October 23, 2005

Exclamation!

HELLO! I am going to Franceland! Soon! I am not packed! I also have a many things to do before leaving! It is very late at night and I am as crumbly as a mushed meringue! I am excited! Maybe a bit beered up and hysterical from exhaustion! HA HA HA HA HA!

Do not click this link.

SCHEDULE FOR TOMORRER

1. Leading worship at church
2. Having delicious lunch with church peoples
3. Winning award of some kind (maybe Nobel for literature? I fancy that)
4. Cleaning house
5. Ironing and packing
6. Developing effective cure for advanced cancer
7. Robbing food from in-laws
8. Sleeping like a baby that's been knocked unconscious
9. Eating dried apricots, hundreds of them, in under 30 seconds
10. Getting into air bullet ZOOOOOOOOOOOOM
11. Landing in Cheeseandwineland
12. Resting, at top speed, non-stop, for many days

Phew!

In other news, I continue to love my husband very much, who is so smart it gives me jaundice. ALSO, I am reading We Need To Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver, and it OWNS ME. Read it. At once! Before all the paper in the world rots!

Fact: I bought nine pairs of knickers today! Of all kinds and colours. The thrill was quite unparallelled. I also purchased a sack, for wearing. I also failed in a mission to buy new boots. My old ones are full of gashes. They cry when I wear them; I cry when I wear them; it's a destructive relationship. One of us has got to go. The bad news is, those boots were made for walking. And that's just what they'll do. One of these days those boots will go in the wheelie bin.

neuro-praxis -- Giving Up Altogether

October 18, 2005

Give A Little, Helps A Lot

Man's greatest enemy: DINNER

So. Tuesday eveing. I'm a bit tired. I attempted something easy. Sweet and sour chicken and vegetables with rice noodles. Lovely. I stir fry the meat, add my peppers and onions and other colourful delights, and tip in a jar of Tesco Healthy Living Sweet and Sour Sauce. Beautiful. And now. Now for the noodles.

This was a noodle experiment. I was suspicious of these new noodles and their unappealing packaging, but had been advised of the healthy and delicious nature of this particular kind. K took it as his moral duty to prepare them according to the instructions. Three minutes in boiling water, a quick rinse and drain, and a good slicing with the old scissors to aid servation.

All good. But the result?

Brains on a plate

A little taste revealed that they were indeed the devil incarnate in food. Oh ho! we thought wisely, perhaps when we mix them with our delicious sauce they will soak it all up and become a delicacy worthy of a self-important monarch! It will be morsels of joy we shall consume tonight!

Not so

This sad discovery made Mister Balloon feel very sad, and very hungry.

Sad, hungry

Poor Mister Balloon. He was very very sad, and very hungry indeed. A depressed, ravenous balloon.

Suicidal?

Mister Balloon, if we are being honest, had more than one problem in his life. Not only was his dinner inedible slop, but he had very sore piles on his bottom, and worse than this, he was bald.

Suddenly, he had a "brain"wave! The noodles had another use!

Happy solution for all

And so versatile too! Check out this stylish do!

Farrah Fawcett

And so the moral of the story is this: if your food looks like brains or entrails, and tastes worse than a spoonful of pimple ointment, then find a friend who needs the food for his or her own unique purposes.

It might just save their life.

Peoples of the world: stop judging...and start living.

neuro-praxis -- Ringing For Chinese

October 17, 2005

Get Them On The Telefón!

Here is the thing with sentences. All sentences are potentially funny until Ed Byrne gets his oar in and butchers them. Poor Ed. He should have been a civil servant and not gotten so above hisself. At least he's grown his hair back, thank God. He was reminding me of my ex-boyfriend for a while there who had a do á la un champignon. And I don't like to be reminded of that. I haven't been able to eat a garlic mushroom since the day I left him. THANKS A BUNCH ED.

Speaking of much disliked comedians, we're planning (that's the royal WE by the way, not K and I - we don't believe in socialising together) to see that fine young man Des Bishop in Vicar Street this Christmas. His unique brand of smutty japery combined with his array of Cork accents should make for a delightfully chuckly evening. HA HA! I may say. HO HO INDEED! I may vociferate, holding onto my shaking belly. HEE HEE HEE! as a tear is wiped. And so on.

I went to an Italian restaurant tonight and ate some Italy food. It was tasty gorgeous. The sexist waitress handed the bill to my husband, who hadn't a bean. Not a bean! I paid for it all, in spite of the fact that I am a WOMAN who is not worthy of being handed the bill. I AM TOO LOWLY TO BE THE ONE WHO MIGHT PAY. The best thing about the bill was the message at the bottom. It read:

PLEASE COME BACK SOON!!!

Rather enthusiastric for such a stiff place. As we waddled out the door, full of suppli and cappricciosa, K and I immediately looked at each other and with excessive smiles and eyes a-bulging yelled, "COME BACK SOON!!!" A good bit of nodding and leaning in may also have occurred, but the police made no record of this.

BED TIME!!! (Yes, yes yes!! Oh it is!)

neuro-praxis -- A BIG BIT SLEEPY!!!

October 14, 2005

Your Changes Have Been Saved

Alright alright alright! Enough of this avoiding the internet nonsense. Although it may or may not be true that I have reclaimed my life by no longer spending thirty two hours a day online, I have returned, at the nagging, CONSISTENT nagging, of my adoring fans, who adore me. That's what gives me my self worth. That I am adored. So thank goodness they adore me! Or I'd be in an awful state, crying all the time, possibly cutting myself and what have you. That's all the rage. The cutting. With little Bic blades, five for a euro! In my day we just wrote sad poems and songs of lost love, all to suspectly similar tunes formed with the three chords we could play on the guitar. Nobody was slicing themselves up, except for horrid accidents while chopping up melons. We used to have a little sob, when we were sad, a little moan on the old telephone. Maybe we would eat a couple of Moro bars, maybe if we were very rebellious or poor, we'd down half a can of cheap lager, throw the other three away and talk about being really drunk. But now? Now with the cutting and the bleeding and the anorexia. Well, it's all a bit much isn't it? And all because they don't have the security blanket that is a little den of suckling, adoring fans. Who adore me, with all the adoration their bursting little hearts can muster. You gotta ask yourself one question. Do you feel lucky punk?

Oh, oh it's not luck. It's charm, charisma, and having all your limbs.

WHAT HAVE I BEEN DOING

I don't know. WORKING. Work is crap, I hate having a job. I prefer sleeping in, watching the Simpsons, discussing the world's problems with a frozen pizza and a nice glass of cheap wine (frozen pizzas are better at adult conversation than their unenvironmentally friendly packaging would imply!)... all that good stuff. SATURDAYS. Now, that's what it's all about. Sundays less so; they come with churchy responsibilities (not bad, but a little work-related) and family obligations (well, it's better than having little bits of your calf muscles freeze-burned off).

My housemates are still off the continent. Unsurprising really: they've gone for the year. Somehow, though, I always expect them to come swanning in the door, smelling of fresh turf and scones like they used to... note: this memory may be false

I got a hand-written letter from M in India today, wahoo! Hand written letters are marvellous. Wonderfully more personal than emails. She even included recipes from an Indian newspaper...I would be lying if I said I wasn't seduced by the exoticnessity of it all. Not that I despise technology, no, I like my induction coils and my, er, wires, and what have you, just fine, so I do. I plan to write back, and I might include a handful of King crisps in the envelope. Mags is notorious for her love of King crisps. And you can't get them in Magical Indialand, no!

The point is: things are in a continual state of change. For example, tomorrow I am taking two Korean teenagers out for a DAY OF FUN in the city, and none of us understands why! But it's happening because LIFE IS CHANGING and YOU HAVE TO KEEP RUNNING! AND TAKING THE ACID!

What else has changed? I have been a social flower, having lots of guests and little parties and watching films. A History Of Violence was good, it was about a man with a history of violence. I've also been most terribly holy, enjoying a women's prayer gathering with three of my delightfully wise ladyfriends. You can come, if you have a womb. Or used to have one. We don't discriminate against those who have taken their wombs out, even if they have used the newly-extracted womb for moneymaking purposes.

TONIGHT OUR WEATHER WILL BE MOSTLY DRY AND MILD

Says somebody on tv; I have no reason to disbelieve her. My husbandry unit is working, as usual, earning a buck or two so that we can have omlettes made from Fabergé eggs every morning, in the style we are accustomed to. Meanwhile I am watching Neighbours which K would never approve of, but how can I resist? Izzy is spinning a web of lies on a parallel with none other. Bar of course Judas.

TV3 NEWS IS LIKE BEING AT THE DISCO! DANCE, YA BASTID!

So Daniel Craig is the new James Bond. Well that should be just like all the others. Good thing I like ham. Bond movies are so hammy they go all the way around the ham-o-meter to being entertaining again. I shall, of course, however, be waiting until the new movies get shown on tv. Speaking of Bond, I once saw Pierce Brosnan in a shopping centre. I left him alone though, crowds of celebrity-loving dolts were surrounding him like a pungent odour. Poor man. Seeing Pierce was the closest I've ever come to marrying a rich actor, which used to be my ambition. If I'm honest, it still is.

Here is a confession that many, including Zoomtard and Stig, will be both excited and gratified about. I enjoyed watching the Ireland Switzerland match the other night, even if the performances were frightful and the score appalling. I am actually sad that we lost. My emotions have come into line with those of a common garden football hooligan. This is a sad day. Before you know it, I will be wearing nothing but football jerseys to work, vomiting in the streets and trashing shop windows angrily when my team inevitably fails.

Nonsense and tripe, that's what this journal entry is. But it's for you, and it's free, and it's thanks to the Meat Advisory Board.

neuro-praxis -- Does A Mighty British Accent

October 13, 2005

I SUPPOSE I OWE YOU ALL AN UPDATE

Yup.

I sure do.

There's no getting away from that.

Coming right up...

neuro-praxis -- Pretending It's Real Meat