So this is what a real job looks like!

Whoo boy, was I in for a rude awakening when I started my new job! I was frozen in a state of actual shock on the bus home last night, staring blankly at the small red 'stop' button for ten minutes and missing my stop. What had just happened, I wondered?

I arrived, unusually for me, one and a half hours early. The library doesn't open till 9.30am here apparently. No-one told me. My first day was spent wandering the stacks and trying to hide from my co-workers. Seriously, they all expect me to talk to them and stuff. It's embarrassing.

Gone are my constant internet access, my masses of free alone time, my lengthy solitary lunches. Now I have no computer, no chair, no email, no staff card and no clue. And I have to pass the time of day with everyone ALL DAY LONG. Hell on earth, friends.

What I do like about this joint is the unforeseen opportunity to expand my sadistic side. Besides the more obvious thrill of asking people for fines and being downright rude to them, I also get to squint suspiciously at the students as they come in the gates, watching for food or drink which I can then bellow at them for bringing in. It is magnificent. I tremble slightly after doing it. It more than makes up for the friendly co-workers (ugh) and the constant presence of students.

Well, almost.

Happy Talky Talky

So far I have used the following phrases in conversation with soon-to-be-former-co-workers who are wishing me well in my new job;

'Right-o, see you now'
'Ah... have a nice life'
'Yep. Yep. Yep. Thanks a lot.'
'Smashing. Right. Good luck.'
'Deadly. Right. Go away now, please?'
'Ha ha, I'm getting out and youre still stuck here!'
'Er, is it home-time yet?'

I am exceptionally bad at small-talk. And big-talk.

Richie McRich

Ah, yes. November twenty-sixth. Hereafter known as 'Tax-back Day'. I am rolling in dough. I am heading to the bank now to cash this huge mother of a cheque, after which I will spread the money evenly on a carpeted area, smear myself with butter and roll around in it. Buttery money, mmmm.

Last night saw the debut of my Australian accent. It's not too hot, and doesn't go far beyond 'Oi, Kylie! Throw some shrimp on the barbie! Wanna play some rugger?' but the Australian I shared it with seemed fairly impressed. Of course, he was hoping to get off with Marie at the time (Marie- pretty much a sure thing) so he may have been humouring me. No matter, I love to be humoured! Especially when I am rich rich rich! Ach, I love saying that.

Crushing Disappointment

Hier soir, I went with my good friend Aoife to see Bridget Jones 2: The Edge of Reason. Unfortunately Trish tagged along and ate all my Malteasers and totally pissed all over my big Bridget Jones parade. Only kidding! They weren't my Malteasers, they were Aoife's.

BJ2:TEofR (nice truncation, non?) is really, really bad. What's worst about it is it is not all that bad. It is bad because it is a completely different film to the book and deviates entirely from the first film and from any diurnal constraints. It would, however be a good film if it were judged on a different scale, namely a scale of crap films like Maid in Manhattan or Two Weeks' Notice, which are severely crap. In other words, it is crap but only because it's not crap enough to be really crap. Do you follow? Maybe I am moving too fast.

More, more, MORE!
How do you like it, how do you like it?
More, more, MORE!
How do you like my love??????

[Musical interlude to allow you to gather your thoughts and ponder my words.]

Actually, the music was extremely crap also. After about the third time they pumped out some mind-numbing disco tune to symbolise Bridget's joyful and carefree sexual empowerment (bah to sexual empowerment, I say), a few words uttered by my mother last weekend filtered through the fog of romantic tosh that surrounded me;

'Your sister saw Bridget Jones 2. She loved it. She wants the soundtrack for Christmas.'

Oh no. Oh NO!! I feel a repeat of last Christmas coming on, when I was forced to listen to the soundtrack of Love Actually for the entire holiday, due to us being in Galway, having only one CD player and my sister being really mean and punching my head.

Back to last night's excursion into hell: a sizable portion of the cinema's occupants actually applauded when Darcy proposed to Bridget. (If you have just covered your eyes and cried aloud at my revealing this fact, grow up. BJ2 has less dramatic tension than I have suitable comparisons for it's lack of dramatic tension. Which is none. How many romantic comedies have you seen lately? I have seen many. They always get it on in the end. Live it, learn it!) Even more sighed huskily when she caught the bouquet at a wedding, or when she trotted smuggly into the distance with her posh lawyer on her arm (after a wedding. In the snow. On Christmas. I am dying of tweeness).

These people are meant to be! Look how Mark glares sternly at Bridget's blubbery ramblings! He obviously loves her! See how she repeatedly prostrates herself before him (usually in front of posh lawyer types) in an effort to fit in! How adorable!
Look, posh laywers! Oh, Bridget has fallen over again! The posh lawyers are laughing! Ooh, large knickers! Bridget falls over! Smarmy Daniel, ooh he's naughty and sexy!
Twisttwisttwist!!! Bridget says something inappropriate... in front of posh lawyers! While wearing big knickers!
Smokes fag out window! Eschews use of all pronouns! Bugger! Cor blimey, Englishisms abound!

This sums up most of the film, but is a lot faster. Also, you didn't have to sit through the excruciating throwaway lesbian plot point, solely added for increased voyeurism, while I did. Just send me the bloody €8 you would have spent going to see this and we'll call it even.

HP&PofA

Ha! Hilarious! Only if you have an inkling what the acronym above means though. If you don't, it's sad and juvenile. Like me.

Claire taught me to lie

'Please urinate in this cup and when you return I will weigh you on this impossibly exact weighing scales and ask you probing questions about intimate body matters.'

Can you think of a better way of spending your lunch hour? I know I can't. The good news from my pre-employment medical exam is that I do not have diabetes. The bad news is that I may have lied. On the rather dubious advice of a co-worker, I lied on my medical questionnaire about my alcohol and nicotine intake. I am going to hell for sure.

Then again, if hell is where all the dead drunks and smokers go, it'll be quite a party.

Have you got eyes in that head of yours?

Look to the right-hand side of this site. No, your right. And scroll down a bit. See that? Under my archives you can now access all of your favourite Lucy Aughney Newsletters, written in my younger years when I was lazy, disconsolate and time-wasting. Or in other words, when I was in college. Something I should tell you about the Newsletters: they haven't aged well. Like Kevin Costner in that respect. Not so much like Kevin Costner apart from that.

Eek!
Amy has updated! Disappointing in her lack of commitment, but that's Amy all out for you. Donna has posted also! The slightly depressing news is that Donna has finally renounced Christmas and all things tinselly and holly-bedecked. I think it is a mean way to get out of giving anyone presents.
My prelimenary Christmas list is available for consultation here.

Fashionista

Amy's sister Cathy maintains that she is the one who forecast the return of tweed and ponchos. Despite my frequent attempts to persuade her otherwise (screaming 'nooooooo!' at her) she refuses to be swayed in her claim. She is not the only one who can dictate the tide of global trends however. Since May I have been saying 'Pearls are the new diamonds' and 'Cowboy boots will be big, baby' and 'I'm hungry'. Some of these are now widely accepted facts. For example, I am always hungry and everyone knows it.

I now stake out my fashion predictions for the next season.

1: Spats. Such as these.
2: Feathers
3: Polka-dot
4: Big skirts
5: Jodhpurs
6: Sports wear
7: Hi-tech Minimalism
8: Drinking champagne and gin (not together)

I advise you to go out and spend as much money as you can on pursuing these trends. Ignore the fact that I just made them up. Pursuing ridiculous fads is the one part of modern life I enjoy getting involved with. The rest of the time I like to believe I am a libertine in 18C France. Vive la revolution!

A Tender Display of Familial Affection

Conversation with mother, 11.45 am, November 19th 2004:

Mother: Hello?
Lucy: Hello, you. How are you so busy you never ring your only daughter?
Mother: You're not my only daughter.
Lucy: Yes, but I'm the best one. You should have stopped after me.
Mother: I should have stopped before you, but that's of little consequence. What are you doing?
Lucy: Working. And ringing you. And making you feel guilty for not being a good mother.
Mother: Multi-tasking, I see.
Lucy: Yes, very much so. So, what are you doing that you didn't ring me all week? Your parental duties are way off. You'll have to pull some overtime this weekend.

Mother: Does that mean you need money?
Lucy: No. God, you're so cynical.
Mother: I was busy. Tuesday was the twentieth anniversary of the library being set up here, and we all went out-
Lucy: Were you pissed?
Mother:... no.
Lucy: Well, of course you weren't cos me or Sally weren't there to put you to bed.
Mother: The amount of times I've had to put you to bed worse for the wear...
Lucy: Ah, but that's your parental obligation kicking in right there. I feel no such obligation towards you.
Mother: Fine. What do you want for Christmas?
Lucy: World peace.
Mother: Got that last year. What do you want this year.
Lucy: Alright, an end to pain and suffering in the world. And an ipod.
Mother: What's that?
Lucy: Like a music player that you download music on to, and its tiny and pretty and you can get them in different colours.
Mother: Wouldn't you need a computer for that?
Lucy: Oh yeah. I want one of those too.
Mother: Right. I'll tell your father. He'll probably end up getting you soap.
Lucy: Ha. What do you want then?
Mother: Oh, I dont know. A new daughter to replace you.
Lucy: Oh, you'd keep Sally, would you? Even though she's the one who's still dependent and taking money off you and I am up here in a strange city working my ass off to stay afloat?!
Mother: Don't you owe me €100 from last week?
Lucy: Point taken. So, twenty years ago this week, eh? I was one.

Mother: Yep.
Lucy: Hey, wasnt it my first birthday that you didn't make it home for? I remember that.
Mother: No you don't, you were one for God's sake. And I did try to make it home, the bloody roads were icy and I skidded and nearly crashed into a ditch. I could have died if I'd kept trying to drive home. And, may I remind you, I was driving two hours to work every day, just to pay for all your stupid baby things.
Lucy: You are so selfish. My first birthday.
Mother: I could have DIED.
Lucy: Yep, I'm definately going to need that ipod now.
Mother: You're not getting it, you're getting books.
Lucy: I have books. I want an ipod. They're cool.
Mother: [sighing loudly] You are so shallow. Are you coming home for the weekend?

Lucy: Might do.
Mother: Are you or aren't you? Because I'm having people over if you're not.
Lucy: Yes, I am. You can have people over anyway, I'm not such a disgrace I need to be hidden away you know.
Mother: [Sniffs] That's debatable. Right so, I don't need to talk to you any more then, do I? Seeing as I'll be seeing you later.
Lucy: You'll have to talk to me then.
Mother: Not if Sallys around, I can talk to her.
Lucy: Fine.
Mother: Fine. The dog says hello.
Lucy: No he doesn't, stupid.
Mother: That's because he's not talking to you.
Lucy: Why?
Mother: Because you are so rude to your mother. He is very sensitive to bad manners.
Lucy: Oh, go away.
Mother: You rang me!
Lucy: Grand. I'm hanging up now.
Mother: Fine. Bye.
Lucy: Yeah, right.

Normal families do things together like board games and country walks. Mine insults each other. And gets drunk. Can't wait till Christmas!

What?

I am just back from Bewley’s of Grafton St where a grateful Aoife treated me to a delectable feast in celebration of her glasses being returned to her. Induced to greater intimacy because of the successful return of her glasses, she confided her deepest, darkest secrets to me.
'When I get off the bus in the evening' she said in a low whisper, shielding her face against the flashing lightbulbs of cameras as American’s snapped pictures of the stained-glass windows. 'I like to run home. Fast.'

'Ahh' I said, my brow furrowed in confusion. 'Why, exactly?'

'Cos I like to get home as fast as I can. I hate strolling along slowly!'

'But the bus stops six houses down our road. All our neighbours must see you sprinting like a mad thing.'

She sat back with the glint of challeng in her eyes. Or maybe it was the camera flashes reflected in her glasses. ‘So? You’re so concerned with appearances!’

Yes, I’m afraid I am. Those of us that have lovely appearances need to be sure to maintain them. Which is why I was so amused to see Waterford Wedgewood’s latest Annual Report (pdf). Slapping a drug addict on the cover with some gimp riding him is hardly a good marketing move.

Remember this day

I have almost collected my Irish Examiner personal radio tokens. None of your fancy ipods for me! All I have to do now is track down the jackass who swiped last Friday's Examiner and wreak my revenge on them by stamping them all over with my library stamp. Then I will glue a borrower's slip to their sneaky ass, and barcode their shifty eyes shut!

Jeez, a librarian's accessories don't sound very intimidating or weapon-like. So that's what's wrong with me! No where to act out my violent impulses!

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who lose stuff all the time and those who find it. There's also a third group made up of people who stand around and say helpful things like 'It's always the last place you look' or 'when do you remember having it?' but these people will soon be extinct due to their tiny brains and heedless ignorance of the danger inherent in irritating people who have lost stuff. Evolution is our friend. Though it did take away our tails, which I don't think I will ever quite get over.

Until this morning, I used to be a loser. Until this morning, I could lose pretty much anything I managed to hussle into my possession. Perfectly manageable items fell into my clumsy fingers and promptly fell back out again. I have even, on a shamefully high number of occassions, scurried around my house looking for something only to stop, mid-scurry, and wonder blankly what it was I had been looking for.

But no more! For now I am a finder! Note my eagle eyes, my fine-tuned teeming brain, my stunning good-looks (of little consequence here, but needed to be said)! Oh, children shall sit round fireplaces and hear stories of my proud victory for years to come, how, on that vibrant Thursday morning, a fair maiden by the name of Aoife searched hopelessly for her glasses.

'Alack and alas!' She cried. 'It is all for naught! They are lost to me forever!'
'Not so, gentle maid!' spoke the valiant Lucy. 'For I have found them, here on the stairs, under your coat!'
'Blessed Lucy, how can I ever repay you?' implored the weeping Aoife, clutching her beloved glasses to her chest.
'I ask no payment.' Lucy answered gravely. 'Only that you remember this day... forever.'

At which point the strange boy who had spent the night on our sitting room floor pointed out that he had spotted them first. Tsk, tsk. Glory breeds many petty jealousies.

Pre-Partum Anxiety

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

Invictus, W.E. Henley

As I wend my way through my final days here at work, sloping sullenly in on grey mornings and scurrying franticly out in the dark evenings, I find solace in muttering these nerve-strengthening and resolve-stiffening lines to myself. In much the same way that I scowl and mutter Philip Larkin's This Be The Verse to myself when forced to converse with my parents. Or Wendy Copes's Bloody Men when waiting for a bus. What I'm saying here is that I tend to talk to myself a great deal. Which may account for the fact that I am not generally liked.

The tax office sent me a 'Claim for tax repayment during unemployment' form the other day. Do they know something I don't?

Recent Acquisitions

My aunt went to Estonia last weekend. She brought me back a gift. This is fairly like it. Last week she gave me juggling balls. I believe a word needs to be had with her regarding the art of appropriate present giving.

Dilemma

I have a problem. My fringe is in a critical state at the moment and I am unsure of which course of action to take with it. It is currently at a length somewhere between daringly long and daringly short. The question is what to do with it now, as it is extremely unmanagable and tiresome. Should I take the plunge and trim it myself? Or should I embrace change and allow it to grow a bit, leaving the way open for exciting new haristyles in the future when I can part it at the side and thrust it from my face with careless (but lovely) irritation. Decisions, decisions.

I dont want to lose the thing completely of course. I enjoy having something to pull on when anxiety strikes. And it will be useful when age besets my youthful brow and lines it cruelly. But it is quite high maintenance. To fringe or not to fringe? That is the question.

Financial Concerns

According to The Irish Examiner of 03/11/2004, the average industrial weekly wage is €560.60. I do not earn anything near this. According to AIB's net worth indicator my net worth score is -3. My actual worth is negative €3,600. This would be worrying if I did not know for a fact that it is only a matter of time before a rich man comes along that I can marry.

I have just said this to one of my co-workers and he says that it is all relative and even though I have no money and am not actually worth anything, I am better off than the people who have lots of money and properties and stuff cos they have to pay insurance to protect all their stuff and alimony to all the wives they trade in for younger models (ie. me). And people who are worth something are more likely to be kidnapped and held for large ransoms. My life would only be worth about €1.20.

I kind of see his point but I really don't want to. I'd rather have the money.

Letters to the Editor

Here follows some correspondence I have recieved from my many fans over the weekend. Read and pretend for a few moments that you are as popular and as cool as me. I have not corrected the glaring grammatical and spelling mistakes as I would like you to appreciate how dumb my friends really are. Enjoy!

'Well Tramore WON the County Final yesterday!! So we are now in the
Intermediate Championship next year, and we will go on to the Munster
Champsionship and then the all ireland and then Europe!!!

We will put Tramore on the map yet!!!

I went out after yesterday, it was mad there was bonfires burning on the knock beside Rachel flemings house on our way back, my dad decided to do the same to our knock and then the firebrigade came along!!! And the gardai!! I only had 6 drinks and then went on the water and blackcurrant!! I am very good#!'

-Mairead, Tramore dweller and arsonist


'hey lucy,
how are things? i found your blog about sweden v interesting - i may never pay a visit there now i know no polar bears roam the streets - which is exactly what every tourist wants to see!'

- Celia, polar bear lover and adopted English person


'Lucy you cad,

How was Waaaaaaaterford this weekend? Have fun at the Arabian Derby, you lucky b*stard? I decided to shun drink for the weekend, which meant I SAT AT HOME DRINKING CHEAP TAKE OUT RATHER THAN SPENDING HARD EARNED CASH IN THE PUB. Sorry, I must have pressed caps lock there. I'm too lazy to fix the sentence.

If you don't hear from me for a long period of time just presume I'm in jail. Just realised today that I've been driving around with my tax out by three months. I wonder how I'd survive in the joint. I'm not very hard, I tend to cry and run away a lot. So I better hurry up and tax my car.'

-Joanne, bra expert and part-time criminal


'all gud here,,, v rough weekend.... am still extremely sick... very very very sick... why do i do it to myself why????'

-Ashling, ill person and amateur alcoholic


'My kidneys still hurt!'

-Jenny... actually, I dont know this person at all.

A Narrow Escape

Extract from email delivered to all staff 15/11/2004 by HR manager:

'Colleagues,

I wish to advise you that the office will be closed from 12.30pm on Friday, 24th December 2004 until 9am on Thursday, 30th December 2004 for the Christmas holiday period.'

Thank GOD I have a new job and do not have to stay in this dratted place for Christmas. I would shrivel up and DIE if I had to work those horrid Christmas hours. I intend to be continuously sozzled through Christmas. Which will be quite a challenge as my Mother has decided we are going to spend it in the back-arse of Limerick. Ick. I may have to attend mass.

'It should be noted that although Wednesday, 29th December 2004 is not a statutory public holiday, we have decided to grant this additional days’ leave in recognition of ongoing progress in our programme of work throughout 2004 and to encourage continued high performance in 2005.'

Encouraging, non?

Ah, Sweden

'We possess in-depth knowledge about telecommunications, IT, radio and postal services. Let us tell you more.'

????

This is from the Swedish telecommunications regulator's website, on a blank page. No links, no directions to another site, nothing. They are doing this just to try me. I suspect English-language site sabotage. I am going visit the Swedish version of the site and translate everything with my Swedish-English Dictionary. Damn you, Swedish fiends! I shall overcome you!

It must be really boring being Swedish. Being, as I am, a naturally fair-minded person who likes to do her research before thoroughly lambasting a whole nation, I spent some time carefully backgrounding and arranging my notes on modern-day Sweden's history and policies. Or, I googled Sweden and clicked on the first thing that came up. Believe what you will!

I went to this project with one thought in my mind: What does Sweden DO? Besides shelter Estonia and Finland from the nippy breezes coming off the North Sea, I mean. Norway has fish, I knew this much from Leaving Cert geography. But Sweden? And so I ended up here, where I am pleased to discover that temperatures in Sweden today range from -3º to 10ºC, depending on where you are and how much alcohol you drank. (Oh no, wait, that's wrong) But there's more- here in the weather section you have your first clue as to the Swedes' wacky sense of humour:

'No, it isn't true that polar bears walk the streets of Sweden!'

Really? Just when Sweden was getting interesting. I trudged on through the site (like an outcast polar bear trudging through the woodland, as he has been banned from walking down streets by the cruel Swedes), ruthless in my search for a true symbol of Sweden. What do these beautiful (predominantly blonde) Scandanavians have to say for themselves, I wondered:

'The international cliché of Sweden portrays us as nation of capable, decent, well-groomed but also slightly phlegmatic and boring souls, who not only obsessively clean and polish our own idyllic little Nordic nest, but are also presumptuous enough to have opinions about how other, bigger, more important nations should run their affairs.This image certainly contains a grain of truth.'

Hey! Don't be so hard on yourselves, guys!

'Sweden is a small Nordic nation that, in the space of a century, has transformed itself from a poor, underdeveloped agrarian country into one of the world's most modern and prosperous welfare states and industrialized nations: truly a feat worthy of taking pride in. Indeed, we are proficient, hard-working, conscientious and well-groomed - well, perhaps a little boring and naïve too, for that matter.'

Well....

'To an outsider, the Swedes at first glance may also appear to be a shy, withdrawn, anonymous people. But don't let yourself be fooled by this surface appearance. Beneath it lurks madness, sensuality, sentimentality and - not least - a well-disguised national pride and self-confidence.'

As I progressed through the site, I noticed a pattern emerging in the Swede's bold depiction of themselves. See if you can spot it here:

'The impression is that Sweden came out of nowhere to a role today as the world's third-ranking major power in international product and interior design - after Italy and Great Britain.'

Or here:

'It is widely reported, both inside and outside our borders, that little Sweden is the world's third largest music-exporting nation, "beaten" only by the two superpowers of modern music, the United States and Great Britain.'

Hmmm. Always third-place, never the bride, eh Sweden? Seriously though: Sweden, a World Power in the international music market? Think about it: when you hear the words 'Swedish music', what comes to mind? That's right, Abba. Hardly something to be crowing about, methinks.

'Garage rock is the latest musical genre to be hit by the "Swedish invasion", as the phenomenon is called in the American press. The biggest name is The Hives, sometimes labeled "the new Rolling Stones".'

The Hives? Originators of the infamous Shite-And-Overhyped phenomenon? Ah yes, now that is a proud addition to the international music scene.

So, have you guessed it yet? What Swedish people stand for? What they do? I hear someone yelling out 'blandness' at the back there. Close, but no cigar. 'High taxes'? 'Clean streets'? 'Humourlessness'?

All good answers, but unfortunately not the one I was looking for. Maybe this will give you a clue:

'In many respects, Sweden is generally considered one of the world's most modern and sophisticated civilizations. And this is true.'

Yes, that's right- it's overblown self-importantance and egotistical tendancies! Not convinced? Björn Borg, Sven-Göran Eriksson and Ulrika Jonsson. Need I continue?

Ain't that a Kick in the Head?

Ouch. From the latest Dilbert newsletter, written by creator Scott Adams:

Dear Dogbert,

Lots of people write blogs, but I’ve never heard of anyone who actually reads them.
What’s up with that?

Kurt


Dear Skirt,

Blogs exist to fill the important market niche of writing that is so dull that your eyes will burrow out of the back of your head to escape. People do read blogs, usually by accident, sometimes on a dare, but those readers are later mistaken for Mafia victims with what appears to be two holes in the back of their heads.

On closer inspection, you might find their eyeballs clinging to the drapes directly behind them. Unless the cat gets them first.

Sincerely,
Dogbert

Love Letters

This guy is deadly. And now we correspond! [Reality check: one email does not a correspondence make.]

Lucy -

Thank you for the European perspective. If you play your cards right, maybe you could be my European correspondent in the field.

Oh wait, my blog is about jerking off, getting drunk, and overeating. So I guess I don't really need a European correspondent. But if I did, you'd be the one!

Yes, the election was not a good time. Fortunately, there is weed, so I'm going to make it.

Thank you for the email and making me blush.

Best,
Jason

Did you notice his outrageously blatant yearning for me?! I mean, you have to read between the lines a bit, but when you do...steamy! He practically declares it: Lucy, I love and adore you, you divine Irish colleen you, I want to have your babies.

Then again, a man with such unshakable faith in the advances of science is a real turn-off. I like my men to be like the Comic Book Guy off the Simpsons: tortured, pessimistic and bitingly sarcastic. Maybe with non-yellow skin and five fingers on each hand, though. Alas, for my exacting standards!

Crazy World

Boy, oh boy! Just back from taking my first ever ride on a Luas tram! It was... anticlimactical, to say the least. And slightly unnerving. The Luas is pretty much the slowest thing in Dublin today, except for maybe Marie. [Gratuitious Marie joke- getting very old now.] The Luas crawls down streets at a depressing 5 m.p.h., grinding worryingly round corners and shuddering still at it's stops. Blind, three-legged dogs and people with walking frames could outrun it. (I'd like to see that race though!)

Even more bizarre are the passengers, particularly one rather odd young man who spent the journey from Abbey St to St James' Hospital sat down on the floor in the middle of the carriage, slicing off chunks from a block of HB vanilla ice-cream with a plastic butter knife, scraping it into an empty milk bottle, adding milk and shaking vigorously. Needless to say, this was quite a messy thing to attempt on a (barely) moving vehicle, and he slopped a good bit on his hands, trousers and oddly enough, the back of his head. He finished this operation by Heuston Station and, stretching his legs out in front of him, proceeded to clean himself up with a baby-gro he pulled from a Guiney's bag.

Moral of the story: You shall spot the crazies by their Guiney's bags. And their tendencies to make milkshakes on public transport.

USA- AOK?

Cool! Civil War in America! Blue States want secession from South!

Driving Test

I suck at this. Not surprising given Tuesday evening's events.

Crippling Failure

Yesterday evening I sat my Driver Theory Test. And failed. Before you break into loud peals of hysterical laughter prompted by this fact, please bear in mind that I am a very sensitive and delicate person and am likely to start crying. Also, I dont give a f*ck what you sh*theads think, it was really f*cking hard. And who the f*ck wants to know how to drive anyway? Not me!

Having only procured the test booklet on Saturday, I spent most of Sunday and Monday (okay, half an hour on the bus. Then I fell asleep. It is dull as sh*t.) chortling at the stupid sample questions.

'How dumb would you have to be,' I demanded of those who had the misfortune to be in my company since Saturday, 'to get these wrong?! I mean, look- "When pedestrians are crossing the road ahead of you without waiting for the green man, you should A) Rev your engine to hurry them up, B) Honk your horn to move them along, or C) slow down and allow them to cross"! Come on!'

Ah, Lucy, you stupid, confident, wildly beautiful girl. How young and naive could I be? Extremely young and naive, as it happens. The tiny Chinese girl who came out giggling of the Theory test after me and sat smiling to herself until the invigilator called her up has more self-awareness than me. And she was wearing ballet slippers. And had pink hair.
'You don't know your road-signs' the invigilator told her sternly. She burst out giggling and covered her mouth with blue-nailpolished fingers. The invigilator cracked his cruel face into a smile and handed her a certificate. 'You passed ' he said, kindly.

She skipped happily out of the waiting room and I watched her with an indulgent smile, one I usually save for the parents of small children. With a start, I realised the invigilator was frowning deeply at me and holding a piece of paper. 'Lucy Aughney?' He said stonily.

'Yes?' I scurried up to the glass panel.
'You failed. Thirty-four.' Que Lucy's sinking heart and urge to start drinking.
'Oh.'
'One more and you would have passed'.
'Right-o, thanks.' And I stumped off out the door and up the street.

See the unbridled bravery and courage in this scene? See how our mighty heroine stares defeat in the face and suffers the cruel injustice of being beaten by pink-haired girls whose first language isn't even english! See her who, sensing a challenge, stands up proudly to invite it! What strength, what unyeilding grit! Behold and be amazed, friends!

Purposefully Obtuse

Perusing, as I do regularly, the Arts Pages of last Week's Independent Review, I came across this little gem, secreted inside a review for Kings Of Leon's latest release, Aha Shake Heartbreak [an item I am restraining myself from buying until my tax comes back and I am adrift in cash city. Roll on Friday!]:

It's a typically Leonine bout of trenchant riffing, the two guitar lines circling warily like boxers sizing each other up, while the pirouetting bass line plays referee - the very formula that proved so startling on Television's Marquee Moon.

What can this possibly mean?!

Who Am I?

Confused about politics? Try the World's Smallest Political Quiz. I am a left-wing, tree-hugging, liberal pinko, apparantly. I honestly don't know how that happened.

On a somewhat similar topic, this is how America looks since Tuesday.

News From The Hill

Eh, hello?!

'Democratic insiders, still in shock after Sen. John Kerry’s excruciatingly narrow defeat, are unhappy with the lengthy and politically charged remarks that his running mate, Sen. John Edwards, made while introducing Kerry for his concession speech in Boston yesterday.

“It sounded like he was already positioning himself to run for president in 2008,” said a lobbyist who was one of Kerry’s top fundraisers and who spoke on condition of anonymity. “If there’s one thing we didn’t need at this time, it’s another campaign speech.” Noting that President Bush carried Edwards’s home state by a whopping 56-43 percent and helped elect Rep. Richard Burr (R) as Edwards’s successor, the lobbyist added, Edwards “may not be the person we want to head our ticket in 2008.”'

Bush's suspicious bulge at the debates was a bullet-proof vest, by the way. Or an ipod, according to DIX in the Guardian.

Oh, Dear

I have just made an utter fool of myself. One of the lawyers came down to look for a book which he couldn't find which I then did find after he left, and was so excited at this that I felt the need to chase enthusiastically up the corridor after him. Here follows a faithful transcript of my behaviour:

Lucy, chasing enthusiastically after lawyer, runs up against co-worker in corridor.
'Oops, I am so sorry!' she shrieks, and shoves co-worker aside to pursue lawyer. Co-worker laughs nervously and follows slowly. Lawyer disappears inside office doorway. Lucy arrives at office doorway. Beat. Lucy realises she has fogotten her swipe card. Lucy looks guiltily at previously manhandled co-worker advancing up the corridor. Lucy runs frantically down corridor towards co-worker who cowers against the wall.

'Ooh, I forgot my key-card, and I have to give this to Sebastian!' Lucy gestures wildly with copy of Regulatory Law. Co-worker winces in anticipation. 'Could you let me in, please, please, please?'

Co-worker lets Lucy in reluctantly. Lucy runs through open-plan office and arrives, puffing and triumphant at lawyers door. 'Found it!' She bellows at lawyer. Lawyer stares and explains how he no longer needs it. Lucy slides her despicable self out of the office.

Welcome to my world: popularly disliked and generally pitied. You're gonna love it.

Damo

Still a little bit of your taste in my mouth,
Still a little bit of you laced with my doubt,
Still a little hard to say 'Whats going on?'

Still a little bit of your ghost, your witness,
Still a little bit of your face I haven't kissed,
You step a little closer each day, that I can't say 'Whats going on?'

Seriously. I know I'm not supposed to like the radio remix and should dismiss it as crass consumer-pimping, but come on!
Pure quality.

Just When You Think You Know Someone...

Just listening to Damien Rice's B-Sides CD (didn't buy it obviously, as am broke; robbed it off Marie) and wow, the professor & la fille danse just about fractured all the half-hearted sneers I had for the man. I hate this. I love to sneer. I live to sneer.

Well, I went out last night, thanks to the cunning and wily persuasion of Kathy R. That, and the large quantity of Marie's vodka I gratefully ingested. Thanks, dude. We went to some place in Temple Bar (haven't a CLUE where) where we were given padlocks on a piece of ribbon and told to find a member of the opposite sex with the appropriate key and marry him. Maybe. Needless to say, I did not in this frivolous endeavour, being essentially disdainful of arranged nuptials, and instead danced wildly and hit people in the face with my padlock. I am the doyen of cool. [er, is doyen masculine or feminine?]

Mildly humourous incident from Tuesday: was sitting around watching telly with the boys, having seen the radiant Aoife off to her graduation ball. She was gorgeous, absolutely. I'd post a photo but I don't know how to do that. And I don't have a photo.

It should be noted that the object of our attention was Ban this filth, featuring several fairly graphic porn clips, which the boys watched with mouths agape [agape: is that a word?]. Followed up by the Call On Me video. Need I emphasize the flesh content of the evening's viewing? I think not. I changed over to E4, where an episode of the Sopranos was on. A swarthy mafia Don sweared lengthily at someone, using the word c*nt in the progress. The boys cringed.

"'C*nt' is a really ugly word' Remarked one of the boys sourly.
"Yeah, and 'pr*ck', that's rotten' Agreed the other. "Definitely not cool." And they both glowered fiercely at the TV.

Bearing in mind their viewing history, and tendency to murmer "Filthy bitch. I'd do her" in reponse to any female appearing on the TV, I think we can all agree that this is a hypocritical display worthy of the White House.

Ohio

From the Irish Times online update service:

'Mr Kerry's running mate, Mr John Edwards, refused to concede Ohio this morning. "We have waited four years for this victory, we can wait one more night," he said. "John Kerry and I made a promise to the US people, that in this election every vote would count and every vote would be counted. We are keeping our word and we will fight for every vote. You deserve no less." '

What grace! What poise!

Edwards 2008!

I remember back in 2002 reading a piece in Vanity Fair about John Edwards and how he was tipped to be the Democrats' man in 2004. What happened, I wonder. Edwards is hot, in a JFK kinda way. Edwards for 2008, says I!

[Can you smell the desperation yet?]

Oh. Bush camp claims victory. That's nice.

Tense Times

Not really. According to Fox News Bush is a vote away from victory. My head is hurting. This girl has the right attitude.

'I arrived at 1:30PM. You could smell the democracy in the air. Like springtime but politics. And, underneath, the faint scent of horse manure.'

According to my calculations, Kerry can win if he takes the last five states. Is this likely? No. Consider it a raft to cling to in the storm. The IT guy has just come in and told me, with considerable glee, that Iran will be invaded next week. Where he gets his information I don't know and didn't ask; the man can see where I go on the net all day, I'm not about to antagonize him! Anybody up for a drink before the war?

PS: Why is RTE showing very dull, very unsexy footage of the Dail? Do they know there's an election on in America?!? Poor old Carole Coleman, they'll have to pull her off Washington- she won't get another interview for the next four years!

Doom

Was all set to post hilarious and self-deprecating string of anecdotes vaguely connected to reality but have been suddenly struck by horrible, deadening, soul-sapping wave of tiredness. As in,so tired that I just realised I no longer had chewing gum in my mouth and started worrying about where it had gone. As in, so incredibly tired that I wonder if I'll be able to remember where I live. [Yes, I will; it's the messy place with the broken washing machine and an assortment of hungover people in] So no irreverent witticisms from me this evening! Don't beg, its demeaning.

Am going home now (early, you might note) to slip quietly into a coma. Hopefully will manage to make it home before this happens, as my neighbourhood is not that nice after dark. Nor in daylight.