So, my next scan is due in just over a week. I will be at 18 weeks by then. Presuming that the child is not modest (and given its parentage, that's not likely) we will be able to tell whether we're expecting a boy or a girl.
I can't wait to find out. I have enough difficulty at Christmas time leaving the presents under the tree alone - there's no way I could not know.
I haven't decided yet whether or not to tell other people what we're having though. Knowing me, I probably won't be able to keep my mouth shut. I have enough difficulty at Christmas time not telling people about the brilliant present I just bought them. (Are you seeing the pattern here?)
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Insomniac Baby: Welcome to Insomniac Baby
Instead of just giving out about the crapness associated with being pregnant, I should probably say some nice things too. Christ knows I don't want Junior to end up with some sort of "My Mommy Doesn't Love Me" complex!
So, all the good stuff and the fun stuff about being pregnant and having a baby (I don't think the actual having will feature too heavily though) and being a mommy will be posted here.
As time goes on, I will post photos and other stuff too. Maybe Dr Spock will end up coming to me for advice!
So, all the good stuff and the fun stuff about being pregnant and having a baby (I don't think the actual having will feature too heavily though) and being a mommy will be posted here.
As time goes on, I will post photos and other stuff too. Maybe Dr Spock will end up coming to me for advice!
Insomniac Baby: The Announcement
Whoooo-hooo!
Before you ask:
Yes, we're really pleased. Both of us.
No, I haven't been sick. At all.
Now, say hello.
As you can tell, I had a scan a couple of weeks ago. Apparently, what we're looking at here is a mini-me, but I can't really make head nor tail of what I'm seeing. All the various bits had to be pointed out to me. I just nodded at the obstetrician and smiled. For those of you who, like me, really can't see anything other than a mass of grey in varying shades, here's the map:
Before you ask:
Yes, we're really pleased. Both of us.
No, I haven't been sick. At all.
Now, say hello.
As you can tell, I had a scan a couple of weeks ago. Apparently, what we're looking at here is a mini-me, but I can't really make head nor tail of what I'm seeing. All the various bits had to be pointed out to me. I just nodded at the obstetrician and smiled. For those of you who, like me, really can't see anything other than a mass of grey in varying shades, here's the map:
Introducing the Insomniac Baby
(and madly hoping that I'm not going to have one...)
This may well be a truly radical departure for me. Instead of souring up the saccharine sweetness, I have opened a sugary palace devoted entirely to singing the praises of pregnancy (just mine) and babies (again and definitely, just mine), as an antidote to the venom that I've been spewing forth on the Shit List.
This is also a rather belated effort to prove for posterity that "Junior, Mommy has always loved you!"
Enjoy!
Insomniac Baby
This may well be a truly radical departure for me. Instead of souring up the saccharine sweetness, I have opened a sugary palace devoted entirely to singing the praises of pregnancy (just mine) and babies (again and definitely, just mine), as an antidote to the venom that I've been spewing forth on the Shit List.
This is also a rather belated effort to prove for posterity that "Junior, Mommy has always loved you!"
Enjoy!
Insomniac Baby
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Insomniac ShitList: Being Pregnant
Item Eight (added 19 October 2004)
Growing pains. I've been assured that they're normal, but owwwieee. Also, I'm not sure if this is paranoia or true, but it strikes me that my stomach gets huger (and I do mean "huger", my rant against poor use of English notwithstanding) after every bout of growing pains
Item Seven (added 15 October 2004)
Being hormonally unbalanced. I have a short fuse at the best of times. Now, I'm like 2000AD's Mean Machine. I go straight to 4. Even if you don't know 2000AD or Mean Machine or exactly what "straight to 4" means, I reckon you can probably make an educated guess
Item Six (added 15 October 2004)
Being asked if I am (or worse, told that I must be) having twins.
Item Five (added 15 October 2004)
Advice from other people. Everyone's an expert. I've been told to get used to this. Sometimes it doesn't bother me, but other times, I'm just not in the mood. And no, thanks, I don't want to watch the home video your husband made of you giving birth to your children. No, really, I don't
Item Four (added 14 October 2004)
No substance abuse
Item Three (added 14 October 2004)
No smoking
Item Two (added 14 October 2004)
No coffee
Item One (added 14 October 2004)
No booze
Growing pains. I've been assured that they're normal, but owwwieee. Also, I'm not sure if this is paranoia or true, but it strikes me that my stomach gets huger (and I do mean "huger", my rant against poor use of English notwithstanding) after every bout of growing pains
Item Seven (added 15 October 2004)
Being hormonally unbalanced. I have a short fuse at the best of times. Now, I'm like 2000AD's Mean Machine. I go straight to 4. Even if you don't know 2000AD or Mean Machine or exactly what "straight to 4" means, I reckon you can probably make an educated guess
Item Six (added 15 October 2004)
Being asked if I am (or worse, told that I must be) having twins.
Item Five (added 15 October 2004)
Advice from other people. Everyone's an expert. I've been told to get used to this. Sometimes it doesn't bother me, but other times, I'm just not in the mood. And no, thanks, I don't want to watch the home video your husband made of you giving birth to your children. No, really, I don't
Item Four (added 14 October 2004)
No substance abuse
Item Three (added 14 October 2004)
No smoking
Item Two (added 14 October 2004)
No coffee
Item One (added 14 October 2004)
No booze
Insomniac ShitList: Stuff I Have No Control Over
(The sub-text here is that I am being overwhelmed by frustration at a situation for which is no single cause. I get overcome by a pointless and impotent rage as there is really nothing on which I can vent my spleen. This means that any minor irritant has the potential to catalyse an utterly irrational and disproportionate reaction. Beware!)
Item One (added 19 October 2004)
Traffic.
A concrete example: this morning, it took 15 minutes for the bus to cross a junction that would have taken 2 minutes to cross on foot - even if I had waited for the little green man. This was not the fault of the bus driver, nor even any of the other drivers at that junction. Nor was it purely because it was raining and in the middle of rush hour. There were too many factors converging at once to be able to get suitably and appropriately annoyed at any single one of them. And that pisses me off
Item One (added 19 October 2004)
Traffic.
A concrete example: this morning, it took 15 minutes for the bus to cross a junction that would have taken 2 minutes to cross on foot - even if I had waited for the little green man. This was not the fault of the bus driver, nor even any of the other drivers at that junction. Nor was it purely because it was raining and in the middle of rush hour. There were too many factors converging at once to be able to get suitably and appropriately annoyed at any single one of them. And that pisses me off
Monday, October 18, 2004
Insomniac ShitList: What Other People Think is Cool
Item Three (added 18 October 2004)
Being constantly bombarded with ads to "tag your mobile", "get the latest tunes, straight to your mobile", "be the first with the funniest jokes" and the like drive me crazy. Whether you see your mobile as a fashion accessory (and I'm really not judging here) or not, these ads probably have the same effect on you. Let's organise a rally, find the 57777 server and jump heavily on their toon-selectas and their advertising executives' heads. Who's with me?
Item Two (added 18 October 2004)
Controversially (?), I believe that mobile phones are communication devices, not fashion accessories. A lot of people will disagree with me on this point and I really don't mind
Item One (added 14 October 2004)
Mod-ed cars. UV lights, tinted windows, massive woofers, go-faster stripes, flames... Have I left anything out? Oh yes, your gold sovereign jewellery, your white-trash girlfriend, your heroin habit - and you've just spent over €20,000 making a €10,000 car look "cool". Or just as stupid as you do when you're driving it
Being constantly bombarded with ads to "tag your mobile", "get the latest tunes, straight to your mobile", "be the first with the funniest jokes" and the like drive me crazy. Whether you see your mobile as a fashion accessory (and I'm really not judging here) or not, these ads probably have the same effect on you. Let's organise a rally, find the 57777 server and jump heavily on their toon-selectas and their advertising executives' heads. Who's with me?
Item Two (added 18 October 2004)
Controversially (?), I believe that mobile phones are communication devices, not fashion accessories. A lot of people will disagree with me on this point and I really don't mind
Item One (added 14 October 2004)
Mod-ed cars. UV lights, tinted windows, massive woofers, go-faster stripes, flames... Have I left anything out? Oh yes, your gold sovereign jewellery, your white-trash girlfriend, your heroin habit - and you've just spent over €20,000 making a €10,000 car look "cool". Or just as stupid as you do when you're driving it
Friday, October 15, 2004
Insomniac ShitList: Work-Related
Item One (added 15 October 2004)
Bureaucracy. It's a pain in the arse. But often these incredibly convoluted and intricate mechanisms have evolved for a reason. So even if you are sick of the bureaucracy, please don't try to by-pass it; especially if I'm involved in the loop. You are only making things more complicated. So stop it
Bureaucracy. It's a pain in the arse. But often these incredibly convoluted and intricate mechanisms have evolved for a reason. So even if you are sick of the bureaucracy, please don't try to by-pass it; especially if I'm involved in the loop. You are only making things more complicated. So stop it
Insomniac ShitList: Poor Spelling, Punctuation & Grammar
Strictly, this is a thing on its own. I feel, however, that there is such a casual attitude to the proper use of the English language that notable examples should be listed as items in their own right. For an antidote to what you are about to see, please read "Eats, Shoots & Leaves", by a pedant after my own heart (or Lynne Truss as I think she might prefer to be known).
Item Two (added 15 October 2004)
Justin's is a vegetable shop on Main Street, Blanchardstown. At the moment, they have a big sign outside advertising that you'll get a 6kg bag of potatoes (or something, I can't remember off-hand) free when you spend over €10 on "VEGITABLES". I swear! I will get photographic evidence of this to prove that I am not lying
Item One (added 15 October 2004)
I tell you no word of a lie that I actually saw this sign every time I set foot out of my apartment for two and a half years before I realised why the hallway made me so uncomfortable. Now that I've figured it out, I can't step outside without wincing. Brace yourselves for this. It's a good one to start with:
Item Two (added 15 October 2004)
Justin's is a vegetable shop on Main Street, Blanchardstown. At the moment, they have a big sign outside advertising that you'll get a 6kg bag of potatoes (or something, I can't remember off-hand) free when you spend over €10 on "VEGITABLES". I swear! I will get photographic evidence of this to prove that I am not lying
Item One (added 15 October 2004)
I tell you no word of a lie that I actually saw this sign every time I set foot out of my apartment for two and a half years before I realised why the hallway made me so uncomfortable. Now that I've figured it out, I can't step outside without wincing. Brace yourselves for this. It's a good one to start with:
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Insomniac ShitList: Other People's Driving
Item Two (added 14 October 2004)
People who don't indicate which way they're going on roundabouts
Item One (added 12 October 2004)
People who suddenly pull out really fast and dangerously in front of you, and then drive really slowly
People who don't indicate which way they're going on roundabouts
Item One (added 12 October 2004)
People who suddenly pull out really fast and dangerously in front of you, and then drive really slowly
Insomniac ShitList: Welcome to the Insomniac ShitList
Ladies and Gentlemen,
It gives me great pleasure to introduce to you the Insomniac's Shit List, a tiny little off-shoot of the Insomniac Tirade empire.
I intend to keep my mealy-mouthed bitching on Tirade to a minimum from now on, using instead the dedicated resource of Shit List to mouth off about the little things that really piss me off.
I think I will organise it on a categorised basis but I'm not entirely certain how this will work in practice. I'm sure it'll evolve over the next couple of days and weeks.
I expect lots of comments to add some colour, depth and perhaps even some perspective to the Shit List. Who knows? I might even open this up and let other people post their pet-hates too. As the most gifted musical duo ever to get a record deal outside of Holland once said, "There's no limits" [sic].
Happy grouching!
It gives me great pleasure to introduce to you the Insomniac's Shit List, a tiny little off-shoot of the Insomniac Tirade empire.
I intend to keep my mealy-mouthed bitching on Tirade to a minimum from now on, using instead the dedicated resource of Shit List to mouth off about the little things that really piss me off.
I think I will organise it on a categorised basis but I'm not entirely certain how this will work in practice. I'm sure it'll evolve over the next couple of days and weeks.
I expect lots of comments to add some colour, depth and perhaps even some perspective to the Shit List. Who knows? I might even open this up and let other people post their pet-hates too. As the most gifted musical duo ever to get a record deal outside of Holland once said, "There's no limits" [sic].
Happy grouching!
Introducing the Shit List
Ladies and Gentlemen,
It gives me great pleasure to introduce to you the Insomniac's Shit List, a tiny little off-shoot of the Insomniac Tirade empire.
I intend to keep my mealy-mouthed bitching on Tirade to a minimum from now on, using instead the dedicated resource of Shit List to mouth off about the little things that really piss me off.
I think I'll organise it on a categorised basis but I'm not entirely sure how this will work in practice. I'm sure it'll evolve over the next couple of days and weeks.
I expect lots of comments to add some colour, depth and perhaps even some perspective to the Shit List. Who knows? I might even open this up and let other people post their pet-hates too. As the most gifted musical duo ever to get a record deal outside of Holland once said, "There's no limits" [sic].
Happy grouching!
It gives me great pleasure to introduce to you the Insomniac's Shit List, a tiny little off-shoot of the Insomniac Tirade empire.
I intend to keep my mealy-mouthed bitching on Tirade to a minimum from now on, using instead the dedicated resource of Shit List to mouth off about the little things that really piss me off.
I think I'll organise it on a categorised basis but I'm not entirely sure how this will work in practice. I'm sure it'll evolve over the next couple of days and weeks.
I expect lots of comments to add some colour, depth and perhaps even some perspective to the Shit List. Who knows? I might even open this up and let other people post their pet-hates too. As the most gifted musical duo ever to get a record deal outside of Holland once said, "There's no limits" [sic].
Happy grouching!
Friday, October 08, 2004
There's an eight o'clock in the morning now?
Last night I was in a very bad mood indeed when I blogged. I'm not using that as an excuse for saying some harsh things and I'm not going to apologise for having said them. Mostly, I'm sure it's nothing you haven't found yourself thinking but have been brow-beaten by political-correctness gone awry and Niall Crowley of the Equality Authority into feeling ashamed of it.
Well fear no more. Thanks to some fairly strong views on "certain things", a probable lack of deep knowledge on the topic of "certain things", raging hormones and the relative anonymity of web self-publishing, I am more than willing to be the subversive voice of your stifled consciousness!
This morning I was listening to the traffic news on the radio and apparently another protest had been planned by the "Travellers" to begin at 8am. I held a short debate in my head and decided that I would still go to work, because I would normally be well past the proposed protest zone by that time.
All morning, the traffic updates were full of the doom and gloom of this impending protest that was "due to start around now", but on the 8.10 bulletin, it transpired that no-one had shown up. There were Garda on stand-by (to try and "protect" the "protesters" from angry commuters, I presume) and there were a number of press photographers hanging around (to catch some of the hoped for "Limerick wedding"-type goings-on, I imagine). The traffic had been heavier than normal for that time of morning as people tried to get past the protest site. Traffic on alternative routes was also much heavier, according to the news. But no sign of the "Travellers".
One can only imagine that they had tired themselves out altogether yesterday and had to have a little lie-in. Either that, or none of them had actually ever heard of a time of 8 in the morning.
Well fear no more. Thanks to some fairly strong views on "certain things", a probable lack of deep knowledge on the topic of "certain things", raging hormones and the relative anonymity of web self-publishing, I am more than willing to be the subversive voice of your stifled consciousness!
This morning I was listening to the traffic news on the radio and apparently another protest had been planned by the "Travellers" to begin at 8am. I held a short debate in my head and decided that I would still go to work, because I would normally be well past the proposed protest zone by that time.
All morning, the traffic updates were full of the doom and gloom of this impending protest that was "due to start around now", but on the 8.10 bulletin, it transpired that no-one had shown up. There were Garda on stand-by (to try and "protect" the "protesters" from angry commuters, I presume) and there were a number of press photographers hanging around (to catch some of the hoped for "Limerick wedding"-type goings-on, I imagine). The traffic had been heavier than normal for that time of morning as people tried to get past the protest site. Traffic on alternative routes was also much heavier, according to the news. But no sign of the "Travellers".
One can only imagine that they had tired themselves out altogether yesterday and had to have a little lie-in. Either that, or none of them had actually ever heard of a time of 8 in the morning.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
I should have stayed in bed this morning
I had a feeling this morning that my day would be much better all round if I just got back into bed, pulled the duvet over my head and pretended that the world had ended during the night and there was no need for me to leave my house for 24 hours.
Foolishly, I ignored my intuition. It’s not a mistake I’ll make again in a hurry.
Strangely enough, it wasn’t work that nearly drove me over the edge today. Sure, I was incredibly busy and flat out from the time I got in until I downed tools. (I knew I’d have to pay for my idle day!) But there’s some really interesting stuff going on at the moment and it is fun to watch while the catapult full of excreta is pulled back and aimed at the large rotary ventilator… Anyway, I digress.
My big problem today is with public transport, Dublin Bus in particular and the 39X, 39 and 10A routes specifically. This might be a little unfair but unless I focus my vitriol, I’ll just be generally angry with the world and that won’t make for an interesting or soul cleansing rant, which let’s face it, is mainly why I blog. If I release the tension on-line, I’m less likely to climb a water tower wearing a long anorak and carrying a shotgun… Still, I digress.
This morning, I left my house at 7am. Normally, I get to work at around 8.15. Not today. My usual bus (a 39X) arrived 15 minutes late, jammed full. It refused to stop and let anyone on. I got the next bus into town (a 39), which proceeded to drive at about 2 miles per hour. At 7.50, I would usually expect to be on O’Connell Street in the city centre. This morning, we were still sitting on the Main Street in Blanchardstown.
Finally, at 8.45, I got into town. I hopped off the stinky 39 and within 2 minutes, I was sitting on a 10A heading out to Belfield. To be honest, I really can’t complain about this leg of the journey because I got to where I was going on that bus at 9am. I’m going to moan anyway because the 10A is a stupid new route that doesn’t stop as close to work as its parent route (the 10) or my usual 39X and I had to walk for 15 minutes to get to my office. Grrrr! At least I was on time for my first meeting of the day.
Fast-forward through the working day. I left at 4.45pm and caught the early bus home. This is another 39X that runs from Belfield back to Blanchardstown. I was on the bus at 4.50 and usually would expect this bus to deposit me at home by 6pm. Christ, was I in for a disappointment!
First of all, the idiot bus driver took a wrong turn at St Stephen’s Green and ended up in a one-way system that brought us down Georges Street and Dame Street. The traffic was awful. At least four of the busiest bus stops on the route were bypassed. We got back on track at College Green and pootled along merrily as far as Phibsboro. At this stage, we were only running 10 minutes behind schedule.
We got onto the New Cabra Road and all hell broke loose. Forty minutes later, we were still trying to get onto the Navan Road but weren’t even at the top of the Cabra Road. The traffic didn’t actually move at all for a full 20 minutes. The next three-quarters of an hour were spent creeping along at the rate of approximately one bus-length every five minutes.
Why?
Because the N3 (i.e. the main road that the Navan Road turns into) had been closed from the Ashtown roundabout to the M50 roundabout.
Why?
Because the knackers, I mean the Travelling Community, were holding a protest march and had blocked the road, so for their “safety”, traffic was being prevented from going up a national route.
Why?
The filthy knackers were protesting because the county council had placed a barrier on a road that links the N2 and N3 (Dunsink Lane) in an effort to reduce the amount of dumping on the road. Dunsink Lane is the filthiest stretch of road in the entire country, as far as I know and is populated entirely by knackers in halting sites, who incidentally are the main cause of the aforementioned dumping problem. The whole road is like a movie set from some post-Apocalyptic tale set in Beirut. It’s an obstacle course of burning rubble, rubbish heaps, knacker dogs, knacker children and halting sites on all sides. Personally, I reckon the council would have been better served had they walled in both ends of the Lane and napalmed the whole lot.
Harsh? Socially insensitive? Gratuitously politically incorrect? Hell, yes! But it’s now 7.30pm and I’m still on the bus trying to get home. Which all brings me full circle bck to the original focus of this particular tirade.
Maybe I really should take that mental health day for myself tomorrow…
Foolishly, I ignored my intuition. It’s not a mistake I’ll make again in a hurry.
Strangely enough, it wasn’t work that nearly drove me over the edge today. Sure, I was incredibly busy and flat out from the time I got in until I downed tools. (I knew I’d have to pay for my idle day!) But there’s some really interesting stuff going on at the moment and it is fun to watch while the catapult full of excreta is pulled back and aimed at the large rotary ventilator… Anyway, I digress.
My big problem today is with public transport, Dublin Bus in particular and the 39X, 39 and 10A routes specifically. This might be a little unfair but unless I focus my vitriol, I’ll just be generally angry with the world and that won’t make for an interesting or soul cleansing rant, which let’s face it, is mainly why I blog. If I release the tension on-line, I’m less likely to climb a water tower wearing a long anorak and carrying a shotgun… Still, I digress.
This morning, I left my house at 7am. Normally, I get to work at around 8.15. Not today. My usual bus (a 39X) arrived 15 minutes late, jammed full. It refused to stop and let anyone on. I got the next bus into town (a 39), which proceeded to drive at about 2 miles per hour. At 7.50, I would usually expect to be on O’Connell Street in the city centre. This morning, we were still sitting on the Main Street in Blanchardstown.
Finally, at 8.45, I got into town. I hopped off the stinky 39 and within 2 minutes, I was sitting on a 10A heading out to Belfield. To be honest, I really can’t complain about this leg of the journey because I got to where I was going on that bus at 9am. I’m going to moan anyway because the 10A is a stupid new route that doesn’t stop as close to work as its parent route (the 10) or my usual 39X and I had to walk for 15 minutes to get to my office. Grrrr! At least I was on time for my first meeting of the day.
Fast-forward through the working day. I left at 4.45pm and caught the early bus home. This is another 39X that runs from Belfield back to Blanchardstown. I was on the bus at 4.50 and usually would expect this bus to deposit me at home by 6pm. Christ, was I in for a disappointment!
First of all, the idiot bus driver took a wrong turn at St Stephen’s Green and ended up in a one-way system that brought us down Georges Street and Dame Street. The traffic was awful. At least four of the busiest bus stops on the route were bypassed. We got back on track at College Green and pootled along merrily as far as Phibsboro. At this stage, we were only running 10 minutes behind schedule.
We got onto the New Cabra Road and all hell broke loose. Forty minutes later, we were still trying to get onto the Navan Road but weren’t even at the top of the Cabra Road. The traffic didn’t actually move at all for a full 20 minutes. The next three-quarters of an hour were spent creeping along at the rate of approximately one bus-length every five minutes.
Why?
Because the N3 (i.e. the main road that the Navan Road turns into) had been closed from the Ashtown roundabout to the M50 roundabout.
Why?
Because the knackers, I mean the Travelling Community, were holding a protest march and had blocked the road, so for their “safety”, traffic was being prevented from going up a national route.
Why?
The filthy knackers were protesting because the county council had placed a barrier on a road that links the N2 and N3 (Dunsink Lane) in an effort to reduce the amount of dumping on the road. Dunsink Lane is the filthiest stretch of road in the entire country, as far as I know and is populated entirely by knackers in halting sites, who incidentally are the main cause of the aforementioned dumping problem. The whole road is like a movie set from some post-Apocalyptic tale set in Beirut. It’s an obstacle course of burning rubble, rubbish heaps, knacker dogs, knacker children and halting sites on all sides. Personally, I reckon the council would have been better served had they walled in both ends of the Lane and napalmed the whole lot.
Harsh? Socially insensitive? Gratuitously politically incorrect? Hell, yes! But it’s now 7.30pm and I’m still on the bus trying to get home. Which all brings me full circle bck to the original focus of this particular tirade.
Maybe I really should take that mental health day for myself tomorrow…
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Ego-Surfing
I probably shouldn't be doing this. It really isn't my story to blog. But what the hey. I'm going to tell it anyway...
I'm sure everyone's done this at times - Googled their own name... Sadly for me, the only references that come up are related to work and another person with the same name as me. At one stage it was also possible to find a wedding notice in Conor's old school newsletter. What a shame that's gone now! (Not.)
Anyhoo, because he was really busy but also really bored yesterday, Con decided to Ego-Surf-by-Proxy, i.e. he knows what references show up for him and for me, so he went surfing for our friends' names.
The first one he found was for Gerry. It was an old entry in DCU's website about his final year project. Boooooring.
The next one was for Suzanne (sorry, she's not a blogger). It was a notice in a local newspaper about our international jetsetting pal's achievements abroad. Not wishing to demean Suz's accomplishments, but this was neither a long nor a particularly interesting piece, so I'm not even going to put a link to it. Oh, OK then. Link
The last was the most impressive. Deirdre was a girl that used to live with us when we were in college, but she didn't stay in touch with us, nor us with her really. Occasionally, we'd catch up with her - usually when the extended group were out for drinks, we'd had a few, and someone would suggest ringing her Mom to get her current contact details and/or whereabouts and then getting in touch to see if she was up for an impromptu night out. This was a surprisingly ineffectual way to contact anyone - for example, her mother has a life of her own and so was not a reliable source of information. Many's the time (well, twice) we tried to track Deirdre down, only to get stumped at the first hurdle, because her mom was not sitting by the phone, eagerly awaiting our phone call.
Anyway - Deirdre is kind of famous now. Well, she's got a certain kind of nerdy recognition and as far as I'm concerned, it's well-deserved. How many people do you know (even tenuously) that have won an international award for writing a Science Fiction short story??? Well, I do. Check it out. Congratulations D. I'm only a little bit jealous.
I'm sure everyone's done this at times - Googled their own name... Sadly for me, the only references that come up are related to work and another person with the same name as me. At one stage it was also possible to find a wedding notice in Conor's old school newsletter. What a shame that's gone now! (Not.)
Anyhoo, because he was really busy but also really bored yesterday, Con decided to Ego-Surf-by-Proxy, i.e. he knows what references show up for him and for me, so he went surfing for our friends' names.
The first one he found was for Gerry. It was an old entry in DCU's website about his final year project. Boooooring.
The next one was for Suzanne (sorry, she's not a blogger). It was a notice in a local newspaper about our international jetsetting pal's achievements abroad. Not wishing to demean Suz's accomplishments, but this was neither a long nor a particularly interesting piece, so I'm not even going to put a link to it. Oh, OK then. Link
The last was the most impressive. Deirdre was a girl that used to live with us when we were in college, but she didn't stay in touch with us, nor us with her really. Occasionally, we'd catch up with her - usually when the extended group were out for drinks, we'd had a few, and someone would suggest ringing her Mom to get her current contact details and/or whereabouts and then getting in touch to see if she was up for an impromptu night out. This was a surprisingly ineffectual way to contact anyone - for example, her mother has a life of her own and so was not a reliable source of information. Many's the time (well, twice) we tried to track Deirdre down, only to get stumped at the first hurdle, because her mom was not sitting by the phone, eagerly awaiting our phone call.
Anyway - Deirdre is kind of famous now. Well, she's got a certain kind of nerdy recognition and as far as I'm concerned, it's well-deserved. How many people do you know (even tenuously) that have won an international award for writing a Science Fiction short story??? Well, I do. Check it out. Congratulations D. I'm only a little bit jealous.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Making it up as I go along
D'ya ever have one of those days in work, where you're so on top of everything that you spend the entire day twiddling your thumbs and/or desperately trying to appear busy and industrious?
I'm having one of those today...
God! It's not looking so good for me today, is it? I've still got another 2 hours to fill in aswell. Days like today are even more exhausting than days when you're flat out from the moment you sit at your desk, till the second you run away...
I'm having one of those today...
- I've been incredibly efficient
- I've been responding to people's queries on the spot
- I've been making up things for me to do
- I've done the things that I made up to do
- I've followed up on things that I've put on the long finger for the past two months
- I've cleared my entire In-Tray
- I've hovered around the Reception desk for 40 minutes
- I've checked my post and email inbox every 5 minutes on the off-chance that someone else has sent me something to do
- I've walked around the corridors of my building, carrying files so that I look busy
- I've started trying to create my own crossword
- I've written a needlessly long blog about a rather short-lived episode in my life
- I'm desperately dragging together a list of rubbish to create another blog and also to try and allieviate the boredom
God! It's not looking so good for me today, is it? I've still got another 2 hours to fill in aswell. Days like today are even more exhausting than days when you're flat out from the moment you sit at your desk, till the second you run away...
Don't sit beside the crazy lady
I have a story to tell about a crazy woman, who is not me. This makes a pleasant change, because normally I am the nutter that I'm talking about. But not this time! This time I'm the sane one in the narrative.
I was getting the bus to work this morning, as I always do. The bus was jam-packed and I was listening to my mp3 player* (not too loud) to drown out the sounds of other people's music and their snuffling and coughing. (I hate travelling by bus from October to April - it's like Russian Roulette with the bugs, viruses and diseases that everyone spews around them.)
After a while I became aware that the girl with long blonde plaited pig-tails sitting in front of me was, in fact, a sixty-year old woman, with dyed hair. "Odd," I thought. "She's obviously desperately clinging to her youth. Or maybe she's like the woman with the big purple hat in the poem." She was wearing a walkman and a song she liked must have started playing because she started to dance in her seat. At first I thought that she had some sort of bladder control issues; she was bouncing up and down in her seat, bobbing her head and shoulder shimmying from left to right and back again. Then the humming began.
At this point I took my own earphones out and I watched and listened in utter amazement. My mouth hung open in soundless shock. The poor unfortunate, whom she had chosen to sit beside, was trying to cram his well-built frame into the corner of the seat and occupy as little space as possible. She only took advantage of the wider dance-floor and actually started to gyrate a little. I made eye-contact with the guy and then it was nearly all over. He looked so terrified and pathetic that I nearly started to laugh out loud. I had to look away. To be honest, it really wasn't funny at all.
Two minutes later, he'd obviously had enough and made good his escape. There were no other free seats on the bus but he got up anyway and went downstairs. (He only got off the bus about twenty minutes later.) Some other poor sucker that had been standing downstairs leapt at the chance of a seat and came upstairs to take the vacant seat. He didn't stop to wonder. He should have.
In the meantime, crazy-plait-dancing-humming-lady had spread herself and her belongings along the two seats. There was an incredibly bad smell emanating from her; like when you light a cigarette, smoke half of it, put it out and place it back in the pack - that old, stale and dying stink of half-smoked cigarettes and full ashtrays.
Sucker-man came upstairs and approached the "vacant" seat. Crazy-plait-dancing-humming-lady ignored him. Sucker-man said "Sorry..." (which is Irish for "Would you move your stuff, you mad old bat?"). Crazy-plait-dancing-humming-lady ignored him. Sucker-man made to sit down anyway. Crazy-plait-dancing-humming-lady smelled. Sucker-man smelt the crazy-plait-dancing-humming-lady smell. He went back downstairs.
I spent the rest of the journey with my earphones firmly in, breathing through my mouth, every breath filtered through my double wrapped woollen scarf. Crazy-plait-dancing-humming-lady finally got off the bus in town. There was another twenty minutes left till my stop. I could smell her for every second. Uggghhhhh!
* A special thank-you to Conor, who fixed my mp3 player for me the other night, after I'd broken it by shutting a door on it - I'm sooooo clever, you know
I was getting the bus to work this morning, as I always do. The bus was jam-packed and I was listening to my mp3 player* (not too loud) to drown out the sounds of other people's music and their snuffling and coughing. (I hate travelling by bus from October to April - it's like Russian Roulette with the bugs, viruses and diseases that everyone spews around them.)
After a while I became aware that the girl with long blonde plaited pig-tails sitting in front of me was, in fact, a sixty-year old woman, with dyed hair. "Odd," I thought. "She's obviously desperately clinging to her youth. Or maybe she's like the woman with the big purple hat in the poem." She was wearing a walkman and a song she liked must have started playing because she started to dance in her seat. At first I thought that she had some sort of bladder control issues; she was bouncing up and down in her seat, bobbing her head and shoulder shimmying from left to right and back again. Then the humming began.
At this point I took my own earphones out and I watched and listened in utter amazement. My mouth hung open in soundless shock. The poor unfortunate, whom she had chosen to sit beside, was trying to cram his well-built frame into the corner of the seat and occupy as little space as possible. She only took advantage of the wider dance-floor and actually started to gyrate a little. I made eye-contact with the guy and then it was nearly all over. He looked so terrified and pathetic that I nearly started to laugh out loud. I had to look away. To be honest, it really wasn't funny at all.
Two minutes later, he'd obviously had enough and made good his escape. There were no other free seats on the bus but he got up anyway and went downstairs. (He only got off the bus about twenty minutes later.) Some other poor sucker that had been standing downstairs leapt at the chance of a seat and came upstairs to take the vacant seat. He didn't stop to wonder. He should have.
In the meantime, crazy-plait-dancing-humming-lady had spread herself and her belongings along the two seats. There was an incredibly bad smell emanating from her; like when you light a cigarette, smoke half of it, put it out and place it back in the pack - that old, stale and dying stink of half-smoked cigarettes and full ashtrays.
Sucker-man came upstairs and approached the "vacant" seat. Crazy-plait-dancing-humming-lady ignored him. Sucker-man said "Sorry..." (which is Irish for "Would you move your stuff, you mad old bat?"). Crazy-plait-dancing-humming-lady ignored him. Sucker-man made to sit down anyway. Crazy-plait-dancing-humming-lady smelled. Sucker-man smelt the crazy-plait-dancing-humming-lady smell. He went back downstairs.
I spent the rest of the journey with my earphones firmly in, breathing through my mouth, every breath filtered through my double wrapped woollen scarf. Crazy-plait-dancing-humming-lady finally got off the bus in town. There was another twenty minutes left till my stop. I could smell her for every second. Uggghhhhh!
* A special thank-you to Conor, who fixed my mp3 player for me the other night, after I'd broken it by shutting a door on it - I'm sooooo clever, you know
Friday, October 01, 2004
Random Strangers, Beware!
I've gone a bit mental.
I'm blaming my hormonal state but honestly, I think I'm just using that as an excuse to say and do the things that I've always wanted to say and do to the people who irritate me. And I'm very easily irritated.
This is making life very uneasy for my long-suffering husband. I've given him permission to pretend not to know me when we're in public, in case the random stranger I've just verbally abused wants to hit him. I'm making the assumption that no-one would actually hit a pregnant woman wearing glasses.
I mentioned that I'm very easily irritated and that's not a lie. People who stop for a chat at the top of the stairs or in a doorway are high on my shit-list. As are people who get on the bus on the wrong side (left for coin fares, right for pre-paid tickets); people who talk in the cinema; people who listen to their walkman with the music turned up really loud, so that even though I'm sitting 3 rows behind and on the other side of the bus, I can still hear the lyrics of what they're listening to...
I'll stop there because this could just turn into a list of stuff that annoys me, rather than the intended warning to random strangers so that they don't get an only partially deserved ear-bashing from a orange-headed bespectacled pregnant harridan with a bad attitude (i.e. me).
Behave yourselves.
You have been warned.
I'm blaming my hormonal state but honestly, I think I'm just using that as an excuse to say and do the things that I've always wanted to say and do to the people who irritate me. And I'm very easily irritated.
This is making life very uneasy for my long-suffering husband. I've given him permission to pretend not to know me when we're in public, in case the random stranger I've just verbally abused wants to hit him. I'm making the assumption that no-one would actually hit a pregnant woman wearing glasses.
I mentioned that I'm very easily irritated and that's not a lie. People who stop for a chat at the top of the stairs or in a doorway are high on my shit-list. As are people who get on the bus on the wrong side (left for coin fares, right for pre-paid tickets); people who talk in the cinema; people who listen to their walkman with the music turned up really loud, so that even though I'm sitting 3 rows behind and on the other side of the bus, I can still hear the lyrics of what they're listening to...
I'll stop there because this could just turn into a list of stuff that annoys me, rather than the intended warning to random strangers so that they don't get an only partially deserved ear-bashing from a orange-headed bespectacled pregnant harridan with a bad attitude (i.e. me).
Behave yourselves.
You have been warned.
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