Ode to the Year that 'Was'

I was just reading this really cool blog and the author had had the idea to make a blog summing up 2008, with a rather delightful display of images accompanying it, one for each month. Now I'm not as much of a photo enthusiast as the author of said cool blog, but nevertheless I decided I'd have a go at copying the template, though it will probably result in some poor photoshop 'wizard' getting sick all over the walls after having stumbled across this page. Who am I kidding, I WISH people stumbled over this piece o crap... anyway.
WARNING: Because I don't have very many photos of myself in what you might call everyday situations, the images I have selected may be misrepresentative of what my year was actually like; for example, I didn't spend that much of January or February skiing, but the winter wonderland pictures make for a better collage than 12 pictures of me on the bus on my way to school every morning, my head resting against the window, the sun still not risen outside... In fact, remind me to do that idea too some other time if I you ever want me to do a feature on shit school is...
But ye. Without further shit: 2008, let us adore thee!

January: Kicked off the new year in style skiing at Monte Tremblante, Canada with my cousins who live there. The full-on decadence of skiing, and all of its apres-activites began in me a penchant for the sport. I decided I wanted to do it again, and soon. After I got home to Ireland most of the month was then spent cursing the horrible weather (I don't even particularly remember how horrible it was, but in this country it's always safe to assume it was pretty shite) and failing to buckle down to my studies.

February: More study buckling ensued... my friend Hobbes (love making up these nicknames) and his family bring me on a whirlwind adventure to France, where I got in a few days of skiing (score-age!). A bit of mischief involving a disillusioned waiter and a wooden statue of a woman with giant boobies was had, and I stole loads of yoghurts and mars bars from the chalet we were staying in (they were free, and for us...but I'm not that 'out there' so it seemed like a big deal at the time...). My love of skiing grew even stronger.

March: I didn't include a photo of March, because I can't remember anything interesting happening. In a whole month. In fact, looking down though this, if it's not someones birthday and I'm not in another country I don't really do much. Perhaps in March I pondered my own laziness and lack of motivation to be fun. Probably not though.

April: The blurry events of March ran into April, where not much happened again. I probably eventually succeeded around this time in actually starting to do my homework (after the Christmas break it's always so hard to get back down to it..). Denniskerry (oh I like that one) had a party; it was good. That is all.

May: Bituv an old fluctuating one there.. Exam stress and the first anniversary of my Mum's death intermingled with the end of school for summer and my 18th birthday party in a most nauseating concoction. That aside, my birthday was one of the best nights of my life - I was pleasantly pissed, I was so happy everyone was there, and I never wanted it to end.

June: But end it did. Me and the gang jetted off to the hellhole that is Montpellier for a bit of French-learning and whatever you're having yourself. Unfortunately, no one was having anything fun - mostly milk. with a straw. Because it was too hot. And they were tired. I tried to look on the brightside for the whole thing, but this wasn't always easy. The verdict was that it was a trip I was glad I did, but would never do again.

July: In order to make up numbers I've included 2 photos from this most epic of months. Four words: OXEGEN WAS HELLA-FUCKIN-BALLS-TO-THE-WALL AWESOME! Drunkness was the order of the month. The concerts were unbelieveable and I made some really great friends, namely Bert, Harry, and Fred. It was so good that the gang spent the following Monday at Bert's house singing 'I'm in the mood for dancing', eating knacker pizza and generally being messes. I later took up residence in Bert's house for the rest of the summer.

August:It wouldn't be August without a minibreak to the Gee. The usual spots were visited: the heritage centre, the GAA pitch, the Skellig Mist, behind the community centre, to name but a few. Possibly the best minibreak to date? I can never compare them, they're all so good, and I remember so very little of any of them... In any case, it was the perfect end to the summer, if that's not a paradox in terms.

September:6th year began. I was not best pleased. This was one of the busiest months in my living memory - school work was tiring enough without being involved in our school's production of Danton's Death (our 6th year play). The play was very much worth it though. I learned a lot about painting techniques through creating the set, which was a huge plus. And the after party was amazing (though I think that was actually in October... oh screw it it's staying in September: I'm just feeling a little bit crazy!)

October:Midterm came and I breathed a sigh of relief. But, when I opened my mouth to inhale, I found myself uncontrollably filling it with vodka. I attended my sister's 21st birthday, after having predrinks at a Latin lecture in UCD (it was really surreal that...) which was even better than my own milestone in May. Many crazy nights, including a reunion of the oxegen crew, were had, in between which I locked myself away in Stillorgan library to see if they had any books on how to beat the Leaving Cert.

November:I was very proud of myself in this month because I was really getting on top of my school work. AND I was finding time for 'play', which is an equilibrium I had never before reached. It was the real sort of working man's grind you see on T.V: slaving away Monday to Friday and then going on a bender at the weekends.

December:My heart filled with Christmas joy in the lead up to the end of 2008, and I really started to buckle down to the old studies. The whole thing has been a bit of an intense flurry of present buying and cramming for exams (which are over tomorrow thank God), punctuated by brief periods of inebriated relief. I went to see the Snowman in the 'nch', and it was unbelieveable. What about the days to come? It promises to a be a stressful Christmas, with my Dad the way he is trying to pretend that everything is normal this year (when it clearly is not), doing the whole big turkey shabang and inviting everyone we know around for drinks. But it also promises to be a great one. I can't wait to relax, fill myself with food and drink and see all of my friends. AND we're going skiing for New Years! I couldn't have planned it better if I had been devising this blog all year (for anyone who thinks I'm that weird, I assure you I haven't).

Yes, when I put it like that it seems like I had a really great year. And I feel like it was a really great year too. Though I have the Leaving Cert looming next year and the dreaded recession and all I feel like I'm looking forward to more of the same good times. As of now, I feel like life is treating me pretty well.

Frosty The Blogman

I'm off to see a showing of the Snowman in the National Concert Hall, or the 'nch' for those of us who are 'in the know' ie. completely up themselves. The National Symphony Orchestra (no abbreviation for that, 'unforch') are performing the soundtrack live as you watch the film, sitting right in front of you, live, Alive, in a state of living. I mean talk about excessive Christmas jubilations here. Getting into the spirit of things this much just seems wrong. I have a vague feeling someone should be arrested on account of this, though I know not who or why.

I will post my impressions on the morrow with any luck. Though I might not get the chance... I must apologise for my recent lack of blog-tivity, Christmas exams have taken over my life a lil' bit so whenever I find the time to blog I have nothing interesting about which to write; instead of boring you all I take the lazy way out, which works for everyone, except not everyone just me. Once these finish up and the festivities begin you can expect a little more frequency on my part. Or you can not do that, that's totally fine too... WHATEVER YOU WANT... I must go.

Fair Play duit a Facebook!

Up until recently I have hated Facebook with a burning passion; unlike Bebo it never uploads my photos, refuses to let me perve on people I vaguely/don't know, simply will not entertain the idea of allowing me to add any of its applications or do anything that might make the experience of using it even minutely engaging, and is just made of poo to be honest. That was my opinion up until recently, this is, up until my discovery of FACEBOOK AS GAEILGE, which, as I will explain, is a revelation that has, if it has not changed my life or me as a person in really any way, at least given me a few brief moments of mildly satisfactory life experience being the nerd that I am.

I had heard about how Facebook was making itself available in different languages when everyone started talking about the comical (for some...) 'Pirate Language' which is basically just Facebook in English with 'arr!'s all over the place (very annoying... or 'quirky and fun', if you happen to be female, and retarded). Now this prompts two thoughts: firstly that the idea that Facebook has actually become so advanced that it could actually programme itself in new languages independently is pretty chilling, so much so that you may actually switch off your computer and burn it, lock it in a cage, roll it up in a carpet and throw it off a bridge, and secondly that this could be a very useful feature for users of Facebook who speak some of the less well-known languages of the world.

After much infuriating messing about trying to install the 'Translations' application onto my profile involving a lot of switching back and forth between Mozilla, Safari and Explorer (perish the thought!), the pressing of the refresh button approximately 376, 228 times, and ordering some advanced scientific lab equipment on e-bay that would magnify my computer screen sufficiently that I could actually locate the ovum-sized icon on my profile allowing me to access the application, I succeeded in setting the thing up. Oh was I pleased with what I found! My whole page was translated instantly into (almost) flawless Irish, feeding deliciously into my delusions about Irish having a place in modern society.

In nerdy raptures did I find myself. This was because of the ingenious idea behind Translations: instead of going to the trouble of employing people who are fluent in the many obscure languages Facebook gives you, yes you the opportunity to translate everything yourself! And then you vote for the most appropriate versions of everything from 'Send your friend a gift of a Juno Burger Phone' to 'Rawanda Jackson has tagged you in her photo album "Christmas in TJ" ' and these become incorporated into your page according to popular opinion of which translations are best. Needless to say I immediately began voting, sighing happily to myself as I came across particularly eloquent sentences and swooping down in annoyance to correct any grammatical errors. I'm going to go so far as to use the phrase 'I was in my element'.

From there my interest has just dissipated, and I'm kind of over it now. However, I'm keeping my profile as Gaeilge: 'is tá sé i bhfad níos fearr dá bharr.

Something.....

It's been one of those weekends. I've been up and down like a yoyo at Alton Towers. I don't know what to make of my own mood... like right now I'm searching for predebs photos while listening to Faure's Requiem (best Requiem ever by the way), what is wrong with me? I didn't even know whether or not I felt like writing a blog: one minute I'd be all up for it and the next I wouldn't have the energy or interest. Not that I feel I have nothing about which to write, it's just that my mind's all over the place, totally restless. So I'll try my best to keep this moving and coherent and not whiny.

I had decided that this weekend was to be a very 'getting things done' weekend; chemistry notes were to be written up, Christmas presents were to be bought, study for exams was to be at least attempted, and merriment was to be had at the predebs (though not so much that I'd regret it the next morning). Alas, it didn't quite evolve in the way I had hoped it would... all I can really say is that I got good and pissed at the prebs, but considering my capacities that's hardly admirable or surprising.

Like I guess I had a good weekend on paper, but between the periods of fun I was in a state of total gloom... I think sometimes my expectations of people are too high. But then I second guess myself, thinking that maybe I'm just used to going along with what other people want all the time because I don't have the confidence to do my own thing so I don't speak out when people are treating you like a piece of shit. I'm in one of those moods when you're longing for a really nice, relaxed hang-out with friends, but everyone's off doing other things, and whenever you're around anyone anyway they just piss you off, and you them. It's times like these you ask yourself panicked questions like 'Do I have any real friends? Like I know I have friends, but do I really have any of those friends that you can always turn to when time are tough, the ones you see in movies, like who spat on their hands as children and joined them together and promised they'd always be friends etc.' and feel like you're drifting away in this slow inevitable movement from everyone you once felt close to...

OMFG I AM SOOOOOOOOO EMO LOIKE!!!!!!!

It had to be said... But ye, I really should be able to explain myself, to reference whatever events set me off on this self-absorbed rant (or is it a spell of clear thinking? See, I really couldn't tell you. But I'll stop now) however I'm finding this difficult. It's probably just a tumult of lots of things, the time of year, looming exams, everybody feeling stressed out... I've just got this overwhelming feeling of longing for something I can't even identify. I try to fill it with food, with t.v, with conversation, with exercise, with study even, with... other, offbeat things... but it's like the hopes I bring to every task that this will be the one thing that will bring me back to normal make everything futile to begin with.

I want something new, something wild, something fresh, something crazy, something altogether different, something I've never thought of, something I've never experienced, someone who'll really get me, something that'll take my mind off everything, something inspirational, something enriching, something that I'll need, something that'll need me, something that'll make me feel close to something, something that'll make me feel achievement, something that'll demand all of my attention. blaffhjgjjhghjghjgjh!!!!!!!!!

The Morning After

Have just brewed and ingested some of the hallowed Hot Apple Cider: 

Like doing mouth-sex in an extremely violent and illegal position. It was just like I imagined it would be. I feel utterly fulfilled, and yet I still want more, much more, if that makes any ounce of sense. Unfortunately, I forgot to get a snapshot of me climaxing as the delicious, golden liquid was slipping down my throat, but this will by no means be the last batch of the stuff (I bought enough cider for another round sometime this weekend) so don't fret (not that you would fret about not seeing a picture of me with a big orgasm face on me, but that is entirely irrelevant).

I'm feeling that sleepy feeling you get after you do dirty things, so I'll leave this blog with you here. Tomorrow when my body and mind have recovered I will hopefully write something more extensive and entertaining, and with any luck not related to beverages, but to be honest I wouldn't exactly hold my breath on that one. Hot Apple Cider FTW

'Did someone say Fristmas?'

As if my excitement for Christmas couldn't be any greater than it had already been, my excitement for Christmas has become even greater than it had already been: I've been officially invited to a celebration of  'Fristmas' ('Friends Christmas') on the day we finish exams - we're talking the full Christmas works: the food, the presents (Fris Frindel of course), the crackers, the drink (there was even a specific reference to mulled wine somewhere, no joke), but with the added pleasure of company of friends, and minus the excruciating displeasure of having to make conversation with weird uncles and listen to nana farting all through dinner. Whoever came up with this Fristmas idea should seriously be given very extensive supplies of both mulled wine AND hot apple cider.

I'm looking forward to it soooo damn much now. Despite all my talk of Christmas spirit, I have to say I had been a little worried about being stuck with family for the entire holiday. This will be our first Christmas spent 'normally' since my Mum died, and I know though we'll try our hardest to make it as enjoyable as we can that there's going to be times when we all feel dark and lonely. It really is going to be strange... Even as I write that it's our first normal Christmas I'm amazed by how unthinkable this idea is to me, how mysteriously time works; it has been so long since it happened, and yet it could still be yesterday to me. It's been the longest and the shortest time of my life. And I don't mind that that's going to be an unavoidable part of our Christmas from now on, that it's never going to be a wholly joyous event in our house, that there'll always be a cloud. It's just that when those lonely moments arise it's being around my friends that puts a smile back on my face, and I couldn't imagine not seeing them at all, being stuck in our empty house in the middle of Winter... And aside from that, there are the more obvious reasons why I'm looking forward to Fristmas, the chance to get absolutely langered namely. So bring on the Fristmas!

In other news, I finally have an update on the Missing Artist (breath, reader, breath; I know this is exciting for you): Our Art Teacher has informed us that he will be visiting us some time in the coming year, as he is 'otherwise engaged' with art stuff in London... shit. Still, better late than never!

Propa Crimbo

It's that time of year again! And I couldn't be more full of holiday cheer if you hooked the stuff up to my veins, or if you killed me, hollowed me out like a turkey, made holiday cheer stuffing, and crammed it up my ass.

I'm just one of those people who loves the Christmas Season. I can't help it. I wouldn't want to help it. While the rest of you scrooges were moaning about how the sudden drop in temperature these last few days has been giving you nipple frostbite, I've been relishing in this winter wonderland, licking frost off the ground like there's no tomorrow (not actually licking frost off the ground, because that's just dirty, but I was licking it with my eyes, as a watched it from the comfort of a warm fireside couch indoors, if that makes any sense at all, which it doesn't). Maybe it's my memories of last Christmas, which I spent in Canada with my cousins in their big mansion (expect some kind of look-back-to-last-Christmas blog in the near future for reasons why this was so amazing), which mean the cold weather evokes a sense of joy in my usually bitter and cold heart, I don't know. Whatever the reason is, I'm Christmas crazy and I'm hear to stay.

What do I love the most about Christmas you ask? Well, I'm a self-confessed lover of literally anything and everything to do with Christmas, but this year for some reason I've developed a deep desire, a craving much like the ones I assume pregnant women get, for mulled wine. I've only ever had mulled wine once, and that was years ago. I can barely remember the taste. But for some reason I want more of it, I want it so damn bad, I want pots and pots of it right now, steamy, sweet, warming, wholesome, liquidy, tasty, alcoholic, sexy mulled wine, and I want to be sitting around a real fire with my friends and we all have mulled wine in our hands and it's just starting to snow outside and there might be carollers somewhere maybe outside down the other end of the road I don't know.

When I sit and look at the frost outside I remember coming into my cousins house last year out of the bitter cold after a morning spent skiing - the wave of warmth when you get inside, the relief of peeling off the awkward ski-gear - lying down on the couch with the Little Sis watching Christmas with the Kranks drinking 'hot apple cider' to get some heat back into our frozen limbs. In fact, I like to imagine that mulled wine tastes a LOT like that hot apple cider did, which is probably just shameless nostalgia but anyway... it's weird though, who don't I just want hot apple cider? That would actually make sense... How fucked up do you have to be, honestly?

I went so far as to look up mulled wine on the interweb: it's a lot more complicated than I thought, I thought you just fucked wine in a pot and heated it, but as it turns out there are a number of finicky flavourings you need which probably make all the difference, most of which we just don't have, no matter how many times I empty the contents of our entire kitchen in search of them. So I've decided to make the Big Sis do it (what are women for anyway?); she'll probably make it better, and it means I don't have to do anything. So expect a euphoric after-sex mulled wine blog to follow this one, hopefully with a photo of me and the mulled wine in all its hot apple cider-esque glory. Alternatively, expect this to be my last ever blog, as I may die if and when the mulled wine does not taste exactly like the hot apple cider I had one time last year in Canada.

Adieu!