freezer bag for later when I got home. Hey, that's what wee sisters are for. Just like big sisters are for making you believe that bears live in the woods.

We called out to see baby M (not Z or D, just baby M!) after work tonight. I got to have a nice cuddle with Martha. The first proper one in fact. I think this is because I'm not so scared of breaking her now. And she didn't seem so grumpy about being cuddled. She normally cries when placed in my arms. I don't know if it's just coincidence or if she actually hates me.

Fish Face Freddy is officially the fattest cat in Ireland and is now on a part-time diet. I say part-time because if it's Bert feeding him he forgets. All you gotta do is look at his massive bulging gut to remember that he's too damn fat and needs to be on a diet. Also, the kitty hardnuts are no longer accessible on a self service basis. And no more Freddy finishing off the remains of Holly's dinner. Fat bastard!

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Breaking up is hard to do but there are good break ups and there are bad break ups. I never really talked about my boy on my blog. For a few reasons. For the fact that it's kinda hard announcing that you've met someone you like in an sphere that's so public, especially when you know that the person you like will read it. It's also hard if you're not actually sure where that relationship's going and you're just wanting to take things slowly and casually. It's also hard when you know, even before you've embarked on that relationship, that it was always going to be temporary because you never planned on staying in that place where that person is. You always knew that one day it'd be over because you were going somewhere far away for an indefinite period of time.

Breaking up is hard to do. Especially when you love someone deeply but you knew, right from day one, you never stood a chance. And if I'm giving the impression that this love was one-sided. It wasn't. It was always reciprocated. It was mutual. We showed it in different ways but we both showed it and we both felt it and it was divine. It was a soft, comforting blanket wrapped round our hearts and cheeks and souls. It was what it was and it was enjoyed until it stopped becoming enjoyable.

Breaking up is hard to do. But sometimes it's the right thing to do. And when 2 people can realise this, accept it and leave each other, not with bitterness, but with kind words and respect and appreciation and thought, then it's a good break up. And in my eyes, that's true love. When you care about a person so much that you can let them be free. When their happiness is more important that yours because if they're happy, you'll be happy. And you know it's a good break up if you look at what you've shared and you don't regret a thing, you just try to figure out the lesson that life is teaching you. Aye, there are good break ups and there are bad break ups.

Either way though, it still hurts.