Monday, January 31, 2005
'What?' I screamed back. 'Why?'
'Cos I fucking hate ye! And the house is a dump!'
'But... what will I blog about if you go?' I implored.
This did not sway him. I tried the tough approach to get him to stay. I threatened to reveal a piece of information he told me on Thursday night. I will share this with you now in case he kills me and this nugget is lost forever. When Burt saw Braveheart for the first time, aged about fifteen or sixteen, he was so scared he didn't sleep for three days. Braveheart. An historical epic. Also, Notting Hill is his favorite film. Two excellent pieces of blackmail material, one would have thought. Burt ignored me completely, however. Foolish boy. I shall raze his reputation to the ground I vowed and shook my fist angrily at the ceiling of the club.
Later, moved to desperation at the thought of having to cover his rent for the next month, I sat outside his bedroom door after he went to bed and sang Dido's Don't Leave Home. Not a flicker. The stubborn bastard went straight to sleep.
It remains to be seen whether he will move out or not. If he does I plan to stick him with a bill for €103 for the oil, gas and electricity bills. I would have left him off the €3 before Friday night but now my back is most definitely up. Suffer my wrath, Burtenshaw.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
1: Can't Let Go- Lucinda Williams
2: You're Pretty Good Looking (For A Girl)- White Stripes
3: I Wanna Get Married- Nellie McKay
4: Desdemona- From Verdi's Othello
5: Somebody Told Me- The Killers
6: UnWritten- Natasha Bedingfield [I'M SORRY, Ok?]
7: Lonelily- Damien Rice
8: Use Me- Bill Withers
9: Spiral Staircase- Kings of Leon
10: No Cheap Thrill- Suzanne Vega
Now! Doesn't that give you a little more of an insight into the wonder that is Lucy? In fact, if you were a real fan you could make up a mixed tape of all those songs and sit in your room and listen to it and imagine you actually are me. Wow.
Monday, January 24, 2005
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Nobody comments though. Don't you know that comments are my lifeline? I understand if my colossal intelligence is intimidating and you really can't think of anything to say that might equal my hilarious anecdotes but please, do comment. Even if it's just a simple 'Lucy- you rock' or 'Lucy- you are the most fabulously lovely creature I have ever seen, can I take you out for a drink? Or, since I am not worthy of your fabulousness, let me post you the money in an envelope and you can buy yourself the drink.' All good things, people.
My sister has developed a slight complex regarding my blog. Having read it once or twice, she has concluded that everything she says is fair-game to be uploaded and shared with the world. Last weekend, while recounting a humiliating romantic disaster she had suffered during the week, she paused eyed me suspiciously and said, 'You're not going to put this in your blog, are you?'
Not likely, I exclaimed. Why would I post about other people when it is obvious that there are sixty-four people out there that like to read about me, and only me? I ask you! The vanity of this girl!
So why no comments, people? Where is the love, as the Black Eyed Peas might say. And Valentines is coming up and all!
Friday, January 21, 2005
I mention this only because the other night, while the lovely Aoife and I chowed down at a local eatery we were struck dumb by the sight of one of the actors scoffing white wine and pasta with a blonde at a neighboring table. I'd tell you his name or even that of the lad he plays on the telly but I don't have a clue. [Mark this moment: Lucy admits to not knowing something. This will not happen again.] Naturally, I hot-footed it on to the net the next day to post my sighting on some fan-page's message board. I was toying with working the event into a bit of a drama with me walking up and slapping his face for getting off with his teacher last year and since taking up with her daughter, when I gazed in surprise at the screen. No fan-site! No online shrine to the wonder of Carrigstown! What am I to do? Who can I brag to, if no hapless obsessed fans exist? They must be out there, though. In hiding no doubt, but they are there.
I challenge you all to find a Fair City fan today! Find them and bring them into the light! You have a moral imperative to free this sadly maligned group from their isolation! We shall start our own web community and begin stalking all the actors! Eventually we will become legendary and iconic and we will get all the shit-cool merchandise all the Buffy fans get! I shall see children carrying a Harry Molloy lunch box yet!
God, I'm good. Sometimes the brilliance of my plans sends small shivers down my back. And sometimes I'm just cold.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Think I'll go off and read this. That might calm my fears of rejection.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Monday, January 17, 2005
Said proprietor, feisty Ms Lucy Aughney: 'Bite me.'
Yes, friends, last night I had Mags and her sister to stay. This morning they flew out to Swansea where Mags is interviewing for a course, and if my fiendish plan went correctly, they will never ever return to my home again. Despite early troubles on the way up from Waterford, where Lucy managed to forget where she actually lived and had trouble directing Joanne due to a small problem with telling her right from her left, we arrived fairly unscathed outside the pile of rubble I call home late yesterday evening.
'It's not that bad' declared Joanne kindly. 'I mean, it's got walls and a roof at least.'
'And windows!' helped Mags. 'And a door.'
Wait till you get inside, fools, I thought.
Upon entering, I sped instantly up the stairs with a bottle of cif to clean the bathroom and forbade anyone to enter the kitchen before I had a chance to hide all ketchup and curry stained plates in a press. 'Alright' I announced once I had this done. 'It's not so bad now.' Only to find the girls perched warily in the sitting room surrounded by empty beer cans and congealed taco-fries. Joanne was peering doubtfully at a stain on the couch. 'It's soy sauce!' I insisted. I hurried them back into the car to get something to eat and hissed at the boys to do something about the mess while I was gone. They didn't of course. They hate me.
'Do we have to go back?' asked Joanne sadly as we sat eating chips in the car.
'Yes.' I said sternly. 'It's not so bad, it's only messy really. Like, I don't think you could actually catch anything.'
'It's cos it's a student house, Jo. You're used to more civilized people.' Mags insisted.
'Eh, no, actually, it's not. 'Cos only David is a student, see? The rest of us are normal.'
Joanne looked unimpressed.
'It's 'cos they're boys, Joanne; they're messy by nature. You know the way boys are!'
'My husband was never like that. He's a boy.'
'Yes, but before the civilizing influence of you came into his life, I'm sure he was inclined to leave the odd take away rotting on the coffee table for a few days, hmmm?'
'You and Aoife aren't boys.' Mags pointed out.
'Yes, but we are very busy. And we're teaching the boys a lesson about cleanliness. We're not cleaning till they cop on and clean too.'
'Really? Is it working?'
'Well, we've been teaching them a lesson since November, so....no, probably not.'
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Friday, January 14, 2005
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Last night, searching for sewing needles on a stand in EuroSpar, I managed to knock a shelf of tights all over myself. I say shelf, because the tights were not stored according to logical retail practices on hooks and according to size and shade, but instead merely jumbled carelessly on top of each other on a shelf. As the packs containing sherry, nude, calypso, natural, tropical and mediterranian tan rained down on to my unsuspecting head, I let out a peal of madwoman's laughter. Seriously, fellow Spar patrons looked nervously for the nearest exit. This, I thought, is the funniest thing to happen to me all week. And that's a pretty sad way to be.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
What began as lewd and demeaning comments whenever a female came on the screen or was mentioned in conversation has degenerated into a foul onslaught of curses, obscene suggestions, gratuitous toilet humour and the passing of gas. 'I love it when she puts her fingers to her temples and sighs, don't you?' chuckled Burt last night at my response to his description of exactly what he would do to Angelina Jolie if he ever got a chance.
This cannot go on. I am not cut out for situations like these. I'm just too much of a lady.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Emphasizing my extreme, exhalted intelligence, it has only taken me seven months to figure out how to post a photo onto blogger. So? It took Albert Einstein till he was 26 to get published and another two years before he got offered a teaching job. So screw you. You're not a complete failure till you hit 27. That is my newly adopted dogma.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Last night some random thought occurred to me as I lay in bed, exiled there due to the boys' insistence on watching darts on the television downstairs and Aoife not being around to scream at them for me, and found I had no notebook to hand. What a to-do! All my notebooks have, at various points, had important things written in them and and then been left, unwisely, in my locker at work where I can never get at them because I forget to look for my key. My umbrella is in there too! And it's lashing out! Woe is me.
So I actually had to get out of bed and search for something to write on. All I could find was the back of a tights packet. Which is why an empty tights packet bearing the words: 'Shoes from cobblers. Buy vodka. Figure out DVD player. Sew button on coat. Buy toothpaste. Buy more tights' fell out of my pocket this morning as I demonstrated lifting to a height this morning at the manual lifting course. This tights packet contains my life. And everyone else at the course saw it. I am undone!
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Also, I started typing before the announcement to say it was over, and all the students scowled at me in disgust. I am a godless, irreverent hind. And I haven't given any money to the disaster appeal yet. I am going to hell for sure.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
I can see the flag of the Croatian Embassy from where I'm sitting. At least, I think it's the Croatian Embassy. I'm not as up on my flags as I once was.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
'The heel fell off one.'
'So I said to you to straighten up and walk proper so that the bouncers wouldn't give you any hassle but you said you were grand-'
'I was grand.'
'So then when we were going in, didn't you stop and start talking to one of the bouncers! And you must have been talking about some film you had seen or something-'
'The Sound of Music. I was telling him he reminded me of the Mother Superior.'
'Yes, because you were doing all these gestures, and then you were singing a Johnny Cash song and saying 'now that was a great man'.
'Then I got you inside and put you sitting down but you kept getting up and running off when I turned my back.'
'And what about the fight?'
'Oh, I don't know what happened there. It was over so fast and when I asked what had happened, you tapped the side of your nose and said you had it all sorted. And that Dell wouldn't be bothering anyone for a long time.'
'What does that mean? Was I organsing a hit?'
'A what? I don't know. You were pretty locked. You wouldn't get in the car to go out to Brian's house unless we all agreed you were stone cold sober. Then you fell over getting in.'
'Nicely done. Ironic, you might say.'
'Do you remember yelling 'Here's to 2005, fuckers!' at people out my car window?'
'... I don't remember. Period. It wasn't a good night for memories all round.'
'How about you sticking your fingers up at the angel on Brian's tree cos you said it looked at you funny?'
'No. That sounds like a good memory though, i'll pretend I do. God, I'm such a fool! Such a drunken idiot! Do you hate me? Does everyone hate me?'
'No. Everyone was drunk, it was New Years after all.'
'You weren't drunk.'
'That's because I was too busy watching you fuck up.'
And like all good things, I feel it should start with a bang. Hence my little display in the ever-lovely Baldy Man last night. Before I tell you what I did, I must ask you a question. I must insist that you be frank in answering it. How do you feel about fiery young ladies who blatantly faff about drinking wine and whiskey (separately, naturally) though they are fully aware of the existence of the proverb about not mixing the grape and the grain? And what do you think of people who take their shoes off in pubs and stupidly sit on mucky walls in their new white skirts? Who wander around asking people 'have you seen my husband? He's the rich looking chap, I cant think where I left him!'? Who forgoes conventional money storage solutions and keeps all her change in her bra? Hmmm? Pretty bloody cool, I think we can all agree.
Also, I was almost in a fight. Me! In a fight! I wouldn't know a fight if it came up...and punched me in the face, actually. I would like to pretend it was over the honour of an honest maiden or something, but I am done with falsehoods. It is my new year's resolution: Give up smoking and falsehoods. I would also like to say that it was the kind of event that will remain lodged in my mind forever, a tense and profound insight into the vigour of quick-simmering violence, but I am afraid I had had quite a few drinks and am a complete blank on the subject. In fact, I didn't even know it had happened till Mags rang me this morning.
'Do you remember fighting with Dell last night?'
[Ahem. I should point out that in this instance Dell is a person, not a computer manufacturer. I have no quarrel with Dell the computer crowd. Lovely people, I'm sure.]
'Eh, no. What about?'
'He came up to you and said "Rachel is gone off upset, will you go look after her?" and you told him to fuck off and mind her himself since he was the one to upset her and he said you were a crap friend and you told him to go fuck himself and the next thing we knew the two of ye were bawling at each other and you were going for his neck. It was deadly, I had to hold you back.'
Now. 'Gobsmacked' is a word I don't use very often but I think I can safely say it fits here. 'Holy shit' fits here too but I've done quite enough blaspheming in my lifetime so i'll leave it at gobsmacked.
'Wha- seriously? I tried to hit him?'
'But he tried to hit you, Luce.'
'A girl? He tried to hit a girl? Aren't there, like, laws about hitting girls? That is scandalous, I am shocked.'
'Well, you did keep screaming 'no, no- fuck you!' at him. I wanted to hit you.'
'Mags! I'm hurt.'
'You've never seen you drunk, obviously.'
'Hmmm. Ah, well. Good night altogether, wasn't it?'
Learn your lesson and move on. That is my other New Year's resolution. That and to avoid saloon brawls if I can help it at all.