Caffeine Or Caffiene? I Just Don't Know

I'm forcing myself to write this post. I blame facebook for my laziness. That and my being lazy. I think the weekend has a part to play too. Nelly and I went to visit Hails on saturday morning and overdosed on caffeine. She's a lovly girl who thoroughly deserves the adventure she's about to embark on. I first read her blog in the staffroom at school in Thailand. Even though I was a million miles from home, the mental image of Wull Yum and his dices with death had me in stitches.

I went out on Saturday night to celebrate my getting-older-one-day-closer-to-death day. I went out with one of the Scabby Birds Escort Agency representatives who successfully got me very wasted and who completely humoured me when I asked funny questions. Sunday was Dying Day. Monday morning was Hell Morning. By Tuesday things were looking a bit brighter, which brings us to Wednesday. The sun is shining and things are once again fluffy.

Scabby Birds Escort Agency

Gravy and Psychedelic Ponder
Originally uploaded by hootchinhannah

Is your name Joe? Are you average? Are you an average Joe? Are you tired of going to your friend's birthdays and weddings without a date? Would you consider stepping out with an escort girl but feel that these agencies only cater for a certain type of clientele and that a blonde Posh Spice wannabe swinging off your arm might have some people guessing that she wasn't a real girlfriend?

I am now proud to present Scabby Birds Escort Agency Inc. Your own personal escort can be anything you want her to be; goth, hippy, emo, grunge, punk, or just plain grotty. For Scabby Birds nothing's too scabby. You can choose from several lovely ladies including Dirt Bird, Mucky Megs and, for a limited time only, at a special discounted rate, Hootchin Hannah.


Sorry Gravy Dave and Psychedelic Lee but this picture was ideal for my advertising campaign.

It Sucks To Be Me

What IS the craic? I'm approaching my 26th birthday and my skin's worse than a 17 year old. I don't understand. I'm eating better than I've eaten in years. I'm dinking less than I've been known to drink at times. I'm not stressed atall so why the adolescent skin? Yes, I'm young at heart and have been known to act like a foolish teenager but is this the price I have to pay for clinging desperately to my youth? Apparently so. It sucks but even though zits are for losers I'd rather have bad skin than a mortgage. However, it doesn't change the fact that, not only do I have bad skin, I'm going to be a 26 year old with bad skin. As a wise woman once said It sucks to be you.

Long Beach All Dubstar Struck

The best gig I ever went to was in Stoke. The Long Beach All Dubstars featuring former memers of Sublime. I couldn't miss it because Sublime are my favourite band and I'd never got to see them due to the lead singer, Bradley Nowell's, untimely death. The gig was amazing. The band did a mixture of their own tunes and classic Sublime. I may as well have been at a Sublime gig as it was the closest I'd ever get.

After their peformance I accosted the lead singer on his way to the toilet. The venue was in a small night club so it was easy to get upclose and personal. Which was to be my downfall. I congratulated the singer on his sterling job. I then told him he sounded just like Bradley Nowell. He looked embarassed and mumbled that he could never be as good as Brad. I was all star struck and started babbling and tried to make excuses for my self by eventually saying But you were in Sublime! He must've thought I was the worst Sublime fan in the world because he said Actually I wasn't in Sublime. The bass player he was in Sublime. I didn't know what to say but luckily Gravy Dave walked past wearing an old skool Nirvana T. Shirt which the singer took a liking to and asked me if I thought Gravy Dave would sell it to him. Oh aye. But he didn't. 'Cos Gravy Dave's not fazed by rock stars.

So the moral of the story is, if you get star struck it's always good to know who the star is and, on the same note, it's always good to know who you're talking to before you actually talk to them.

Fecking Reader's Digest

At work today I was bored. I'd run out of jobs so I checked my email to make a bit of time go by. There was nothing new or exciting so I opened up an email sent by Reader's Digest offering Easter giveaways. Y'see, I'm exactly the sort of person they prey on. Bored, not really paying attention and so therefore dazzled by the pretty lights telling me I'll win thousands. It took all of 1 minute to submit my entry and when I went back to my email I'd already recived confirmatin from them. This is what it said:

Dear Miss Bowyer,

Thank you for sending for THE DRIVER'S TRAVEL ATLAS OF BRITAIN & IRELAND.

Your name has been entered in the draw for a Volkswagen Golf or £15,000 cash and we'll notify you immediately should you win. Your book will be dispatched shortly, along with your bill.

Thank you again for shopping with Reader's Digest.

Yours sincerely,
Reader's Digest Customer Service

What! I had no recollection of agreeing to buy their Driver's atlas of Britain and ireland. For one, I have no desire to travel Britain and Ireland but, most imprtantly, I don't even drive. I went back and did the whole thing again and sure enough there it was on the screen telling me that by entering the competition I was agreeing to buy their book. The dazzling images got me. Watch out for Reader's Digest, they are clever, very clever.

Free The Meecats

I don't think I've ever been so neglectful of my poor wee blog. What with my new found career in felling trees and my drunken activist ploys to rescue meercats and, of course, the wee scrabulous tournament, I just don't have the time to update. There are tales to tell but I think I might also be suffering from writer's block and I can't force myslf to write just for the sake of writing.

Perhaps I should get Paddy to take over as typist whilst I lay at my leisure on the sette, eating grapes and smoking. Maybe it would help the creativity to flow.

But just because I've lost the ability to write does not mean that I'm not happy. I'm currently taking great pleasure in watching my bank balance grow and dreaming about the endless possibilites of exotic advenures I could undertake. There's treasure out there y'know.

Sniper Skunk Story

And now for a wee story about Pepe Le Peu. Pepe got his name because he likes to speak French, he loves the laydees and, one day, he wore a jumper with a black stripe down the back making him resemble a skunk.

I've known Pepe for years but never that well. I knew him from Ballymena but he also went to the same university as me. One night we went back to his to continue after-hours drinking. It was a perfectly civilised night where we bantered about nothing in particular. That was until it got to about 2 O'Clock and Pepe started to get overexcited.

We were talking about the 'troubles' in Norn Iron. He'd lived in Belfast and liked to talk about knee-cappings and such like. I don't. The conversation grew rather serious. I can't remember exactly as I was a tad inebriated but at some point Pepe started to tell me that he had been employed as a sniper. Now really alarm bells should've been ringing for me but I'm a gullible little thing and see no reason why people would lie about such things.

Anyway, it was his words I shot people for money as he remorsefully put his head in his hands that made me stop and say What The Fuck! At which point Pepe looked at me and said What? I reminded him that he'd just told me he'd shot people for money and that was pretty crazy. Pepe denied all knowledge of saying anything of the sort, making me even more concerned. He refused to admit he had just confessed to being a sniper. I didn't like the situation so I left. It wasn't until the next day when I replayed what happened to mutual friends and they laughed their heads off that I realised Pepe had not shot people and that I was the biggest sucker in the world.

I huffed with him for about 6 months after that. We are good friends and he would never dream of saying something like that to me, although he does still have an unhealthy fear of assassination.

When I Were A Lass

If, like me, you were a child of the 80's (and from this neck of the woods) you will be lucky enough to remember such delights as;

Nerds, dweebs and runts, Mojos (spearmint, strawberry and cola flavoured), shellsuits, bomber jackets, NASA jackets (nice and safe attitude? Oh, so that's why you're beating my face in), neon shoelaces, New Kids on the Block, Bryan 'fu*king' Adams being at No.1 for a million years with that song, Kylie and Jason mania, The Gummy Bears, Trapdoor, Moomins, He-Man, Thundercats, SuperGran, Eldorado, trolls (we had them at the end of our bed, we had them on top of our pencils, hell, we had them everywhere), Secret bars, Vice Versa's, Chocolate flavour crisps and pretzels, push pops, bum bags, combats and hair perms. I thought that Walnut Whips should be added to the lists but I saw yesterday that they still exist. But who they hell is buying them?

I bet everyone wishes they were a child of the 80's now.

A Very Handsome Paddy

A Very Handsome Paddy
Originally uploaded by hootchinhannah

*WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT Paddy has a very foul mouth*

When Hannah told me I'd been tagged I had all kinds of bad feelings about it but then she explained all's I had to do was write about 6 of my most endearing qualities...easy!

1. I am KING of the tuggers. Jaws of steel, me. Fucking handsome with it too. I was going to do it professionally but thought I had enough pressure in my life keeping the 2 bitcher dogs and that fucking hoorcat in line.

2. I'm fussy about food but I am rather partial to a wee taste of cow shit. Bert and Clint shout at me but Rosie Dog says it'll make my coat nice and glossy.

3. Bitchers just don't do it for me. Ever since losing my balls in a horrific accident (in which I'm told I was very very brave) I only lust for men. They smell like fine wine and I love the feel of their strong hands petting my back.

4. I fucking HATE cats. They smell like rancid pus infested boils, they taste like jizz from an elephant with a bad case of elephantitis and they sound like wailing banshees with daggers in their eyes.

5. I sleep-woof. Or so Hannah tells me but she says I don't sound atall scary. She says I sound like a big baby which is why I'm inclined not to believe her.

6. When I get very excited I sneeze. The more excited I am the louder the sneeze. I have nasal problems.

So there you are. 6 reason why I am Paddy The Handsomest Dog In Ireland. Apparently I'm supposed to tag some other folk but I only know Boonie, who's already done it and Rosie but she's far too boring these days. Fat lazy bitch.

Good Old Fashioned Post

PrOcraStinaTion. There is a reason I'm posting about posting. It's because there has been something I've needed to post (via Royal Mail as opposed to cyberspace) for quite some time now. It concerns two people who I very much care about. But... I suffer a terrible affliction. One that renders me physically incapable of posting something. Why? I don't know. I have always posted things late, sometimes not at all. There are so many different hurdles to overcome when you want to post a letter. First you need an address. I'm not good with those due to the fact I never keep an address book. The resulting consequence is that any time I want to post something I have to call someone to get the address. Chore.

Then there are the stamps. I often have them (because I so rarely get past the address stage) but if I don't it seems like another 3 week battle to get hold of some. Either I forget or I'm nowhere near the shop. If your only posting a letter as soon as you have the stamps you're good to go but if you're sending a parcel then you inevitably have to deal with the dreaded post office. This is the most difficult stage for me to get past. Firstly, there's not enough of them. Secondly, they're never open and, thirdly, they're full of old people sending a million parcels to their grandchildren in Timbucktoo.

Funnily enough, when it comes to finally posting something I find nothing more satisfying than popping something in a letter box. I like to hear the noise of it hitting all the other bits of mail. I think it's because once it's in the box it's no longer my responsibility. I hope the people who should've already recieved my mail know who they are. I promise I will send it very soon.

Catching Up

I'm so busy not doing the things I'm supposed to do that I'm having to resort to summing up the past few weeks in point form:


* The new job is going well. I can't complain too much when The Boss tries to force feed me chocolate and threatens to do the same with wine.

* According to me, when I'm drunk, our water tastes like nectar from the tap. According to Swisser, when she's sober, our water tastes vile, like there's chemicals in it. Who's right? You decide.

* The funniest conversation I heard this week was between Pearlie (Bert's 82 yr old mum) and Hubert (her 50 something yr old toy boy lover). When asked by Hubert how she's doing, Pearlie says:

Well, I felt like I could be sick tonight but it never came, well, it came a wee bit and my
teeth flew out but I gathered them up and that was that.

* I've all of a sudden become a good cook. My secret is to not follow a recipe, pay no heed to measurments, don't bother to look at a clock or time how long it's been cooking, throw everything together and stare lovingly at it until you think it might be ready. Works every time.

* The stupidest question I've heard all week. Whilst intensely studying an advertisement for Disney character pendants (found in Take A Break magazine for those of you wishing to purchase such items), Bert asks:

Was there one of the seven dwarves called Dave?

Yes Bert, the seven dwarves were called Sleepy, Grumpy, Happy, Sneezy, Dopey, Bashful and Dave. But if you put your glasses on Bert I think you'll find he's actually called Doc.

Help My Hair

It occurred to me that I haven't had a new hair style for many, many moons. It's been cut but always to the same length and style it was before. So I put it to you, friends, family and random strangers, to help me decide on a new hair do. I have come up with some options so all you have to do is pick one. Whichever one gets the most votes I promise* that it will be the hair style I choose:


a) The Fringe - This is a high maitenence style for someone as lazy as me.
I could end up with a fringe that covers most of my face
(hey, I'm not saying this is a bad thing)

b) The 'Posh Spice' - I have no actual desire to look like Posh Spice but I
can be rest assured that no matter how hard I try I will never look like Posh Spice (phew!)

c) The 'Sinead O'Connor' - For those of you who don't know, the 'Sinead' is a skinhead. Perfect
for someone who doesn't give a shit, like me.

d) The Perm - Surely these bad boys are due a comeback?

e) Hair Extensions - I've never had hair I could sit on or hit people in the face with when I
turn my head suddenly. Perhaps 2008 will be the year my dream
comes true.



* This is obviously a blatant lie as I would never get a 'Sinead' because it's too cold.

Laugh And The World Laughs At You

There are many good things in life. One of those good things is laughter. If I could laugh all day long I'd be a happy girl but there just isn't enough amusing stimuli.

When I have a lot of time on my hands to think, I think. I think about such things as laughing and why we do it. I know we do it because we find something funny and it tickles us but how do we come to have a sense of humour in the first place? At what age does our sense of humour begin to devlelop? Are humans born with a sense of humour or is it something which is developed by the environment around us?

Our taste in humour is very much like our interest in different types of music, films, books and art. Some people may share a sense of humour, others may clash over what they find funny but most people will agree that the ability to find things funny is a very important part of being human. If you were to scour through a magazine you would notice that everyone who is looking for love through personal ads is looking for someone with a GSOH (good sense of humour). The problem though is that most of us like to think we have a GSOH. You could be a woman looking for love and your idea of what's funny is French and Saunders or Fry and Laurie. The young man who replies to your ad thinks he has a GSOH because he laughs hysterically at Jackass and thinks Jonny Knoxville is a cominc genius. He thinks there's nothing funnier than watching students burn their pubes with lighters. Do you see the problem here?


Anyway, in honour of the beauty of laughing and the fun of making lists I have decided to compose a list of things that make me laugh. It is not a list of things I find funny but things that make me laugh, whether I want to or not:

1. Homer Simpson and Peter from Family Guy - these pair are geniuses when it comes to
dealing with difficult situations, Homer says let's go live under the sea and Peter suggests
living in imaginery land where you burp when you fart and you fart when you burp.

2. Bill Bailey - It's the crazed loon look in his eyes that gets me.


3. You've Been Framed - Yes, I know it's shameful but I can't help but laugh when
children/dogs/old people fall over.

4. Hilarious insults - insults are not big, they're not clever and they're not funny but
if they are hilarious I laugh.

5. The Mighty Boosh - I could argue the reason why I laugh at this is because I will laugh at
anything, ANYTHING, that contains the word 'mighty' but my argument would be ineviatbly
flawed.


Laughter is the best medicine. If you are feeling unwell today I prescribe 2 titters, 4 giggles, 1 guffaw and 2 big hearty belly laughs.

Fun On Ko Samet

Fun On Ko Samet
Originally uploaded by hootchinhannah

So how do you fit 5 people in the one bed....especially when Zac has passed out in the middle of it, diagonally?

This Way

Foot Rest
Originally uploaded by hootchinhannah

Zac, lying at the bottom of the bed with everyone using him as a foot rest. We had no choice really considering he'd forgot where his hotel room was. He rememembered the number of his room, he could even say it in Thai, but there were so many other hotels he couldn't remember which one was his. Personally, I was all on for leaving him outside our room to fend for himself but my apparently this was considered to be mean.

Mahaila's foot is the nice tanned one on Zac's face. I have a feeling she staged her pose as she was the one who took the photo. She was also the only one who was awake. My feet are the dazzling pure white ones. One foot is on his throat (Mahaila thought I might've possibly killed him in the night) and the other one is on his diaphragm (it's a wonder I didn't kill him). Brad's feet are around Zac's nether regions and Romy's feet are the mozzy bitten ones resting on Zac's left thigh. I slept like a log that night.

The Things I've Done

'Tis New Year's Eve and there are only a mere few hours left of 2007. I for one have had a fantastic year. Things didn't always work out the way they were meant to but I have dealt with whatever problems I've been confronted with. Here's a list of the things I did in 2007 that I'd never done before:

1. Learnt to ride a motorbike (well, I say I learnt to ride one, I did, I just never rode it).

2. Quit my job in a clothes shop to become a teacher in Thailand.

3. Eaten an array of disgusting, slimy, indestiguishable fishy things whilst I was drunk.

4. Swam in the sea in my bra and pants.

5. Developed an addiction to products containing malt or barley.

6. Worn pretty blouses and skirts to work.

7. Made a naughty student do press ups until he cried.

8. Fired a revolver.

9. Given someone a lap dance.

10. Proved myself to be THE No. 1 hostess with the mostess by announcing dunkenly to my guests: You can stay here for a while..... just turn off the lights and don't talk.


So there you are. Now in 2008 I have much to live to up to.

Brave Mel

On Saturday mum and I met with some of our favourite bloggers for a very civilised afternoon of coffee drinking and intellectual conversation. I learnt some very interesting things during the course of the day. One of those things was that somehow, somewhere, someone had made a video called Two Girls and a Cup and whatever it's content was, it made grown men cry and throw up.

I wanted to know why it was so bad. No one would tell me. All I knew was that no one wanted to talk about it. This meant it must be really bad. I came up with a cunning plan. I'd get Mel to watch it for me then she could tell me what it was about. She was more than willing to help me out. We thought we'd found it so I left her to watch it. Bert and Nigel raced in to see but came back minutes later saying that she hadn't found the right thing.

I went in to see how her search for Two Girls and a Cup was going and mum was in folding sheets. Mel played a video and said I don't think this is it when all of a sudden the most horrific thing was on the screen in front of us. Mum and I squealed and ran out. Mel, who is hardcore, stayed to watch the rest. Nigel's curiosity got the better of him and he went back to watch it only to come back a few minutes later with his face all flushed and claiming that watching it had kind of spoiled his christmas a wee bit.

So I asked Mel what the verdict was. She said it was rank and definitely not something that anyone would choose to watch. I for one would be ill if I watched the whole thing and I just don't need those kinds of mental images in my head.

DS Say Keep Your Drugs In A Plastic Bag

My friend Jenny has been arrested twice. The first time was for smoking marijuana in a public park. When the police searched her they found her drugs in a beautiful tin. Jenny was very fond of her wee tin and asked the police woman to let her keep it. The police woman's compassionate reply was:

Next time you should keep your drugs in a plastic bag.

Not that she shouldn't be smoking drugs in the first place but if she didn't want her prized tinny being confiscated by the cops she should keep her smoke in a less valuable container.

So Jenny accepted that she'd been busted. She accepted that she would never see her favourite we tinny again. Did she learn her lesson? Well, no.

A year later Jenny was smoking drugs round at a friends house. There was a knock at the door. A policeman. But he wasn't there to enquire about the strange smell escaping from the house. Nor was he there to enquire about the huge glass ornament sitting on the coffee table that looked suspiciously like some kind of contraption used to smoke illegal substances. No, he came to enquire about something or other that had nothing to do with Jenny and her chums.

But the combination of the strange smell with Jenny's blatant attempts at trying to conceal the large glass ornament alerted this policeman to the belief that crimes were being committed.

Later in the evening they had another visit. This time it was the drug squad. Belongings were searched and arrests were made. During this, a pizza was delivered. Again Jenny had kept her stash in a tin, this one more beautiful and special than any tin she'd ever owned.

On the way to the police station the drug squad lady asked Jenny if she'd ever been arrested before.

Yeah says Jenny By you, last year, smoking marijuana.

The drug sqaud woman said:

Oh yeah, I remember you.

Jenny said:

Do you think I could have my tin back this time?

I told you before, keep your drugs in a plastic bag.

Thanks Mum

Hannah plays air guitar (left handed)
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser

Y'see, this is one of the major drawbacks when your mum is technologically gifted (by that I mean she can upload photographs onto flickr). What does she do? Does she post photos of you looking sophisticated and intelligent, mysterious or thoughtful? No, she posts the photos of you looking like a total eedjit. Big silly grin, check, beautiful trendy hair do, check, very cool and dignified pose (air guitar), check. At fist glance this would seem like the perfect picture to post of a child. But when you are that child....

Mai Kow Jai

I'd only met one person from Thailand before I went there. He taught me how to say 2 things, 1 of which I remembered how to say but had forgotten what it meant and the other, I'd forgotten how to say it but I knew what it meant.

My first day of teaching in Thailand one of the teachers asked me if I could speak any Thai. I told her I knew one thing and that was mai kow jai. She smiled and said I don't understand and I thought my Thai was obviously erible until a few days later I realised that mai kow jai means I don't understand.

The second phrase was arai wah and I'd been hearing it a lot from my students when I asked them a question. Pretty much immediately I remembered that it means what the fuck? and so I demanded that there would be no arai wah-ing in my classroom. Then I taught the teachers and heard them also saying it. I had to resign myself to the fact that Thai people quite often say what the fuck? whether they are children or adults.