Friday the Barlan guys came back to do some more network and server upgrades (will this never end?) and we ended up staying back until half seven on Friday. Lucky Alan and Alan are good fun, otherwise my rage would have been fiery indeed. We had good craic though, and I got to indulge my geeky side for a while (it's latent at the moment, but still there). I got home shattered and literally fell on the couch and didn't want to move. It was the night I was supposed to meet Jarvis...*ahem*...I mean Damien...at Whelan's (but remember he hadn't made any contact since we met). Marie physically dragged me off the couch by the arm and gave me a stern talking to.
“Lucia, if you don't go and check if he's there, you'll regret it later.”
“I'm sooo tired...”
“Come on Lucia, get up!”
“I don't want toooo...”
“Lucia, we're going out and that's all there is to it.”
And that's all there was to it.
Whelan's was great fun, it's been so long since I've been to a pub like that. Because of the nature of my flatmates, we tend to only go out to clubs playing chart hits and featuring loads of women wearing short skirts and quite a few kilos of makeup. Whelan's is more of an alternative place. The DJ plays rock and the crowd there are refreshingly original - or at least they seem more genuine than the glammed-up Barbies we usually see on nights out. By the way, before you think I'm getting highbrow and snooty, I'm not excluding myself from the “Barbiedoll” label - when I'm clubbing I mould myself into a little Stepford Slut just like the rest of them (remember the little pink dress incident?).
Marie and I met this group of guys who we danced with for a while, until we got fed up and left. On our way out we met one of them just outside the door and ended up chatting to him for about an hour and a half. Among other things he told us that Joshua Jackson is studying at Trinity! I'm pretty sure he was having us on, particularly given the Irish penchant for yanking your chain, but wouldn't it be nice if we were sharing a city with that little hottie! I'd be stalking him in no time. Needless to say Jarvis/Damien didn't show, but as stated previously, you could fill the Atlantic with the amount of not caring I have about that.
Saturday night was a quiet night in, first in a long time! But as Monday was a Bank Holiday (hurrah!) we went out to the Village. Downstairs there's a cool pub that has karaoke on Sundays (incidentally that's where I met Jimmy Barnes, not to name-drop or anything). Upstairs there's a club that plays dancy kinds of music but not all top 40 which is a relief.
Anyway after much convincing (and a little vodka) I agreed to sing “Proud Mary”, which went down fairly well if I do say so myself. Afterwards we went upstairs and danced the night away. We stopped at Rick's (best burgers in Dublin) on the way home for some delicious beefburgers and fell into bed.
Monday was quiet (are you sensing a pattern here?). Gym, laundry, grocery shopping etc. In the evening I went to see an Irish film, “The Wind That Shakes The Barley”, with my friend Eimear and her flatmate Denise. It's about the Irish war of Independence and the subsequent Civil War and oh my god, was incredibly sad. We were all in floods. In fact most people in the cinema were sniffling. After the movie we had coffee and gossiped about happy things to try and un-depress ourselves a little bit. We actually had a great laugh and only went home because we had to get some shut-eye before work on Tuesday.
Just one or two small tidbits before I go:
My f***wit ex-boss has defied the recommendations of the Labour Relations Commission and has still not paid me the money he owes me since last November. I have to take him to court now.
I get a banana on my way to work each morning, ostensibly to get vitamins and potassium but really to check out the cute guy who works the morning shift at the SPAR on Capel St. Today I think I saw him standing at the lights on North King St.
Last week Una went to the Motor Tax Office to renew her driver's license and a guy she struck up a conversation with got up, disappeared, came back 10 minutes later, handed her a bunch of flowers with a card with his mobile number on it, and left. She met him on Monday but no chemistry unfortunately. Still, gives you some hope that there's good left in mankind, doesn't it?
Friday, August 11, 2006
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Livin' La Vida Loca?
Work has been...well, work. More IT crises, more weird shit, more crazyness. Just how I like it. Every day is different.
Wednesday night salsa as usual. I'm still a disaster but thankfully have improved to the point where I'm no longer the worst in the class by a long shot. I'm still the worst, but at least now I'm only a little worse than the others! It's still fun as anything though, can't wait till I'm actually good enough to go salsa club hopping! After salsa I went over for dinner at Miranda's and met two of her friends, Yvonne and Hope, who are both great. Miranda fed me (what a legend) and we had a good time writing Hope's CV and gossiping. Yvonne drove me home (legend) and I fell into bed exhausted (I don't usually go out on a “school night”).
Thursday night I went to Whelan's to see Paul Kelly live. Now, this thing has a bit of a backstory, so I'll begin at the beginning. The last couple of weeks at work had been really difficult because of an IT cock-up that I had inadvertently caused. And not a small, “slap on the wrist” cock-up, this was a proper, loss of business, loss of profits, possibly loss of my job (worst case scenario, but always possible, even though Genesis are the nicest and most understanding employers in the universe, I'm sure there is a limit to even their compassion!) screw-up. If you cast your mind back to the diary cock-up from a couple of weeks ago, add a few orders of magnitude to that screw-up, and you may begin to comprehend what I'm talking about here. With some luck and a lot of genius from Alan, the techie, we (well, he) managed to rectify most of it (I'm not going to go into it here, it's a long story) but not all. Thankfully Alan and the guys at Barlan managed to piece things back together bit by bit but the part in the middle where I didn't know whether things were going to be able to be fixed were a nightmare for me.
Anyway, when this debacle first happened, I was going shoe shopping (despite, not because of my inner turmoil - I can't stand shoe shopping, but I just couldn't wear my boots to work any more). I was standing in the line to pay for my shoes, when this woman pushed in front of the girl standing behind me in the queue. I gave the girl a commiseratorial glance and muttered, “That was rude”, and from there on in we started up a conversation. I poured out my heart to her, all about work and what had happened, because I had to tell someone, and obviously I couldn't tell anyone at work, and I didn't have the energy to tell my flatmates, who, while lovely and understanding and everything, would have to have everything explained super slowly and three or four times. Telling the girl behind me in the Clarks queue was the perfect solution as she was a perfect stranger, and also Aussie so I could speak as fast as my mind could go, secure in the knowledge that she would understand me. Anyway after I told her about this and the boat trip and she had hinted to me that there might be a story between her and one of the guys at her work, we swapped numbers and promised to get together sometime. Meanwhile, I'd seen posters for Paul Kelly for about a six weeks and had vowed to myself to go see him (I love Paul Kelly), but hadn't actually bothered to book tickets. Eimear said she'd love to come with me, so I bought the tickets and arranged to meet her at Whelan's a small venue on Wexford street where he'd be playing.
Somewhat bizzarely, Jimmy Barnes was playing that night at the Village, a slightly larger venue right next door to Whelan's. My mate Miranda and her friends were off to see him, so I met them at the Village for a pint before the shows. We had a bit of a chat and a laugh and then they went off to get inside the venue for the show. Eimear was running a little late (damn you Dublin Bus) so I waited at the bar for her to come. As I was sitting there, minding my own business, in walks a cheerful-looking middle aged man, trailed by two semi-pretty girls in very short dresses. Slightly bored, I look closer and yes, it's Jimmy Barnes! Still somewhat stuck in my introverted mind-state, I look over but manage only to say,
“Hey”.
Hmmm. Miss Eloquent I am not.
He then flashed me a dazzling smile (he's still got the charm...) and said,
“Hi, how ya doin'?”
And that was it. But I talked to Jimmy Barnes!
I waited a little longer, then Eimear came and we went to Whelan's. It was packed and hot, and we wormed our way to the front (not too difficult) to watch Paul. He was amazing as usual, though he didn't pick up on all the ESP vibes I was sending him to play “Little Kings”. I must admit I had a little tear in my eye during a couple of the songs. What an amazing songwriter and singer he is. Paul, you little beauty.
Eims and I headed straight home after the concert, as it was a Thursday and we both had work the next day (yes, I know I am turning into a grandma). I told everyone at work about my Jimmy Barnes encounter with much enthusiasm and excitement, but the universal reaction was “Who's Jimmy Barnes?”. Hmph. Even Midnight Oil didn't ring a bell, though everyone knows f***ing Kylie. Damnit.
I got through Friday and in the evening headed back to Bray for another barbeque with Pascal and the guys. After the week I'd had I went mad eating, drinking, dancing, talking and generally having fun. It felt so good to be able to relax for a bit! I caught up with Paulina and Michal, a really fun Polish couple, all the French guys, Brian the token Irish guy, and met some new people (one of Nic's friends visiting from Paris, and Peter, a totally cool Belgian guy). We partied till the wee hours, then everyone but me went home (no DART at that time of night, and I wasn't about to go home to Dublin by myself on the bus in the middle of the night, especially given that Bray is in Co. Wicklow, so I was even in a completely different county!). I stayed the night at Pascal's on his couch, and when we got up in the morning, we spent the morning playing his guitar, singing, and listening to music. He has the most amazing collection of music ever on his laptop - totally great taste. Every song he played I exclaimed, “I love that song! He even played a song I hadn't heard in about 10 years and really love, “More than Words” by Extreme. That was an exciting moment. That song sends chills up my spine, and I'd completely forgotten it even existed.
In the afternoon I caught the bus back to Dublin, and that night we headed out to meet the guys again at d|two, a club on Harcourt street. I, against my better judgement, wore a little pink dress that I had bought in Argentina - the operative word in that sentence being little. The dress came just over my bum and it didn't cover much of my chest either. It's definitely the most revealing outfit I've ever worn, and it's an experiment that will never be repeated. The attention I got was about what I expected, but it was just incredibly uncomfortable being stared at so openly. It was interesting to feel for once like all eyes were on me (it's definitely never happened before!) but it's not a position I feel at ease in.
Once we got to the club we chatted for a bit, until I spotted a Jarvis Cocker lookalike, who was dressed in jeans, sneakers, a white shirt, a skinny black tie, a grey v-neck jumper, and black, thick-rimmed glasses. All he needed was a blazer and a peaked cap and he could have been an Eton student. I was curious as to why on earth he was dressed like an English schoolboy so I went and asked him where he was from. Not Oxbridge in the end, but Dublin, born and bred. As I went to scurry away he grabbed my arm and we started up a conversation. It turns out his name is Damien, he read Classics at university, loves Tommy Tiernan and “Father Ted”, and his favourite book is Dante's Inferno. We talked incessantly until the wee hours (half three) and then he walked me to my front door (totally out of his way - sweet!). He asked me out the following Friday, took my number and then in true Irish fashion, never called or texted me again. What is the story?? If he wasn't interested in ever seeing me again (even just as friends) why did he:
a) talk to me for nearly five hours
b) take my number
c) ask me to go out with him the following week?
I'm officially throwing in the towel on this issue. This blog is up on the web for anyone to read, so I'm opening up the question for public discussion, particularly for the lads. Please explain this behaviour! What is going on?
Anyway I had fun while it lasted, and the night we were to meet I went to Whelan's and met some other guys. So as you can see I'm hardly devastated!
Sunday was fairly quiet, trying to catch up on some sleep (sleep? What's that??) doing laundry and the like. What a gripping life I do lead. Well, actually this week I didn't do too badly - out on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights!! Let's see if I can keep that up!
Wednesday night salsa as usual. I'm still a disaster but thankfully have improved to the point where I'm no longer the worst in the class by a long shot. I'm still the worst, but at least now I'm only a little worse than the others! It's still fun as anything though, can't wait till I'm actually good enough to go salsa club hopping! After salsa I went over for dinner at Miranda's and met two of her friends, Yvonne and Hope, who are both great. Miranda fed me (what a legend) and we had a good time writing Hope's CV and gossiping. Yvonne drove me home (legend) and I fell into bed exhausted (I don't usually go out on a “school night”).
Thursday night I went to Whelan's to see Paul Kelly live. Now, this thing has a bit of a backstory, so I'll begin at the beginning. The last couple of weeks at work had been really difficult because of an IT cock-up that I had inadvertently caused. And not a small, “slap on the wrist” cock-up, this was a proper, loss of business, loss of profits, possibly loss of my job (worst case scenario, but always possible, even though Genesis are the nicest and most understanding employers in the universe, I'm sure there is a limit to even their compassion!) screw-up. If you cast your mind back to the diary cock-up from a couple of weeks ago, add a few orders of magnitude to that screw-up, and you may begin to comprehend what I'm talking about here. With some luck and a lot of genius from Alan, the techie, we (well, he) managed to rectify most of it (I'm not going to go into it here, it's a long story) but not all. Thankfully Alan and the guys at Barlan managed to piece things back together bit by bit but the part in the middle where I didn't know whether things were going to be able to be fixed were a nightmare for me.
Anyway, when this debacle first happened, I was going shoe shopping (despite, not because of my inner turmoil - I can't stand shoe shopping, but I just couldn't wear my boots to work any more). I was standing in the line to pay for my shoes, when this woman pushed in front of the girl standing behind me in the queue. I gave the girl a commiseratorial glance and muttered, “That was rude”, and from there on in we started up a conversation. I poured out my heart to her, all about work and what had happened, because I had to tell someone, and obviously I couldn't tell anyone at work, and I didn't have the energy to tell my flatmates, who, while lovely and understanding and everything, would have to have everything explained super slowly and three or four times. Telling the girl behind me in the Clarks queue was the perfect solution as she was a perfect stranger, and also Aussie so I could speak as fast as my mind could go, secure in the knowledge that she would understand me. Anyway after I told her about this and the boat trip and she had hinted to me that there might be a story between her and one of the guys at her work, we swapped numbers and promised to get together sometime. Meanwhile, I'd seen posters for Paul Kelly for about a six weeks and had vowed to myself to go see him (I love Paul Kelly), but hadn't actually bothered to book tickets. Eimear said she'd love to come with me, so I bought the tickets and arranged to meet her at Whelan's a small venue on Wexford street where he'd be playing.
Somewhat bizzarely, Jimmy Barnes was playing that night at the Village, a slightly larger venue right next door to Whelan's. My mate Miranda and her friends were off to see him, so I met them at the Village for a pint before the shows. We had a bit of a chat and a laugh and then they went off to get inside the venue for the show. Eimear was running a little late (damn you Dublin Bus) so I waited at the bar for her to come. As I was sitting there, minding my own business, in walks a cheerful-looking middle aged man, trailed by two semi-pretty girls in very short dresses. Slightly bored, I look closer and yes, it's Jimmy Barnes! Still somewhat stuck in my introverted mind-state, I look over but manage only to say,
“Hey”.
Hmmm. Miss Eloquent I am not.
He then flashed me a dazzling smile (he's still got the charm...) and said,
“Hi, how ya doin'?”
And that was it. But I talked to Jimmy Barnes!
I waited a little longer, then Eimear came and we went to Whelan's. It was packed and hot, and we wormed our way to the front (not too difficult) to watch Paul. He was amazing as usual, though he didn't pick up on all the ESP vibes I was sending him to play “Little Kings”. I must admit I had a little tear in my eye during a couple of the songs. What an amazing songwriter and singer he is. Paul, you little beauty.
Eims and I headed straight home after the concert, as it was a Thursday and we both had work the next day (yes, I know I am turning into a grandma). I told everyone at work about my Jimmy Barnes encounter with much enthusiasm and excitement, but the universal reaction was “Who's Jimmy Barnes?”. Hmph. Even Midnight Oil didn't ring a bell, though everyone knows f***ing Kylie. Damnit.
I got through Friday and in the evening headed back to Bray for another barbeque with Pascal and the guys. After the week I'd had I went mad eating, drinking, dancing, talking and generally having fun. It felt so good to be able to relax for a bit! I caught up with Paulina and Michal, a really fun Polish couple, all the French guys, Brian the token Irish guy, and met some new people (one of Nic's friends visiting from Paris, and Peter, a totally cool Belgian guy). We partied till the wee hours, then everyone but me went home (no DART at that time of night, and I wasn't about to go home to Dublin by myself on the bus in the middle of the night, especially given that Bray is in Co. Wicklow, so I was even in a completely different county!). I stayed the night at Pascal's on his couch, and when we got up in the morning, we spent the morning playing his guitar, singing, and listening to music. He has the most amazing collection of music ever on his laptop - totally great taste. Every song he played I exclaimed, “I love that song! He even played a song I hadn't heard in about 10 years and really love, “More than Words” by Extreme. That was an exciting moment. That song sends chills up my spine, and I'd completely forgotten it even existed.
In the afternoon I caught the bus back to Dublin, and that night we headed out to meet the guys again at d|two, a club on Harcourt street. I, against my better judgement, wore a little pink dress that I had bought in Argentina - the operative word in that sentence being little. The dress came just over my bum and it didn't cover much of my chest either. It's definitely the most revealing outfit I've ever worn, and it's an experiment that will never be repeated. The attention I got was about what I expected, but it was just incredibly uncomfortable being stared at so openly. It was interesting to feel for once like all eyes were on me (it's definitely never happened before!) but it's not a position I feel at ease in.
Once we got to the club we chatted for a bit, until I spotted a Jarvis Cocker lookalike, who was dressed in jeans, sneakers, a white shirt, a skinny black tie, a grey v-neck jumper, and black, thick-rimmed glasses. All he needed was a blazer and a peaked cap and he could have been an Eton student. I was curious as to why on earth he was dressed like an English schoolboy so I went and asked him where he was from. Not Oxbridge in the end, but Dublin, born and bred. As I went to scurry away he grabbed my arm and we started up a conversation. It turns out his name is Damien, he read Classics at university, loves Tommy Tiernan and “Father Ted”, and his favourite book is Dante's Inferno. We talked incessantly until the wee hours (half three) and then he walked me to my front door (totally out of his way - sweet!). He asked me out the following Friday, took my number and then in true Irish fashion, never called or texted me again. What is the story?? If he wasn't interested in ever seeing me again (even just as friends) why did he:
a) talk to me for nearly five hours
b) take my number
c) ask me to go out with him the following week?
I'm officially throwing in the towel on this issue. This blog is up on the web for anyone to read, so I'm opening up the question for public discussion, particularly for the lads. Please explain this behaviour! What is going on?
Anyway I had fun while it lasted, and the night we were to meet I went to Whelan's and met some other guys. So as you can see I'm hardly devastated!
Sunday was fairly quiet, trying to catch up on some sleep (sleep? What's that??) doing laundry and the like. What a gripping life I do lead. Well, actually this week I didn't do too badly - out on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights!! Let's see if I can keep that up!
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