Quest For A Card

As mentioned in the first ever post on this blog, public transport and I don't have the best relationship in the world.
But recently, I've reached a whole new level of stupidity where I can't even manage to get on the bus in the first place.

It all started when my 30 day rambler expired and I had to buy a new one.
Being Aimee, I waited until the last day, thinking it would be no problem.
I was wrong.

I went into the usual place where I buy them and asked for a 30 day rambler. The guy smiled at me, went away and came back with a small, yellow card.
"€125 please," he said.
"Wait...what? It's meant to be €91.50."
"Oh...you wanted the student one?" he sounded bemused and surprised.
"Em...yes???" I sounded offended and pissed off.
He went away and came back again.
"Sorry, we're all out of student ramblers."
"Oh! Alright. Any idea when you'll have them in again?"
"I don't know...we usually get big shipments of them in on Sunday."
"Today is Tuesday..."
"Yeah...sorry."
I thanked him for his time anyway, left the establishment and entered a different supermarket up the road.

I walked up to the cashier and, within seconds, realized that I was talking to someone who bore a striking resemblance in personality to Karen Smith from "Mean Girls."
"Hi! Do you sell bus ramblers by any chance?"
She tore away from her busy task of gazing open-mouthed at the wall to gaze open-mouthed at me.
"...what?"
"Do you sell ramblers? Student ramblers?"
No reaction.
"For the bus?"
"Bus?"
I could almost see the confused thought circumventing her puzzled mind.
Bus...? But we sell groceries here. Or at least that's what they told me...
Just then, the hamster seemed to plop itself back on the wheel and she remembered something.
"Oh! They sell them in the corner shop outside!"
"Oh OK, thanks!"
"No problem."
She then happily returned to to her staring competition with the wall.

Following Karen Smith's instructions, I entered the corner shop outside.
The woman standing behind the counter smiled at me as I entered and I smiled back.
"Hi, do you sell ramblers for the bus?"
The woman blinked at me as her face succumbed to a frown of confusion.
"Ramblers? I...think so."
She then turned around and seemed genuinely surprised to find a series of shelves behind her. She also seemed surprised that she held the key to one of the lower drawers and even more surprised to realize that she worked in a shop in general.
She opened a drawer, took out a small box and placed it on the counter, looking absolutely shocked and enthralled by its presence.
At that moment, I wondered just what type of people are hired to work in shops these days. Apparently, managers favour people who have no understanding of stock or what the store in question sells.
"What type of rambler are you looking for again?" she asked me breathlessly.
"The 30 day student one?"
She searched the box, flicking through the various little cards.
"Oh, we don't have that particular one, I'm sorry."
"That's alright, thanks anyway."
I then left the shop to let the woman play with her new treasure.

I gave up for the night after that.
The next morning, I bought a return train ticket into the city, hoping that I'd be able to find a 30 day student rambler somewhere.
The first shop I went into were also pleasantly surprised to hear that they sold ramblers and proudly put them on display as I left (they also didn't have a 30 day student rambler. By this point, I began to doubt my sanity and wonder if they really even existed anymore).

Then I went into a corner shop and waited in line for ten minutes behind a man who momentarily forgot how to work his credit card.
But I finally got my rambler in that store.
The cashier just walked away and casually came back with a €91.50 30 day student rambler.
"Is this it?"
"Oh my gosh...YES!!!!!"

Never had that little yellow card looked so beautiful. :)

In Your Mind's Eye

Each and every human being on this planet is likely to spend 47% of their time daydreaming. That's OK though...because, apparently, spending time lost in the dream land makes us more creative and intelligent.
As well as that, a huge portion of the human brain supposedly spends a lot of time thinking up perfect scenarios for us to imagine ourselves living through.

Is that a good thing though?

I think yes. :)
I mean, yes, there is such a thing as going too far...
And when you're shivering behind your garden shed wearing a tinfoil hat and muttering about the mermaids who are trying to organise a raffle so that you don't die, you might want to lay off the "imagination" stuff for a while.
But a little bit of casual musing and visualising seems alright in my books.
In fact, it seems downright awesome.

I'm a serial daydreamer.
I'll be the first to admit that I'm constantly away in my own world...mulling things over, trying to come up with ideas, reliving past memories and envisioning new ones.
It sounds weird to say but I enjoy thinking. My brain is the place I'm most familiar with after all! If I have any type of dilemma or problem in my life, I'll wait until the bus ride to or from college, switch on my iPod, switch myself off and just think about it.
Sometimes I can't even go to sleep because I'm thinking so hard about something or another.
But I don't really believe that that's a bad thing.
It mellows me out, it relaxes me and it keeps me feeling calm.
I can't even count the amount of times I've pondered myself out of a panic attack just by focusing on something else.
And when it comes to any type of sadness or upset, it's super nice to be able to escape into your own head. It's a lot more peaceful in there than out in the screaming battlefield everyday life can sometimes feel like. ;)

In regards to all this, I'd like to quote one of my favourite movies of all time, "Sucker Punch," which is an epic extravaganza of rebellion against corrupt authority, bad ass teamwork, clever plot twists, steampunk warfare, escape from a mental asylum and just pure incredibleness mixed with amazingness in a blender.
Anyway, the film has a brilliant line regarding imagination...
"It's like we talked about, you control this world. Let the pain go, let the hurt go, let the guilt go. What you are imagining right now, that world that you control? That place can be as real as any type of pain."
And I think that's true. :)
A few minutes of retreating into the dream world can be incredibly beneficial to your own well-being.
There's been lots of times when I've felt down and then just by getting inside my own mind and chillin' there for a little while, I've ended up feeling a lot better.
I've always considered it to be pretty nourishing...slipping into a place where no you can get to you or bother you or take anything away from you. It's a world that's completely yours and no one else's. A world where you're the boss.
I think we all need that sometimes.

Plus, it can help with real life desires and yearnings as well.
I remember talking to a friend of mine once who said that he noticed a girl in his lecture hall at university one day who was (in his own words) "the definition of breath-taking." He told me all about how she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen and how amazing her smile was.
"So when are you going to talk to her?" I remember asking him.
"Never," he answered straightaway in a noticeably confident tone of voice.
Seeing the confused look on my face, he elaborated.
"Aimee, I have an idea of this girl in my head that I don't want to ruin," he told me. "Today I acted like a big creep inside my brain and imagined speaking to her for the first time, our first date, how it would go, what she would say, how her laugh would sound. And in my head, that's all awesome and fantastic. It made me feel really, really cheerful for a little while. So why wreck it by talking to her in real life? There'll be other girls. But I want to keep this one the way it is.
And yes, before you say it, I know this all makes me sound like a stalker!"
"Not at all," I assured him.
Because it didn't (to me at least). In fact, it made perfect sense.
And the more I reflected on it ('cos that's what I do), the more of a beautiful idea it seemed.
I mean, no one is perfect, right? Right.
But it's nice to believe that some people out there are just these awesome, flawless angels who are sweet and caring, gorgeous and striking, smart and funny. The whole deal with no faults.
That type of person doesn't exist of course...but it's kind of cool to think that they do.
So if you build up someone in your head to be perfect, why do anything to destroy that image?
It's sweet to think that we could live in a world inhabited by a number of creatures who are just plain astounding and brilliant. :)

It's the same with what if scenarios, possible situations and potential outcomes.
Or even the results of a past decision if we'd chosen a different path.
It can be nice to just unwind by yourself, hang out and consider all those different things sometimes.

All in all, it comes down to one thing (this is my own idea, feel free to quote me on it so that I can become an instant celebrity, recognised for my blogging genius, and retire to a mansion bought with pretend internet money)...
It's always good to go out and accomplish.
But sometimes it's good to just sit back and dream.

:)

Cracks In The Halo

It's a little different to the stuff I usually put up here but this is a poem I wrote last week while endeavoring like a hyperactive hamster on a wheel to avoid studying...Enjoy. :)

If you’ve never stayed up late, waiting for a reason,
Or felt a type of hurt that was reminiscent of rain,
If you’ve never felt ashamed by darker thoughts,
Or crucified by the what-if’s inside a ticking brain,
Then I feel a little bit of bizarre pity for you,
That you’ve never held on through storms and war,
That you were never cut open by life’s turns of fate,
And watched the wounds bleed clean onto the floor,
‘Cos I’ve sat outside to feel the cold seep through,
I’ve worn the crown of thorns on my head,
I took a walk to think of bittersweet experiences,
And tried to block out thoughts of insanity and dread,
And you haven’t lived until you’ve wandered a little,
Strolled down that deep, dark, awful, taboo path,
And then went through the gentle, almost friendly realization,
That it’s never too late to turn around and come back,
Because it’s those experiences that break us,
Ironically, they’re the things that make us whole,
So never trust a person who doesn’t have cracks in their halo,
Bruises to hide,
Or cuts in their soul.

The Never-Ending Countdown To Christmas

As we make room for a new calender on the wall, the conclusion of 2012 comes with two prospects...a possible apocalypse and a definite Christmas season.
While the end of the world is not for certain, we will definitely see many features this December that closely resemble that of an Armageddon. These include but are no means limited to...
- Panicked crowds running around in frantic circles
- Mass obtainment of many items that would be deemed useless at any other time of year
- Fights breaking out over food (especially chocolate)
- Families coming together and then quickly realizing WHY it is they stay apart
- Hysteria. Lots and lots of hysteria
If you are one of those cheery, easy-going people who never experiences a spec of stress at Christmastime, you're probably better off if you stop reading now.
But if you are slightly more cynical about obnoxious singing Santas, extreme materialism, "must-have" crap and tacky plastic snowmen, I encourage you to read on...

First off, I'd like to start by saying that I am not an X-mas hater. When I was growing up, I was nothing short of the Christmas kid. It was my favourite time of year, no question. I begged my parents to take the decorations down as early as possible, I made more decorations myself, I wrote my letter to Santa shortly after Halloween, I would count down the days until Christmas morn on an advent calender and I tried my best to get everyone in the spirit of the season. Even now, I love walking down Henry Street when it's illuminated by glowing silver lights, I like turkey with stuffing and, to a certain extent, I even enjoy the community feel one gets wandering around shopping centres in December when Christmas carols are blaring and everyone is dressed up in their winter best. It's just all the little bits I dislike...the pushy women barging past you to get to the particularly ugly vase in the back, the tricks of shops to get you to pay more and get less, the pressure to buy poignant gifts for everybody you love and the sheer stress of trying to navigate city streets during the Christmas season.

Let's start with the way people act around Christmas. Calling it the "season of goodwill" is very fucking ironic when there are people out there who will literally push you over and stamp on your neck to get an iPhone before you do. Seriously, have you ever seen the way people are when it's the time to purchase presents? If not, let me inform you with a personal anecdote...
Several years ago, I made the colossal mistake of going to TK Max on Christmas Eve. Yes, you read that right and yes, that last sentence does scream with oncoming disaster. I don't remember much (my brain has probably blocked it out in order to protect me) but I do remember cowering in a corner while things literally got yanked off the shelves and thrown at the poor, unfortunate cashiers. I recall that the shelves were mostly empty, apart from a few stray items which were being preyed on by groups of barbarians.
At one point I turned around and looked at a shoe, looked at it, and a woman pounced in front of me, yelling "no, that's mine!!!!" in my face before snatching up the blue slipper and running to the checkout.
While I left the shop feeling slightly traumatised, I really do hope that woman's loved one enjoyed his slipper.
I'm also hoping she bought him a full pair the next year.

Then there's the pressure to buy your loved ones presents that are totally fantastic and original as well as completely meaningful to your relationship with the person in question. This is something I have a major problem with because think about it...you're not buying gifts because you want to, you're buying gifts because the time of year dictates that you have to. Meaningful my French poodle...
The concept of it irks me. Unless you are expressively told by your friends and family what they want, you will spend many unpleasant hours trekking around different shops, staring blankly at the things that are for sale and wondering why it's either all crap or all so ridiculously expensive. And even if you do manage to buy something perfect, you will have to carefully wrap it, attach a card, shove it under the tree and then only enjoy a brief interlude of happiness before having to brave the elements to repeat the process for another of your dear ones.
The Christmas advertisements do not help either. For example, every ad on TV that you see reflects the same jovial idea of gift-giving...
- The children buy their dad a "hilarious" light-up tie which he laughs uproariously at.
- Parents buy their child a large teddy bear that the kid hugs joyously.
- The dopey boyfriend buys his girlfriend a silly present but she laughs it off and hugs him.
This is not helpful simply because it is not realistic. If you actually carry out these actions, here are the probable repercussions...
- The dad will be pissed off that he gave his children the money they used to buy all their presents and all he got was some stupid novelty shit.
- A plush teddy bear filled with sentiment is not the same as an extravagant remote-controlled racecar, a Barbie dream house or a game console. The child will NOT be impressed.
- The dopey boyfriend can expect his relationship status on Facebook to change...quickly. Which is exactly what he deserves for being an idiot.
My favourite ridiculous seasonal TV ad at the moment has to be for Christmas cards where the creepy voiceover woman reminds us all that "everything you meant to say to everyone all year comes down to this." Really? Seriously? OK then...
Dear Ray,
Merry Christmas. You still owe me money from July you bastard.
Peace,
Aimee
...or maybe...
Dear Michaela,
Happy Christmas! By the way, I don't like you. We are only friends because we hang out with the same people but really, I don't have much time for your constant shit-stirring.
Peace,
AimeeWill that work?In all seriousness though, I will try hard to get my loved ones good presents at Christmas...unless they piss me off. In that case, they're getting socks.Hahaha...Only kidding!
Sort of...

Christmas day itself can be fun. Except for the cabin fever.
By the time Christmas morning rolls around, the family has been together for a few days and tensions are running high (similar to the way they tend to do in The Big Brother House). Sibling rivalry is at an extreme level, you realize that the majority of your cousins aren't actually pleasant people, your creepiest distant relative is being especially creepy and everybody is annoyed at everybody else for something.
All I can say is thank God for chocolate.

There are many other things I could talk about in this post but to be honest, I don't want to be too much of a Grinch. Christmas can be good fun, what with selection boxes, candy canes, good presents and a festive atmosphere that just seems to make everyone happy. It's nice to have the whole family together as well because, once you're done driving each other crazy, you can all settle down with a box of Cadbury's Heroes and watch the cheesiest movie you own. Plus, without the little annoyances, Christmas day wouldn't seem like such an achievement when you finally make it to opening presents under the tree.

So overall? It's not that bad. :)

But if any of you buy me gloves, you're getting a smack.

Learning The Ropes

Back in October 2009, my friends Angus and Seán and I got jobs working at a Halloween haunted house in County Meath. Even though it was for kids, the area was really well set-up and the artwork had been done by a professional so it was pretty damn scary. The whole place was rigged with ropes and levers so stuff was liable to jump out at you and help you to void your bowels at any time.

Angus, Seán and I had many jobs to do in the haunted house, from leading tour groups around to fixing the props into place. One job we took turns at was pulling a rope in the graveyard's control room that caused a skeleton to burst out of a coffin and rise menacingly up in the air. Yeah, you read that right. That haunted house was pretty bad ass...

Anyway, one evening a woman came to the haunted house with her two young kids. Within five minutes of arriving, one of them was running haphazardly through the main office and the other was randomly punching and kicking a wall. This is to be expected from young children so no one panicked and everybody just patiently waited for their mother to instruct them to stop.

That's when it became evident that their mother was one of the contemporary "my-children-must-never-be-yelled-at-as-they-are-only-expressing-themselves" parents. So she simply smiled proudly at her offspring as one of her sons creatively began rocking back and forth on an office swivel chair and her other son expressed his anger at society by stealing sweets from some other parent's bag.

The younger son also made it clear from pretty early on that he was a kicker. Every worker at the haunted house was dressed all in black and since the mother had taught her child to be an inventive little fiend, he decided that the people who were wearing all black were "Halloween monsters" who should be fiercely and relentlessly kicked.

The next hour or so was characterised by the little ogre yelling his head off, his mother laughing with sheer pride and the sensation of aching shins.

When the tour group they were with had finished going around and were busy colouring pictures and constructing things out of glue in the activity room, Angus, Seán and I went to hang out in the graveyard until we had to tend to the next group. We were just sitting around, drinking cans of Sprite and eating Halloween candy, when we heard the sound of someone coming towards us.
We also heard the sound of a child screaming happily while his negligent mother chuckled fondly at his antics.

"It was so nice of you to lead us around this part of the haunted house again," the mother was saying sweetly. "They both just loved the graveyard!"
"No problem," one of our fellow workers replied. "They were both really excited about coming back in here!"
Poor guy. I felt his pain as if it was in my own shins...

Angus, Seán and I looked at each other in alarm. We gathered up our cans and wrappers, threw them behind a plywood gravestone, ducked under the neon light and ran for the exit.
"Wait!" Angus hissed. "Someone needs to pull the rope!"
"Yeah, you're right," Seán answered. "And we need somebody to be the demon as well."
Let me explain...The "demon" was a guy who dressed up in a grim reaper costume with a freaky mask and skeletal hands and jumped out of the graveyard's crypt to scare the groups that came through. We had a main guy to be the demon but Angus, Seán and I had taken turns playing the part too.
The group were coming closer so we had to act fast.
Somewhere in the confusion it was decided that I would be the demon although I never remember agreeing to this. Seán threw the cloak over me, Angus shoved on my gloves and it looked like I was all set...except that we couldn't find the mask.

"Shit!" Angus whispered as the three of us searched frantically for it and the footsteps of the group came closer. In a few moments, they would round the corner and see us. We looked everywhere and I'll never forget the sensation of trying to locate a Halloween mask while wearing a cloak that someone else had been sweating furiously in a mere hour earlier.
It ain't pleasant.
"We'll just have to leave it!" Seán decided.
"Leave it?" I hissed. "Without that mask I'm just Aimee in a black poncho! How is that scary???"
"Eh..."
The sounds of their feet on the ground got closer, feet that would soon be kicking us all...

The three of us exchanged looks of panic and then dived behind a black curtain into the control room.
That would have been fine except that the control room was designed for one person and we were all crammed in there together.
Squashed together in the dark, I suddenly found myself relating to and sympathising with tins of sardines. Poor little fishes...

We could hear the group close by us in the graveyard now. Seán put his hands on the rope, ready to pull, and Angus and I waited with baited breath.
But then I noticed something.
The gloves that I was wearing had light-up fingertips and I realized that they had all burned out except the one on the index finger on my right hand.
I looked at my glove, I looked at Seán standing beside me. The comedic opportunity was too great to pass up...
"Elliot," I said to Seán in my best E.T. impression as I extended my glowing finger to his forehead. "Be good."
Don't judge me, being funny is all I've got. Seán turned around and instantly saw that something had snapped within me and I had reached a new level of psychosis."Aimee, shut up!" he pleaded.Angus also put a hand on my shoulder and shushed me. I turned around and looked at him innocently."E.T. phone home?" I inquired, showing him my finger.Angus snorted with laughter. So did Seán. I grinned too, my purpose in life being fulfilled for the night."Hey, what was that?" the little boy suddenly shouted from outside.
The three of us froze in fear. I put my hand behind my back.
Unless E.T. wanted a pair of fractured shins, E.T. would shut the hell up now...

The kicker's attention quickly went to something else so Angus, Seán and I let out sighs of relief and went back to being quiet.
"All I have to do is wait for them to get near enough the exit and I'll pull the rope," Seán whispered to us. "Then we just wait for them to leave and we can get out of here."
"Sounds good," I whispered back and Angus gave the thumbs-up.
I smiled. This fiasco was nearly over.
Seán was holding onto the rope, ready and waiting to pull. In the dim darkness, I followed the trail of the rope with my eyes and saw that it had come away from the metal clasp above the control room.
That's weird, I remember thinking. We'll have to fix that later. Will it still work alright now?
Squinting through the darkness (never rely on neon lighting for following the paths of ropes, trust me), I suddenly made a shocking discovery. The rope had come loose, had dipped into the control room......and was now wrapped around my neck.

The group were so close to the control room now that they would have heard a pin drop in there. I grabbed at the rope around my neck and desperately started whispering to the man whose hands my life was in.
"Seán! Seán! Seán!"

"Shh Aimee, we're almost done!" Seán murmured.
"No, Seán, I-"
"Shh!"
"But Seán-"
"Shh!"
The group were getting closer. Seán pulled on the rope slightly and it tightened around my neck.
I think Angus might have seen my struggling with my neck but, being my closest friend, he was used to my flights of madness and probably just wrote it off as "Aimee working on a new dance."
That was when I frenetically began treating Seán's back the way a cat treats a scratching post.
He pulled on it faintly again and the rope squeezed my neck harder.
My hands went up to the rope, fastened around it and I accepted my fate. I saw a bright light in a tunnel with my Aunt Bethany standing at the end of it.
I had never liked her so I decided to try and save my own life one last time.
"Seán," I rasped. "Whatever you do, don't pull the rope!!!"
Seán turned around, clearly exasperated by my shenanigans, and gasped.
"Oh my God!" he cried and immediately let go of the rope.
"Thank you!" I choked as Seán and Angus both rushed to untangle me from my doom.

We didn't bother with making the skeleton jump out of the casket after that. The fun Halloween prank just didn't seem worth a human life...
We waited for the group to leave and then rushed right out of the graveyard.
As I stood in the courtyard outside the haunted house, wearing a flickering alien hand and covered in somebody else's sweat, I muttered one thing out loud.
"Sorry Aunt Bethany, maybe next time..."
"What?" Angus asked me.
"Nothing," I said. "Let's go get some more chocolate. I think we've earned it."
And so we strolled away from the graveyard, shins, necks and dignities all in tact.

Toilet Friends

Back in 2009 when I was just fifteen going on sixteen, I went to an Oasis concert in Slane Castle with my dad. While I predominantly remember it as a fantastic show put on by one of my all-time favourite bands as well as great day out in Slane that I got to share with my dad, I also nostalgically remember it for one other thing...

...My toilet friends. :)

At one point, I left my father by one of the many hot dog kiosks so that I could venture into the clearing behind the main grounds where numerous portable toilets had been set up. Now,  I think nearly 80,000 people were at that gig altogether so (even though there were many different designated areas and non-designated bushes in which to relieve oneself), the lines for the toilets in that clearing were pretty astronomical.

So I got in line behind someone and began to wait.
And wait.
And wait.

After about ten minutes, the first incident took place.
I had noticed that the line next to mine had ceased moving entirely and the guy at the front was getting severely pissed off about this, muttering and complaining to the people behind him.
"This is ridiculous...ridiculous!"
Eventually, he just got so impatient that he hammered on the door and alerted the inside inhabitant that twenty minutes was "long fucking enough."
Right then, the door burst open and two twenty-something girls ran out, giggling madly and skipping as if they were in a Disney movie.
They continued laughing as they frolicked around in circles for a few minutes before prancing out of the clearing like majestic deer.

Their grace and enthusiasm was highly reminiscent of Snow White and Cinderella...on drugs in Slane Castle.
After they left, a shocked silence literally fell over our entire side of the clearing while one guy down the back of my own line said out loud what we were all thinking...
"Jesus...I mean, just - just...Jesus!"

The cavorting fairy women encouraged the man in front of me to turn around and address me by saying "well, that was weird, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it sure was."
"What do you think they were doing in there?"
"I think I'd prefer not to know dude!"
"You're probably right..."
The woman standing next to him also turned around and smiled at me.
"I'm Sarah by the way," she said. "And this is Joseph."
"Hi, I'm Aimee."

"Nice to meet you."
"Sorry, she's a lot better at introductions than I am!" Joseph apologised, laughing good-naturedly. "So I think I'll always just leave it up to her!"
Just then, the woman in front of Sarah and Joseph turned around, smiling as if she was deeply moved.
"Sorry, couldn't help but overhear!" she said. "You guys are such a cute couple! How long have you been going out?"
"Oh, we're not together!" Sarah said quickly with a small chuckle.
"Yeah," Joseph chimed in casually. "I met her in this line."
It was then that I seriously began worrying how long the queue would genuinely take. As entertaining as it was so far, I had a horrible suspicion that by the time I actually got to utilise a toilet, Sarah and Joseph would be married...

So for a while, Sarah, Joseph and our new buddy Janet (the one who had turned around to ask how long Sarah and Joseph had been dating) chatted casually about Oasis and what our favourite songs were. Then, quite suddenly, a drunk man in his mid-twenties fell against me. He was completely blasted ("blasted" is my favourite term for being drunk off your face) and babbled incoherently. He was a lot bigger and heavier than me so trying to support him was a bit of a challenge. His girlfriend was in the line next to mine and I distinctly remember her looking sympathetically at me. I foolishly assumed that she was going to offer me some help but instead she simply said "sorry, he's just drunk" and turned away from us to talk to her friend.
In that moment I sincerely hoped that if I ever went to a concert with someone I was dating in the future, they would make an effort to look after me if I was drunk and NOT let me fall on and heavily lean against random fifteen-year-olds.
Mostly because that sounds like something the police come to arrest you for...

Anyway, it was then that I met my dear friend Bríd. Dressed in a skin tight black top, massive hoop earrings and with bleached blonde hair, Bríd was a true Dub who was quick to jump to my defence. Seeing that I was in trouble, she leaned smoothly over, lay a gentle acrylic-nailed hand on my shoulder and softly said "here love, let me help ya!"
The fierce Bríd then put her two hands roughly on the drunkard's arm and gave him a massive shove onto the ground, ferociously yelling "GET OFF YA FUCKIN' BASTARD!!!!"The drunk guy sprawled on the ground, decided that he liked it there and went to sleep in the mud. Joseph started laughing, Janet clapped and applauded and I thanked Bríd who smiled and winked at me.Drunk Guy's girlfriend turned to face Bríd with a look of shock and indignation on her face. But Bríd just calmly lit a cigarette, stared straight back at her and said "better help him love, yer fella's sleepin' in the muck!"

The gang of us had a good time in the line together, laughing and joking around. We made friends with Laura from Mayo and Albin from Poland as well and soon I had a whole group of toilet friends! I'll never forget that time of my life...the six of us had a bond more epic than I can describe to you. When one man came out of one of the portable toilets with news that they were fresh out of toilet paper, Bríd just casually opened her handbag and took out several rolls.
"I was going to throw these into the crowd but it looks like we're going to need them more!"

We thanked Bríd for her kindness and continued queuing.
The crisis had been averted and our friendships had been strengthened.

After I finally got to use the toilet, the need for toilet friends had become obsolete. I didn't even get to say goodbye because as soon as I came out from the toilet, Janet, Joseph and Sarah were all gone and Bríd only had time to rush past me shouting "let me in, I'm dying for a piss!" So I just ambled out of the clearing and went back to find my father before the show began.

But I'll always look back on that time in my life with fond nostalgia.
No matter what happens in my life, no one and nothing can ever take away from me the legend of my beloved toilet friends.

The Creepy Morning Killer

By no stretch of the imagination are my social interactions ever smooth.

I am an awkward nerd whose long periods of social clumsiness are occasionally broken up by shorter periods of sheer public embarrassment.

But THIS instance really took the cake...
One fine morning, I was walking to the bus stop when a small cat ran across the road and looked up at me, all scared. As I got closer to it, the cat cowered against the wall and looked really afraid so I gently said to it "relax, I'm not going to hurt you kitten." I then rounded the corner where I saw a woman getting ready to leave for work. She obviously thought I had been talking to her because she then proceeded to give me a terrified look before getting into her car and driving away as fast as fucking possible.

I'm sure that woman will soon start putting fliers up around her neighbourhood, alerting everyone of the crimes and motives of the creepy morning killer who will affectionately call you "kitten" before attempting to murder you.

But that's not what I was trying to do.

I was simply trying to be nice to the feline. :(