Where The Streets Have No Name (Literally)

So I finally hauled my increasingly flabby arse to a new gym for exercise classes, and today I can’t sit down it.

The gym was incredibly hard to find mainly because the roads surrounding it are so tough the STREET SIGNS have been kicked out!!!

The building, which is actually a proper, sweaty, ‘Rocky I’ style boxing club complete with smells, dirt, and aincent old men with huge bellies, is behind a school that appears to have a bit of a ‘reputation’.  Lilsister advises me that as a student she was driven to a basketball match there, and told that scores were not to be kept, to prevent rioting and the burning of teacher’s cars after, should the result not match the hopes of this evil place.

Lilsister is a terrible person and decided that if she could not win, she would have many fights during the match, and she hated her teachers anyways, so who cared if their cars got burnt?


Chopping the Corriander and Thinking

Holy rattlesnakes and I’ve just realised I have been listlessly (stupidly?) been wandering around my living room.  Why?  I have absolutely no idea.  Thought it best to sit down and tap out a little post instead, so as not to appear unusual or strange to all who may be able to see me through the blinds.

I’m in the middle of preparing a salad, and I’m not quite ready to eat it, hence the walking musings.  It has to be salad, because myself and Lilsister are boxing later, and loading up on carbs beforehand (ALWAYS my preferred food intake, hence the wobbly stomachs) is a no-no.  I have also been applying for internships to change my life, and jobs, to change my finances.  Oh for a reply to either!!!

My partially funded course goes well, and I find I am actually learning every time I go in.  I am feeling positive about the future, and would like you to know that I was not plodding about the floors with a gloomy face, but a small smile.  No nothing exciting has happened but I feel it must.  Something is stirring in the universe, and causing a trembling in the air, causing me to spring up and prance about.  What is it?

Just remembered I have coconut ice-cream in the freezer, thank you Mammy for buying it.   Perhaps my troddings will bring me to the freezer later?  I have an inkling they will.

Attack Bellies with Vegetarianism, Boxing

Boxing class was horrific as always last night, but no suicidal thoughts during so that’s always good.

I am now heating up the oven to stick in the bloody courgette and peppers for roasting, so I can add them to my poxy cous cous leftover salad from yesterday, still seething with red onion, other crappy (ie healthy) vegetables, herbs, garlic and lemon.  JESUS!!!!

I did note in the shower however that my bottom belly, which now has LINES on it from flopping about so much, appears to be getting smaller.  No obvious improvement on my top belly, which I think would be referred to as a ‘muffin top’ on the mean streets of Dublin.

Operation fixthecrapthatismylife.com continues with a meeting today at a computer training college to hopefully do a course to enhance my aching computer skills, assuming I do not die of a heart attack when I hear about the fees.  But I think a little confidence will be gained by doing the course as I am most rusty on anything except banking databases which are all different, and insanely outdated most of the time.

This will hopefully lead to fabulous work opportunities (as if such things exist in modern Ireland today – check our (doctored) employment figures anytime!) where I will receive the love and adoration of my alleged colleagues as they admire my toned and flattened Liney and Muffie bellies.

After that, who knows, the very stars!

Wedding Belly

Lilsister is getting married in October, and I can’t stop eating scones.

Ever since cutting the ties with my last job I have found that my local supermarket makes the biggest most sugar filled beautiful scones I have ever eaten, and I can’t stop eating them.  It is a daily battle not to drive up and buy six of them.  It is a battle I am losing.

To combat my scones and Lilsister’s belly, we are Going to Do Something About It.  We have six months, I have told her we will be running.  We have gone outside once since I made this statement, and I ran three times (running time in total about forty seconds due to excessive wheezing, oncoming heart attack) and Lilsister, in pink walking shoes, ran for about eight seconds before giving up and saying her neck hurt her (?).

We have both purchased our dresses (her wedding, my bridesmaid) and our bellies fit into them currently.  Should we fail on a massive scale with our health venture, we will fit into our outfits, but I will feel a little bit sad.

Ego and Car Pumped at the Garage

I was called ”baby”, ”honey” and ”my love”.  It was the most emotional affection I have received from a stranger in a long time and all I was doing was buying petrol.  The girl taking my money even said it was cool I was buying three scones – and I think she meant it.  No I wasn’t buying all three for me, the other two were for Mammy and Papabear.  We were all tired after our workout at the gym (me still managing to get in for about the sixth time on my three gym passes – nobody asks to see them, it’s the best gym ever!) and requiring carbs, and my car needed petrol to drive to the free gym that never demands my limited guest passes.

She even said ”have a great weekend honey, I’m sure you deserve it,” and even though I am once again jobless and have spent a lot of the last few weeks walking in the park next to my house smiling up at the mountains whilst blaring ”The Only Living Boy in New York” by Simon and Garfunkel on my headphones, I believed I did.

I get all the news I need on the weather report.

Gym Pimping

Well, it’s official, I am unemployed again.  I took the plunge and signed on at the local dole office which has been spruced up after my last unfortunate visit.  It even had a fancy new name, giving me the heebie jeebies about unemployment being outsourced – but as my ‘case’ person advised, community services, employment services and the dole people are all ”one happy family” now (she was smiling, so I am unsure if this was sarcasm or not) meaning a fancy new name and actual help to find jobs.  She even told me there was a cv service in the employment bit and I should enquire about making an appointment, which I did straight after, only to be told that they ‘do not make appointments, someone will call’ which just goes to show that fancy name or no, there is still abounding disinterest seeping through our public services.

And so!  I am feeling a little less stressed that I will now receive some food money (I have given up even trying to pay the mortgage – it’s eaten all my savings, and the cretins to whom the bank have outsourced (that dirty practice again) the arrears area to will not speak to me until Exhimself, currently missing in Australia, signs all the paperwork with me.  Em…he is missing in Australia.  Yes, can he sign the paperwork, then we will have a chat to you about attempting to work out a reasonable payment schedule based on your circumstances.  Em but I’m only in these circumstances because…em…Exhimself is currently missing in Australia.  Yes, when he signs the 5,000 forms we will talk to you at a time that suits us).

There has been a lot written about the banking system currently barely not operating in Ireland, and none of it scathing enough about how us normals are treated.  To hell with you cretinous outsourcedwithnobenefits twaddle peddlers!

Sitting at home has given way to some black thoughts, and to celebrate, I have obtained some free guest passes at Mammy and Papabear’s gym, as exercise is good for you inside and out and all that crap.  First session today, and the main excitement for Papabear and I was that nobody asked to see my guest pass!  This means a freebie for me, and there is nothing that gets people more excited than not just doing something for free, but doing it for free when you should have paid, or at least produced a guess pass.  This buoyed up my spirits and I took these spirits with me to the cross trainer, feeling that I could handle the cardio workout.  Eighty six seconds later I was gasping for air, nearly out of water, and dabbing my womanmoustache with my hairy towel.

I had intended to do some belly crunches but alas this fell by the wayside too.   Papabear discussed life with his weights buddies (you know all gyms where men gather in front of the mirror to flex, look at themselves and cackle like groups of women do in bars where they serve cheap white wine).  Then Dad sent one of his buddies over to me whilst I was engrossed about how awful I was feeling on the exercise bike to see if I needed a boyfriend.

Afterwards we came home, me with a scone, Papabear with the paper and we called Lilsister to see how her day was going and was she proud of us for attempting to exercise.  I had to dial the number because Papabear can’t see the screen on the new phone, nor the numbers, because his pink glasses (no joke) were missing.  I put in the numbers and hit ‘call’ and handed the phone to him, he attempted to speak to Lilsister but gave up as he couldn’t hear her and passed the phone to me.  It was upside down.  I righted the error, admonished my father and apologised to my sister for our heritage.  Will this stupidity trickle down to us eventually?

A Flood of Sorts

Just back from watching Ireland HAMMER Argentenia in the rugby with Panties, Hangsandwich and members of both of their families, not a game I know anything about but that was okay as I had some excellent company, homemade Victoria Spongecake (possibly the best cake in the world?) and the undivided attentions of Panties’ three year old nephew, who kept asking me how his Superman character could get out of whatever particular difficulty he happened to find himself in whilst on his DS.   I had very little to offer, not being familiar with laser eyes, icy cold breath and invisible suits,  not to mention the DS, which just looks like a stupid gadget with two too many screens on it.  My lack of knowledge was regularly rewarded by said three year old running off and checking with his Dad about viable escape options and sad sighs of pity.  At one stage he told me he was three, and how many numbers was I?  I replied ”five, of course,” and he asked how this was possible.  I felt old, and waited for Hangsandwich to pour me more tea.

This is possibly my first social occasion in a while, as I have been in a bit of a funk for the last week or so.  I ended up not going to my social singles occasion, after the bus that was to deposit me at the pub failed to turn up, rendering me late, which was not allowed, and I slinked off home after waiting forty minutes for any mode of transport to turn up (taxis also refused to make an appearance).  This brought on a mini-depression and feelings of uselessness and failureness and general no-life-edness.  Add to this that the one I wink at when he isn’t looking is in a VERY serious relationship and life in general has been very blue, with plenty of black moments.

On such occasions I like to take to the bed and indulge in possibly my most favourite past time ever, which is lying in a warm bed listening to music.  I did this today and for some reason the Take That song ”The Flood” cheered me up.  Maybe it was the way Robbie Williams said ”watch your mouth son or you’ll find yourself floating home” but something ended and I started to feel a little better.  Then I got up and the water has been cut off in my house, but this didn’t cause me to go into a rage, so I must be getting along.  I had a ladywhizz and didn’t flush the toilet, made sure I had enough water for tea, and departed for the social rugby visit.

These are the things I want:

1. Beloved to dump his girl and whisk me away for romantic weekend, and tell me that even though I am incapable of being in a relationship right now, that is fine as he will wait for me to be ready, but sleep with me at every opportunity till that happens (yes I KNOW that this will never come off but I can dream can’t I?).

2. To pass my second horrible financial exam in January and get out of the horrific job I am in and into something that gives me money and a distraction from Beloved.  This is actually possible, as I have full control over studying.  Hurray!

3. To begin to look fabulous.  This week, in the depths of my funk, I began exercising again and already feel a little lighter.  I also only ate about half a tonne of rubbish, as opposed to several of my usual tonnes, and I have noticed that ONE of my bellies has begun to reduce, and that I have a shape to my hips.  Soon I will even look womanly!

4. Mammy’s fake cough is back.   Refer posts from this time last year.  I cannot STAND someone hocking their lungs up on me, let alone someone with nothing to hock.  It gives the hocking action a hollow,dry and cackling sound, and turns my (decreasing!) stomach.

5. To visit the Dublin Christmas markets.  Panties mentioned these earlier and I jumped in the air saying hurray, when are we going and she said she did not want a repeat of last year.  I had no idea what she meant.  She meant that last year, myself and Trevor were to meet her at 5pm at the Christmas markets.  Myself and Trevor met at noon, and went to the pub for lunch, but ended up having dirty pints instead.  At 7pm, after I cried on Grafton Street after seeing the Christmas carrol singers, we met Panties, excessively drunk, and Panties had to drive us both home.  I had no recollection of any of this, until Panties reminded me that, put upon friend that she is, she gave myself and Trevor cupcakes from the markets she had attended ALONE, and that when we got to Trevor’s house, we ate them with tea made by Boo Boo, who was judging us severely.

So the markets should be fun, then.