I now look like even more of a boy

So, I got my hair cut on Thursday. In the end, it wasn't too painful an experience. My hair was starting to fall out and really look like shit, so in the end length didn't mean anything to me. I'd rather have shorter, healthy hair, than long, shitty hair that is comprised mainly of split ends. So I found a haircut I liked, brought a pic into the hairdresser like a loser and got it done (after making sure it'd suit my face, which I'm still not sure it does). No photos, because the only one I got makes me look a bit mental (yes, more mental than usual) but maybe soon. Maybe. I hate photos of me...urgh...

I went out that night but I was feeling a bit ill after my mother forced me to throw my dinner into me, so I didn't drink enough and then I was weirded out by how different the bar looks when I'm sober. I still had fun, but there were some problems along the way. Noodles drank too much and thought I was mad at him or something, so he yelled at me in front of everyone. These people turned up who hate me, so they were being assholes all night instead of enjoying themselves like they should've been. Star, Dylan and the emo were all in the same place at once and somehow managed not to kill each other (a miracle in itself) but there was definitely tension. Stella and Frodo had a fight, too. It's weird to see perfect couples fight.. All's well that ends well though, cos everything's sorted now. I think we had a fun night anyway.

I spent pretty much the whole weekend with the emo. He came over on Friday to bring something he drew for my sister, but he ended up not being able to print it which left lots of time for him to end his lengthy feud with my mother. Now, I'm not stupid. I know my mother is a head case. I mean, she has OCD, my brother is definitely her favourite, she has unresolved issues with her mother and older sister that she takes out on me, etc, etc. But she's still a damn good mother and a good person, so her fighting with my lovely emo hasn't been easy. Luckily, they made up and everything is fixed now. Yey! She was well impressed with him afterwards, too, which means a lot to me because she's a great judge of character (even though I don't always listen to her advice).

He left a copy of the fourth instalment of Scott Pilgrim under my pillow, but I found it while he was still there and so he thought the surprise was ruined when it really wasn't. He's so sweet it's almost unbelievable! He and I hung out on Saturday too, which was so much fun. I really, really like him.

I will spend quality time with Star soon, though. I have to figure shit out, especially since she's moved out of that awful house.

I really should get back to work. 1,000 words into my project report. Woo!


Song of the day: Marilyn Manson - Devour.

“Fashion is all about eventually becoming naked”

I love this quote, although I can't find who said it anywhere (which sucks) but still I think it's great. I don't know if it's a reference to humanity going backwards, or if it's simply that one's clothes should attract somebody enough that that person then wants to get one naked... I dunno, I dunno, but I like it very much. I don't really understand fashion, but I love it.

I am exactly 1,621 words into an essay I started two hours ago. So I'm not doing too badly, but the end won't be in sight for a bit longer. I have more research to do, including articles and books to read, photos to find, quotes to digest and apply (not the one above, although I'd love to be cheeky enough to add it in). I've got a long night ahead of me, but I doubt I'll get much done over the next few days so it's going to be totally worth it. My final year is in sight and it's going to kick ass (as long as I get all of this shit done first!).

Although this article or whatever (even though writing an article of 1,500-2,000 words is simply ridiculous) is going well, writing and researching is kind of pissing me off because it's reminding me that I haven't been able to afford Vogue in about six months, which is so irritating. I'm not a slave to fashion, nor do I follow trends, and that probably goes without saying if you've ever met me even once. I don't think I'm necessarily unique or one of a kind in the way that I dress. I like what I like and that's it. If it's alternative, fair enough. If it's high street, that's cool too. If it's a black Chanel bag, I'm definitely not going to say no! I get the piss ripped out of me on a regular basis by my guy friends for reading it, but the reason I love Vogue is because I find it interesting and the pictures are beautiful. And, believe it or not, the articles are usually damn good too. I read a bit of the German edition while I was in Munich, but like I said I could never afford to buy it (too much money on booze and trips all over Europe) so it kind of sucked. I really wanted to bring a copy back with me.

Usually, I read British Vogue because it's my favourite one. Agyness Deyn tends to be in it a lot too. If I had her face, I'd definitely cut my hair that short but sadly I don't. I'm really dreading the hairdresser's. I keep having nightmares about it. Maybe they'll have a copy of Vogue floating around...hmm...

I should get back to work and trawl through some more stuff. I hate typing on my knees. Why oh why did my mother throw out my desk chair!?


Song of the day: Linkin Park - Lying from you.

I still haven't done any work

Actually, no, that's kind of a lie. I finished the first draft of the tenth chapter of...my story? I dunno what to refer to it as. That thing I write in the vain hope that, someday, some loon will publish it and make all of my dreams come true! Yeah, so I wrote up the first draft of that on Friday night (yup, living the life) and sent it off to Noodles and the emo, two of my fiercest critics (not fierce in that they hate it, but fierce meaning that they are completely honest with me no matter what). They read it and reported back with what they liked/disliked about it. One of my biggest problems, I think, is dialogue. I hate writing it because, no matter how hard I try, it never reads like a real-life conversation to me. Of course, others disagree. But I'm a perfectionist. So I'll shut up about it now, lest I begin to irritate myself. But I shall rewrite it tonight anyway, and then see what they think. Again.

Last night, the emo took me out to this restaurant in Bray where I had the BEST pizza I have ever had (mozzarella, tomatoes, rocket and parmesan shavings - delish!). The guy eats fucking nothing, so I always feel like a total pig around him. It doesn't stop me eating though...ahem... We had a fantastic time. I got invited to a party with some of the druggie people afterwards, but I blew it off to watch The Breakfast Club (which has my favourite movie kiss ever) with the emo and snuggle up. It sounds really pathetic of me, but I'm so skint right now that I can barely even afford to drink. And people constantly paying for me just pisses me off. I cannot WAIT until I am making my own money again...grr...

In other news, I'm going to the hairdresser next week despite the fact I have enough bleach to do my roots twice more, and hadn't planned on going again until Christmas. My mother hates my hair, and has booked me in to get it "fixed" on Thursday. She's pissed off that, let's face it, I don't look the way most so-called normal daughters do, and she's a bit of a control freak, so she's decided that my hair needs to change or I must shave my head. I don't want to change the colour, because I love it. I don't want to cut it, because I think any shorter just wouldn't suit me. So it remains to be seen what my hairdresser is going to do on Thursday, but either way it's going to be interesting. It's my own fault for bleaching the shit out of it, I suppose. I just love it so much, I can't seem to stop... Alas, my mother has made up her mind. And when that happens, as it so often does, there's no talking to her. So I suppose I'll just have to sit back and take it.

I really have to start that project...

Or maybe I'll just stare into space for a bit...


Song of the day: Linkin Park - Papercut.

I don't want to fall in love...with you

What a strange few days it has been. I really should've got more work done. Oh well, life is for living after all! God everybody must be so sick of that philosophy. I think my new one will be "Shit happens" or some other rubbish. Yup.

I was sitting on the bus home earlier this evening, listening to Corey Taylor's excellent cover of Chris Isaak's classic love song Wicked Game, when I realised that, as much as I like to deny it, I am absolutely crazy about my little emo. I know, I know, I've spent the last few months pretending like it's just a physical thing, or that I don't believe in love anymore, or whatever. But when it comes down to it, I really do adore him and his mad little head.

And it's not just because we had such a lovely day together, not to mention a great date on Saturday, or because his mother loves and accepts me, or his little sis tries to impress me with her knowledge of alternative culture, or that all of my friends adore him or that he thinks I'm the most gorgeous girl in the world and makes me feel it every second we're together...or that he's so handsome and so kooky and he makes me laugh and... Okay, scratch that, there are lots of reasons why I adore him. But there are just these moments when I realise it and could not and would not want to deny how fantastic it is.

I ran into a chick from college on the street earlier, and I'm pretty sure she thought me and the emo were going out because we were holding hands at the time. I hate holding hands, it reminds me of a time when I bought into the idea that love was all I needed (despite giving giving giving and getting very little in return), but I let him hold my hand every now and again because he loves it. Bless his heart, he is a true romantic. He got paid a ridiculous amount of money today and, after getting himself lots of new comics, a Slipknot wallet and a Mighty Boosh tee, he surprised me in Sub City with a copy of the third instalment of Scott Pilgrim Versus The World (soon to be a film starring the adorable Michael Cera in the lead role). I melted, which gave the comic book guy a good laugh. "Nothing more romantic than buying a girl a comic book" he quipped. I assured him I thought it very romantic.

There are times, when he goes on and on about nerdy shit like Final Fantasy and gothic comic books and trolling on YouTube, that I just sit back and drink his words in, feeling so unbelievably grateful to have somebody who not only loves to talk as much as me, but loves to listen too. Because he listens to all of my bullshit. And, according to him, he loves to hear it. Which is very different for me, at least with a love interest. Friends are different, of course. Friends bullshit with each other all the time. Noodles and I have been known to sit in Butler's for hours, discussing anything and everything over an endless supply of hot chocolates. But this is different. Very different.

Oh this is turning into such a mushy blog... I don't even know where any of this in coming from, because fuck knows I am not ready to settle down just yet. I still believe in monogamy, of course, but a relationship is going to be a huge deal for me. And I want to be sure, I want it to be right. But if there is anybody who can convince me, it is him.

Now let's pretend this side of me never reared its' mushy little head!!! Ahem.


Song of the day: Stone Sour - Wicked Game.

Bleh....

I'm so fucking hungover right now, it's not even funny.

It's ten o'clock at night and I'm still recovering from last night - isn't that dreadful? My brother told me yesterday that I'm too old to be going out and getting wasted, but I completely disagree with him. I love getting pissed. Not on a weekly basis, mind, but being out of my mind is so much fun because usually I'm just sifting through the ridiculous amount of thoughts swirling around in my head at any one time. And being completely out of it eliminates all of that bullshit.

I sound like I have a problem. Shit.

So, yesterday was my first night out in this wonderful city since I've been back, and it was fucking EPIC. Noodles and I did pre-drinks in our usual spot, despite the fading daylight, managing to knock back a nagin of vodka each in less than an hour.

We saw two typical Dublin characters while we were sitting there. One was an old man on a bike with a fancy hat and a can of cider as accessories. He sat in a bush. The other was a slightly older man with a big grey beard, who thought it highly amusing to rob the other man's hat when he wasn't looking and run off with it down the street. Of course, he was caught and had to return it, but it was still funny all the same. And the man who he took it from didn't seem to mind, either. I missed the mad Dublin characters. They give this city such a different feel to any other city I've visited. It's fantastic.

Anyway, pre-drinks probably weren't the best idea because, by about 11PM, I was completely and utterly wasted. Luckily, it was a nice kind of wasted. No tears, no bullshit, just drinking and good music and great company and fun! I made friends with, and was attemptedly pulled by (as in, there was a five second kiss before I pulled away in disgust) this French lad in a top hat. That was fairly random. The druggie peeps told me all about their coke adventures on the night bus and tried to drag me home with them (again). That was even more random. The emo purposely smashed a glass, was kicked out of the bar and spent the next two hours sitting on O'Connell street with his bud who I have yet to hang out with sober. And lots of other mad shit happened that I can hardly even remember.

Having said all of that, and even despite how fucking ill I am now and have been all day, the night was a complete success. There were no fights, no so-called "drama", nobody turned up to stare at anybody from across the room menacingly (poor Scooby - I thought I was the only one that happened to!), nobody tried to stir shit up or piss anybody off, and, with the exception of the emo being kicked out of the place, we all managed to have a fucking great time and go home smiling! There are definite blanks in my memory, some of which were filled in by Noodles earlier on today en route to some greasy food and a couple of bottles of Coke. We were in stitches, even though I was leaning out the car window hoping I wouldn't vomit. I know, I know, I'm so fancy. There's nothing like laughing off all the mad shit one has done the morning after with a good friend. And it's so nice to have good friends. I got so used to being treated like shit that it still feels strange to be surrounded by such wonderful people, who get me and vice versa.

Also, the emo got a new dog this morning, and thought it'd be a good idea to bring it in to me in bed to say hello. Luckily, the thing is a tiny puppy, otherwise I would've freaked out big time. I'm terrified of dogs. Of course, Munich was full of them, and Saz had me saying "Hallo" to all of em on the street by the end of the trip. But even so, the emo's new puppy was the first dog I've ever properly held. And it was scary. His other dog was put down yesterday, so he wasn't in the best mood, but I think the new pup cheered him up a bit. I'm dying to get a cat, but my mother hates them.

Urgh...I feel like my head is going to fall off... Time to wrap this up and hop into bed with some green tea. I'm such an old woman. Oh god.


Song of the day: Marilyn Manson - Rock is Dead.

Ramble ramble ramble

I spent two hours on the bus today. Well, actually it was split between three different buses. But still, either way, it was a long time to be on the bus, alone, with nothing but my own thoughts as company. I listened to a lot of Radiohead and tried to brainstorm ideas for my story, which is almost finished but needs a last big kick up the arse if it's to be ready by Christmas (I set myself a deadline, cos otherwise I wouldn't do enough work on it). I did that, and I stared out the window and I thought about the weekend, which was fairly uneventful but still not entirely shite. When I got to the city, I got a hot chocolate from Butler's. I really missed those when I was in Munich.

Anyway, I spent most of Saturday afternoon wandering around the city with my mother, sister and my mother's new boyfriend, a Geordie called Michael whom I was meeting for the first time. He was lovely, and had no problem slagging the shit out of us and taking it back in return. He made my mother laugh, even though she was shushing me every five seconds because apparently I was being too loud (something the emo loves about me, he told me later - and no that is not meant to sound dirty). It's nice to see her happy. I've spent most of my life watching her slave away for my father, who never appreciated anything she did for him. He used to stumble home drunk every single weekend, among other things, and never bothered even making half of an effort with any of us. So it's nice to her happy. Really nice.

Noodles came over that night. We watched movies and chatted loads, especially about some of our friends who have recently got much further into drugs than we ever expected them to, thus worrying us considerably. It'd be hypocritical of me to say anything about drugs being bad, because fuck knows I've done enough of em (and still do), but there's a certain line I wouldn't cross. And sadly, they have crossed it and now we're worried they won't come back. But I haven't seen any of them yet, so I'm reserving judgement until I do. But it doesn't look good.

On Sunday, I went to a big family thing with the emo (his family, not mine). I was very nervous, even more so since my mother warned me to dress girly and cover up my tatts beforehand. I did so, thinking her more knowledgeable about such things than me. I needn't have bothered. The party we went to was in far out Wicklow, in the house of the coolest little rock 'n' roll family I've ever met. The dad had long hair and a beard and named one of his kids Hendrick (after Hendrix, I am told) which was awesome. There was a ticket to the Tom Waits' gig last year on tacked up on the wall and more CDs than I could count. Everybody was so nice, especially the emo's cute little grandparents. His grandmother even referred to me as "lovely" and "gorgeous" which I don't usually get from older people. We chatted with little 18-year-old rock kids most of the time, all of whom were drooling over all of the gigs we'd been to and cool shit we'd done. They were adorable. It was so much fun. And the emo and I managed not only to sleep in the same bed despite being banned from doing so, but to do other stuff too (hee hee hee).

I dropped into work on my way home today, thinking it the best time seeing as I was dressed far more girly than I usually am on account of the party yesterday. It didn't go too badly, although I'd just missed my boss (or ex-boss, rather) by a couple of minutes, so I had to leave a note for her. I'm just praying that I get my job back. I loved it so much there and it was so perfect for me. Fingers crossed, I guess.

My mother thinks I need to change my hair. I kind of agree with her, but I want it longer first of all. I love it bleached blonde, but it is a lot of upkeep and I'm just waiting for the day when I wake up bald... Still, I want to grow it a bit more first... I'll have to think about it a lot. I can't really afford it now either.

That was probably really boring.

Time for some more Radiohead, I think.

Oh, and writing. Lots and lots of writing.


Song of the day: Radiohead - The Bends.

I have way too many thoughts at once

So, I'm back in what passes for my home these days. It feels weird, but that's only to be expected.

I was away for almost a week after a ridiculous row with my mother. I then felt terrible for setting a bad example for my younger, much wiser sister and urged her not to do the same. I went to Wicklow, where I so often find myself, and stayed with two of my best friends, alternating between their houses so as not to overstay my welcome. Both sets of parents were away, so it was a pretty easy job. Nobody knew, or cared, where I was so I got some time alone with my buds to try to sort out my head. My mother texted after two days and I told her I needed some time.

When I arrived home earlier this evening, I found a stick of rock on my bed which read "Gift from Bray". It was odd in more ways than one.

I tried Absinthe for the first time the other night and it was disgusting. Luckily, the emo had enough drugs and Noodles had enough Merlot to get me out of my mind each and every night I was away, so the icky green stuff wasn't really needed (although I still drank it).

I managed to get a shitload of music while I was there too, including a Radiohead live album that is beyond awesome. I'm told I talk about Radiohead too much, especially about their gig last summer. I don't intend to stop any time soon (mostly because I don't think I'd be able to) but I will say that Slipknot at Rock im Park came very close to being even better than that particular gig. I managed to get the full video of them playing at Rock am Ring, so I'll probably end up blogging about that in the near future. A lot.

Oh, and let's not forget my obsession with '80s goth. Siouxsie, in particular, is rocking my world right now. I listened to her the whole way back to Dublin earlier on. I love her so much, both her solo stuff and the shit with the Banshees. I want to get a Siouxsie tee, a big one that I can cut up and turn into a dress (much like my oversized Enslaved tee that I sadly left in Noodles') but I'm limited by the designs. I may just give in and buy one next week so I've something awesome to wear for my sort of makeshift welcome back thing, but I dunno yet.

That paragraph was so irrelevant.

I was walking past Topshop earlier and fell in love with a black dress in the window. Of course, knowing their prices, I won't be able to afford the hanger it's displayed on. But I can dream. It'll be nice to have money again soon. But for the moment, I can't buy anything that is not absolutely necessary, which sucks. Although vodka will definitely be the exception.

I'm going to a barbecue with all of the emo's family on Sunday and I am TERRIFIED. People's parents generally don't like the look of me, nor do they like the sound of my voice or my general attitude. Parents think I'm a bit of a loose cannon, and that I'll corrupt their kids, which is a fair assessment I suppose.. But I'm a nice enough person once you get past the way I look. Noodles' dad referred to me and the emo the other day as "Two goths who came to the door - a blonde girl and some sort of...thing" which I found highly amusing.

I fear that the emo is becoming slightly obsessed with me, which is worrying but I'm much too close to him to pull away now. I don't know how I'd survive without his madness.

I am avoiding seeing Star for the moment, seeing as I've not settled in enough to let myself get completely wasted beyond belief just yet. But soon. I've realised that quite often things are complicated by other people, as opposed to the two people involved in the relationship/non-relationship/whatever. It's really shit, but that's life I suppose. If only we didn't live in this society of celebrity and gossip and bitchiness.

Yet here I am blogging.

This live album is amazing...


Song of the day: Siouxsie and the Banshees - Happy House.

Whiskey in the Jar (-oh)

There was a moment last night, when Metallica launched into their superb (I think, anyway) cover of Whiskey In The Jar only two songs into their set - very out of character for them - that I turned to Noodles, my best friend whom I hadn't hung out with in five months, and told him happily that "This is the moment I am truly welcomed back to Dublin". He laughed, I laughed. And then some prick lunged into my side and I spent the next few minutes pulling his hair until I got distracted by the song again and started bopping along once more. It was a fantastic gig, not least because I was finally hanging out with Noodles but also due to the fact that I felt at home again (something I have not felt very often since I returned, I'm sorry to say).

My mother began arguing with me the moment I got in the door. She hates the emo, mainly because he made my brother (whose arse the sun shines out of no matter how much he fucks up) look bad. Fact is, he was being a good friend to me. And I don't blame my brother for what was simply a misunderstanding. Unfortunately, she blames my friend. Which is bollocks, because she doesn't know him and has not tried to get to know him. I understand where she's coming from, to a certain extent. But I have tried to see her point and I've apologised and she still won't meet me halfway. Now he owes her an apology, and he is willing to say sorry purely for my sake, not hers, which is a testament to how good of a friend he is to me. I wish he didn't have to do it, but if it'll shut her up (which, to be honest, it probably won't), I'm willing to give it a shot.

My bedroom is no longer mine. It has been torn to shreds and now looks and feels like a guestroom. I know where nothing is and everything feels alien to me. The first (and only) night I was back in here, I didn't sleep a wink. I yearned for my flat in Munich, all of which was mine. This place feels like nothing to me now, it's like being a guest somewhere I've never even been before. Since this, for some bizarre reason, is to my mother a more difficult transition for my brother than for me, all efforts are being made to make sure he settles back in well while I am left the outsider.

Before I left, I thought my mother and I were making progress. When my father left, she allocated the head of the dining room table (where family dinner is held every Sunday afternoon) to me, citing my being the eldest as the main reason, and of course the fact that since my father was gone, there was no reason why two women couldn't be the heads of the house. I was impressed with her, she was finally rewarding me for being a damn good kid, which I am (what I do in my private life is another story, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her).

Now, my brother is sitting at the head of the table. I questioned her about it, and she replied "Ah leave him, we can't take everything away from him" referring of course to the fact he'd lived in my room while I was away and is now back in his own bedroom. "Oh, but it's okay to take it away from me?" I asked in response. And her stony silence spoke volumes, as always.

I'm not pissed off at my brother for being the favourite, I'm pissed off because he has done nothing to achieve such a feat and also doesn't acknowledge the fact that this is wrong and he should be speaking up about it. Maybe I'd stay silent in his position too, lap up the attention and the praise for doing basically nothing. Instead, I am resigned to another year (at least, depending on how quickly I can get out of here again) of trying my hardest at everything I do and being close to ignored regardless. I'm not even complaining about it, because I'm used to it at this stage. And I know I shouldn't be shocked by her behaviour, but I am. And it fucking hurts.

Luckily, I haven't been stuck here for the past two days. I was at Metallica all day yesterday, rocking out and catching up with Noodles who I have missed more than words can express. It was so great to just hang out with him and hear all of his stories again. It makes me so excited to see everybody else (although I have to wait another week to see Scooby - boo!). He's got a free house starting tomorrow, so it'll be the perfect opportunity to catch up with everybody. And I can't fucking wait. If there's one thing that is great about being back here, it's that I get to see all of my amazing friends again.

I slept in the emo's house last night and the night before. On Friday, he cooked me my favourite dinner, with candles and a bottle of Merlot (my favourite wine), which is probably the most romantic thing anybody has ever done for me. Afterwards, we watched Chasing Amy (the only Kevin Smith movie I had yet to see, which was awesome), took a bath, fucked, got stoned, talked, and slept in each other's arms. It was perfect. The following night, we had Chinese food at 3AM after Metallica, got stoned and fell asleep again. I was made late for dinner today by his insistence upon indulging in some fantastic Sunday sex (a tradition I am most fond of), which I was very happy to give in to. I feel so lucky to have him, even though I know he'd rather have me as his girlfriend than...his lover, I suppose... But I'll over-complicate things if I start to think about them too much. I just need to live and feel and enjoy. That's what life is all about, after all.

Now I'm tempted to head over to his house again, seeing as I don't really feel at home here anymore. I don't really feel at home anywhere, to be honest. I miss Munich, I miss the life I had there. I know that I've returned to another life, a life I used to love. And a part of me still loves it, a big part of me. Another part of me is really, really excited for what's to come. But the shit with my mother is difficult, and seeing as she won't speak to me as an adult no matter how hard I try just makes it more so. I'm finding it difficult to stay here and try to move forward, but I know that I have to at least try.

I'll shut up now, because people have it way worse than me. Besides, whenever I feel like this I think of Frodo, who has gone through more suffering than anybody else I've ever met and is still one of the most positive, optimistic, yet realistic, happy people I've ever known. He is a true inspiration, and if I could imitate anybody's philosophy on life, it'd be his.

For now, I guess I'll just have to do the best that I can.


Song of the day: Slipknot - Three Nil.