Archive for April, 2011

An Open Letter

Dear Captain Morgan,

I think we need to break up.

I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and I’m just not sure our relationship is in my best interests anymore. We’ve had our laughs, don’t get me wrong, but I think we need to just slow down and have a serious think about what we are doing here. For both our sakes.

Firstly, I love how everytime we hang out together, I stop being the Most Awkward Thing and turn into a ledgebag. If it wasn’t for you, I would never be able to turn into a smoooooooooth criminal and be covered in bitches. Being covered in bitches is definitely a good thing. What I don’t like is how you sometimes make me cross the line from ‘winningly confident’ to ‘complete dickface’, and you don’t even warn me that it’s going to happen. You just give me the push, and sit back and wait for me to remember the next day. Not cool, Captain. Not Cool.

Good Idea: Go over to pretty ladies and start a conversation

Bad Idea: Go over to pretty ladies and start a conversation with the words ‘Have you met me? I’m CLASS’

I realise that the above statement might confuse you, seeing as how you don’t normally see any difference between good ideas and bad ones. Well, that’s a lie- the difference is that when I’m with you there are only good ideas and BETTER IDEAS. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, per say. Sometimes our ideas together are genuinely inspired. Like when we decided to buy two chicken satays that time after a night out, so there was one for breakfast- that was obviously a genius move. Less inspired was that time when we were in trouble, and we had that brilliant idea that the only way to get out of trouble was to take the mattresses of Ais’s bed and throw them around the room. Who exactly did you think that was going to help, Captain? We broke a pipe.

Another problem within our relationship is that whenever I’m in your company, I forget how to convert my thoughts into speech properly. As in, I will say everything I am thinking instead of just the socially acceptable things. And sometimes, I don’t even say things I’m thinking, I am saying things that YOU are thinking. Hey Captain, take your offensive words out of my mouth will you, jeez. It is not OK to tell someone to stop talking because they are really boring, if they are not talking to you. It is also not cool to yell ‘YOUR TRANS? THAT IS FUCKING HOT’ and then try to make out with that person loads. Mostly people are not into that.

I also would like to point out that giving me a hangover is pretty low, coming from you. All night long, you’re like ‘Hey Sinead, you want some of this? Yeah you do’, and then the next day you disappear, and my body can’t cope with the loss so it tries to reject me. And just when I’m starting to cope with that, you drop little memory bombs, like you’re rubbing it in. ‘Hey Sinead, look what we did last night. Looks like fun, doesn’t it? You had a good time? BOOM- you also got banned from the toilet. And the stage. And Heaven. Soz babes!’

Basically Captain, I just don’t think you’re worth it anymore. You used to be cool, after a bottle of you the world was a much better place, with strange new colours and shiny lights and also maybe the ride later. That is still the case, but now the new colours are mainly in the vomit I have done on the side of a bank somewhere, the lights are in fact signs of a serious concussion and the ride later was either a complete mentaller or deeply, deeply unattractive. I’ve changed, Captain. I’ve sorted my life out, and you are holding me back from achieving my goal- namely, to Stop Exploding.

What I’m trying to say here is that you are turning me into a Dickhead All My Life, and that is pretty harsh, yo. So you can take your shiny pirate torch and amazing warm belly-cold belly sensation and take the next dick out of here.

Yours Shakingly,

Sinead.

PS: If you are on offer next weekend I swear to God, bitches are getting cut.

HOW Embarrassing

I think it’s time I came out. I just don’t think I can keep it a secret anymore. I’m sure most of you have guessed at this stage. God knows that no matter how hard I try to hide it, tell- tale signs just keep on breaking through. I hope I’m not disappointing too many of you, and I especially hope we can all still be friends. You have to know- I’m still the same person I was before, this is just part of who I am, too, and I hope you are all OK with that. I can’t pretend to be something that I am not any more, so here goes-

You guys, I am SUCH a girl. And I hate it.

Phew. It feels good to get that off my chest.

When I say being a girl, I don’t mean in the whole ‘identifying as female’  kind of way. I am pretty happy that a have a vagina, it’s pretty rad as far as I’m concerned. No, I mean emotionally. I am not coming out as a lady, I am coming out as the silliest of Jane Austen’s many Silly Girls. If this ‘Being A Girl’ thing isn’t monitored carefully, I am afraid I will grow up to be a very queer Mrs. Bennett.

Nobody wants a queer Mrs. Bennett.

Usually I have a handle on the silliest part of my nature. I have gotten the whole thing under control to such an extent that sometimes even I forget that centipedes are pretty gross. I do not squeal when there are tiny puppies in the room, even though I would like to sometimes, I acknowledge their adorability in a socially acceptable way. I can even open loads of types of jars, without having to run them under hot taps or jam them in doors or anything. All in all, on an everyday basis, I am a totally functioning, non- ridiculous human being.

Unless you put a film on, that is.

I am pretty much useless at Not Crying During Movies. It’s pretty embarrassing. I mean, crying during Toy Story 3 is totally fine. Crying during Up is genuinely encouraged, I don’t even feel a little bad about that. I’m not dead inside like. Crying at the end of The Notebook is embarrassing only inasmuch as it requires you to admit you’ve watched The Notebook. But for me, alas, it does not stop there.

I cried when Haldir died in the Battle Of Helms Deep, even though he was a) an elf who was a billion years old and b) A fucking Elf in a Lord Of The Rings movie, and not even an elf who died in the books so the whole scene was Not A Big Deal At All. That one was kind of embarrassing, but if you play your nerd card, you get away with that kind of thing. The tears I shed when Beethoven was being brought to the vet were harder to explain. It’s not like everyone doesn’t know that he is not euthanized, like. There is a whole series of Beethoven movies, for gods sake. But that’s not even the most embarrassing. Last year, I had a serious battle holding back the tears during Madagascar 2.

Even the guys who MADE Madagascar 2 didn’t give a shit about it. Poor form from me there.

The worst is yet to come. A a direct result of my new diet [which is what I am blaming for everything bad in the world now, by the way. Want to halt Global warming? Let me have a cigarette. Problem fucking solved], I have lost almost all control over my girlish tendencies, and I really hate them. How am I supposed to be badass when there is a Giant Spider at work that I can’t stop looking at in case it moves suddenly and then I have to get one of the guys to kill it for me?  It’s pretty much impossible. This is due to a lack of courage [i.e. hot sauce] in my diet.

Another annoyingly girly thing I’ve taken up is being fucking OBSESSED with chocolate. This is bad enough, but you guys, I don’t even like chocolate. I just want it all of the time, apparently. My day at work is spent looking at Easter eggs and really wanting one, even though I will definitely not enjoy eating it. I feel like a junkie. Someday, Imma be found hiding behind the express counter, weeping into a giant bag of minstrils and hating both myself and the mingling flavours of chocolate and shame that will be in my mouth. And then I’ll get wicked heartburn and my stomach will explode again and it won’t even have been worth it. Being a girl is pretty terrible, you guys.

The worst thing is, there isn’t anything I can do about it. I am already on the all- too slippery slope to becoming one of those fat women who sit in the front row by themselves in the cinema, looking like they have eaten the person that came with them and they feel pretty bad about that. Unless I discover a diet way to regain my bad-assness, such as it ever was, Imma be a dickhead all my life. The bad kind, too. Proof of this? Just before I started typing this blog post, I was playing Pokemon Pearl. It’s a pretty badass game. I was chasing Team Galactic around the place, catching Pokemon and generally being pretty fly, when I arrived at the lake and it turned out Team Galactic had made it explode. Instead of water I could surf on, catching far too many tentacruel, there was mud, Team Galactic members, and Magikarp. In puddles. Flopping about. And you know what I did?

I welled up.

Because of Magikarp.

Thank you and goodnight.

Even The Best Laid Plans…

Sometimes, life is very disappointing.

Every week, my foolproof lotto- winning strategy fails to net me the millions I need to finally create the hoverskateboard, and that is a disappointment not only to me, but for the rest of the world. 2015 is getting closer every day, and yet Marty McFly’s vision of the future is slipping more and more out of reach. It’s a crying shame [although it has to be said, at no point in his trip to the future did he get to record live TV]. Also disappointing is the fact that no matter how many hours I spend trying, or having the process explained to me, I have never once gotten a single cryptic crossword clue right. I just can’t do it, you guys, and it seems like I am wasting my Times. [SIDE NOTE: that pun was not disappointing at all]

But worse that these things, worse than any other disappointment I have ever suffered in my whole entire life [including all of those times when I was a kid and Ais got The Thing That I Wanted And It Wasn’t Fair] is the fact that, through no fault of my own, I’ve gone and turned into an Angry Lesbian. With an Angry Lesbian Blog.

I didn’t want this you guys. I tried everything I could not to become the stereotype. All I wanted was a place where I could tell ridiculously mundane stories about stuff that isn’t that important, but then some Dick had to go and write some article in the Mail today, and I had to be teased about it a lot, and who suffers? You guys do. I was planning on telling the story of the guy who came into the shop during the week and tried to have a conversation without listening to anything anybody said to him-   truly, the greatest conversation of all time. I also wanted to relate the Incredible adventure I had handing out CVs in the rain/ hail thing that happened on Saturday, but no, alas, it is not to be. You gotta suffer through another blog post about a guy whose opinions are so ridiculous they shouldn’t ever be commented on, for fear of him getting credit for having them.

We will never know exactly when I became an Angry Lesbian. It could have been hiding under the surface since childhood. Maybe it happened at one of those hundred thousand Equality things I went to last year. Maybe it happened when I got my hair all cut off,  or is it a direct response to my medicinal baggy-ass jeans? We can only guess. Much like the famous ‘What The Hell Was Going On When Tupac Was Shot Anyway, It Was A Busy Street In Daytime And Nobody Saw?’ question, speculation will always be rife.

Anyway, onwards to the point. I’m not linking you guys to the story, because I couldn’t be arsed finding it online and I ripped the page out of a newspaper [Rebel YEAH], but it was an opinion piece in the Irish Daily Mail Today by a guy called Richard Waghorne. I happen to think that the Gay Marriage Issue is not actually an issue. I have always thought that marriage is pretty much only important to two people who happen to be getting married, and thus, I don’t really care who is doing it, but I do think everyone should be allowed to do it. I am of the opinion that telling somebody they can’t do something everyone else can do because of a cultural construct like sexuality or religion is ticking the Pretty Lame box on the Things You Are Doing census. Also, it is totally pointless, because anyone who has ever seen an episode of anything on the telly, or has met a 5 year old, will tell you that duh, if you ban something it only makes it more tempting. That’s why weightwatchers sell so many toffee yoghurts you guys, it’s basic Being A Person.

I also think that everyone who doesn’t agree with Gay Marriage should definitely consider not getting gay married, and stop worrying about it so damn much. It’s like when men are anti-abortion:  Dudes, it’s all cool, you can keep any babies you are growing for as long as you want, nobody will ever stop you. You could be like Arnold Schwarzenegger- pretty rad you guys! What I don’t understand at all is why people think their opinion should be my opinion. Or should be more important than my opinion. It isn’t [very few people have an opinion more important than I do, maybe God and Stephen Fry sometimes].

Anyway, this Waghorne chap is a total gayer  -1000 life points – who doesn’t believe in gay marriage -minus 500000000 life points. I’m not trying to say his opinion is stupid-  I really would like to, it is pretty ridiculous after all- I just don’t understand why he doesn’t just ‘not get married’, and move on with his life. That’s what I would do. He’s all ‘chaps, look, marriage is supposed to be for kids, and yeah, alright so gayers can have kids and sometimes straight people don’t, but still like, society will suffer if gayers get married or something’, and I swear to god, my translation there is marginally more lucid than his entire piece. But whatever, if his train of thought got stuck in the convoluted mess that is the whole Gay Marriage thing, I can’t blame him. It must be hard to come out looking in the right when clearly you have proved yourself entirely wrong.

Another hilarious thing he does is claim homophobia is dead, which, alright, some gay people never experience homophobia, the legends, but this made me laugh because the only reason I read the article was because Homophobic Customer A pointed it out to me as soon as I arrived in work, in order to laugh at me for being a gayer and being wrong about everything because the man in the paper said so. I was like ‘Richard Waghorne, stop being such a dick and keep your internalised homophobia to yourself like the rest of us, jeez’, and I’m pretty sure that is still how I feel about the whole thing right now.

If you are a gayer who doesn’t believe in Marriage, shut the hell up, basically. You guys are trying to make your beliefs my beliefs, and that’s well harsh. If I can get married someday, I promise not to invite anybody who doesn’t like it, and to hide all the pictures on Facebook from them and never introduce them to any kids/ pets I may accumulate after the fact. In fact, I promise all you guys who don’t believe in Gay Marriage to never even introduce you guys to my future wife. In exchange for this fantastic offer, kindly return the favour and stop talking about it. It’s regressive, and regressive shit is boring unless it’s clothes, in which case it’s retro and obviously awesome.

 

And I promise to try harder not to be a MASSIVE LESBIAN next time too you guys, stupid annoying LGBT issues gotta keep coming up and ruining my nice clean blog [I have such an awesome sex joke for this exact space it’s not even funny, but Imma rise above it]

[THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID]

[BOOM]