My Impending Nuptials

When anyone asks me to do something fairly far off in the distance that I don't really want to make a decision about just yet, I invoke a stock answer. For example, Wednesday afternoon, Amy said to me 'Hey lets all go to see Destiny's Child at Lansdowne Road next June!' Er, no, I thought. This would need careful manipulation to avoid.

'June, eh? Ah, who knows where I'll be by summer, I could be married by then! Well, actually, no, I probably would want a summer wedding so I would probably still be engaged next summer but-' And the impetus to give an actual realistic answer was gone as I began to detail all my imaginary wedding plans. This ploy also worked with my mother earlier today.

'How about,' she said 'We go to Prague for your birthday in March!' She's been doing this for ages, 'giving' me a holiday for my birthday and bringing herself along with me. Now, I don't know much about anything (I had to run off and look up Prague in the atlas to see where it actually is) but I do know where the boys went for their holidays back in September. Prague. From what I can make out from what they have told me, and I may be wrong in this, Prague is built entirely from breasts and lager. And policemen just itching to arrest young Irishmen for frivolous non-crimes such as sharing chips with prostitutes and climbing on to the back of a large statue of a cow singing rebel songs. [Note: The boys were singing rebel songs, not the cow. That would be weird.] I could not holiday in such a place! I could not gallivant freely around a city of such dictatorial type! Nay, I say to Prague!

'I may be married by March, mum' I answered coyly and dropped my eyes. Mum looked at me suspiciously and said nothing. This little gem is not working however to avoid answering the irritating refrain of 'what are you doing for New Year's?' which I have been hearing since Stephen's Day. Answering 'I may be married by then' to a question about your occupation for the evening is borderline. In all fairness though, I might be. It's only 3 o'clock. Who knows what could happen by dinner?

I am writing this with my sister and her friend pacing around the computer. Sally keeps roaring 'Come the fuck on!' at me because she is waiting to use the computer for her college homework. The friend is waiting to show her how to use the computer.

'I would not' her friend just said 'like to get an email from Lucy! Look how much she writes!'
'It's not an email' said my sister boredly. 'It's her blog.'
'What's a blog?' questioned the friend.
'I haven't a fucking clue. It's absolute crap. I hate it.' She added meanly. Then started kicking my chair from behind.

I really should go now. I can't take this much abuse. And I have a husband to find before dark.

Can You Keep Up?

I have a new phone. It is smashing. It is a navy clamshell with a wee silver stripe and when I get a text message it goes 'cuckoo, cuckoo' and when I get a phone call it plays 'Lose my Breath' by Destiny's Child. It also has a tiny camera which you can take pictures of your dog doing funny things with then save these photos as your wallpaper. I think we can all finally admit that I am shit-cool.

Just Imagine

What I would really love to see is two people who met on the internet getting it on in real life.

Take Raggamuffinzebra and Mossy for instance. Imagine them meeting up in the real world. 'Ahem' Mossy would say nervously. 'I'm looking for Raggamuffinzebra.'

'..., I... I'm Raggamuff- Mossy?' RaggamuffinZebra would whisper in disbelief. The pair would stare wordlessly at each other for a moment. I, naturally enough, would be present to move this dumbshow on a bit.

'Go on, you two, go get a drink or something.' I'd urge kindly. Then I'd reassure Raggamuffinzebra that I'd take over her shift at the diner or whatever and I'd tell Mossy that I'd look after his three-legged, one-eyed beagle for him and I'd send the pair down the road for an awkward yet magical first excursion.

Later Mossy would walk her home in the moonlight and they'd share a shy kiss. Raggamuffinzebra would go inside her house and take off her waitress uniform and her small son would say 'Mom? Have I got a new daddy?' and she would look on him and smile sadly and think bittersweet thoughts about the sad yet happy circumstance of getting knocked up at a young age. Mossy would go home with his one-legged, three-eyed beagle and stare solemnly at the stars. Maybe he would write a song. If I know Mossy, and I think I do, I think he would write two songs. And play them in the field outside Raggamuffinzebra's house on his guitar.

And I would fall in love with a cowboy called Roy, mainly because of my fondness for people that rhyme, and he would mess around with my best friend Jeannie and I would storm in on the two of them and scream 'Damn it Roy! I've had my heart broken one too many times!' Then I might or might not go on a mad, steaming homicidal rampage against all mankind, with my new best bud Thelma in a red soft-top. It would ultimately end in suicide, a shoot-out, widespread redemption and repentance or cannibalism. All or nothing, I'm that kind of girl.

This is how I imagine internet romances playing out. This would of course never work out because Raggamuffinzebra and Mossy would not get on well in the real world. The sexometer on late-night TMF only gives them a 17% rating. Maybe this is because I tried to save money by just texting in 'RaggMuffLvsMos' to save money, forgetting momentarily that text messages were NOT like telegrams and charged per message not per word. You're living in the past, hon.

Kind Relief

Sometimes it's nice when someone tells you you look horrible. I am so used to perfection I often forget to check in the mirror before I come out. 'Hey Lucy, you look awful. Also, you stink of drink. Also, your fly is open. Ha ha, made ya look. You dunce.' See? How much humiliation could I have avoided if I had been told this? Much. Sometimes you have to rely on your family to deliver the brutal truth.

My mum and sister were up shopping in the capital today and graciously bought poor hungover me dinner. And sat there staring as I ate it. 'Everyone is so rude in Dublin.' My sister sighed, looking at me like it was my fault. 'I am going to kick the next person who walks in front of me. Why are you eating so slow?' She admired her immaculate reflection in a butter knife. 'I thought you said you were so hungry you could vomit.'

'Hence the slow eating, you div.' I fired back, eyeing warily the plate of pasta before me. 'What do you want for Christmas?'
'I told you, clothes and CDs and make-up. What do you want?'
'You haven't got my present yet?'
'Mum hasn't. I'm pimping for her.'

'Is this true?' I demanded of my poor mother.
'Youre hard to buy for!' she insisted. 'Anyway you havent bought any of your presents yet either.'
'There are three perfectly good shopping days left. I really don't see the point of making a song and dance out of this Christmas malarky. And no, I'm not hard to buy for, I like loads of stuff. CDs or books or clothes or- ooh, I saw two bronze greyhounds outside an antique shop on Aungier St. that I really like. Get me them!'
'Greyhounds? What would you do with them?'
'Put them outside my house to ward off unwelcome guests like the ESB man or the people collecting for raffles.'

'That is stupid.' Scoffed my sister. 'You have sauce on your shirt. What is with your hair? Phew, you stink of drink! Did you like, sleep in a brewry?'

Thank you, thank you. That is all I wanted.

Learning Curve

I was late into work this morning, something I haven't done (much) since I started here. Wandering up to the librarian's desk I burbled my apologies guiltily.
'Oh dear,' she said sympathetically. 'Wasn't the traffic awful?'
'Ah, no actually, it was grand, it was the stonking hangover and late bedtime that really tripped me up.' I scoffed in my usual witty manner.

WHAT?! For future reference, dork, when you have fucked up and someone offers you a get-out clause, you take it. When your boss does it, you grab it with both hands and stick it up your jumper. And run like hell.

A veritable orgasm of poor planning

Oh, it's all go here! First of all the library figures are on the up and up, and there has been a colossal ONE HUNDRED people through the library doors since 9.30 this morning (There's a monitoring system- I didn't count them or anything). Also, I am personally all of a tizzy due in part to the poor planning of a certain alcohol-based social event I am arranging for tonight and also because I like feeling tizzy as it makes me feel drunk. My quandries are as follows:

1. I forgot to buy tights for tonight
2. I forgot to buy food for tonight
3. I forgot to buy drink for tonight
4. I forgot to buy anyone's Christmas presents
5. Someone told me the new Harry Potter release date and I have no-one to tell. I hate this
6. Christmas is Friday. FRIDAY. Did you know about this? They should advertise the damn thing better or something.
7. I lost my packet of Hubba bubba somewhere in the management section and when I went back for it someone had robbed it. Bloody students

I am awash with worry. I am going to go lie down in the staff room until someone comes looking for me. Probably be about 2007.

A Sincere Plea

This morning I got a steam burn trying to warm my hands over the kettle as it boiled. The tone around my house has recently moved beyond mere 'cold' into the morbid apathy of encroaching death, where all who enter feel impelled to plunge into bleak obscurity by something, be it the damp chill of every item of clothing you allow to sully your warm skin, the fearsome sight of your breath fogging perceptively from your lips when you first open your eyes in the morning or the strange dislocation from limbs, from fingers, toes, noses- all extremities, in other words, that cool and freeze and tingle back suddenly to life when you move them around.

As the week segues into Christmas, and the tawdry glitter of the tinsel and plastic Christmas ornaments I hung off nails in our sitting room walls fails to warm us with a transcedental inner glow, the easy sleep of death beckons benignly. Which brings me to my point: can I stay in yours tonight? I'm sure the heating will be fixed by tomorrow, so it'll only be for the one night and I'm a really polite house guest. I'll even cook you eggs in the morning. Please? If only to save me from the fate of waking up dead tomorrow. Share the love. It is Christmas after all.

Tragedy!

I have new boots. They don't go tap-tap when I walk though. How will the students hear my echoing tread and learn to fear me if I glide soundlessly around the library? Tell me, what is the good of working in this place if I don't inspire fear with my every footfall? Just another dream I have to relinquish, along with becoming a doctor on Casualty. SIGH!

Ho bloody ho

That's it, I am done with Christmas shopping. There is nothing out there! I have spent ages (alright, thirty-five minutes of my dinner break) looking for stuff to buy, and what do I have to show for it? Nada! And it's so boring thinking about what other people want! What about what I want, eh? And I really, really can't be bothered actually getting people good presents. I tried to ring Marie to find out where all the youngsters were getting their jeans nowadays (that's what I was going to buy my sister) but she was a big fat waste of time. Spent twenty minutes blathering on about absolutely nothing. God, Christmas is so boring. Also Marie, but she is boring all year round.

Everyone is just getting things I can nick from work this year. There's only so many pens and packs of post-its to go round, so if you want something exotic like a stamp pad or a quire of photo-copy paper, get in with your order fast.

Raise a Glass

Oh, wow. As it turns out, I am a whole lot better with a drink in me. After having three glasses of mulled wine at the Christmas lunch we held in the staff room at lunchtime, I have been cracking jokes with students, taking the piss out of staff members and generally weaving through the stacks with a big smile on my face. I am such a lightweight. Lucky I avoided eating anything at the lunch so I could really enjoy my semi-drunkenness! Everyone is avoiding me though. They saw me at the Christmas party. They know exactly how this could turn out.

Sigh no more, Ladies, Sigh no more...

On a recent journey to the Mace down the road to buy toilet paper (Ah, toilet paper. Proof that I am only part-God) I came across a delightful wee jewelry shop selling magical and sparkling things which my eye was immediately drawn to. With a somnambulant stumble I drifted inside and gazed rapturously at the contents of the shining glass cabinets. 'May I help you with anything?' greased the shopkeeper, gliding close to my shoulder.
'No, no' I hissed through gritted teeth. 'Just looking.'

'That's a lovely piece' he remarked in an off-hand manner, gesturing towards a spot on the cabinet where my drool had collected over a silver necklace. 'Pearlized-rainbow-quartz-moonstone-diamond, inlaid with unicorn hair and the blood of a virgin' he murmured.
[I don't know what the fuck he called it, okay? I was caught in a frenzy of greed and lust]

'Ahhh' I sighed, with considerable pleasure. Somewhere within me I summoned hitherto unrecognized strength, and with a wrench I pulled myself away from the cabinet. 'No, thank you' I said primly, peeling the fingers of my left hand away from the edge of the counter with those of my right. 'I think I have all the Rainbow quartz I need right now.'

'My, but that's a divine piece you're wearing!' he cried, gesturing at the vile-looking hunk of crap that I was currently wearing around my alabaster throat. Blushing prettily, I blustered something about my necklace being like a big ol' bicycle lock compared to his charming work and extolled the virtues of some turquoise crap hanging behind the till.

You will surely recognize with sadness the actions of a smitten woman. I was sold. He had me at 'My, but...'. Even his taunt of 'There's a matching pair of earrings with that' couldn't rouse me from my lovesick stupor. Soon after I found myself saying 'I'll take the lot' and watching with bile in my throat (lovely and alabaster as it is) as his assistant wrapped them up. Even the fact that they're a Christmas present for someone else can't lessen the preying guilt and self-disgust at having being so cheaply won by a smarmy shit.

Alas! The gormless stupidity of a forsaken woman!

Life's little lessons

Today is a momentous day. Though yesterday brought with it the frankly terrific hour-and-a-half training session on how to correctly load paper into photo-copiers, today is a new day and with it comes a new challenge. Manual lifting. Apparantly I have been doing it all wrong! I pondered this as-yet unlearned skill last night as I lugged home a bale of briquettes from Spar. In case you're interested, I carry a bale of briquettes like I'd carry a baby, if I had one; namely upside down and under my arm. I don't think you're supposed to drop babies every 100 ft and kick them in fury while cursing foully though. Then again, babies aren't really for bringing home and burning in your fireplace.

To sum up, I have concluded that I am not ready for motherhood just yet.

All I want for Christmas...

Blackberry 7100v.
It has, appararantly, quad-band network support and excellent Bluetooth capabilites. Despite applying to my old friends at the national telecommunications regulator for an explanation of these terms, I am still none the wiser. Being the shallow and fickle young madam that I am however, I only really want it cos it looks shit cool. And lets face it, when you're twenty-one, notoriously irresponsible and feckless, and still pleasantly surprised by the amount of money paid into your account every month, that's just about the only reason you need to spend an horrendous amount of money on something.

How may I service you?

When I get up in the morning, yawning freshly awakened life into my icy house (heating's gone again), the only thing that gets me up out of the cosy snug of my duvets and sends me shivering into the grey morning light is the thought of my work.

The opportunity to fine, renew, check out, check in, to desensitize and sensitize, to reset due dates, to shelve books with a staggering nine decimal places, to put order on the the little corner of the library that is my personal responsibility, to direct and advise weeping undergrads whose first foray into a library has come as a shock: these little things are what drives me. Public service- how it completes me!

Cripes!

Confronted on my way to work this morning by the sight of a large pile of dog vomit, meaty chunks still intact, I was sourly reminded that I have not fed my dog in over three weeks. The poor bastard! Luckily he lives with my mother, not me and I presume she feeds him. I still feel guilty. I like guilt though as the effects it produces are close enough to your average hangover to convince me that I've been drinking. Deadly.

Part-Time Students; Full-Time Assholes

The youth of today! I have been rudely assailed by generation Y! There I was, sitting at the main desk of the library, topping a load of pencils using a bread knife from the kitchen, when some cheeky little feck squeals from the other end of the counter, 'Uh, like, hello!'

These night-time hours are fairly dodgy- all the part-time students who aren't smart or civilised enough to get into regular education come sauntering in, demanding special privileges because they live in far off places like Bray or Meath. And they have the cheek to demand I get up and walk all the way over to where they are standing, even though I am doing vital library work topping pencils! What would become of the place if no pencils were topped? I'll tell you what would happen: absolute bedlam. Crazy mad things would start happening, and all because of those selfish-as-shit part-time students.

Do you know anyone who is a part-time student? Or lives in Bray or Meath? Kick 'em for me, would ya? I'll never have time to get to them all.

Pure Class

Style largely depends on the way the chin is worn. They are worn very high, just at present.

Lady Bracknell, The Importance of Being Earnest, Oscar Wilde

It is incredibly lucky that I am so goddammned stylish. The average naive young graduand might find it daunting, terrifying even, to have to contemplate the fashion challenge that is their official conferring of an academic qualification alone, but not I. I, you see, have watched a lot of Trinny and Susannah.

Unlike the high streets of Dublin, that kept trying to force upon me cowboy boots, culottes, kaftans and spangled-maternity type tops. No, I said firmly; these frivolities are not for me. I am a classic, elegant young lady with aspirations to marry big and end up in Hollywood. The classiness of these graduation photos must remain absolutely unquestionable for the Behind the Scenes special VH1 will do on me in years to come!

And so I went my own route, beating the streets tirelessly in search of the perfrect graduation outfit. It had to say 'Hello, I am an intelligent, educated young woman newly blessed with a degree from this proud establishment. See how this august institution continues to brace the finest young minds against the harsh challenges of the modern world? Splendid! Also, haven't I got nice pins?' Not a lot to ask for, I think we'll agree. Something with a semblance of intelligence, dignity and which makes my legs look nice. Easy.

At my last check I am only halfway there, being as yet naked on the top half. Nothing says 'respect my intelligence' like a topless graduate, right?

Sliding into depression

I am blue. Blue in the sense that I have been standing by rickety-looking bookshelves and nudging them, hoping they will fall down on me. I have been awarded my own section in the library. It is number 332- 370. Those of you who comprehend the Dewey decimal cataloging system will know that these shelves house some of the most boring books in the world. In other words, economics, finance, health and educational policy and law. Who got the good parts like French porno or humour, I want to know. I am perturbed.

Yesterday I went into the shop up the road to buy some lucozade and the man there offered me a white Siberian tiger for only €30.00. I declined. He urged it further.
'You won't find it cheaper anywhere else!' he said.
'Maybe in Siberia' I chuckled.

This is a lie. I have no clue about the current price of white Siberian tigers bought directly from Siberia. Also I have no interest. My own crushing boredom has removed any previous concern I had for zoology and economics. Selfish, selfish Lucy.

Unfortunate Events Forseen...

This is not going to be a good week. I can just feel it. One of the boys have somehow managed to break the washing machine (Second time in a month, beat that!), I have no Christmas tree up yet and this morning a big clump of hair came off in my hairbrush. I expect to die in a bus crash by Friday. If I never post again, you shall know the worst has happened. Either that or I went and got myself a life and some dignity. The bus crash is probably the most likely.

Reality Bites

My co-workers hate me. This is weird for me. Everyone who knows me likes me. Or else they're polite enough to pretend they do. How did I end up with a bunch of feckers that not only hate me but who don't even have manners enough to feign liking me?

Bastards.

Wise Words

Just pour me a drink

Cuz I need a kick

I don't wanna think

I just wanna sip..

David, Nellie McKay

Only losers read song lyrics from CD sleeves, right? Like I need validation on that point.

Missing You

Hurrah! Aoife is home! Abashed, hungover and repentent, but home all the same (that's what a week with two dozen accountants will do to you!). It was a hard week for me all round. Tuesday was especially difficult, when the sight of a cheese sandwich very nearly reduced me to tears. 'Eck' I pouted (prettily, naturally), 'Aoife always used to love cheese'.
'Stop staring at my sandwich, you f*cking weirdo.' Said my cruel co-worker. Ah, I sighed to myself- Aoife used to love to call me that.

I would think of something else that prompted me to think ruefully on my absent friend, as three examples are always nicer than two, probably because of the human fascination with the number three, drawn from familial imperitives, implications with the Christian holy family and trinity, attractions to community and a love of toblerones (?- three sided chocolate, mmmm), but hey, I'm still young, don't wanna put all my eggs in one basket. Also, am suppposed to be on the front desk in two minutes and I was already late in this morning, so....!

Things I learned this week, part 3

Your lunch break is still your 'lunch' break at 4.30pm. Ha. Only the middle classes say 'lunch'. Death to the bourgeoisie!

Things I learned this week, part 2

That people are weird. And, no, it's not just me.

Two birds, one stone

One might think (wrongly, I feel) that adjusting oneself to staff and conduct of a new workplace would necessitate quite a bit of time and effort, keeping one's head down and trying to fit in. As is common for me on most points, I demur. My preferred method of workplace adjustment and alignment is to get stonkingly drunk at the Christmas party, tell your boss dirty jokes while teasing him for hiring a complete waster (ie. me), dance like a mad thing and tell your co-workers (known for only four days mind) that you love them, and finally, round off the evening by snogging someone from another branch. Worked like a charm for me!

Everyone knows my name now (though 'the-new-one-who-got-off-with-John' is a bit of a mouthful) and there is no need to gradually reveal my annoying weird side, as it has been fully outed! Result!

Things I have learned this week, Part 1

That there are people who know less about computers than me... and they all go to DIT

Some Guidelines

Taken from DIT staff manual, Procedures for dealing with workplace difficulties:

It is not acceptable to:

• Use bad/inappropriate language to a colleague
• Be verbally abusive either face to face, by email or telephone
• Make inappropraite personal remarks or jokes about colleagues
• Use a sarcastic tone when dealing with colleagues
• Behave in a patronizing, dismissive way
• Use nicknames for colleagues which may be offensive or hurtful
• Repeatedly arrive late for work or when scheduled for a particular task

What the hell am I supposed to do all day?!