Really Nice Bus Drivers: A Celebration

It's time for an overdue YAY! for really nice bus drivers.

This breed of bus driver is, unfortunately, an endangered species. They are the pearls in a SEA OF OYSTERS AND CLOSED BUS DOORS.

Today, I was held back half an hour in work because the close-up went wrong (a frequent occurance). Usually, finishing up at 7pm every Friday, I'd be dawdling, texting and iPod-bashing the day away as I shuffled impatiently in my wait for the illusive 7.40pm 42 bus. Today, however, was a bit of a LEG IT scenario.

Over the course of my legger, I accidentally plowed through some youngwan, and had to go through the mandatory apology and politeness in order to avoid public abuse. This added a fateful twenty seconds to my obstacle-laden bus run.

Spotting the 42 from the crossing at Marlborough Street, I began UltraPegging. No way was I waiting for the 8.20pm, which would mean that I'd probably only get home from my 7pm finish at around 9.30pm. I'd be devo.

The bus pulled away just as I got to the bus stop. I was heartbroken. It was far, far away. However, I noticed the trusty Luas line had stopped the bus in traffic! In my greatest ArmChance move since THE BEGINNING OF SEPTEMBER, I ran up to the door of the bus... effectively in the middle of the road. Dreadful danger.

I looked sadly at the bus driver. He looked at me, and just turned back round and looked ahead. Crestfallen, I resigned myself to the inevitable DriveOff. I was turning to go back to the bus stop, when THE BUS DOORS OPENED. The light was green at this stage and everything. The driver beckoned me onto the bus.

I am almost fifty-six per cent sure that he is the only bus driver in all of Ireland who, at that late stage, wouldn't have relegated me to a 9.30pm arrival at home. I got in at 8.40pm. Delighted.

Thank you, Mr. Really Nice Bus Driver. Godspeed.

An Identity Crisis

There I was. It was Saturday night, and I was sitting in the bar of the Pearl Brasserie on Baggot St. (which is LUSH, by the way), having a good aul family gathering for my aunt's 40th.

The conversation turned in the direction of the recession, so, naturally, I zoned out. I picked up my iPhone and flicked onto my Facebook app to see if any of my crops needed harvesting, or if I'd any new comments.

I was pleased to see I had a comment from my good friend Damien, who had seemingly been searching the Waltons School of Music website.

Now, earlier in the summer, I had attended a five-week long Musical Theatre Workshop course (which was as hilarious as it was beneficial... a few characters in the class we shall say!). It tickled me on this particular occasion, therefore, to see that Damien had spotted me on the Waltons website, all angelic and crooning, having somehow been selected to be the face of the Introducing Singing for Adults class. I told the family who thought the whole thing was only GAS and proceeded to pass the phone around the table and have a good hearty chuckle at my expense (as the Twomey clan are wont to do)

We got on with our family chat, and during the lull between starters and mains, I checked Facebook again. There were a good few comments under the picture, most notably some from Stevi and Sinead, both of whom were questioning whether or not the picture was me. Sinead argued that the eyes were different (which I think they are). My family were completely divided, with Mammo and Aunty Louise saying it wasn't, and myself, Aunty Ger, Uncle Eamonn and Grandad saying IT DEFFO WAS.

Myself, my college friends, my home friends and my family couldn't decide. Some were adamant it definitely was. Some were convinced it wasn't. Some sat on the fence.

It had to have been. It was just too much of a coincidence. There's no way someone who looks that like me could have been in Waltons at the exact same time as me. It's like a Sister Sister scenario.

The girl in the picture is wearing the same top as I wore to the showcase rehearsal, but her hair is a shade darker. The hairstyle is the same. But her fringe is sweeping the opposite direction.
She has my dimples and my singing face.

Holly's theory is that the picture is of me, but I've been photoshopped to change the eye shape and hair colour so I can't sure for image rights.

2 days and 38 comments later, opinion is still 50/50.

Here's hoping it is me. I'm not having my face nicked!

OOOOOH DELISH.

Fresh vegetables.

So FarmVille has taken over my life.
You may know it from such locations as ALL OVER YOUR NEWS FEED ON FACEBOOK.

The premise? Farming.
Fun factor? Low.

Having said that... there's something very scrumptious about the prospect of EARNING. You start off with nothing but 6 plots of land, and 5000 coins and you work your way up. You invest in crops, and you're given a harvest time. Say, for example, you're planting Bell Peppers. You can't harvest them for 2 days, and if you're 12 hours late you lose your investment. If you harvest in time, you GET RICH.

This leads to PANIC when facebook wont let you in to FarmVille because your Butternut Squash is going to wither, or shopping-size eyebags in work because you've stayed up for an extra 3 hours because you have to harvest your artichokes.

Now, after playing for 6 weeks, I have expanded my farm twice, have approx. 150 plots of land, kajillions of animals and trees and no self respect.

But most importantly...

I HAVE A BARN.

I earned it.

Ah, really, now.

This won't do.

It won't do at all.

This is neglect of the highest capacity.

I'd like to say I'm back for good. I've been meaning to for ages... cannot certify it though, because I lied before.

Let this post be a message of hope... that Moments with Machneas will ride again.

IN PURE GLORY.

Long time, no blog

So, my last post is dated October 19th, 2008. Negligence the likes of which I have never laid eyes on... blogging is apparently a summer activity of mine.

Consider this post a resurrection.

Watch this space.

You are my sweetest downfall.

This is getting out of hand. Some smoke. I drink Diet Coke.

I cannot stop. Today I took note... it's gotten to the six cans a day stage.

I get a tenner a day for lunch from my loving mother (until such time as I get my first pay lodgement). 60% of that goes on Diet Coke, 20% on buses... which leaves me two euro for food. Which does me. Packet of skips and a Wispa... sorted. But alas, this lacks a key element of eating... nutrition.

I calculated it out today. At this rate, I'll be spending over two grand a year on DIET COKE. I'm Diet Coke-ing myself out of house and home. This time next year, I'll be living on the street, toothless, after my beloved enamel gives up the ghost because it just CANNOT TAKE THE ACID EROSION ANYMORE. I'll be the poster girl for capitalism gone wrong.

I'll drop out of college because it's eating into my Diet Coke consumption time. Maybe I'll sell my body to the corporation for experiments in exchange for unlimited beverage.

"Thou shalt not buy Coca Cola products" should continue as "for thou shalt end up homeless, twitching and stump-mouthed".

The MNC's bitch.

When did it become this way?!

Four cans a day this week. Three cans next. Two will be my minimum, but by then I'll be human.

Say NO to Diet Coke.*




* (on the off chance that one of their lawyers reads this and takes me for everything I'm worth, allow me to note that I think Diet Coke is rather yummy)

Ever get the feeling...

... that someone's watching your life pan out, and laughing at your expense? I'm really starting to believe that may be the case.

So, me being Maeve, I was all cosy watching Canada's Next Top Model, when all of a sudden, I got a mad craving for Diet Coke. This is highly regular, aforementioned craving happens most evenings around the 8.30pm mark. So, as Diet Coke addicts are wont to do, I decided to trot on down to the local Centra, where they know the combined price of a packet of Skips and a Diet Coke off by heart from my nightly expeditions (€1.64, by the by). As I approached the Centra, iPod blaring in my ears, I crossed the road, only dying for my fix. Now, have you ever noticed the way the kerb dips where you step onto it? Well I stepped onto the kerb, not picking my feet up because as far as I knew,I was stepping on to the flat bit. However, there was a weed blocking my view, so I was unaware I was actually stepping onto THE DREADED SLOPING BIT.

And so, I tripped. Utterly. I also fell at the feet of two 14-15 year olds... mortifying. "Ehhhh... y'aaaaalright?" Yes. Just say yes. This needn't be any more difficult than it has to be.

So, after a sleepless night, ridiculous pain and endless frustration, a trip to the A&E was in order. Thanks to the mother's job in the Mater and a sneaky bit of nepotism, I was only waiting about 10 minutes before I got an x-ray.

Anyway, turns out I have a broken elbow, or a "fractured radial head" in fancier lingo. I'm due to start work on Saturday, in a job I've fought tooth and nail to get, so of COURSE I broke my elbow this week. What makes it even sweeter is that it's my first broken bone. Ever. Nice sling, though.

Someone's definitely taking the piss.

I am vair pleased.

After a very extended hiatus of messiness, everything is now finally beginning to fall back into place.

Long overdue.

Since mid-June, when my lack of job in Hawaii was causing me all sorts of upset, I have been plagued by financial woes. I came back, figuring that nothing could POSSIBLY be as hard as job hunting in Hawaii... and oh, how wrong I was. I have since spent my Irish summer lazing, handing out CVs, going for failed job trials (see earlier post, The Great Employment Hurdle), interviewing (and doing badly) and stressing.

Today I have finally managed to procure employment. Officially. I am now a sales assistant for O2, thank you vair much.

With this new employment, I can now afford to:
- Move in with Christina and Bernie on Collins Avenue. About 3 doors down from DCU. No more forced inflicting myself on other people! Yay!
- GO SHOPPING. Oh my god, the clothes. Think of the clothes!
- Go on the Broadway trip. Eeeeee!
- Officially sign myself up for Vancouver 2009.
- Pay off my looming credit card debt.

Sweeeeet.

Also I've just discovered a new series, 90210. I watched it on a recommendation from a friend. Download it, it's fun!
Friday Night Lights is being renewed for a third season. The world is saved! And Private Practice has also apparently been rescued from the chop.
Grey's is back soon enough...
...as is Heroes.
Lost isn't back til February. (yes I did look all these up at once...)
I love September. I think it's my favourite month. Back to DCU, and all my shows come back... what more could I want?!



... but the 3rd ep of ANTM Cycle 11 isn't up on alluc.org yet. Freaked.

I accept...

... that sitting in listening to Sade is punishable by embarrassing geek status, but doesn't this song just bring you warm, fuzzy feelings inside usually reserved for a log fire, a cup of tea, a blanket and a comfy armchair in winter?

Things I like.

There I was, revelling in my new typing joy (I can do this --->  with my keyboard ALONE now), chuckling away to myself and generally allowing myself some merriment, when I thought, wow, this symbolic typing malark is simply spiffy. Then I thought, this is dreadfully sad. I'm getting JOY from this. Then I thought, feck it, no it's not sad.

My final thought on the matter is that it definitely is sad, but no sadder than my usual brand of sad.

Then I got to thinking, I really do spend a highly unhealthy amount of time basking in the glow of embarrassingly uncool things, or things that equate to general social reclusiveness or emotional instability (crying at a lion reunion? anyone?). Oh well, sure don't we all? So I decided to list all the things that either tickle me pink or fill me with happy gold dust. Seeing as I recently renovated my Bebo and deleted my lengthy blurbs, I no longer have a big long list of the things I like staring me in the face every day. It's not half bad, having a gander at them every so often. Documented version plz. And I like making lists, me.

My sparkles:

• Replacing Fs with PHs.

• Spelling "skillz" with a "z"

• People falling over. Funniest thing ever.

• I've recently been shown that I'm not totally averse to the humour in pretend farts.

• Popular reruns. 

• Regina Spektor... and phucking proud. Lyrical bleedin' genius.

• Randomly hearing a line in a song I love, even if it doesn't mean anything to me, and having it run through my head all day. Today it's "Forever is our today". ♥

• Sylvia Plath poems. Ok, I am definitely not a poetry expert by any stretch of the imagination, and her stuff is shockingly depressing, but it's depressing... nice. Wordy nice.

• Empathy. My favourite favourite thing is when someone knows exactly what you're thinking, good or bad, without you even hinting. Especially if it's really obscure.

• A nice cup of tea. Or five.

• Spar rolls with MILLIONS of mayo. Heart attack waiting to happen... but it's worth it.

• The idea of cow tipping. 

• Catching the giggles at really inappropriate moments. The more people involved, and the more inappropriate the situation, the better.

• My Special Pillow.

• Flipping the pillow over to the cold side in the morning and going back to sleep. Mmmmm.

• Wayfarers. I recently acquired a turquoise pair and a red pair within two days of each other. Best week of my life. (Clearly phakes. What am I, rich or something?)

• Speculating about people. Fun!

• ... and getting it right.

• Walking down the South Kihei Road (Maui's southwest coast) for 3 hours a day...

• ... and trying to get the same effect on the Malahide/Portmarnock Coast Road. Not happening, love.

• Writing so I can blabber on about nothing without annoying anyone.

• Laughing lots. Joyjoyjoy. 

• 90's nostalgia.

• 80's nostalgia, and maintaining I'm an 80's kid even though I was born in 1989 and definitely can't remember a second of the decade.

• Attempting gymnastics... with sexy results. *ping* ...(bit of a gleam off my teeth there, that's how smooth it is)

• Gratuitously sad movies that do exactly what they aim for and make sad blubbering eejits out of us otherwise controlled (swear) suffragettes. 

• Clothes. Clothes. Clothes. (I don't really get the whole shoe and bag obsession, look at all the lovely lovely clothes!) At the moment it's those checked manshirts. I gotta get me one of those.

• Lying awake in bed, with my really feathery duvet, when it's raining out and feeling very snuggly indeed. And yes I did just use the word "snuggly". It's fitting. (Altogether now, "that's SCHAAAADENFREUDE...")

Lists are fun.