Just because he's nosy...

A certain boy discovered the existance of my blog recently.
And even though I have no problem with people reading stuff I've written (well, clearly, otherwise I'd hardly be spouting this all over the internet would I?), I feel a little awkward if people read it in front of me.

So no doubt he'll be clicking onto this as soon as he remembers or is so inclined...
So just for that I thought I'd make a post and see if he gets indignant about it and admits to being nosy or just pretends he never read it but does that cute little smile that means he's trying not to admit to things...

Either way...
you're still a nosy git, whether you own up to this or not.
:)

On Love

Love is a many splendid thing.
All you need is love.
Don't go breaking my heart.
I hate you so much right now.

Whether you have it, or you don't.. there's a song for you.
Love. People are constantly seeking it, singing about it, crying about it, and now I'm talking about it.


Life can be shared with another person. But the key word there is "shared". Life can be shared another person. You don't give your life to another person.

I have so many hopes and aspirations for my future, things I've always wanted. And I've always insisted that even if I was to meet the love of my life, I would never change these dreams. If he didn't want to go along with it, well and good. But he'd be flying solo. That might sound kind of pigheaded of me, but I do believe that you can't possibly have met The One unless what you both want is the same thing.

Which leads me back to sharing a life. Sharing something means giving a part to someone else and keeping another part for yourself. No matter what you do, who you meet, how you act... deep down, you can never be anyone but yourself. Could you really give yourself up just to appease someone else?

If you have a dream, is it worth throwing it away because it doesn't match another?

Life is about priority.
About making choices, taking chances.

It's an experience, whether you share it with one person, with your family, your friends or even if you're just a free spirit.
But it's your experience.

You're the author of your own life. Don't let someone else finish your story.

Anywhere but here.

In my 22 years, I've travelled to a whole lot of places. I've seen intense beauty and heartbreaking poverty.

I've seen the Empire State Building in New York, stood under the Eiffel Tower in Paris, sailed the canals of Venice, drank vodka in underground bars in Krakow, seen the Berlin Wall.

And after every trip, after seeing every new place, falling in love over and over again in so many different corners of the world, I come back to the one place in the world I wish I wasn't.

Right now, my family are over in the states. This is something they usually do twice a year, leaving me home alone.
Usually I relish in having the house to myself, feeling pretty claustraphobic as soon as they return.

But this year, it's different. I really miss them. My house creaks when the central heating is on, and every time I hear a creak or a thud, for a split second I think it's one of my family. Weird, huh?

My mom, as some of you may know, is American.
She's the closest link I have to getting citizenship/residency or whatever.

I was thinking about doing another masters or my PhD once I finish this masters program, but honestly? Right now all I want is to be anywhere but here.

It's frustrating and infuriating. I'm usually a pretty happy person, fairly laid back and happy-go-lucky, but I'm miserable here, and I truly hope that some day soon I'll be able to leave.

Life experience

My earlier post got me thinking about life experiences.

I know this guy, an acquaintance really. And because I actually think he's quite a nice person, I'll do the unusual and give him a pseudonym. Let's call him.... Frank.

One day I was speaking to Frank, and I was telling him all about crazy things I had done when I was a teenager. I covered all the typical, dyeing my hair crazy colours, getting tattoos, piercings, getting drunk, sneaking out, stealing traffic cones... the usual stuff people do when they're going through their rebellious phase.

Frank, on the other hand, didn't drink til he was 18, hadn't done anything like that, hell, didn't even have a rebellious phase.

Which led me to thinking... is it necessary to do all this stuff when you're young? Or is it only so because society has led us to believe that once we reach a certain age, we're expected to behave a certain way?

For people like me, who have done the 'phase', will we find it easier to settle down and behave ourselves? And for people like Frank, are they expected to have a mid -life crisis?

Maybe we should all forget about doing the crazy thing, doing the behaved thing and just do our thing.

How does one define life experience anyway? Isn't life, in itself, life experience enough? Does it really matter how you live your life, as long as you live it the way you want to?

Happy New Year everyone.
I truly hope it'll be a great one for everyone.

Out with the old...

I woke up with a sore head and a blurred memory this morning.
I'm having a serious "Residue Day".

You know those days after drinking where nothing really happens except a long shower and a lot of sleep? And all around you is mess from the night before. Discarded shoes, coat dumped over a chair, plate on the ground from the greasy chips you had the night before.

Last night I went to a party. One of those excellent, packed house, far too much wine kind of affairs.

This morning though, I woke up feeling truly awful. I'm having one of those hole-in-the-memory kind of mornings and am now worried that I said or did something to someone that I shouldn't have.

I'm pretty sure I behaved myself, but I always find myself worrying until I hear from someone who was out the night before. I need that phone call to reassure me that yes, I behaved and no, I didn't pour a drink down someone's shirt.


Nights out are great. And my nights out are even better than great. I have had more fun at parties and events and nights out and general craziness than some people will have in their entire lives.

But this year, maybe it's time for change. I know I'm being very ambitious and cliched here. Making resolutions on January 1st and whatnot, but still.
Maybe it's time to calm down a bit.

I don't mean get horrendously dull and start spending my evenings watching Pat Kenny and drinking tea, but I'm getting sick of the worry the morning after a night out, and even sicker of feeling crap. I know its all part and parcel of being young and going a bit crazy, but I don't know... maybe it's time for a fresh start.

Born of Our Land?

I've decided it's time for one of my rants. I think I've been very good and not ranted in awhile.
Actually, that's probably a blatant lie.

But it's my blog and I'll rant if I want to.

Our story starts with a Myspace message from a man. Let's call him Dave...because that's his name. Sorry Dave, not terribly bothered about identity protection right now.

Anyway, this Dave character obviously went cruising through the Myspace profiles and came across mine. So he sent me a message, something along the lines of a gushing

"Oh my god! You're from Ireland, that's sooo cool, I'm Irish too!"

And I think we can probably assume he's one of those who pronounces it "Eye-rrrr-land".
I don't know about the rest of you, and I can't speak for the rest of the country, but I know most of us pronounce it "Ar-land".

Anyhow, a brief click away led me to Eager Dave's stats. Male, in his 20s, oh and what have we here? From Kentucky. Right. Nuff said.

He also informed me that because he was Irish, he drank Jack Daniels. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I was under the understanding JD was from Tennessee. Unless there's a secret brewery in Bray or somewhere, sounds like Eager Dave is full of shit.

Americans, I can appreciate that you may have some grandfather from Mayo or somewhere, but that doesn't mean that you personally are Irish.

You don't need to drink gallons of Guiness (I was born and raised in Dublin and can't STAND the stuff), you don't need to parade around with tattoos of the Irish flag, and you certainly don't need to tell complete strangers that you're Irish, when quite clearly, you're not.

Get an Irish passport. Live hear for a decade or so. Learn to bitch and moan about everything from Bertie to the rain, and then maybe, just maybe, you could consider yourself "Irish".

It bothers me greatly and kind of insults me the way Americans do that.
You're American. Land of the free and home of the Twizzlers. You have an awesome country. Appreciate it.

Hertiage is great and all, but it's what led to your existence, not what defines it.

Flying high

When I was a teenager, I had pink hair, clothes covered in safety pins and thought Sid Vicious was the most beautiful thing that had ever lived.

I had a very varied and eclectic group of friends, and am still friends with some to this day. Some of them were really smart, some the funny types, some conservative, some a bit mad and some were the token hippie types.

You know the type... bringing dazed and confused to a whole new level.
My dad once joked that I didn't have friends in high places, but rather high friends in places.

Anyway, I was never into the whole stoner thing. Never really saw the point.

These days, the people I'm friends with aren't into drugs or anything like that. Sure, we go out and get drunk, but drugs don't come into the equation.

However, I recently found one person who was at one point a very close friend with an ever-growing fondness for weed. I started seeing this friend less and less, and whether it was due to us living different lives, me being so busy with college or just her getting so involved in her new stoned life, I don't know.

But it's never a nice feeling growing apart from a friend, whatever the reason.

I guess just some people are high-flyers...and other people just get high.

The Real Borat?

I came across this website ages ago, but has anyone ever heard of this guy before?
He's awesome. Apparently he was a big influence for Sacha Baron Cohen's Borat:



His website's http://istanbul.tc/mahir/mahir/ , for those of you who are interested.

Lessons in Ettiquette

Chivalry's dead. We know that much.
And the days of common courtesy? Long since past.

But blunt, blatant rudeness? That's a new one.

I've always been the kind of girl to say please and thank you, hold open doors for old people, offer guests food or tea.
And that's always who I'll be. I can't abide rudeness or people who ignore these common courtesies. It's just disrespectful.

But being polite to men?
Wow, that's a minefield.

Drunk men are just complete landmines in general.
Be polite to one of them, and automatically they think "Result! I'm totally in with a shot"

Yeah.. no thanks.
So girls, ignore your p's and q's and have another drink.
I recently met a man out on one of my adventures in inebrity.
He was quite nice, Italian, but a little sleazy.

Fortunately, I'd gone past the tequila threshold and was at the point where I was speaking without thinking, and having a great time.

Believe it or not, I actually spoke the immortal words: "Get your coat love, you've pulled."
I thought this was hilarious and went about giggling to myself at my (seemingly) ironic genius.
He, however, was delighted with himself.


I'm sure we've all been privy to the company of a man suffering from octopus syndrome.

There's a simple cure, and it's not getting your friends to pretend there's an emergency, or trying to disappear to the bathroom and not come back.
No, it's very simple:
Be rude.
Be a bitch.
And no matter what, be so blunt that you'll still be laughing come morning.


Have a good one.

The wonder that is The Emo Fringe

I had a thought earlier on...
In recent years, we've all seen the phenomenon that is the emo fringe, right?
The ever-so-unattractive sweep of hair across one's forehead. Perfect for creating that ever essential air of mystery, or rather, a sense of anonymity. Not only do you get to blend in amongst a sea of people with the same haircut, but you also get partial facial obscurity. Result.

I got to thinking though, and realised.... isn't the emo fringe like a younger version of the combover? Today's high-stylin', makeup wearing, skinny jeans afficionados are just tomorrow's balding men with a beer gut and an ugly check shirt.



Attractive, huh?

Also, is the emo haircut not a bit like a mullet, but in reverse?
With a mullet, we're talking short hair in front, long and dangly down the back. An emo has short hair in the back, with a sweeping fringe across their face.


(Truly FABULOUS photo, by the way)


There's some food for thought, my friends.