Google Penetrates My Subconscious

Another dream which Mammy partially interpreted (we were busy screaming at each other because we had become lost in the Ranelagh area of Dublin, trying to find a place called Sandford School of Languages, which will be teaching Mammy Spanish.  Unhelpfully, it was in a building called the Milltown Institute.  When we found the Milltown Institute there were three doors, one saying Milltown, one saying nothing, and another saying Emerald.  The building we wanted was the one that said nothing.  This is why people slag the Irish).

I told Mammy of another disturbing dream regarding the pop ”band” One Direction.  I am not a fan, although I have had discussions with Papabear and Lilsister that their last effort, something about driving a car all night and talking walls, does not make me vomit.  I mentioned this to Spongecake who nearly clapped with delight.  At 37 years of age, she is more excited about the upcoming One Direction concert taking place in Dublin soon than her SEVEN YEAR OLD daughter.  There is no accounting for taste, or madness.  I told Spongecake that I did not understand the lyrics to whatever this song is called, she said to watch the video and all would be revealed.  I’d rather clean the sleeve that Little Niece N keeps wiping her nose with by using my tongue.

There is an Irish bloke in One Direction (the shame!) and in my dream it was announced somehow that he had 11 months to live.  I can’t remember why and I think in my dream I didn’t care because of who he is, even though I thought it was sad that someone that young had such a short time left.  I knew the songs would continue without him and I think that was the more sobering thought.

Mammy says it’s the numbers here that are significant, there is a ‘One’ Direction and ‘Eleven’ months.  That was as far as we got because we finally found the Milltown Institute at that stage and Mammy went banging on the door with no name to see if it was the Spanish class place.  I stayed in the car because I really needed to go to the toilet and if I had gotten out and moved I would have wet myself.

Lilsister googled the dream whilst being not busy in work and yes the numbers are significant.  I asked her to email me the link she was looking at but as usual she didn’t bother.  What I do remember is that the ‘one’ part is telling me I want to be creative and fabulous, and the ‘eleven’ part means I want to be fabulous and alone.  All of this makes sense and I am in awe at what my brain is doing to me when I am asleep.  I was listening to a radio play by Agatha Christie last night so how that turned into a teen pop group telling me to trod the creative path alone has given me plenty to consider whilst I eat another cupcake.

Saturday Feb 25th – The Nipple

Did you ever turn up to what you thought was a cup of tea round the table, but walk into a fully fledged party?  Not the ones where everybody jumps out of your hairy sofa and yells ”SURPRISE!!!”.  No, a GOOD party.

Well thanks to Panties that’s exactly what happened to me after I was invited to her abode to share in the festivities for her father’s surprise 70th b day.  As it had a 5.30pm kick off time, my assumption was that there’d be her family (parents, two brothers and two sisters), a vat of tea and hopefully some cupcakes.  Chat would be had, and I’d be in bed by 7pm.

I walked through the house, which had about nine thousand kids in the front room, through to the kitchen, or should I say party den of the house, through to the back garden, which had amassed a HUGE marquee complete with tables chairs and an entire TABLE OF CAKES, stuffed with people, including the birthday boy, the aforementioned siblings plus partners, a professional barbeque set up (Panties’ bro is a chef) with TONNES of meat, BUCKETS of beer, wine, plus Panties herself mixing icing in Manchester United football club colours for her Papa.  FABULOUS!!!  I got straight into the beer, said my hellos, and went straight into another beer, followed by another, followed by obtaining gloves from Panties’ younger sister, Spongecake, as my hands were cold on my ICE COLD BEERS.  This was followed by laughing at Panties’ hubby Hangsandwich with his latest ”boutique beer” which came in fetching matching wine like glasses, or ”lady glasses” as I called them in order to annoy him.  Panties, finished with the cupcakes at last, settled down to a bottle of prosecco, which I gleefully helped her to inhale, whilst discussing sexual matters and what jobs we find ourselves doing now that Ireland is in a fully fledged depression (the oddest I think being the youngest brother’s current stint in an ACTUAL LEPRECHAUN MUSEUM) with her and her various siblings.

Naturally the conversation turned to piercings, and Spongecake was at pains to show me hers in her right nipple, but thankfully Chefbro did not discuss nor show his, as allegedly it is in his nether manbits.  Not to be outdone, The Leprechaun produced his own man boobs and nipples from his top (with a deftness that leads me to conclude that he does this regularly at parties), and to upset me, rubbed them on my nice new red coat, which I only recently bought, after I just moved back to Ireland, with money I presumed I would have when I began working again, which was both naive and silly of me.  Even the YOUNGEST sister has a pierced tongue.  As the craziest thing I have pierced is my third earring in my left ear (not my right, at the time I did it I considered it COOL to have three piercings in one ear, and two in the other) and this particular hole has now closed over from lack of use, I felt a little daunted.  ”I have my blog,” I thought, ”though I am alone and unpierced.”

It also transpires that many men in the vicinity have had vasectomies, but as this information may have been divulged under increasingly drunken conversations, I feel I must drift away from that particular nugget of golden information.  Instead I have just remembered that some of our Scottish guests, Scots being our Celtic Cousins and all, did bring along some shockingly awful Scottish reels, which only very old and very young people seemed to be able to dance to.  I can confirm I was not one of them.

I ended up having a whale of a time, unpierced nipples and all, and the night was only temporarily cut short when Panties’ Papa announced he was leaving the party to watch his golf at home.   When you hit 70, you RULE!!!!