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.