Modern Bathroom Ruins Modern Family

Still popping up to Mammy and Papabear’s house to use their internet, which doesn’t take two years to upload.  Got the Mannilow Monster on full whack, cause he rocks.  Papabear seems to be back on form, he has just visited me in the kitchen where he plonked half a tub of ice cream into a bowl and floated off again, presumably to have manmoody thoughts.   Told you PMT is best fed so all should be well soon.

Spent the morning with my meditation group which I now have to abandon due to employment being found.  Put in request with them for evening sessions, as it is most beneficial when one has been abandoned by one’s husband, found herself homeless and jobless and returned to Ireland in the midst of winter.  If it helps me, it must be helpful.

Popped up to the house to catch on my programmes lovingly taped by me for me on the sky plus thing, which I barely understand, but which works wonderfully if Mammy doesn’t delete everything, which she likes to do as she gets panic attacks if she has less than 60% worth of memory available.

One of my daily treats is a double helping of my near favourite comedy ”Modern Family”.  I have nothing bad to say about the show itself, but I must advise that Cam should be my daddy for evermore, he is a dream parent.  Having said that, I must protest in earnest at the ad that precedes all the episodes I’ve taped so far.  I have no idea what it is for, clearly a bathroom company of some sort, because it has all this clips of an Aryan-style child, doing crazy things in the toilet (???) like shaving, dancing and – gasp! – reading the paper.  I hate Whiteboy, with a passion I didn’t realise I had left in me.  He never speaks, his sole existence is to occupy the GIANT bathroom that I will never experience, let alone own, doing not so funny grown up styled antics, presumably whilst the rest of his family wait outside the door clutching their crotches and hoping the door opens soon.  I say family, but it’s probably only his parents, as he has GOT to be an only child, spoiled and unspecial, and going slightly mad, sibling-less, in the toilet.  I foresee a road of sexual incompetence, emotional issues and a dented head if I ever get my boots on and see him in an alleyway somewhere.  I HATE HIM.

The other thing I hate about these ads is that they are slow yet quick.  Slow in that they are long enough for you to build  a hate machine which you then turn on when they come on, letting all the hate and bile spray over the tv, but too quick for fast forwarding on the ”x12” or ”x30” speeds, which I prefer, as I see fewer ads, because I have issues with advertising, that are too boring to go into now, and for which I am too tired to go on about because I got up early to meditate and I need an afternoon nap.

I fast forward all the other ads, then in literally a  BLINK, this ad flashes on the screen long enough for me to know it’s there, and my programme is about to begin, because – and here is the scumbag part – when Modern Family starts they don’t show a Modern Family sign, they just GET INTO IT, right after these STUPID BATHROOM ADS, meaning all too often I then MISS the start of my show, and begin throwing large, unprofessional-like tantrums because I then have to REWIND, on the ”x6” speed, which means I ALWAYS catch a glimpse of Blondebits doing his stupid shaving dance, or swinging his legs on the toilet or whatever non-hilarity they’ve thrown at me this day.  I CAN NEVER JUST GET THE SPEED RIGHT AT THE START OF THE SHOW.  Having rewinded the opening parts of Modern Family, I find myself back in the white bathroom with the white child and then I have to FAST FORWARD, AGAIN, on ”x6” meaning I have to then watch the whole ad again before catching the start of my programme!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I hate marketers, and advertisers, and this child.  I would hate the company too if I knew who they were, but I don’t.

I should probably go and watch my programme now, I’ve just remembered I’ve two new ones today.

Barry is now cranking out Long and Winding Road – bust it out sista!!!!!!!!!!


Decided to tackle the short story I’ve been attempting to write for the last two weeks, AGAIN, and find things are flowing well.  I’ve put this down to the fact that amongst my mother’s terrible cd’s (Celine Dion and Leona Lewis OVERLOAD) I have struck musical gold, by locating a Barry Mannilow one, which not only has covers of very excellent songs by the Beatles and the Carpenters and the Hollies, but has an accoustic section at the end, which includes such poptastic tunes as Mandy, Weekend in New England and Looks Like we Made it!!!  I am in Fannilow heaven, and hoping I have a job soon and that I can get a ticket to see His Amazingness when he comes to Dublin in May.

In a haze of musical-induced writing, I am also texting Trevor about a lunch date next Monday, which happens to be the day I officially sign on to the dole.  I should be in a spiral of depression and comfort eating will be required, so we are having burgers.  Trevor says she will take a few minutes to get to the intended lunch spot, so can I order for her, and has texted me her lunch order already.  Today is Wednesday.  We are not lunching till Monday.  It’s scary, but it makes me realise how much I love her.

I am also reminded of my run in with Barry Mannilow in Howth, in north Dublin, one autumn day many years ago.  This would have been in 1992 or 1993, because this is around the time I was in college in Coolock in Dublin, and my friend lived in Kilbarrack nearby (don’t know Kilbarrack?  Watch ”The Committments” for a shot of the train station, which was given lights for the filming, which were promptly taken away again.  For more Kilbarrack, watch ”The Snapper” which was filmed on my friend’s road, and in her local pub – the car scene – ”That was A1 Sharon!”).  To get home to Tallaght, I used to walk to the Howth Road and get a bus to town, if I couldn’t hack the gangs and drug dealers at the station.  Sometimes, because I used to have a sense of adventure, I would take the bus in the opposite direction and head straight up to Howth, which I did on the day Barry Mannilow nearly killed me.

There I was rambling around, looking at the expensive houses (still a pastime of mine, a sad one I admit) when I must have wandered out onto the road, in a state of posh-housing induced rapture, and not noticed, for I heard a bit of a screech and I turned to see a big black car (I presume it was an expensive one, but knowing nothing of cars I can only describe what I saw) about to hit me.  Luckily, expensive cars have excellent brakes, and the driver screeched to a halt mere inches from my bod.  I looked up, shocked at my close encounter with death, and realised it was Barry Mannilow behind the wheel!  Imagine my tears of joy, not at being alive, but at being accosted by Barry in his Deathmobile.  He knew I knew him too.  He shook his head, laughed, and screeched, and sped away again, leaving me breathless, as if touched by a famous angel.

I love Barry Mannilow.

Family Misfortunes

Christmas Eve spent popping headache tablets after neck and shoulders got VERY tense watching Paranormal Activity 2 with Lilsister in Mammy’s bed.  We had one of those fancy blanket things that hangs off the ends of beds in only the best houses, which was convenient as we needed something to block out the tv screen, in case we actually saw any of the scary stuff on the telly.  Didn’t hold hands as much as last time; Lilsister’s were too sweaty, but we did curl around each other to protect against anything that might jump off the screen, which meant I was in a giant human knot shape by the end (which was horrific, from what I can gather).

Slept fitfully afterwards but must have fallen asleep at one stage as was frightened awake by Lilsister having fullblown nightmare beside me which consisted of very faint but wailing sound of ”noooo, noooo” and legs and arms kicking and lashing at me.  In my dozed state, all I could manage was to grab her by the head and try and shake her awake by saying ”it’s cool Braille, it’s cool,” and having her awaken, wide eyed and shocked to be in a midnight head lock.

The Day itself passed as it usually does, in a haze of mood swings, beers and catching up with the brothers and respective partners.  Dinner was grand except the ham tasted funny.  Well I thought it did – the pregnant girlfriend of Firstbrother inhaled her entire plate in about six seconds, beating even Lilsister, which is no mean feat.  I don’t know her well, but the girl will fit in grand with the women in our family if that’s how she does her food.

Ended the evening in a STORM of killings after playing skins, or post-its in our case, where you put the name of someone on your drunken brow and attempt to guess their details through a series of questions, before realising you have no idea and you need to lie down.  I think I got the name of every bloody soul diva from the 70’s and 80’s EXCEPT the required Chaka Khan which was very disappointing to Babybro who had placed the name there, as I usually hold myself up to be such a culture vulture of music to him.  Firstbrother finally broke the confused spell by telling me that the name on my head had a record called after her, and the record was called ”Chaka Khan” – that wasn’t the name of the record, but I eventually picked up on his subtle signals.

It all went so well that we decided to do it again on Stephen’s night, so excepting Middlebro, we piled up to Babybro’s and Sisterinlaw’s house and attempted to play the awful Family Fortunes, which I had not seen since the eighties, but which, worryingly, Babybro and Sisterinlaw are big fans of, and therefore experts in.  Anyway, if you have a life you may not know that the game consists of being asking inane questions, answering as best you can, and hoping that your answer is on the ”list”.  If it is, happy days, if not, something else happens but I don’t know what because it was all too much for me.  I paired with Lilsister and Middlebro’s aforementioned pregnant girlfriend, versus Sisterinlaw, Babybro and Firstbrother.  Lilsister’s new man, Scarydancer, wisely decided to compere and was treated to five hours of tears, laughter, arguments and disownings for his troubles.  He also nearly split up with Lilsister during their HALF HOUR argument over the ”what do you pay once a year” topic

Lilsister answers: ”tax”  .

Scarydancer replies ”can you be more specific”.

Lilsister says ”no”.

Scarydancer (firmly) ”well you can’t just say ‘tax’ as there are different types of tax so you need to be clearer on what type of tax you mean”.

Lilsister (squinting eyes in evil way) ”WELL THEN IF YOU’RE GOING TO BE A PRICK ABOUT IT I can say car bleedin tax can’t I!”

Scarydancer has the ‘eeh enn’ buzzer thing that you hear on the show, and slowly, and quite deliberately, presses it.  The buzzer sounds and he states that car tax is NOT on the list, and therefore, our group, which I think we called ”Bump” after the impending baby, or ”Mannilow” –  I can’t remember, has lost this round.  It is a crushing blow, and the words that come out of my sister’s mouth would not be heard in the Dublin docks after a night on the rum.  This causes Scarydancer to throw down his answers and declare that if Lilsister is so unhappy with the way the game is going he can assist her by walking out and going home.  I begin singing ”It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” and this diffuses the situation somewhat, and we plunder on.

The night wears on and Sisterinlaw ends up hitting the tea due to fatigue, she’s clearly not in our family long and doesn’t have the stamina for fighting and capacity for hate that we all do.  She’ll learn.  Silly answers abound and Preggers interrupts Babybro whilst he is on a role naming things that he only has one of (nose, head, mouth etc) by asking him why he hasn’t mentioned his dick, and Lilsister wonders aloud why ”arse” hasn’t been mentioned either.  Answer of the night goes to Firstbrother for stating that of things that would make an alarm in an airport go off  ”like, old, historical shit” would be his guess.  After confusing the lot of us, he began to explain that this could mean ”like, chalices” at which I queried why one would carry a chalice at the airport, would it be because one was too good to drink one’s tea from a mere mug?  Cue further infighting and declarations of war.

By two am we were exhausted, and Firstbrother was weary of defending himself, after also answering to the question of ”things you buy that you use in the morning” as ”toilet”.  It was a night of intellectual thrills.

And now it is the 27th, and Colin Farrell is on the telly using his Dublin accent which is always refreshing.  He appears to be discussing horse tranquilisers so that’s nice.