demondaze

I have to update this, because Conor is forcing me to.
Really, he has a gun pointed at my head.

N'stuff.

I have no idea what to write about though.

Music wot I stole tonight while watching Firefly:

Under Pressure - Queen & David Bowie
Steady As She Goes - The Raconteurs
My Doorbell - The White Stripes
Crazy (The STOP! Remix) - Britney Spears
La Camisa Negra - Juanes

Unfortunately, the mp3 of Steady As She Goes is TERRIBLE quality, so I have deleted it. I shall have to try again once my modem, Perdita, has had her meds.

Random Comment of the Day:
Passing two knacker girls by the Crescent (I thought they shot knackers on sight at that side of town) and one, who we shall call Shakira-Kylie-Joan, who was rather large, says to the other "I have a very skinny shadow y'know". It's 10x funnier if you hear it in LimkSpk.

I've been neglecting LiveJournal lately, but that's because Bebo has taken over me (it doesn't kill my computer like My Space, and unlike My Space, is actually popular in Ireland). They really should invent something that allows one to update all one's blogs at once with a single interface.

They're making a Simpsons film. I'd like to be hopeful, I really would, but the world has moved on and The Simpsons stopped being funny about 7 years ago (with the exception of the Behind The Laughter episode). It's odd watching old episodes and comparing them to new. The more recent series have no subtlety, and rarely tackle politics, religion or authority in the same way the show used to. There's a lot more slapstick in it too, which does nothing for me, and most new episodes have at least one scene where Homer will scream for a prolonged period of time for absolutely no good reason. I won't even get started on the celebrity ego-wanking.

Hair.
Long beautiful hair.
I need a haircut, and I've no idea what to get done or where to get it done. I mean, if I go to a barber I'll end up with that haircut. The one every barber gives to every guy who comes in, because they know nothing different. And I'll end up looking like I did in October when I had that abominable haircut RIGHT BEFORE my graduation.
But going to a... "stylists" (even typing the word is painful) is a bit gay (Pot. Kettle. Black.) and there's always the possibility I'd end up with some over-enthusiastic mullet-sporting junior diva whirling my hair into a multicoloured travesty with sticky uppy bits and random spots of bleach. Plus it'd cost about three or four times as much as the barbers. But I shall make a decision this week, because I'm all about the decision-making at the moment, what with the dropping out of college and the remembering one of my New Year's Resolutions was to be more decisive.

I feel that was comprehensive enough. Should I paste this entry onto Bebo or keep my public guessing?

This whole blogging on the Sunday after the Saturday before thing is getting to be a bit of a habit. By which I mean, I've done it twice. On this occasion, it's not an inexplicable case of OMGHyperMegaAwakeYayWow but rather Wisdom Tooth induced OMGMyFuckingGums that's keeping me awake rather than comatosed in my leaba. Although the fact I have Rock The Casbah stuck in my head probably wouldn't help if I was to try the whole sleeping thing. Which I will do once the paracetemol has gotten into my system and blocked out the pain of existence*.

The mother just phoned to ask me if the clocks had gone back or something, because Cthulhu's Chapel Of Love, or wherever it is the Mormon's worship (and by the by, if it ISN'T called Cthulhu's Chapel of Love, it totally should be), is all closed up and she's there on her lonesome. Maybe it's the Rapture and she got left behind because of the whole child out of wedlock thing. I'd love to think I'm bringing people down to Hell with me.

Anyhow, there was boozing last night. Initially in the Wicked Chicken, but that didn't last long because I couldn't hear a word that was being said (MEMEME I actually think there may be something wrong with my hearing because I'm always bloody straining to make out a single word when people talk to me in certain music-filled situations, whereas others around me never seem to have as much difficulty with it MEMEME) so we went to The Precinct, had a justified rant about the giant spanner someone threw in the works of a perfectly good plan, went a bit mad with a camera (and oh dear lord I've just remembered the "pose" I was pulling for the pictures. I'll be devastated if they're developed and I'm there like a twat with a spaghetti-thin bicep. DEVastated.) and had some sort of deranged dance-a-thon with The Lovely Jean that involved a scarf and far too many hip movements.

I got a taxi home with some strange goths-from-D'Island (It was heartening to know people dress in clothes other than Reebok or Asics there. Also: I think they may actually have been my cousins but I was too too busy looking for my keys to quiz them on their genetic lineage) and lamented the destruction of a perfectly good pair of shoes that had become rather waterlogged and are currently looking up at me, rather forlornly and just a little bit discoloured-at-the-toe (it's all about the details, people), as if to say "Whimper". That was the least obvious segue ever. Taxi-to-D'Island into Poor-Sad-Shoes. If I was arsed about coherence I'd try and establish a sensible link between the two. But I'm not so I won't.

Upon arriving home on this particular occasion, I ascended the stairs calmly and without chanting "One more song". I did however drop my wallet down the stairs and mutter "I need a job" a few times, while staring at the VHI Envelope Of Bill-Bringing Badness.










*wisdom teeth

So I've had the computer downloading the 2nd X-Men 3 trailer for the past hour and a bit, because I'm a big nerd like that. Anyhow, it's finally finished and I'm most pleased. Beast looks quite good in motion (inspired casting of Kelsey Grammer), Famke Jansen isn't looking as haggard as she did in the publicity shots (and she's also looking quite capable of bringing Dark Phoenix and a conflicted Jean Grey to life, excuse the pun), Angel in flight was rather nifty and most importantly of all Storm's new wig is much better than the previous two. And I didn't want to hit Halle Berry in any of those scenes she appears in. Could it be they've finally gotten Storm right?

I liked the focus on the New Mutants (so to speak) too, what with the hints of an Ultimate X-Men style Iceman/Shadowcat/Rogue love triangle and Iceman's words to Wolverine. Yer wan who does Psylocke is quite hot for a forty odd year old too.

The trailer pretty much gives away most of the movie though. I've guessed at least two deaths from it. A Jean vs Xavier fight is worth the ticket price alone, though.

Roll on May 26.

/Geek Off

Trailer-Fu!

I had a very enjoyable weekend of debauchery.

K thnx bye

I'm ridiculously hyperawakeyaywow for someone with a head that's throbbing and stomach-a-churning as a result of Bulmers consumption. Stupid cider ruining my normally hangover-free mornings. Vodka from here on in, dammit. God only knows how long it'll take me to burn off 650 calories worth of Applecohol in the gym, but it's time that could be better spent on the Asstronic™ or Swingy Roundy Hip Thingy™. I know all the proper terminology. Don't look at me like that, hater.

I've been looking at Bebo in my hyperawakeyaywow state, because I'm stuck for something to do until I become ill or of-throbbing-head enough to sleep again. They now have a bunch of Irish schools and colleges added. They haven't done much research into the Irish educational system though, because it asks you for US-style information such as your "Major", "minor" and whether or not Sox Rule. And they do, you know. SOX RULE.

In Gay Dolan's last night (which was okay but not great. Fantastic that they didn't play Car Wash though. How could the combination of Xtina and Missy Elliot produce such a travesty?) some tit asked for some of my Minty Lip Balm. Except he called it Lip Salve. Yeah. "Salve". I took enough time out of my drunkeness to give him a withering look for that. Those toilets are ridiculously small, too. No wonder Aisling had such difficulty applying her make-up in there that she had to launch a mini-tirade against The Gays.

I arrived home with a lot of class and dignity too. Firstly I phoned the mother to let me in, because I couldn't find my keys, which was understandable what with me having actually forgotten them. Then I walked through the hallway loudly muttering "One More Song". I then went to bed with my headphones on, litened to one (more) song and fell asleep, though not before texting Conor to tell him the gays were minging and I have to change my identity to escape the clutches of Gay Dolans now that they have my phone number. N'stuff. No wonder the mother worries so obsessively and incessantly. Though she's been a bit more reasonable lately. When I say resonable, I mean she hasn't been a thundering cow in relation to my going out at least TWICE now, in recent weeks. Which might not seem like much but 2 versus 0 is a result in my book. And my book is The Holy And Most Sacred Qur'an Blessed Be It And The Awesome Prophet Mohammed Who Could Totally Have Your Messiah In A Fight, so it has to be right.

Why do I watch Lost?

I hate the leads (Hi, Jack and Kate!) almost as much as I hate ShannonTheShithead. The show moves at such a turgid pace that I'll be 90 before any significant plotlines are resolved, and even when they are resolved, I KNOW it won't be satisfactory because the writers are on crack/making it up as they go along.

Yet I still watch the damn show, even though, on average, I look over at my mother and roll my eyes in exasperation when the latest plot-stalling tactic trundles along about 20 times per hour. Tonight we actually managed to guess 90% of them, from "I bet the rope is going to give way so Kate will have to take a breather for 2 minutes" to "It's going to be 6 weeks before anyone even listens to ShannonTheShithead about her seeing Walt on the Island".

Still, at least they actually dealt with the fact that the "monster" is a puff of smoke, albeit about 6 hours after they actually saw it.

Plus, there's only about 8 weeks until something happens that'll make the show much more tolerable for me...

Interspersed with random musings!

ThursFriday:
Did not sleep. It turns out the bus to Galway now stops off at Shannon Airport, which for some reason made the trip seem 50 times longer. Met JohnFromMayo (who I may have to rename The Masturbator From Mayo, for reasons to become apparent soonish), had a blah, drank some wine, received ire from from his Latvian roomate Sarune ("You are being very noisy, boys") and got the slooooowbus to Dublin. The ticket machinething was broken, so there was no chance of getting a return ticket, meaning the buses to and from Dub ended up costing an extra €12 as a result of having to buy singles instead. Grrrmph. Entertainingly, there was a Rula Lenska lookey likey on t'bus, complete with super-perm and mad yoga skillz (this is based on the many positions she assumed during the trip while trying to sleep. She was basically upside-down by the time we reached Dublin). There was also a girl sat in front of myself and The John who kept giving us evils for talking/laughing/generally keeping her awake.

Friday, Ireland:
Flight delayed by two hours. A word for the pilot: if the flight is delayed, try telling the passengers it's because of the weather/Martians/the need to question any Asian passengers. But don't tell them it's because of "severe technical difficulties". Queued behind two wonderfully dopey girls when checking in for the flight. They had an argument over which bags to keep as hand-luggage and which to check-in. They ultimately opted to hold on to the bag containing the eye-liner, "because I'd die if they lost it". There is a Claire's Accessories at the airport. This is clearly wrong.

Friday, Scotland:
We land, and as per Liam's instructions, get a cab to the village of Dyce and a train from Dyce to Aberdeen. We later find out that, as is normally the case, Liam's way of doing things is Completely And Utterly Stupid, as there's a bus to/from Aberdeen and Aberdeen Airport which is about £10 cheaper than his arsewards way, and involves a lot less waiting around.

We meet the Mimi-man when we arrive in Aberdeen and he shows us around a bit. Nice place, lovely architecture but where it's run-down it's VERY run-down. Liam's roomate is a total schizoid who doesn't utter a word to us throughout the weekend, and in fact, flees on Saturday morning to spend the weekend with her boyfriend, but not before running around in only a t-shirt on Friday evening, possibly to get her very much on-display contraception from the bathroom.
After watching the CBB final, we head out on the town. Firstly to an Irish pub, which we stay in a bit too long, and then to a place called The Priory; a pub/club which is either situated in a much-altered former Church (as Liam maintains) or constructed to look like a Church (as I believed). Free entry, hugely diverse music and a great time was had.

This is as good a place as any to note that the men are gorgeous there. The majority are fantastically well-dressed, well-groomed and posessed of hairstyles that'd have people screaming "Queer!" at them were they in Ireland. Whether it's because everything is dirt-cheap there so the guys don't mind spending money on themselves or the result of another, impossible to fathom cultural difference, I cannot say. But it made my eyes quite busy and confused my gaydar no end.

Saturday:
In bed (i.e. on the couch) at 5am. John got the reclining chair, and woke me several times with his wanking. Well, it wasn't his wanking per se but the fact that the chair was leather and the bodily contortions accompanying sexual pleasure, when combined with this material, made for a rather disturbing cacophany of noise including his fast breathing and badly-muffled groans. This was repeated Saturday night/Sunday morning and if I did a blood-test/coughed/drank some water he'd only be at it 20 minutes later and I'd be awake AGAIN. In retrospect, I really should've taken the reclining chair and let him do his thing on the much-quieter couch.

Regardless, I somehow managed to get enough sleep to continue functioning. Or it could be the fact that we spent half the weekend in Starbucks, which I loved because I'm a total corporate whore. Come to Ireland, please! On Saturday we wanted to go ice-skating, but the place was closed, so we just went around the shops/saw the college Liam goes to (very British looking, but gorgeous).
On Saturday night we ventured to the Irish pub again, then on to Slaine's Castle, a part of the "Eerie PubCo" franchise. Basically, the place looks like something out of a Harry Potter film; all exaggerated gothic and the like. Very cool, and mega-cheap drinks. On to a club called Liquid from there, which was okay. Not as much fun as the Priory, though a girl may have come on to me, for the first time in my life. Actually, she totally was, because she complimented my dancing and that was TOTALLY a line, as anyone who has ever witnessed my monkeyboy dancing can attest to. Liquid has a (very) brightly lit main floor and a fantastic second floor that specialises in naff music, including Mmmbop, B*witched, Jennifer Ellison (!) and Take That.

Sunday:
Two and a half hours sleep later, and we're on a bus to Aberdeen Airport. I get searched there, after my ring sets off the metal detector which is funny cos I thought it'd be my needles or insulin that were most likely to cause hassle. I never felt so violated *sob*. John had his bags ransacked because of the various electronic items he had in them; "I'm just searching for explosives" Mrs. Security Scotswoman said. Mm, okay. Arrive in Dublin and fail to spot any celebrities arriving for the Meteor awards, unfortunately.
Many hours and some scattered sleep later, I hit Galway, and meet Cathy. Unfortunately, the plans to spend a while with her are scuppered when I've to head home for something or other.

But yeah, much fun was had, and I even had my inevitable heated argument with Liam (over gay marriage. Him: "It's morally wrong!". Me: "Morals are subjective". Him: "What does that mean?").

Entirely of my own genesis this one.

Sountrack To Your Life

Opening credits: Float On - Modest Mouse
Driving scene: Buck Rogers - Feeder
Party scene: Push It - Garbage
Happy dance scene: Song 2 - Blur
Feeling cute scene: Everybody Got Their Something - Nikki Costa
First-date scene: Juxtaposed Wit U - Super Fury Animals
Falling-in-love scene: Sway - Bic Runga
Sex scene: Sexy Boy - Air
Fight-with-friend scene: Road Rage - Catatonia
Total Anger scene: Army of Me - Bjork
Missing someone scene: You Look So Fine - Garbage
Break-up scene: Walk Away - Cast
Heartbreak scene: Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy Division
Regret scene: Eve, The Apple of My Eye - Bell X1
Flashback scene: Time Of Your Life - Green Day
Mental-breakdown scene: My Skin - Natalie Merchant
Long-night-alone scene: Long Slow Goodbye - Queens Of The Stone Age
Make Up Scene: I See You, You See Me - The Magic Numbers
Wedding scene: Flowers In The Window - Travis
Death scene: Run - Snow Patrol
Closing credits: Erase & Rewind - The Cardigans

Is an art-form.

Downloading notes has quite beautifully turned in to "Sure I'll just have a flit about the net for a while, won't I?". Like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. Or something.

So today was the gayest day ever in the gym.

They got a new CD, you see (the first new CD they've played since I joined in September, not counting Madonna's album which I reckon they're paid to play) and it includes such delights as the New Order/Kylie mash-up Can't Get Blue Out Of My Head (if you've heard it, you know it), a HIGH-larious remix of I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight and a pretty damn awesome mix of My Baby Shot Me Down. But between all that and the frequent interruptions of tracks from Confessions on a Dance Floor, I really do feel like I should be dancing around in there rather than huffing and puffing on a treadmill.

They've still never played Call On Me though. Which is just wrong.

I also discovered, on my return home from the Discogymnasiumtheque, that I'd misunderstood the format of Friday's exam, so after I'd finished hyperventilating I sat down and created a plan type thing of what I've to cover. Basically I'm trying to learn formulae type stuff and how to use them. And I'm writing out definitions and essay-type answers for the written q's, to go over just prior to the exam, in the time-honoured process of cramming.

Also, not to be cruel or anything (cos I'm not. I'M NOT) but state of that.

My mother's been singing My Humps for almost 10 hours now.


Very disturbing.

Though I secretly encouraged it.

There's this entry on Podge and Rodge for instance, recounting their genesis on the Den. Misty water-coloured memories and all. Heydey of the Den, I tells you. Down with that Emma O'Driscoll!

They had particular contempt for Echo Island, especially the version broadcast in Irish.

Shine.

Also, I loved the wording of this sentence on the entry for The Den

...presented by Emma O'Driscoll and Soky (see puppets, below)

I wonder do Mr and Mrs O'Driscoll know their daughter is made of fabric?

Yes.

Anyhow.

2006 - The Story So Far:

Nothing interesting has happened yet. Move along.

IJustHadToGetAway

The motherperson's New Year's Eve misery knows NO BOUNDS. This year was possibly the worst ever, as she did her best Carol "Computer Says No" Beer impression all night while sitting in front of the telly muttering how there was nothing on. I did my best, but there's only so many monosyllabic responses I can put up with before pacing around the house becomes a grand alternative. I appreciate she finds New Year's difficult because there was always such a family emphasis on it in this house, but I still felt like shouting "Perk up, woman!". I did feel a bit heartless for being so annoyed with her but it just was so not a good time spending the night having my positivity and general New Yearsy happines slowly drained over the course of the hours.

Still, at least she actually stood up at midnight and wished me a Happy New Year, albeit in a totally joyless tone, before sitting down to disagree with my assertion that the London fireworks were spectacular.

/End Slightly Self Obsessed Callous Rant.

A is for Age: Twenty-One
B is for Boyfriend/Girlfriend: Computer Says No
C is for Career in Future: The presenter of a revived Blankety Blank on BBC1
D is for Dead person you would like to meet: Leonardo DaVinci, so we could sort out this big mess Dan Brown has created.
E is for Essential item: Insulin. Mobile Phone. Other insulin.
F is for Favorite song at the moment: Ride A White Horse by Goldfrapp
G is for Guy/Girls you've kissed: A variable one does not commonly keep track of.
H is for Hometown: Limerick.
I is for Instruments you play: None. But I aspire to play the Triangle.
J is for Job title: Smelly Student Slash Slacker
L is for Living places: Limerick
M is for Memory of the day: As it's Xmas time, there has been much reminiscing of late. Today's favourite memory was remembering how my Grandmother would say "Good night to you, you black bastard" to Trevor McDonald after the 10 O'Clock News. She meant it in the nicest way possible.
N is for Number of people slept with: I don't think I know this survey well enough to share this information. On the other hand; four.
O is for Overnight hospital stays: Two. When I was 18 months and decided that beating up the window pane on the front door with my forehead was absolutely the way to go (I stand by that decision because I like my scar dammit), and during the whole clapping out of my pancreas when I was 14.
P is for Phobias: Being buried alive/occasional mild claustrophobia and fat women in tight clothes with no rhythm on the dancefloor who give you a "Fuck off" look if you so much as breathe the same air as them on your way to the bar. In your dreams, girl.
Q is for Quote you like: Many. Today it's "The whole world is watching us now. We must be nothing less than fabulous." Grant Morrisson by way of Emma Frost
R is for Relationship that lasted the longest: In my head: 3 weeks. In reality: Uhmm...
S is for Sexuality: Gaymansexualist
T is for Time you wake up everyday: 7.30 ish
V is for Vegetable you love: Are peppers a fruit or a vegetable?
W is for Worst habit: Indecisiveness
X is for X-rays you've had: When I did swan-lake down the stairs earlier this year I got the X-Ray experience for the first time in memory, though I'm sure my head got looked at after the incident mentioned at O, above.
Y is for Yummy food you make: Fajita's or Noodles or various pasta concoctions.
Z is for Zodiac sign: The giant balls of gas churning away in space, arbitrarily associated with the date of my birth, are commonly referred to as Leo.

Meringue.

So, last night one headed out dans la town avec conormc who I should apologise to for being profusely boring for most of the eventide. I blame my typical mid-December mood swing, which is illustrated in the following graph:



Between the above and my the fact I've gotten about 70% in all my Stats assignments thus far, I'm feeling well mathsy of late. Though I haven't forgotten my first love; words, and recently mailed them a care package complete with tinned beans and Del Monte pineapple chunks as evidence of this unshakeable bond. The sort of unshakeable bond that makes you want to sit on a stool and croon a mid-tempo ballad about.

So today I went to Mass, which was nice, different, unusual. Or w/e. I sort of fell asleep during the whole shebang, but no one noticed, which was of the good. Then myself and the mother (who has been oddly stand-offish with me all day, which is infuriating) and The Always Entertaining (Grand)Aunt From D'Island visited my grandfather's grave and then spent a half hour looking at various knacker graves/headstones/makeshift mausoleums that are replete with Man Utd insignias and pictures of horses.

Anyway, the mother's stand-offishness: To be expected, I suppose, given the time of year and whatever but still like, don't take it out on me woman. She's questioning my eating habits a lot too, of late, so she's obviously not adequately respressed last-year's sort-of discovery of my occasional sort-of disordered attitude towards such things enough for my liking. A quick slap across the back of the head with a lightweight blunt object should help.

Conor:
What was up with those two Bear things? I was all like "Humour them by laughing at their disturbing jokes (which at one point involved the words "hairy" and "hole" in quick and disgustingly vivid succession), then quickly walk away". Though the aforementioned bear types did have a lovely friend with whom I discussed my apparent lack of Limerick accent. And tried to start a fight with two C'MereIWantchya McAbraKebabra girls of about 16.

Cathy:
What were you doing in Supermacs? It's beneath you.
.!.SUBWAY.!.

Ether:
I feel the need to produce some sort of half-hearted review of the year. Expect it February 2007.

My Mother:
Wants me to watch 13 Going on 30 with her now. Maybe she's bi-polar. Which means I could be Stacey Slater. Cool.

Logging in to server... Also, the server has a message for you:

Your password must contain at least one number or symbol. Your password is too easy to guess. It's recommended that you change it, otherwise you risk having your journal hijacked. Visit http://www.livejournal.com/changepassword.bml to change your password.


Fuck Off.

I got an assignment back today.

40%

I haven't gotten 40-odd% since Leaving Cert maths.
And it wasn't even a Mathsy assignment. It was wordy! Words are my friends! I totally know how Jesus felt when Judas stabbed him in the back for that Xbox 360 now.

Someone will have to die for this* because I've been going around feeling terrible all day as a result. It was like "Here, 40%" and I was all "OMG, I'm so fat".

Also:
While The JCB Song by Nizpoli irritates the fuck out of me (I bet Ryan Tubridy, my barometer of hate, loves it) I have to say the video is super-cute.










*other than me, because this is clearly everyone's fault but my own

In association with Nestlé.

Is the new Republic of Loose song meant to sound exactly like the previous, with the words "This is my comeback girl" replaced with "You know it, you know" in a cunning ploy to make sure no one notices? Dastardly fiends.

Getting prices in Euros on Amazon is finicky and irksome. Hi, Internet, all I want to do is find the things I want for Xmas dirt cheap, k?

"I hid all your medication so you'd have something to do while I'm on holiday! Bye!" is the best line I've read this week. Then again, I have been mostly reading Statistical Methods For The Social Sciences, so that's not all that surprising.

They seem to be playing mash-ups on Today FM. This is good.
NB my favourite mash-up remains The Killers vs. Stevie Wonder/Somebody Told Me vs Uptight. Half of the fun with mash-ups is the titles people give them. The above comes up as "Killing Stevie Wonder - Somebody Uptight Told Me".

Going to the gym while congested and phlegmtastic is not a good idea. But it's kinda worth it, because Saturday seems to be Hot Polish Guy Day and oh dear god they're ridiculously gorgeous. In a lesser blog, I'd make a lewd joke about Poles... here.

But I'm too classy for that, and thus shall leave now to sip tea from my teapot, which has a matching tea-cosy, as these are the indicators of classiness (All Lies).

Xtina Aguilera will return following her honeymoon to Santa Ponza.