One thing I love about people (bar me that is; I am not people) is that when you point out a mistake they have made in an insulting manner they become defensive and rude. Even though I alerted all of you about my birthday in time for you to jump on a plane/ train / camel and hot- foot it to Dublin to celebrate with me, not one person did! Nor did I recieve any straggling gifts this morning. What is up? Can you not take constructive critisism?! The only response I got were the vaugely nasty comments featured in the below quotes.
I did however get some gratification for my email, in the form of a witty ecard from Ms Rachel Heutson. Now Rachel, do you really think that suffices as recognition of my nineteenth birthday? Where is my REAL card, stuffed with 50 euro notes?
I also recieved odd and ambigious text messages from an unidentified source, claiming to be Janine, but this I found to be a lie as the texter questioned me on matters which any self respecting Janine would know!
Now hear this Mystery Number! I will find you out! My friend Tomas Breen knows Brian Fitzgerald who works in Esat and he can find things like that out and trace the number! You have been warned! (Oh yeah, you'll sort that one out for me right Tomas? Thanks mate)
Get Over Yourself!
Graham Miller, Ex- debs going person
I wasted my last few cent on sending you a picture msg for your birthday and you dont even mention me!
Sarah Brennan, irate person
I'm economical, it must be the business student in me!
Donna Purcell, free message sender person
No comment, no present, no notice.
Rest of stupid assholes who forgot my birthday
Yes, just my luck she showed up this morning to collect something. Uncommonly chirpy, even for her, i sent her to the shop for me as I was unavoidably, ah well- undressed as it happens. I distinctly requested a pack of BLUE WALKERS and a MORO, but she brings me back GREEN HUNKY DORYS and a TWIX without a smidgen of guilt or explanation!
What is wrong with her? Is she slightly deaf? Or perhaps she has a very poor memory. I prefer to think of her as evil however as she PURPOSEFULLY bought me the wrong food, and its my birthday and all! (well, it was recently my birthday) And everybody knows i despise twixs (twixes? twix'? twixis?) with a passion! GOD! The brazenness of that girl! She is so...GOD!
Well, no it didnt. I dont actually have any lectures cos im off till April 2nd but the funny thing is im too late to get the 4.15 bus so im sitting here wroting a newsletter when i have NOTHING TO SAY! When do I ever have anything to say you might say, ha ha! Thats funny isnt it?
Ooh, I just remembered a funny thing that happened a few weeks back in one of my History tutorials. I recall it because it was one of the rare times that I spoke to people in my class, and it turned out to be a rip- roarer of a chuckle!
We were (once again) discussing the French Revolution, a favourite topic of mine, not only because of the illicit and highly charged love affair I am having with the lecturer of this particular course, but because the course text is one of the few books I actually own, meaning of course that I peruse it frequently and in depth. (Hah!)
Anyway, our tutor, who believes we are all on the simple side, favours questions with easy and obvious answers and was pumping us for information on Louis XVI. She asked 'how did Louis become King of France?'
Not being as clever as she hoped, one of our number mumbled 'His father', which she was entirely content with until I, being the sharp wit that I am remarked- 'I'd say his mother had a bit to do with it!'
Ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hee hee hee hee hee!
How we all laughed!
Hopefully, you are now laughing too. It was my one moment of glory in college, I think you should be able to force a half-hearted giggle.
Meaning the possessing of quick insight. Mmmm. Good one that.
eg: The author of the newsletter was a perspicacious young lass.
The perspicacious friends of the author quickly purchased for her many large gifts, realising they had forgotten her birthday.
The world breaks everyone- and afterwards many are strong in the broken places.
The world has broken me. More precisely, an old lady in a brown coat and a blue headscarf has broken me. I have reason to believe she was a private op working under the power of a sinister other party. No reason for this, just makes it sound more exciting and less dismal.
I caught the bus yesterday. From Drumcondra to Clonskeagh. The 11 it was. When I got on all the seats were full so I stepped smartly into the alcove where the exit door in positioned. An old lady sitting in the seat in front of me half turned to me and smiled. 'Would you like to sit down dear?' she asked pleasantly, offering to get up.
'Oh no thank you, I wont thanks!' I chattered equally pleasantly. She smiled again and turned away.
Then it hit me. Why did she offer me her seat? I know I was a bit worse for the wear owing to an over-indulgence the previous evening but she surely couldnt mistake me as old? She was old herself! And I didn't have a gammy leg or anything. I was slyly caluclating her age when I remembered the other section of society that one is obliged to offer one's seat to; pregnant people.
Gasping, I clutched the hand rail convulsevley- surely not! Did I really look pregnant? Maybe she had mistaken my hungover flush to be the happy glow of impending motherhood. Miserably I stood up straighter and sucked in my stomach. I was pregnant. Or looked it anyway.
Oh, I am broken. And pregnant. Apparantly.