I’m always caught off guard when I interact with Irish mothers. I’m minding my own business in the shop or eating breakfast or drinking at the pub, and then suddenly, I’m telling an Irishwoman I’m travelling alone and why I’m not married and/or why I am wearing flip flops. Every time. After coming to Ireland multiple times, you’d think I’d be used to it by now. I’m not. See. My own dear mother is not Irish. She isn’t even Irish-American at all. No. She’s of the rare German-Russian heritage. On both sides. Like if I don’t know better, I’d think she came from a long line of inbreeders. Nope though. She’s just from a Mennonite family… on both sides.
My mother isn’t really up in my business. Ever. She asks me how I’m doing, and it feels invasive for her. Really mom? That the hell? Mind your own fucking business. But I know it’s coming from a good place (okay, I think it is). My mom sends me across the ocean alone and vaguely hints that having some idea of where I’m at would be nice for her. This is the woman who spent 72 hours expelling me from her body. In those terms, I think that gives her some license to ask more questions about my wellbeing. Then again, she doesn’t read this so I’m safe from her actually finding out I could possibly be all right with a little more concern from her.
Irish mothers on the other hand, have raised their children until very recently under the thumb of English oppression. It’s in the shared unconsciousness of the culture that it could be wiped out and is under threat.Therefore, it is the Irish mum’s job to protect her children by whatever means possible. I could delve into the societal and cultural and historical reasons for the reasons why the Irish are the way the are, especially the women. And more specifically the mums. The fact is regardless the knowledge I have about the Irish, whenever I end up interacting with an Irish mother, it surprises the fuck out of me.
It has happened in the North. It has happened in the Republic. In the east and west and middle. These mums are everywhere. I’m not complaining. It’s just an observation. Most recently, I was at breakfast this morning and got into a half hour long conversation with an Irish mother about my travels and her remodeling her house. Hence, she and her husband staying in the guesthouse we’re both at. It led to the internal debate about should I just focus on my food and use her as background noise or should I engage in full on conversation and choke down cold eggs later. There was a compromise. Cold toast helped me swallow the cold eggs. Because go politeness. Also, she’s a mom. You can’t just not talk to a mom, especially when she’s handing out bits of knowledge. So rather than hiding in my room the entire day, I’ll go outside and take a walk.
Posted in Adulting, Culture, Family, Friends, Geek, Life, love, Mornings, Musings, Ramblings, Reality for the win, Traditions, Travel, Words
I rode the train from Cork to Galway today. Well, technically speaking from Cork to Limerick Junction. And from Limerick Junction to Galway. Except it felt like the long way from Limerick Junction. Needless to say, I had a lot of time to think and read and play on the internet on the train. I started reading Good Omens and it seems good so far. I hope it stays good as it’s only one of three books I brought with me on my less than three week vacation. Don’t judge me. As it turns out, I’m really stuck with my internet browsing. Mostly social media. There isn’t much to say about my internet usage. Then there were the thoughts.
Okay, so, my thoughts weren’t groundbreaking or even insightful. Consider yourself forewarned. Every time I ride the trains (hmmm that makes me sound like a fucking hobo but I can’t be assed to edit it, so a hobo I will be), I think about Shining Times Station. You know, Thomas the Tank Engine? No? You lucky son of bitch. The point of this is that Mr Conductor was played by Ringo Starr and George Carlin. I shit you not. So naturally my thoughts wandered to who the fuck was like kids’ show? You know who’d be great for this? The forgotten Beatle and the man who did a schtick called the 8 words you can’t say on television.
Seriously. What happened there? My next thought was more a realization. And that was riding the trains (there I go being all hobo again) makes me tired as all hell. I could barely keep my eyes open. I forced myself to stay awake though, because you know, jet lag is a skanky dick. As jet lag and the steady rocking motion of the train fought against me, I realized it wasn’t just the train. It was all moving vehicles that I’m not in charge of operating… hopefully. If I am in the car or a plane etc, I’m going to fall asleep after a while. Try and stop me! Okay. Please don’t. I just realized I must like the motion of the vehicle. Mmmm turbulence.
And that was that. I told you it wasn’t profound or anything. In other news, I’m sharing a room with two fellas I’ve never met before. It doesn’t look like they’re friends, so there’s that. Sorry. Random sharing. The dude on the bed next to mine is trying to sleep. I want to take a nap. BUT I’m not going to. I’m going to get off my ass and get some food for dinner and some more to send home because I love the food I cannot get in the USA. That’s going to be expensive to send back to Seattle. Ah well.
I’m on my much anticipated European vacation. Not quite like the Griswalds as I’m not with a family, or anyone else. And, well, yeah, just no. I’ve made a deal with myself. I can keep going back to Ireland and the UK as long as I include somewhere I’ve never been before. Thus, I ended up in Paris this go.You read that correctly. At the front end of my trip, as in when I’ll still be jet-lagged, I decided to try out a new city. So now, on top of being a shitty direction follower (see I can admit my shit), I had the fog of jet lag.
It’s no wonder I got lost. Really. My two goals for Paris were see the Eiffel Tower and go to a bakery. No sweat, right? Wrong. Okay, there are bakeries everywhere. So, that wasn’t the issue. The issue was trying to do the 3 ish mile walk from my hostel to the said tower. One would think that’d be no sweat as well. One would be wrong. Apart from my aforementioned disabilities, it was also a holiday with a couple of major roads (I think it was a couple. Fuck your non grid layout of a city) barricaded due to a motorcade or a parade for the holiday. The holiday being whatever they call Veteran’s Day. At least that’s the assumption I’m sticking to lest I hear otherwise.
There was no way for me to know the road was blocked and there wasn’t any getting around it. (Shut up. There was no way.) Therefore I decided to divert myself by walking up to the famous arch. Side note: In hindsight, I probably should have done more research about Paris before I went. But I can’t change the past. Moving on, at least with my story, when I was done with that, I noticed the barricade was being taken down and decided to make my toward to Eiffel Tower!
Silly me, I thought I could just reverse the directions I followed to the tower to get back to my hostel. Nope. Somewhere along the way, I made a giant circle and had to reset my maps app on my phone to help me know which way to go. Eventually, I made it back to my hostel. But to give you a bit of an idea, my person was pulling a shift and a half at his overnight job in the states, and I was able to keep him text company the entire time. So there was that silver lining. I now have a blister on my heel and had worn holes in my socks.
It’s all part of the adventure. The 9 ish miles I walked yesterday didn’t stop me from doing a literary pub crawl in Dublin tonight. I’ll have stories to tell the kids when they’re older. Not my kids mind you, but someone else’s kids. Tomorrow, fuck walking. If I need to do something, I’ll roll.
So last week I took off my glasses and lay the on the bed. Because you know, reasons. A short time later, I had to walk on my bed. Okay, maybe “need” is too strong of a word, but regardless, I walked on my bed. Now if you know me or just have any predictive power, you’ll know my glasses ended up underfoot. They didn’t break too badly. Just badly enough to be unwearable. This is after I had scratched the lenses a few months ago. I’m still not sure how that one actually occurred. Now, I’m hoping the glasses I ordered online will be good enough. Luckily, I don’t need them to see, as even when they’re on I still don’t see as well as I do when I have my contacts in.
Here’s the thing… Sometimes my eyes cannot stand wearing contacts, such as when I have a cold. I’ve had a cold for the past week. Through no power of my own, I’ve managed to keep my contacts in long enough to see what I need. Even if it has been painful at times. However, I had to take my contacts out shortly after I got home from work today, because my eyes were on fire. Not literally on fire, un/fortunately, depending on your point of view, but it was enough for me to pop those suckers out and wish I had spectacles at my disposal at the moment.
All that to say, I’m writing this without being able to see too well. I won’t be doing anything like tweezing or studying later. I may do some sleeping or listening to books on tape. I mean audiobooks, as books on tape aren’t really a thing anymore. Insert sad face here. But I may rub the hell out of my eyes. Just keep going until I can go no more, because I can right now. Normally I can’t due to contacts. And I feel as though I’ve rambled on long enough about my eyeses. Thank you. Have a good evening.
Yikes! It has been a long time. My life feels like it has been turned on its head in some ways. Not all negative. Not all positive. Sort of like life. So, really, I guess I could say life has gotten the better of me the past few weeks. Well, at least with my ability to keep up with my blog. I suppose, I need to reassess my goals for blogging. Maybe change the days. That sort of thing. Maybe incorporate more of my life into my blog. I don’t know for sure yet. But there are changes afoot if I’m to keep the blog going, which I do. So, I’ve been thinking about what has been going on lately.
About three months ago, fine, exactly three months ago, a guy I had been exchanging texts with essentially dared me to come visit him at work. Super mature, I know. And I agreed to it because I couldn’t find parking at my home. Super safe, I know. There was no way for me to know meeting him would change my life. There was nothing hinting at how much I would take to him and vice versa. I mean, the only reason I even reopened my online dating account because I was bored as fuck and needed something to entertain me. And entertain me, he does.
A couple weeks ago, my roommate and I decided to part ways before we ended up not liking each other. I still think she’s a great and consider her a friend. However, I’m now back at the rents. Not fully moved back in. Sort of living out of boxes and in piles. There are good sides too. Shorter commute. Food without effort. Not to mention saving money and all that jazz. Of course, I have my trip planned for two and a half weeks next month, as well as I have already agreed to housesit for a friend in December. So, there is time away from the rest planned.
As always there’s work. It isn’t the best. It isn’t the worst. Granted, I have nothing to compare my present job to. But I know it is temporary. I have loose plans in place for a change. Yet, none of them are immediate. And there’s a lot of changes and work and studying that will have to take place before other changes occur. At least the changes I can make in my power. There are always the changes I have no control over like if I get yet another supervisor or lose one or get a raise or not. Et cetera. Et cetera.
Obviously, there’s shit going down. Obviously, changes have happened, are happening and will happen. It feels a little crazy making sometimes. But the goal of my life isn’t to avoid change. It’s not to avoid drama. It’s to handle these things with grace and wisdom and flexibility. Being flexible is key. Emotional yoga is essential for handling life the way in which I think is best.
Posted in Adulting, Awkward, Culture, Dating, Dreams, Faith, Family, Friends, Life, love, Magic, Musings, Ramblings, Reality for the win, Spinsterhood, Traditions, Travel, Words, Work
When I I first got my fancy new phone (or a phone as others call it), my roommate told me how she hoped I’d blog from different places. I haven’t really blogged that many places considering I’ve had my fancy new phone since mid Spring. Or was it late spring? Damn it, it was right after I met Hotty McHotster. So whenever that was. Regardless, I haven’t really taken my blog on the road as I could have been… That is until today. Roommate, your hopes and dreams are coming true! For I am blogging at work.
Wild and exciting times indeed! Today was one of those days when everyone on my schedule must have coordinated with each other. Either they were going to have ridiculously short sessions or not show up at all. This synchronised move allowed me/gave me zero excuse not to get at least a small portion of paperwork done. I entered information into not well-designed forms and signed things that ought to have been signed months ago. Shit like that. Then I hit a wall. My scan folder is full again.
Since reaching my limit, I’ve been part of several snapchat videos despite not actually being on snapchat. I’ve also searched the Internet for things I don’t really need, but still I’m considering purchasing anyway. Because ‘Murica that’s why. Finally, I decided to blog due to not yesterday. But I have an excellent excuse. I took a non-japanophile out for his first bowl of real ramen, which also happened to be the first time he used chopsticks to eat. Trust me, if you witnessed what I did, you’d be cherishing that moment for yourself as long as you could too. It’s something I would recommend for everyone. Seriously find a person in your life have them eat soup using chopsticks for the first time.
Right. Work is interfering with my blogging. I guess the mid month lull isn’t as strong as I thought.
I do believe my commute to and from work is killing me. Slowly. I don’t mean like I’m going to die in a fiery crash. Although, I very well could. I’d just prefer not to go down that way… yet. Things are starting to get good in my life. But that’s a different blog for a different time. This blog is about all the hateful ways my commute is choking me… proverbially speaking. Just to preempt everything: 1) I love where I work. The vibe at our branch is amazing and my co-workers there are joys and delights forever. In fact, I hope some of them read this and then proceed to feel warm and gushy inside and 2) I love where I live. The neighborhood is cool with plenty of places to go. My roommate is fucking incredible. That’s all I gotta say about that. However, these two delightful, meaningful places and people are not near each other at all.
If you’ve ever been to Seattle, you’ll know that the freeway/motorway through the city narrows. Which was fucking genius lemme tell you!! And my genius I mean completely and fucking stupid and has been the bane of my existence for much too long. Having said that, don’t even get me started about trying to get on said freeway from my neighborhood. Again, I have to wonder just what the fuck the city planners were thinking. When I was down in San Diego, I noticed there were a couple spots here and there where it was poor design, but it wasn’t like it is in Seattle. Traffic flowed in San Diego… at least when we were out. In Seattle, especially around downtown, does it rarely flow. Probably closer to never than rarely.
It’s common knowledge I’m not a “morning person”. So, having to drive through the aforementioned shit show in the morning, many things go through my mind. I thought I’d blog alllllll the things that go through my mind that I’m usually too tired and/or shocked to say. But that would be a long ass blog. No one wants to read that much profanity and hatred. However, what I did decide was that writing about general themes would be okay. As you have already read, you know how I feel about the city planners of Seattle. Various and colorful insults are regularly spewed their way. But there are other trash receptors of my commute.
The other major receptor of the filth spewing from my mind and occasionally my mouth are trucks. Not just any trucks, but trucks who drive in the far left lane… going up hill. Really mother fucker!? I’m pretty sure in truck driving school, they’re taught not to do that. I’m pretty sure they do it because they just want to watch my head explode. That’s right. I’m making it personal. Cause it’s all about me. Or at least it is in my head when I can barely see straight due to some asshole who thinks 55 is an acceptable speed in the far left lane. Spoiler alert: It’s not. Ever. Also don’t get mad at me trucks when I pass you on the right when you’re blocking the left lane. Because you can just suck my dick for not getting out of the way.
Okay, I clearly went in the direction I said I wasn’t going to go. Apologies. But it is Monday after all. The sun was in my eyes both ways. And it’s my fucking blog, so I can bitch about what I want. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want. Unless of course, you’re in my life and I’m like “dude you HAVE to read my blog.” And you do because you fear the consequences…. you know who you are. But the rest of you. That’s clearly no the case. You have freedom of choice. Exercise your rights, dear reader.