A week ago Saturday was the second, annual wine-tasting fundraiser for Haiti.
As I walked over to Glenda's house, I passed my neighbor Fred, who attempted to wolf whistle at me via his open window. "Nice guna." I laughed and thanked him. He said he would follow me over in a while.
"Do I need to bring anything?" he asked as I started to head off. I looked back at him.
"Money," I replied.
"That's what I like about you, you are so direct," he said. I shrugged thinking, it is a fundraiser.
The invitees, being Irish, were slow to arrive. It was a nice, small crowd, and everyone seemed comfortable with each other and mingled happily. Glenda the good witch bustled about, giving out orders indiscriminately.
As I had done the previous year, we had five wines to taste. This year, however, Glenda had decided that we were to start with a rose. Well, early arrivals started with a glass or two of Shiraz or a beer. The wine tasting officially started quite late with the rose. I introduced "my able assistant" Howard. He was in charge of the opening of wine bottles and the pouring of the wine. Given that the sofas and chairs were quite low, Howard said that he felt like he was towering over everybody. Even in my high-heeled sandals I was not towering over anybody. I was however giving it loads as I am wont to do in such circumstances.
Very little was said about the wines. I provided basic information about where we got the wine, the reasonable cost, and what the wines were called. Occasionally, I mentioned what the percentage of alcohol was. The emphasis was on the drinking--and people's selective likes and dislikes.
One gentleman was not a wine drinker and seemed a bit bemused about the wine cheat sheet. I explained that it was just an aid. "For example, is that a wine you would give to your mother-in-law?" I asked.
He replied, "She is dead, so no." OK, I thought, he is taking this very literally. Try again.
"Perhaps it is more of a date wine?"
He shook his head no. "I am married so I don't go on dates."
"What about swilling wine?"
Nope. "I don't like wine; I wouldn't drink a lot of it."
I gave up. "Can I get you a beer?"
All in all, it was a civilized evening and no one fell into the fireplace (unlike last year. I blame the whisky.) A few of us who have been trapped by Glenda's generous hospitality in the past snuck out one after the other whenever she was in the kitchen and was distracted by others.
The Haiti fundraising season has begun well.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Self-control and silly times
I am reading a New Yorker article about self-control, and had a silly adventure the other day. So I thought I would write a little about the two. According to the article thinking about thinking is what allows people to outsmart their shortcomings. In other words, a good way to practice self-control about a given temptation is to distract yourself by thinking about something else.
The other day I went into work at 7 am (highly unusual for me) and had taken work home with me when I met up with a friend for lunch. I had already decided that I was not going back to the office after lunch, but I had several choices: go home and take a nap since I had not been sleeping well the past week, go home and finish off the two outstanding hours of work, or hang out with my friend all afternoon. I am sure there were other choices but those were the three I thought about. As it was a warm, summery day (by Dublin standards), you can guess which option I was favoring.
If you know me at all (and anyone reading this does), you already know which option I chose. Yes, I hung out with my friend. And I had fun. There was a slight difference this time from my past behavior in similar circumstances--I was less impulsive about picking the option to go with. I did think about it rationally, and weighed the pros and cons. It is not that big of a deal deciding whether to work or have fun (especially knowing that there are no ramifications on my job as I will do the work this weekend). However, there were emotional ramifications to consider and this is an area that tends to be a landmine for me.
I have made a conscious decision in the past year to avoid inappropriate relationships or non-relationships. If my budding relationship with this guy stays at friendship, there is no problem. If it becomes an emotional or romantic relationship, then it would fall into the inappropriate category. Both of us are aware of this and both would prefer the former--or so we say. Whether it is true for him or not, I really don't know.
Anyway, we had fun and have decided to just be friends. As the article explains, it is not just about the marshmallows. Read more http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2009/05/18/090518fa_fact_lehrer#ixzz1SFPQBt3U
The other day I went into work at 7 am (highly unusual for me) and had taken work home with me when I met up with a friend for lunch. I had already decided that I was not going back to the office after lunch, but I had several choices: go home and take a nap since I had not been sleeping well the past week, go home and finish off the two outstanding hours of work, or hang out with my friend all afternoon. I am sure there were other choices but those were the three I thought about. As it was a warm, summery day (by Dublin standards), you can guess which option I was favoring.
If you know me at all (and anyone reading this does), you already know which option I chose. Yes, I hung out with my friend. And I had fun. There was a slight difference this time from my past behavior in similar circumstances--I was less impulsive about picking the option to go with. I did think about it rationally, and weighed the pros and cons. It is not that big of a deal deciding whether to work or have fun (especially knowing that there are no ramifications on my job as I will do the work this weekend). However, there were emotional ramifications to consider and this is an area that tends to be a landmine for me.
I have made a conscious decision in the past year to avoid inappropriate relationships or non-relationships. If my budding relationship with this guy stays at friendship, there is no problem. If it becomes an emotional or romantic relationship, then it would fall into the inappropriate category. Both of us are aware of this and both would prefer the former--or so we say. Whether it is true for him or not, I really don't know.
Anyway, we had fun and have decided to just be friends. As the article explains, it is not just about the marshmallows. Read more http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2009/05/18/090518fa_fact_lehrer#ixzz1SFPQBt3U
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Wine taster par excellence
Somehow I got roped into helping at a wine tasting fundraiser. It is for a good cause -- building houses in Haiti. However, I went from being a willing participant and advice giver to the person ordering the wine and directing the tasting on the evening. I have never led a tasting before.
Holly recommended that I use a wine wheel, a chart of sorts easily available on the web. I found a few all right, but they were far too detailed, technical, or formal for my liking. So Emile helped me design a wine tasting cheat sheet for pseudo-wine tastings. If nothing else, it might break the ice; we are expecting about 20-25 people. There will be a lot more drinking than talking definitely. "This wine is fairly drinkable, get it down your necks" will be the gist of my directions. The way a wine tasting among friends should be. Really, the do is more an excuse for a piss-up than anything -- with no guilty conscience since it is for charity. I would still like to avoid a hangover the next day though. I am too old for hangovers.
Holly recommended that I use a wine wheel, a chart of sorts easily available on the web. I found a few all right, but they were far too detailed, technical, or formal for my liking. So Emile helped me design a wine tasting cheat sheet for pseudo-wine tastings. If nothing else, it might break the ice; we are expecting about 20-25 people. There will be a lot more drinking than talking definitely. "This wine is fairly drinkable, get it down your necks" will be the gist of my directions. The way a wine tasting among friends should be. Really, the do is more an excuse for a piss-up than anything -- with no guilty conscience since it is for charity. I would still like to avoid a hangover the next day though. I am too old for hangovers.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Swallows and nature
In Wexford last weekend I started to develop an appreciation for nature. I can now identify baby swallows. Watching them over a few days I noticed the improvement they made in their flying ability. The first day they seemed quite shaky and had to flap their wings constantly to stay aloft. The last morning as I smoked my first cigarette of the day, I watched them swoop and soar almost effortlessly.
For a city and suburban girl such as myself, this is proper country -- despite the fact that Samantha lives in a lovely, spacious bungalow in a small estate outside a village. The back of her house overlooks an empty field, and her garden is enclosed by tall trees whose leaves rustle in the steady breezes. When I sit on her front step, I can also all the trees and shrubs across the road; few houses are in my line of vision.
I also like the small-town feel of Wexford town. As I walked around town one afternoon I noticed the relaxed atmosphere and friendliness of the people. Except for the frustrated teenagers of course. Samantha greeted a lot of people in the shops and on the street. I bought a great pair of boots, essential for the upcoming winter -- which is starting to set in unfortunately. Indian summer my arse.
For a city and suburban girl such as myself, this is proper country -- despite the fact that Samantha lives in a lovely, spacious bungalow in a small estate outside a village. The back of her house overlooks an empty field, and her garden is enclosed by tall trees whose leaves rustle in the steady breezes. When I sit on her front step, I can also all the trees and shrubs across the road; few houses are in my line of vision.
I also like the small-town feel of Wexford town. As I walked around town one afternoon I noticed the relaxed atmosphere and friendliness of the people. Except for the frustrated teenagers of course. Samantha greeted a lot of people in the shops and on the street. I bought a great pair of boots, essential for the upcoming winter -- which is starting to set in unfortunately. Indian summer my arse.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
New and old friends
Friday evening was a night of meeting up with new and old friends. I hobbled over to Smithfield on my crutch with Samantha, where we met up with Annabel and Emile. The four of us had coffees and were chatting away. Emile described a surreal conversation he had had earlier in the week with his niece and nephew. Emile told them that he had applied to be a volunteer at the Phoenix Zoo. His practical, accountant-like nephew was unimpressed, while his open-minded niece was delighted. He went on to explain that he wants to volunteer so that he can steal a penguin and a giraffe. The accountant-like nephew was disbelieving. 'Where would you put them?' he asked. Emile said, 'Well I'd bring them back to live here' (in his terrace home).
After a moment's silence, the nephew asked 'how would you get the giraffe through the house?' 'Obviously, I would train it to crawl on its belly.' Enthusiastic nods from the niece, 'that would work.'
I reminded Emile that I lived near the zoo so he could stop off with the giraffe and penguin on his escape with them. His eyes lit up, 'a safe house'!
The kids in my neighborhood would love that.
The giraffe conversation reminded Annabel about the Dublin guy who actually stole a penguin from the zoo a few months ago. We had all heard at least part of the story. After stealing the penguin, they guy made his getaway in a taxi. Apparently, the penguin was kicking up a fuss and the guy reconsidered his plan. Stopped at lights somewhere in town, he opened the door and tossed the penguin out. Only in Dublin.
****
Later that evening I went to Cherie's going away party. She and her boyfriend are going to live in Vietnam but are traveling to several countries beforehand. Cherie speaks Vietnamese, French, and English fluently; she is planning to get a proper job when she gets there. Her boyfriend knows how to swear and order food in Vietnamese so he is sorted.
Cherie was a bit nervous about living in Vietnam, a bit sad at leaving her friends in Dublin, and a bit excited about everything. We hadn't talked properly in a long while so she filled me in. I already knew about her background, problems with her parents, and other things; the hassles with her "in-laws" was new. However, Friday night was the first time it hit me just how isolated she must feel sometimes. We had joked in the past that she was like my sister; I have plenty and can always do with more. She said on Friday that she has no family. I reminded her that she is my little sister and that if she needs to talk to someone while she is away to email me and I would call her back wherever she is.
I gave Cherie a bracelet that I had made. Later that evening she was joking with a few of us that she would sell it on her travels for say $2. Melanie scolded her, 'You can't do that; it has sentimental value.' Cherie thought for a minute, 'OK, $2.50.'
I am going to miss her.
After a moment's silence, the nephew asked 'how would you get the giraffe through the house?' 'Obviously, I would train it to crawl on its belly.' Enthusiastic nods from the niece, 'that would work.'
I reminded Emile that I lived near the zoo so he could stop off with the giraffe and penguin on his escape with them. His eyes lit up, 'a safe house'!
The kids in my neighborhood would love that.
The giraffe conversation reminded Annabel about the Dublin guy who actually stole a penguin from the zoo a few months ago. We had all heard at least part of the story. After stealing the penguin, they guy made his getaway in a taxi. Apparently, the penguin was kicking up a fuss and the guy reconsidered his plan. Stopped at lights somewhere in town, he opened the door and tossed the penguin out. Only in Dublin.
****
Later that evening I went to Cherie's going away party. She and her boyfriend are going to live in Vietnam but are traveling to several countries beforehand. Cherie speaks Vietnamese, French, and English fluently; she is planning to get a proper job when she gets there. Her boyfriend knows how to swear and order food in Vietnamese so he is sorted.
Cherie was a bit nervous about living in Vietnam, a bit sad at leaving her friends in Dublin, and a bit excited about everything. We hadn't talked properly in a long while so she filled me in. I already knew about her background, problems with her parents, and other things; the hassles with her "in-laws" was new. However, Friday night was the first time it hit me just how isolated she must feel sometimes. We had joked in the past that she was like my sister; I have plenty and can always do with more. She said on Friday that she has no family. I reminded her that she is my little sister and that if she needs to talk to someone while she is away to email me and I would call her back wherever she is.
I gave Cherie a bracelet that I had made. Later that evening she was joking with a few of us that she would sell it on her travels for say $2. Melanie scolded her, 'You can't do that; it has sentimental value.' Cherie thought for a minute, 'OK, $2.50.'
I am going to miss her.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Going out in Dublin
Two occurrences this week have reminded me why I like living (and going out) in Dublin. Saturday night Samantha and I went to an Italian restaurant we like. We were sitting at a table outside, pretending to be somewhere warm and Mediterranean. After dinner I rested my sore foot on a spare chair. The new waiter raised his eyebrows at that and I apologized in Italian (as one does) but didn't move my foot. Shortly after that, the charming manager swept by to serve people behind us. He made no comment on my informal leg rest but returned with a red cushion and placed it under my foot.
Yesterday afternoon after a walk in the park on my day off, I called into my local pub. The friendly barman asked what he could do for me and I told him I was out of cash. "We are just the friendly neighborhood bank it appears." I replied that I was going to purchase something as well and he said that was entirely up to me.
I ordered a 7up, got my cash, and sat at the bar reading the book Reading Lolita in Tehran (good book by the way). After a while, I left my book and soda on the bar to go to the restroom. When I returned I picked up my book. I gazed at the back cover, thinking that something looked different. I turned over the book to discover a cheesy book about quotes. Still being perplexed, I heard the barman and the barwoman giggling away. He had switched my book obviously. I got my book back and all order was restored.
Yesterday afternoon after a walk in the park on my day off, I called into my local pub. The friendly barman asked what he could do for me and I told him I was out of cash. "We are just the friendly neighborhood bank it appears." I replied that I was going to purchase something as well and he said that was entirely up to me.
I ordered a 7up, got my cash, and sat at the bar reading the book Reading Lolita in Tehran (good book by the way). After a while, I left my book and soda on the bar to go to the restroom. When I returned I picked up my book. I gazed at the back cover, thinking that something looked different. I turned over the book to discover a cheesy book about quotes. Still being perplexed, I heard the barman and the barwoman giggling away. He had switched my book obviously. I got my book back and all order was restored.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Interacting with people and family
"I do love you, you know." A lovely thing to say... even if it does imply that the person saying it to me doesn't believe that I know this. It is easy to forget, I suppose. I was nonplussed to hear it and didn't really react. The strong emotion which followed also surprised me. It might have been the first time I have seen this person that upset about me.
Another interaction with a person, which takes place more often, is the regular conversation with Goldilocks. She is a dote of a 4 year old. Every time we first meet, she is reserved and takes a good while to feel comfortable enough to talk to me. She happily plays on her own until she feels like communicating with words. At some stage, I eventually go for a cigarette. The last time I did this she came to the door and shook her finger at me. Later in the evening she started in with her usual refrain, "those are gonna kill ya" (in a strong Dublin accent). She is one of the few people that I do not mind getting hassled by about my smoking. I have decided that I will give up cigarettes when Goldilocks is 10. Don't want to rush into anything after all.
I haven't been rushing to write in my blog in 2010. Well, I have started again today.
Another interaction with a person, which takes place more often, is the regular conversation with Goldilocks. She is a dote of a 4 year old. Every time we first meet, she is reserved and takes a good while to feel comfortable enough to talk to me. She happily plays on her own until she feels like communicating with words. At some stage, I eventually go for a cigarette. The last time I did this she came to the door and shook her finger at me. Later in the evening she started in with her usual refrain, "those are gonna kill ya" (in a strong Dublin accent). She is one of the few people that I do not mind getting hassled by about my smoking. I have decided that I will give up cigarettes when Goldilocks is 10. Don't want to rush into anything after all.
I haven't been rushing to write in my blog in 2010. Well, I have started again today.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Still haven't written about Cuba
I have been awol for a few weeks... When I first arrived in Guadalavarca, I missed being online and writing for my blog. I did jot down notes here and there but am too lazy to get out of my bed and get them now. As the mojitos and Cuba libres started to flow, the notes dwindled.
I arrived at the resort early one Monday morning... only three days after I was supposed to have arrived. I am currently battling with Air France to try to get a refund after all the hassle they gave me. I have badmouthed them to many people, so I hope it affects their sales. Not to be petty.
Standing at the check-in desk, I looked around the open air lobby and spotted my friends who had been wondering what happened to me, according to the receptionist. They looked relaxed and happy. I joined them after getting my room pass. A coffee and cigarette later, I started to relax in the sunshine. Happy finally to be there. The receptionist came over to me again since she had apparently charged me too much. I ended up using three currencies to settle my bill. The resort was all-inclusive, meaning we ate and drank a lot. It is a great system.
After a while, Queenie and I went to get my suitcase and took the shuttle car to my room. She then instructed me on how to get to the beach and headed off. I followed her down. It was beautiful. Lying on a beach lounger, sipping my first mojito in Cuba, and catching up with my friend after not having seen her for seven months. Her husband, Outdoors Man, had gone fishing with an Englishman they had become friendly with at the resort. Heaven. For another four days anyway...
I arrived at the resort early one Monday morning... only three days after I was supposed to have arrived. I am currently battling with Air France to try to get a refund after all the hassle they gave me. I have badmouthed them to many people, so I hope it affects their sales. Not to be petty.
Standing at the check-in desk, I looked around the open air lobby and spotted my friends who had been wondering what happened to me, according to the receptionist. They looked relaxed and happy. I joined them after getting my room pass. A coffee and cigarette later, I started to relax in the sunshine. Happy finally to be there. The receptionist came over to me again since she had apparently charged me too much. I ended up using three currencies to settle my bill. The resort was all-inclusive, meaning we ate and drank a lot. It is a great system.After a while, Queenie and I went to get my suitcase and took the shuttle car to my room. She then instructed me on how to get to the beach and headed off. I followed her down. It was beautiful. Lying on a beach lounger, sipping my first mojito in Cuba, and catching up with my friend after not having seen her for seven months. Her husband, Outdoors Man, had gone fishing with an Englishman they had become friendly with at the resort. Heaven. For another four days anyway...
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Another busy week
I was sensible in the early part of the week... meditation class Monday, work project meeting Tuesday, and stayed in Wednesday. I was out and about on Thursday, hanging out with a friend and going to see a play, Tales of Ballycumber by Sebastian Barry. I also stopped off at my local on my way home. As one does.
Friday was hectic all day... I caught up with Wise Woman; I always enjoy our chats. Then I went for a coffee in my local Italian cafe in Stoneybatter. I startled the owner who had her head stuck in the fridge. I went out for a cigarette to give them time to finish opening. After a chat and a coffee, I had a massage appointment. Fabulous, even though I am still sore. Massage dude told me my back is special. Not in a good way.
Then I collected my passport and went shopping. Purple shoes and some essentials for my trip to Cuba are good to go. I am a speedy shopper, no loitering around for me. I rewarded myself with a glass of wine at my second favorite winebar in town. The manager still hadn't moved to Montpelier so I got a chance to say good-bye. I also accidentally knocked over an empty wine glass on the table next to mine. Oops.
Next I rushed home to dump my purchases, change into my purple shoes, and head to my local to meet my Parisian cousin. He was only in town for about an hour, as he had a train to catch to Athlone. What does one do for a weekend in Athlone? He wasn't sure. There is a chance he heads back to Dublin early if he and his son get bored there.
We said our good-byes after a single drink (he got to meet the staff) and I jumped into a taxi. Dinner was booked for 7 pm at One Pico, my favorite restaurant in Dublin. It is French and fancy... not somewhere I get to go to often.
Rugby Girl is heading off to Australia for six months. Her job will be here when she gets back. As she is off to join her Irish boyfriend there, we are now placing bets as to whether they get engaged or she changes her mind about coming back here. She does not believe in marriage though, unless it is for a visa.
Her leaving was our excuse for a good night out. Dinner was scrumptious and the camera got dragged out, as per usual. They insisted that we go to a pub afterward, teasing me about just wanting to go to my late-night winebar (I eventually left them and had a nightcap there, seeing the Ex and French Waiter there). I hate standing in pubs; the place was packed and there was a shortage of stools. Eventually I got a seat, so I perked up.
Anyway, good fun was had by all and it was a late night. The next morning I got up early and went to the all day meditation workshop. Unfortunately, I had already made plans for the afternoon so could only stay for two hours. I dozed off a bit during the body scan exercise, waking myself anytime I snored. The others on the course must have loved having me there.
I legged it back home, stopping only to purchase French cheese. The two Italians were outside my house when I got there and gave out about Irish timekeeping. We worked all afternoon and I was too tired afterward to go southside and meet my friend over from New York. I will see her and her kids on Monday instead.
It was a Saturday night and I fell asleep at 8pm, with the lights and radio still on. When I woke, I thought it was Sunday but it was only 3:30am. Perfect time to ring Lovebug for a long chat. She always makes me giggle. I am trying to convince her and her family to move to Ireland for a year. How cool would that be!
Friday was hectic all day... I caught up with Wise Woman; I always enjoy our chats. Then I went for a coffee in my local Italian cafe in Stoneybatter. I startled the owner who had her head stuck in the fridge. I went out for a cigarette to give them time to finish opening. After a chat and a coffee, I had a massage appointment. Fabulous, even though I am still sore. Massage dude told me my back is special. Not in a good way.
Then I collected my passport and went shopping. Purple shoes and some essentials for my trip to Cuba are good to go. I am a speedy shopper, no loitering around for me. I rewarded myself with a glass of wine at my second favorite winebar in town. The manager still hadn't moved to Montpelier so I got a chance to say good-bye. I also accidentally knocked over an empty wine glass on the table next to mine. Oops.
Next I rushed home to dump my purchases, change into my purple shoes, and head to my local to meet my Parisian cousin. He was only in town for about an hour, as he had a train to catch to Athlone. What does one do for a weekend in Athlone? He wasn't sure. There is a chance he heads back to Dublin early if he and his son get bored there.
We said our good-byes after a single drink (he got to meet the staff) and I jumped into a taxi. Dinner was booked for 7 pm at One Pico, my favorite restaurant in Dublin. It is French and fancy... not somewhere I get to go to often.
Rugby Girl is heading off to Australia for six months. Her job will be here when she gets back. As she is off to join her Irish boyfriend there, we are now placing bets as to whether they get engaged or she changes her mind about coming back here. She does not believe in marriage though, unless it is for a visa.
Her leaving was our excuse for a good night out. Dinner was scrumptious and the camera got dragged out, as per usual. They insisted that we go to a pub afterward, teasing me about just wanting to go to my late-night winebar (I eventually left them and had a nightcap there, seeing the Ex and French Waiter there). I hate standing in pubs; the place was packed and there was a shortage of stools. Eventually I got a seat, so I perked up.
Anyway, good fun was had by all and it was a late night. The next morning I got up early and went to the all day meditation workshop. Unfortunately, I had already made plans for the afternoon so could only stay for two hours. I dozed off a bit during the body scan exercise, waking myself anytime I snored. The others on the course must have loved having me there.
I legged it back home, stopping only to purchase French cheese. The two Italians were outside my house when I got there and gave out about Irish timekeeping. We worked all afternoon and I was too tired afterward to go southside and meet my friend over from New York. I will see her and her kids on Monday instead.
It was a Saturday night and I fell asleep at 8pm, with the lights and radio still on. When I woke, I thought it was Sunday but it was only 3:30am. Perfect time to ring Lovebug for a long chat. She always makes me giggle. I am trying to convince her and her family to move to Ireland for a year. How cool would that be!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Getting ready for Cuba
I was at Glamor Minx's leaving drinks last night. We had organized it to be at O'Dwyer's, which is also known as Howl at the Moon. Although there was not a huge turnout, the usual suspects plus a few of the new crew showed up. More importantly, they had a 2 for 2 deal on cocktails. I switched to Havana Tornado, in honor of my upcoming trip to Cuba.
Sancho had teased me the previous evening about the attention I will get in Cuba... and tried to teach me some crucial Spanish phrases. I can't remember them unfortunately. No doubt I will recognize them if I hear them there. I am looking forward to the salsa dancing and the three days I will have on my own in Havana.
The cocktails were quite strong last night so I was sensible and headed home early. Glamor Minx had already left since she too was drinking cocktails and doesn't have much stamina; two kids keep her busy and out of trouble most of the time.
I have been checking my favorite blogs this morning. There are some really good writers out there. There is also one twitter site that I check. Diamond Lil was the one who pointed it out to me and her friends. I cried laughing the first time I read through what the guy's dad says. Here is one of my favorite sayings from this month, "That woman was sexy...Out of your league? Son. Let women figure out why they won't screw you, don't do it for them." For the complete listing, see Justin.
It is another crisp autumn day. Happy Halloween, gentle readers.
Sancho had teased me the previous evening about the attention I will get in Cuba... and tried to teach me some crucial Spanish phrases. I can't remember them unfortunately. No doubt I will recognize them if I hear them there. I am looking forward to the salsa dancing and the three days I will have on my own in Havana.
The cocktails were quite strong last night so I was sensible and headed home early. Glamor Minx had already left since she too was drinking cocktails and doesn't have much stamina; two kids keep her busy and out of trouble most of the time.
I have been checking my favorite blogs this morning. There are some really good writers out there. There is also one twitter site that I check. Diamond Lil was the one who pointed it out to me and her friends. I cried laughing the first time I read through what the guy's dad says. Here is one of my favorite sayings from this month, "That woman was sexy...Out of your league? Son. Let women figure out why they won't screw you, don't do it for them." For the complete listing, see Justin.
It is another crisp autumn day. Happy Halloween, gentle readers.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Godsons are the best
The other day I emailed Lovebug and Guido with this link for my godson, Diddums. He liked it and I read the reply last night, which cheered me no end "That was really cool and really crazy and I like that you told us. If there is any more nature cool stuff please email us back." This is the same kid who told me that I did not need to get him a present because he already had everything he needed.
Apparently I get on better with seven year olds than adult males, especially those who refuse to grow up. I had a fun dinner party last night to celebrate Spanish Guy #2's moving back to Spain (he really wants a proper nickname, so in honor of his leaving he will henceforth be known as Rafael). The guys liked the food I made, and I got a lovely thank you message from Sancho today. Rafael and Sancho headed off around 12:30 to continue the leaving celebration in Temple Bar. Dante il Bambino stayed for a short while for a discussion.
We have both been operating under different assumptions... language is sometimes a problem, as is understanding our differences. I was not impressed with his take on things, to put it mildly.
Luckily, my neighbor and friend Corkman called over for a nightcap. That eased the tension. Corkman was full of his woes this week, having been to the hospital twice since he was worried about his head. He fell on Sunday morning and has had bad headaches since. Mind you, he was also convinced that he had fractured his skull despite assurances from the good-looking female doctor that he had not.
Corkman's stories and tribulations are always entertaining and he can laugh at himself at the same time that he worries incessantly about whatever the current problem might be.
May Diddums never lose his sense of wonder and non-selfish ways. A gorgeous kid, no doubt he will be breaking girls' hearts when he is older. Unfortunately.
Apparently I get on better with seven year olds than adult males, especially those who refuse to grow up. I had a fun dinner party last night to celebrate Spanish Guy #2's moving back to Spain (he really wants a proper nickname, so in honor of his leaving he will henceforth be known as Rafael). The guys liked the food I made, and I got a lovely thank you message from Sancho today. Rafael and Sancho headed off around 12:30 to continue the leaving celebration in Temple Bar. Dante il Bambino stayed for a short while for a discussion.
We have both been operating under different assumptions... language is sometimes a problem, as is understanding our differences. I was not impressed with his take on things, to put it mildly.
Luckily, my neighbor and friend Corkman called over for a nightcap. That eased the tension. Corkman was full of his woes this week, having been to the hospital twice since he was worried about his head. He fell on Sunday morning and has had bad headaches since. Mind you, he was also convinced that he had fractured his skull despite assurances from the good-looking female doctor that he had not.
Corkman's stories and tribulations are always entertaining and he can laugh at himself at the same time that he worries incessantly about whatever the current problem might be.
May Diddums never lose his sense of wonder and non-selfish ways. A gorgeous kid, no doubt he will be breaking girls' hearts when he is older. Unfortunately.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Dancing and socializing like nobody is watching
Life is good. This should perhaps be the summary of my entry rather than the beginning, but for those of my gentle readers who are busy, I thought I would get right to the point.
It has been another lively weekend. On Friday I was efficient and got things done: my Irish passport has now been renewed and will be ready six days before I leave for Cuba. I am getting excited about going. I spend so many of my holidays going home and visiting the relatives--which I love-- that I do not get to travel around the world as much as I would like. I will also be meeting good friends in Cuba: great company and a new, beautiful place to visit.
I also went to the hairdresser's on Friday for a long overdue haircut. My hairdresser is a character; we had a great chat. He convinced me that I needed to go out Friday night since my hair now looked great. I told him about my boss's 40th birthday party on Saturday that I would be attending. He asked what does one get as a gift for a boss? I replied, "a book on managing people." He roared laughing. I explained that I would give the real gift first and hoped that my boss would see the book as a lighthearted joke. (He did.)
Friday evening after a glass of wine and Russian soup for my dinner, as well as grocery shopping, I went back home and took a nap (naps are sacred, after all). I woke to my phone ringing although I missed the call. It was Galway Girl, who was in our local wondering where I was. I headed down there about 10:30 pm. A good few friends were there, fellow locals and neighbors. We had a great time. At closing time, my friends were deciding to continue on at Galway Girl's house. I however had other plans. I had arranged to meet up with Reggae Cool at my late-night winebar.
I headed into town, having a great chat with the taxi driver. I then strolled to the winebar. I chatted with the doorman and another winebar patron, who said I think you know that person. It was my ex, having a cigarette across the way. I hadn't noticed him. I went over to him and chatted for a bit. Then I headed downstairs to the winebar. I didn't know anyone there; Reggae Cool was late as usual. I got a glass of the house red and a glass of water, then settled down at the bar with the reading material available, a guide to Dublin restaurants. The ex joined me after a while and we continued chatting.
Eventually Reggae Cool showed up with a friend of his from Brussels. The friend was nice; he has only been living in Brussels for two years and hates his job but likes living there. An older woman asked Reggae Cool to dance. I watched them for a bit; she was an enthusiastic dancer, making up in enthusiasm what she lacked in skill. I also danced once with Reggae Cool. Other than that I just enjoyed watching the dancers. When the winebar closed, Reggae Cool, his friend, and I walked to Reggae Cool's part of town before I got a taxi. It is on my way home. I had proposed to Reggae Cool that I have a dinner party in his honor since he is heading off to South Africa and probably would not be returning to Ireland to live. On the walk, he gave out to me about being selfish since I wanted to invite Dante il Bambino and other friends of mine. In the end, I told Reggae Cool he was uninvited. Since I have subsequently invited other people for dinner Thursday--Spanish Guy #2 is returning to Spain next weekend--the party is no longer for Reggae Cool. Oh well.
On Saturday afternoon I went to Sancho's house for more delicious Spanish food. We were more sensible than we were last Saturday. After eating, Dante spent most of his time on Sancho's computer, while Spanish Guy #2, Sancho, and I took turns playing chess. I beat Sancho; he admitted that he had underestimated my chess playing skills. However, SG #2 then avenged Sancho and beat me in under a minute. That was embarrassing.
Dante and I had to leave early because we were going to my boss's party. We headed to my house to await another friend from work who was going to the party with us, Glamor Minx. She looked fabulous (I took a photo of her shoes at the party, which another boss thought was nuts; just call me Imelda). Glamor Minx was being sensible and drove. Dante, Glamor Minx, and I thought we were being fashionably late but forgot how Irish people always arrive hours after the official start time of parties. Eventually, everyone else started arriving. At first the boss's family did not mix so much with the work crowd, but that soon changed. The boss's wife is the "hostess with the mostess" and made sure everyone had drinks regularly and were socializing. One of the boss's aunties smoked, so she and I became fast friends. We were freezing outside in the hurricane winds but persisted in going for the odd cig. Dante made friends with everyone. At one point, he told me that he was the only person there who did not know anyone but that he was in all the photos. Another auntie of the boss had been to Venice and loved it. Dante flirted with her, which she loved. Then he joked with her husband, saying he seemed like an Italian. The husband tried out his limited Italian vocabulary with Dante.
The dancing started after the boss's speech thanking everyone. I nearly fell off the sofa laughing when I saw the moves my boss was throwing on the dance floor. 1980s' flashback... It took some encouragement to get people up dancing, mostly just the women joined the boss and his wife. After a while my Russian colleague got up to dance as did Dante. It was good fun.
Getting Dante to leave was hard work. It was getting late and people were starting to leave. My Russian colleague was driving so I asked if he could drop us somewhere near a taxi (my boss lives in the boonies outside Dublin). Unfortunately, Russian colleague does not live in Dublin either (I thought he did) and was already putting his coat on when I asked for a lift. He was too polite to say no, even though Dante still had a full pint of beer. "Two minutes," said Dante and then continued chatting to the boss's uncle and did not drink his beer. I collected my coat and then Dante's. "Dai, dai, drink up", I encouraged Dante. No luck. The uncle said, "uh oh, the boss has spoken. You had better follow orders." I am not sure whether Dante understood or just ignored us. "It is still early and besides, the clocks go back," protested Dante. He did not notice that the party was ending and that my boss looked tired.
I was speaking French with Dante when my boss came up. "Columbo, do you speak Italian as well as French?!" my boss asked. Dante shook his head no. "French only." I disagreed, saying I spoke a tiny bit of Italian (it is getting better anyway, nowhere near as good as my French admittedly). My boss and Dante joked around for a while. Poor Russian colleague was wishing he had not said yes, he would give us a lift.
Finally, we managed to get Dante to finish his beer and think about leaving. My boss said "Dante is a keeper... "
We all headed out the door. I looked back and Dante had stopped again, trying to convince us to stay. My boss said "I don't think he wants to leave." I had about given up at that point and said "fine, he can stay but I am going." I may have done the dismissive Pops' wave then.
Dante caught up with us as we headed to Russian colleague's car. We had been driving along a few minutes when Dante exclaimed, "this is a momentous occasion... the cold war must be over, I am in a car with a Russian and an American." He was sitting in the front with the Russian and tried to teach him swear words in Italian. He also disparaged the Russian's conservative driving style. When we got to the Malahide Road, a taxi pulled up next to us. The driver agreed to take us the rest of the way home. He tried to rip me off, but was unsuccessful.
On Sunday morning, my boss texted me to thank me for the presents and to tell me that the aunties loved Dante. No real surprise there. I forgot my camera at my boss's house... I can't wait to see all the photos. I will have to send some of them to the aunties.
Dante cooked a tasty pasta dish for our Sunday lunch. I told him that can count as one of the three dinners that he owes me for work I did on his business plan.
I was wrecked Sunday night and went to sleep early. All this socializing and dancing can wear out a girl.
It has been another lively weekend. On Friday I was efficient and got things done: my Irish passport has now been renewed and will be ready six days before I leave for Cuba. I am getting excited about going. I spend so many of my holidays going home and visiting the relatives--which I love-- that I do not get to travel around the world as much as I would like. I will also be meeting good friends in Cuba: great company and a new, beautiful place to visit.
I also went to the hairdresser's on Friday for a long overdue haircut. My hairdresser is a character; we had a great chat. He convinced me that I needed to go out Friday night since my hair now looked great. I told him about my boss's 40th birthday party on Saturday that I would be attending. He asked what does one get as a gift for a boss? I replied, "a book on managing people." He roared laughing. I explained that I would give the real gift first and hoped that my boss would see the book as a lighthearted joke. (He did.)
Friday evening after a glass of wine and Russian soup for my dinner, as well as grocery shopping, I went back home and took a nap (naps are sacred, after all). I woke to my phone ringing although I missed the call. It was Galway Girl, who was in our local wondering where I was. I headed down there about 10:30 pm. A good few friends were there, fellow locals and neighbors. We had a great time. At closing time, my friends were deciding to continue on at Galway Girl's house. I however had other plans. I had arranged to meet up with Reggae Cool at my late-night winebar.
I headed into town, having a great chat with the taxi driver. I then strolled to the winebar. I chatted with the doorman and another winebar patron, who said I think you know that person. It was my ex, having a cigarette across the way. I hadn't noticed him. I went over to him and chatted for a bit. Then I headed downstairs to the winebar. I didn't know anyone there; Reggae Cool was late as usual. I got a glass of the house red and a glass of water, then settled down at the bar with the reading material available, a guide to Dublin restaurants. The ex joined me after a while and we continued chatting.
Eventually Reggae Cool showed up with a friend of his from Brussels. The friend was nice; he has only been living in Brussels for two years and hates his job but likes living there. An older woman asked Reggae Cool to dance. I watched them for a bit; she was an enthusiastic dancer, making up in enthusiasm what she lacked in skill. I also danced once with Reggae Cool. Other than that I just enjoyed watching the dancers. When the winebar closed, Reggae Cool, his friend, and I walked to Reggae Cool's part of town before I got a taxi. It is on my way home. I had proposed to Reggae Cool that I have a dinner party in his honor since he is heading off to South Africa and probably would not be returning to Ireland to live. On the walk, he gave out to me about being selfish since I wanted to invite Dante il Bambino and other friends of mine. In the end, I told Reggae Cool he was uninvited. Since I have subsequently invited other people for dinner Thursday--Spanish Guy #2 is returning to Spain next weekend--the party is no longer for Reggae Cool. Oh well.
On Saturday afternoon I went to Sancho's house for more delicious Spanish food. We were more sensible than we were last Saturday. After eating, Dante spent most of his time on Sancho's computer, while Spanish Guy #2, Sancho, and I took turns playing chess. I beat Sancho; he admitted that he had underestimated my chess playing skills. However, SG #2 then avenged Sancho and beat me in under a minute. That was embarrassing.
Dante and I had to leave early because we were going to my boss's party. We headed to my house to await another friend from work who was going to the party with us, Glamor Minx. She looked fabulous (I took a photo of her shoes at the party, which another boss thought was nuts; just call me Imelda). Glamor Minx was being sensible and drove. Dante, Glamor Minx, and I thought we were being fashionably late but forgot how Irish people always arrive hours after the official start time of parties. Eventually, everyone else started arriving. At first the boss's family did not mix so much with the work crowd, but that soon changed. The boss's wife is the "hostess with the mostess" and made sure everyone had drinks regularly and were socializing. One of the boss's aunties smoked, so she and I became fast friends. We were freezing outside in the hurricane winds but persisted in going for the odd cig. Dante made friends with everyone. At one point, he told me that he was the only person there who did not know anyone but that he was in all the photos. Another auntie of the boss had been to Venice and loved it. Dante flirted with her, which she loved. Then he joked with her husband, saying he seemed like an Italian. The husband tried out his limited Italian vocabulary with Dante.
The dancing started after the boss's speech thanking everyone. I nearly fell off the sofa laughing when I saw the moves my boss was throwing on the dance floor. 1980s' flashback... It took some encouragement to get people up dancing, mostly just the women joined the boss and his wife. After a while my Russian colleague got up to dance as did Dante. It was good fun.
Getting Dante to leave was hard work. It was getting late and people were starting to leave. My Russian colleague was driving so I asked if he could drop us somewhere near a taxi (my boss lives in the boonies outside Dublin). Unfortunately, Russian colleague does not live in Dublin either (I thought he did) and was already putting his coat on when I asked for a lift. He was too polite to say no, even though Dante still had a full pint of beer. "Two minutes," said Dante and then continued chatting to the boss's uncle and did not drink his beer. I collected my coat and then Dante's. "Dai, dai, drink up", I encouraged Dante. No luck. The uncle said, "uh oh, the boss has spoken. You had better follow orders." I am not sure whether Dante understood or just ignored us. "It is still early and besides, the clocks go back," protested Dante. He did not notice that the party was ending and that my boss looked tired.
I was speaking French with Dante when my boss came up. "Columbo, do you speak Italian as well as French?!" my boss asked. Dante shook his head no. "French only." I disagreed, saying I spoke a tiny bit of Italian (it is getting better anyway, nowhere near as good as my French admittedly). My boss and Dante joked around for a while. Poor Russian colleague was wishing he had not said yes, he would give us a lift.
Finally, we managed to get Dante to finish his beer and think about leaving. My boss said "Dante is a keeper... "
We all headed out the door. I looked back and Dante had stopped again, trying to convince us to stay. My boss said "I don't think he wants to leave." I had about given up at that point and said "fine, he can stay but I am going." I may have done the dismissive Pops' wave then.
Dante caught up with us as we headed to Russian colleague's car. We had been driving along a few minutes when Dante exclaimed, "this is a momentous occasion... the cold war must be over, I am in a car with a Russian and an American." He was sitting in the front with the Russian and tried to teach him swear words in Italian. He also disparaged the Russian's conservative driving style. When we got to the Malahide Road, a taxi pulled up next to us. The driver agreed to take us the rest of the way home. He tried to rip me off, but was unsuccessful.
On Sunday morning, my boss texted me to thank me for the presents and to tell me that the aunties loved Dante. No real surprise there. I forgot my camera at my boss's house... I can't wait to see all the photos. I will have to send some of them to the aunties.
Dante cooked a tasty pasta dish for our Sunday lunch. I told him that can count as one of the three dinners that he owes me for work I did on his business plan.
I was wrecked Sunday night and went to sleep early. All this socializing and dancing can wear out a girl.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Autumnal celebrations
Autumn is my favorite season, and this year autumn is mild, full of turning leaves. Friday evening I went to a party, invited by Dante il Bambino. It was at his friend's (Sardinian Musician) apartment in Temple Bar. There had been rumors of good pasta cooked by Italians but in the end only hors d'oeuvres were served. Lots of wine and other drinks though. I am too old to go without a proper dinner however; pasta would really have hit the spot. I struggled on regardless.
I had met a good few of the people there before and they are entertaining. At one point one of Dante il Bambino's friends made the mistake of saying he intended to get his head shaved, so Dante il Bambino offered to do so there and then. Which he did in the hallway.
The guy was happy enough with his haircut. I hope he was the next day when he sobered up as well. In any case, it will grow back...
On Saturday afternoon Dante il Bambino and I got the bus to Sancho's house in Rathgar. Sancho was annoyed because some of the people he had invited for his wonderful paella did not show up. He cheered up though when we delivered sufficient wine for the luncheon (or early dinner). It was a feast and no one was allowed to leave the table set outside until we had eaten all the paella. Not really a challenge for Dante, who has a healthy appetite.
Eventually it got cold so we moved back inside. I made Irish coffees for everyone, my one skill from my bartending days in Paris (temporary gig to help out a friend who managed an Irish pub). Spanish guy number two, who shall remain nameless because he is dead to me, preferred the Bulowski coffees made by Dante.
After a while poor Sancho was not feeling well, possibly due more to the amount of whiskey he consumed than the stress of all that cooking. He crashed in his room but the rest of us stayed on to finish our drinks. I checked in on Sancho later, and put a duvet over him and took off his shoes. He muttered something about my being just like his mother.
When we had finished philosophizing--Spanish guy and I shared the same theories but Dante il Bambino was not convinced by them--and drinking, we all headed back into town. Spanish guy was tired, so he went home and we went to the pub for more "arguments" (discussions really) and drink.
It was another good night.
I had met a good few of the people there before and they are entertaining. At one point one of Dante il Bambino's friends made the mistake of saying he intended to get his head shaved, so Dante il Bambino offered to do so there and then. Which he did in the hallway.
The guy was happy enough with his haircut. I hope he was the next day when he sobered up as well. In any case, it will grow back...On Saturday afternoon Dante il Bambino and I got the bus to Sancho's house in Rathgar. Sancho was annoyed because some of the people he had invited for his wonderful paella did not show up. He cheered up though when we delivered sufficient wine for the luncheon (or early dinner). It was a feast and no one was allowed to leave the table set outside until we had eaten all the paella. Not really a challenge for Dante, who has a healthy appetite.
Eventually it got cold so we moved back inside. I made Irish coffees for everyone, my one skill from my bartending days in Paris (temporary gig to help out a friend who managed an Irish pub). Spanish guy number two, who shall remain nameless because he is dead to me, preferred the Bulowski coffees made by Dante.
After a while poor Sancho was not feeling well, possibly due more to the amount of whiskey he consumed than the stress of all that cooking. He crashed in his room but the rest of us stayed on to finish our drinks. I checked in on Sancho later, and put a duvet over him and took off his shoes. He muttered something about my being just like his mother.
When we had finished philosophizing--Spanish guy and I shared the same theories but Dante il Bambino was not convinced by them--and drinking, we all headed back into town. Spanish guy was tired, so he went home and we went to the pub for more "arguments" (discussions really) and drink.
It was another good night.
Friday, October 16, 2009
A fabulous day
Yesterday was a good day. It was not a special day and I still had to work but nonetheless I was in great form and enjoyed almost every minute of the day/evening. It was the last day of my work week--gotta say I love this 4-day work week lark.
I woke early even though I had gone to sleep quite late. My lungs were in bits from too much smoking the previous evening and I was somewhat tired. I read an entertaining blog, which always puts me in decent form for dealing with the numpties at work later. I also took my time going in and decided to postpone preparing for a painful meeting.
On my way into work I stopped at my regular coffee shop; they know me by name and I chat and gossip with them every morning. Usually, they ask if I am running late (yes is usually the answer). I have even celebrated one of their birthdays there, joining in for the cake and singing birthday wishes as one does.
Then I walked to the second tram station, doing the mindful thing by being aware of my autumnal surroundings. A heroin addict stopped me to ask for a light and didn't even thank me. She had her own crumpled cigarette though.
On the tram I noticed most of the people looked as tired as I felt. I texted my friend to see if he was as wrecked as I was. Then at the other end of my journey I crossed the river, lit a cigarette, and proceeded to the office. The painful meeting had already started but I took my time joining the others, doing more important work at my desk first. I arrived at the meeting just in time for my status update. Since I had not prepared anything I had them show my previous week's status and said it was remarkably similar because I had been dragged into so many meetings this week that I had not had time to complete all my planned tasks.
As Travelling Fille passed my desk after the meeting she leaned over and whispered "I have lost the will to live." I laughed. At least I know it is not just me who finds the numpties annoying. They love their inefficient meetings and can shite on about the same topic repeatedly for a long time. I tend to leave the meetings when they start to repeat themselves, excusing myself by saying I have something else planned/urgent, etc. I get away with murder at work so cannot complain too much... not that it stops me.
Travelling Fille and I went out for lunch. We had not chatted properly all week so we filled each other in on our respective doings. We avoided talking about work, focusing more on our plans for this weekend. She is going to my favorite restaurant tonight with her family. I was unsure what exactly I was going to be up to, other than the home visit I will be getting Sunday for the woman to determine whether I will provide a good home for her bullied cat (bullied by the other cats, not her).
At my own, efficient meeting in the afternoon, I had to scold my boss and Travelling Fille for talking out of turn. The meeting lasted 15 minutes and then I had to chat to my boss to get him back on-side after scolding him. All my colleagues tease me about my schoolmarm ways. I don't care, it gets things done.
I gathered up my laptop since I have a bit of work to do this weekend and headed off early. I met up with Wise Woman and filled her in on the latest. I told her I use my interactions with my colleagues as a gauge to see how I am doing health wise. When I mentioned that even at the best of times I find some of them irritating, she said that perhaps that is because they are annoying people.
Then I went to my local Italian restaurant/cafe for a glass of wine. At one point I went outside to smoke a cigarette perched on the ledge. An elderly Irish woman passed me by and I smiled hello. She said "It looks like you are enjoying yourself." Her words made me stop and think... I replied "Yes, I am" with a big grin. I had almost finished my wine when my favorite Spanish physiotherapist/waiter arrived for work. We chatted and I teased him about missing the opportunity to meet some pretty women last Friday. Since he works two jobs, he is always exhausted and wasn't up to socializing then. We joked that his only solution would be to marry a rich woman, but I pooh-poohed his chances of doing that.
With a "ciao" I headed back into town to meet my lovely Italian friends, Bella Donna and Tipo Nordico. I got the tram to Busáras bus station and then got a taxi to the southside. I haven't been in Ballsbridge in years. I also hadn't seen Bella Donna and Tipo Nordico for at least one year. We met in a pub and then walked over to a Japanese restaurant that they like. The food and company were very good.
We discussed Italian politics, among other topics, as well as where all of us want to live when we retire--even though all three of us having been living in Ireland for the best part of two decades, none of us want to be old here. The weather is only part of it. Perhaps we will all end up in the same village in France, Spain, or Italy... Any other takers?
After dinner I got a taxi back to the northside, my comfort zone. I had the driver stop by my local when I saw that it was open. It had reopened the previous night but I had already made alternative plans for Wednesday. I joined a neighbor of mine who was there on his own. He told me all about his trip to Spain last week and his plan to retire early in two years. Retirement and other countries/cultures seems to have been the theme for the evening.
I left the pub after literally one celebratory glass of wine, congratulating the bar manager and the son of the owner on the pub's reopening. I missed my local. Home to bed I went.
Gentle readers (all four or five of ye), I hope you have as delightful of a day as my day was yesterday.
I woke early even though I had gone to sleep quite late. My lungs were in bits from too much smoking the previous evening and I was somewhat tired. I read an entertaining blog, which always puts me in decent form for dealing with the numpties at work later. I also took my time going in and decided to postpone preparing for a painful meeting.
On my way into work I stopped at my regular coffee shop; they know me by name and I chat and gossip with them every morning. Usually, they ask if I am running late (yes is usually the answer). I have even celebrated one of their birthdays there, joining in for the cake and singing birthday wishes as one does.
Then I walked to the second tram station, doing the mindful thing by being aware of my autumnal surroundings. A heroin addict stopped me to ask for a light and didn't even thank me. She had her own crumpled cigarette though.
On the tram I noticed most of the people looked as tired as I felt. I texted my friend to see if he was as wrecked as I was. Then at the other end of my journey I crossed the river, lit a cigarette, and proceeded to the office. The painful meeting had already started but I took my time joining the others, doing more important work at my desk first. I arrived at the meeting just in time for my status update. Since I had not prepared anything I had them show my previous week's status and said it was remarkably similar because I had been dragged into so many meetings this week that I had not had time to complete all my planned tasks.
As Travelling Fille passed my desk after the meeting she leaned over and whispered "I have lost the will to live." I laughed. At least I know it is not just me who finds the numpties annoying. They love their inefficient meetings and can shite on about the same topic repeatedly for a long time. I tend to leave the meetings when they start to repeat themselves, excusing myself by saying I have something else planned/urgent, etc. I get away with murder at work so cannot complain too much... not that it stops me.
Travelling Fille and I went out for lunch. We had not chatted properly all week so we filled each other in on our respective doings. We avoided talking about work, focusing more on our plans for this weekend. She is going to my favorite restaurant tonight with her family. I was unsure what exactly I was going to be up to, other than the home visit I will be getting Sunday for the woman to determine whether I will provide a good home for her bullied cat (bullied by the other cats, not her).
At my own, efficient meeting in the afternoon, I had to scold my boss and Travelling Fille for talking out of turn. The meeting lasted 15 minutes and then I had to chat to my boss to get him back on-side after scolding him. All my colleagues tease me about my schoolmarm ways. I don't care, it gets things done.
I gathered up my laptop since I have a bit of work to do this weekend and headed off early. I met up with Wise Woman and filled her in on the latest. I told her I use my interactions with my colleagues as a gauge to see how I am doing health wise. When I mentioned that even at the best of times I find some of them irritating, she said that perhaps that is because they are annoying people.
Then I went to my local Italian restaurant/cafe for a glass of wine. At one point I went outside to smoke a cigarette perched on the ledge. An elderly Irish woman passed me by and I smiled hello. She said "It looks like you are enjoying yourself." Her words made me stop and think... I replied "Yes, I am" with a big grin. I had almost finished my wine when my favorite Spanish physiotherapist/waiter arrived for work. We chatted and I teased him about missing the opportunity to meet some pretty women last Friday. Since he works two jobs, he is always exhausted and wasn't up to socializing then. We joked that his only solution would be to marry a rich woman, but I pooh-poohed his chances of doing that.
With a "ciao" I headed back into town to meet my lovely Italian friends, Bella Donna and Tipo Nordico. I got the tram to Busáras bus station and then got a taxi to the southside. I haven't been in Ballsbridge in years. I also hadn't seen Bella Donna and Tipo Nordico for at least one year. We met in a pub and then walked over to a Japanese restaurant that they like. The food and company were very good.
We discussed Italian politics, among other topics, as well as where all of us want to live when we retire--even though all three of us having been living in Ireland for the best part of two decades, none of us want to be old here. The weather is only part of it. Perhaps we will all end up in the same village in France, Spain, or Italy... Any other takers?
After dinner I got a taxi back to the northside, my comfort zone. I had the driver stop by my local when I saw that it was open. It had reopened the previous night but I had already made alternative plans for Wednesday. I joined a neighbor of mine who was there on his own. He told me all about his trip to Spain last week and his plan to retire early in two years. Retirement and other countries/cultures seems to have been the theme for the evening.
I left the pub after literally one celebratory glass of wine, congratulating the bar manager and the son of the owner on the pub's reopening. I missed my local. Home to bed I went.
Gentle readers (all four or five of ye), I hope you have as delightful of a day as my day was yesterday.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
The stars never lie
I enjoy reading one or two horoscopes. My friend Artist Bloom sent me this one yesterday. Normally, I take their advice/information with a bucket of salt... but how could "Truly, the autumn of 2009 will be your best time ever. Jupiter will remain in your sign until January 17, 2010, plenty of time to seed your dearest dreams" be wrong? OK, it is American and a bit cheerleading in tone. Nonetheless, I am having a brilliant Autumn (nothing to do with the fact that Pops leaves tomorrow morning).
For a more sarcastic view of the stars, see an Irish interpretation; it is not for the fainthearted or easily offended, be warned.
I even read Pops bits of his horoscope from the first one. He did not want to hear the romantic advice though. Then I left him set up in front of a blazing fire and a film showing (he waited for me to put the DVD on, the big pampered child). He was still not feeling great, but since he has a stomach bug and continued to eat food that was not suitable, I have no sympathy. Since I was not working yesterday, I got his diet under control. As a result, he is feeling a little bit better this morning although he has gone back to bed.
I left him to go to my new local (my normal local is still closed after the fire, which I wrote about a few posts back). I had organized a leaving drinks evening for him. We all had a great time even though he wasn't there. I did get a card and all signed it, including the friends who do not know him. There was a good turnout. As he put it, "Only in Ireland could you have a party without even attending it." He liked the card.
We were in the new local for quite a while; the last hangers on, including me of course, finally left around 2 am. Then I went to my late-night winebar with an Italian friend. As one does.
For a more sarcastic view of the stars, see an Irish interpretation; it is not for the fainthearted or easily offended, be warned.
I even read Pops bits of his horoscope from the first one. He did not want to hear the romantic advice though. Then I left him set up in front of a blazing fire and a film showing (he waited for me to put the DVD on, the big pampered child). He was still not feeling great, but since he has a stomach bug and continued to eat food that was not suitable, I have no sympathy. Since I was not working yesterday, I got his diet under control. As a result, he is feeling a little bit better this morning although he has gone back to bed.
I left him to go to my new local (my normal local is still closed after the fire, which I wrote about a few posts back). I had organized a leaving drinks evening for him. We all had a great time even though he wasn't there. I did get a card and all signed it, including the friends who do not know him. There was a good turnout. As he put it, "Only in Ireland could you have a party without even attending it." He liked the card.
We were in the new local for quite a while; the last hangers on, including me of course, finally left around 2 am. Then I went to my late-night winebar with an Italian friend. As one does.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Mingling
The smoke damage from the fire in my local Friday night did not help my recovery from a chest infection (bronchitis in American). I took it easy on Saturday, cutting back on the cigarettes and taking a 2 1/2 hour nap. I didn't even think about doing the work I am supposed to do this weekend. I wasn't able.
I managed after my nap to cook a nice dinner for Pops, as well as a homemade dessert. How spoiled is he? I rested after dinner again while we watched the boxing. I really like the sport, although I shudder to see the damage the fighters do to each other. I argued with the taxi driver that it is a sport. He said it was obvious that I knew what I was talking about boxing and was suitably impressed. I was not impressed however when he said after vehemently contesting that boxing is not a sport "Well, never argue with a woman. It is easier to let her think she is right." If I was married to that dude, I would make his life a living hell... or retrain him.
Anyway, after the boxing--Dunne lost by the way; the other guy simply outclassed him--I started to get ready to go to my late-night winebar. Pops just shook his head in disbelief. He had hoped that I would stay in and rest. I explained that I wouldn't be able to sleep after such a long nap and that I had arranged to meet people. I took my time getting ready and tried to empty my lungs in a boiling hot shower. It sort of worked, as did the Lemsip (with a drop of medicinal whisky in it). Needs must.
I arrived at the winebar slightly ahead of my friends. However, I said hello to the owner who knows he has met me over the years but cannot remember my name. All the staff know it though. I chatted with one of the waiters and the bouncer before heading downstairs. Shortly after I ordered my wine and a glass of tap water (it is always about the pacing), my friends arrived. We moved to the best table, our favorite corner.
A few more friends arrived. Reggae Cool commented that I seemed restless. I said I was just mingling... in good form. I danced a bit and wandered in and out of the place to have a cigarette or three.
One of the times that I was outside on my own (either my friends don't smoke or they have recently quit), I stood apart and watched people--other patrons of the winebar and the various passing strangers. I critiqued the fashion choices, although I am hardly a fashionista. I noticed a patron on his own approach a group of others to ask them for a light. He then made his way over to stand by me, assuring me that he wouldn't bother me. I shrugged and said it was grand. As one does, we got to chatting. He was a nice guy, easy to talk to.
So we stayed there talking. He offered me one of his cigarettes. I being in a chatty mood told him stories. He was a good listener. I did tell him it was ok to tell me I was talking too much, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. He told me about his negative impression of the French, based on a bad experience he had with a pretentious chef who kicked him and the clients he was entertaining out of the restaurant because he had quietly requested a vegetarian only meal. I laughed, then explained my take on the French in general and food in particular. His reply was "I know, I know" (translation from Irish speak to "I get what you are saying but I am not changing my mind"; perhaps that one is universal to all native English speakers).
This morning Pops asked me what time I got home. "Late" was my reply, with a cheeky grin. He shook his head again. "Was that guy there?" he asked. "Nope, but I met another guy... Irish this time."
"Oh no, be careful. Those Irish guys are up to no good." (It takes one to know one, I'd say.) I defended the guy, saying he was not like that, he was nice. Funny how things change... Pops used to tell me to be careful about dating guys from other cultures; that it was too hard. Subtext: nonwhite cultures. Now however he is telling me I should not date guys from my adopted culture, one that is not a million miles away from my family culture, given my father's background. If I were to follow his advice, the dating pool available to me would be shrunk down significantly--not that I can remember the last time I dated an Irish guy, other of course than the one who broke my heart a decade or so ago. Bygones.
I managed after my nap to cook a nice dinner for Pops, as well as a homemade dessert. How spoiled is he? I rested after dinner again while we watched the boxing. I really like the sport, although I shudder to see the damage the fighters do to each other. I argued with the taxi driver that it is a sport. He said it was obvious that I knew what I was talking about boxing and was suitably impressed. I was not impressed however when he said after vehemently contesting that boxing is not a sport "Well, never argue with a woman. It is easier to let her think she is right." If I was married to that dude, I would make his life a living hell... or retrain him.
Anyway, after the boxing--Dunne lost by the way; the other guy simply outclassed him--I started to get ready to go to my late-night winebar. Pops just shook his head in disbelief. He had hoped that I would stay in and rest. I explained that I wouldn't be able to sleep after such a long nap and that I had arranged to meet people. I took my time getting ready and tried to empty my lungs in a boiling hot shower. It sort of worked, as did the Lemsip (with a drop of medicinal whisky in it). Needs must.
I arrived at the winebar slightly ahead of my friends. However, I said hello to the owner who knows he has met me over the years but cannot remember my name. All the staff know it though. I chatted with one of the waiters and the bouncer before heading downstairs. Shortly after I ordered my wine and a glass of tap water (it is always about the pacing), my friends arrived. We moved to the best table, our favorite corner.
A few more friends arrived. Reggae Cool commented that I seemed restless. I said I was just mingling... in good form. I danced a bit and wandered in and out of the place to have a cigarette or three.
One of the times that I was outside on my own (either my friends don't smoke or they have recently quit), I stood apart and watched people--other patrons of the winebar and the various passing strangers. I critiqued the fashion choices, although I am hardly a fashionista. I noticed a patron on his own approach a group of others to ask them for a light. He then made his way over to stand by me, assuring me that he wouldn't bother me. I shrugged and said it was grand. As one does, we got to chatting. He was a nice guy, easy to talk to.
So we stayed there talking. He offered me one of his cigarettes. I being in a chatty mood told him stories. He was a good listener. I did tell him it was ok to tell me I was talking too much, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. He told me about his negative impression of the French, based on a bad experience he had with a pretentious chef who kicked him and the clients he was entertaining out of the restaurant because he had quietly requested a vegetarian only meal. I laughed, then explained my take on the French in general and food in particular. His reply was "I know, I know" (translation from Irish speak to "I get what you are saying but I am not changing my mind"; perhaps that one is universal to all native English speakers).
This morning Pops asked me what time I got home. "Late" was my reply, with a cheeky grin. He shook his head again. "Was that guy there?" he asked. "Nope, but I met another guy... Irish this time."
"Oh no, be careful. Those Irish guys are up to no good." (It takes one to know one, I'd say.) I defended the guy, saying he was not like that, he was nice. Funny how things change... Pops used to tell me to be careful about dating guys from other cultures; that it was too hard. Subtext: nonwhite cultures. Now however he is telling me I should not date guys from my adopted culture, one that is not a million miles away from my family culture, given my father's background. If I were to follow his advice, the dating pool available to me would be shrunk down significantly--not that I can remember the last time I dated an Irish guy, other of course than the one who broke my heart a decade or so ago. Bygones.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Dinner with the parents
Last night Travelling Fille and I met up with her parents and my Pops for a lovely meal at my favorite restaurant in Dublin. We did the same last year, and it is becoming an annual event. It was my treat since her father did a lot of architectural work for me (free) a couple of years ago... and since I am trying to get her parents to adopt me. When I mentioned this to Adopted Dad, he said he was agreeable since he could get money from the government for fostering me. I pointed out that I think they cut off the funds once the child has reached their 40s. I could be wrong though.
Earlier in the evening we had agreed to meet at a swish hotel bar since Pops knows where it is and likes it. I arrived early since I knew his tendency to do the same. While I was waiting I had a nice chat with my uncle, who also likes that place but was elsewhere in Ireland. (Uncle is off to Mayo next week.)
The evening advanced and no sign of Pops. It was still early so I wasn't too worried. Lady Chef and Adopted Dad arrived first. They had missed the raising of the glasses to Arthur at 17:59 (250 anniversary of Guinness last night). I got them drinks and we chatted. Travelling Fille arrived shortly after, having worked late. She was fighting off a cold but rallied for the evening, good woman that she is.
The official time I had given Pops to meet passed. "Where is the boss?" asked Lady Chef. "Good question... I reminded him at 4pm of the arrangements; I don't think he could have got lost--or forgotten."
Given his refusal to use a mobile phone, I had no way of getting hold of him. I wandered down to the bus stop to check for him. No sign. I then made my way through the hotel's other bar, which was packed. Again, no Pops. I returned to the others and chatted some more. 45 minutes past our rendez-vous I started to panic, imagining all kinds of accidents befalling him. (I kept a cool exterior though.)
I queried the staff and asked them to keep an eye out for a little old guy with a shuffling gait. Another trip down to the bus stop... no joy. I was eating cigarettes by this stage.
After again checking the lounge and second bar, I rang one of my neighbors. She hadn't seen him since 2pm. She was flabbergasted and tried to think of suggestions. Luckily while I was talking to her, Pops wandered out of the bar. He had been there for the best part of two hours; I knew he would be in a bar somewhere. He tried to tell me that we always met there (we never have). He brought me back there to meet the lovely couple he had been chatting to. The young woman was good-looking, which was part of the distraction for Pops. I asked him whether he had even looked out for me.
Anyway, we made it to the restaurant only a few minutes late. It was a leisurely, delicious meal and great company.
Afterward, I did my usual trick of putting Pops in a taxi. I escorted my adoptive family to their taxi (and inadvertently called Adopted Dad "Dad"). Then I headed to my local winebar to count my gray hairs from the worry earlier and relax a bit.
Earlier in the evening we had agreed to meet at a swish hotel bar since Pops knows where it is and likes it. I arrived early since I knew his tendency to do the same. While I was waiting I had a nice chat with my uncle, who also likes that place but was elsewhere in Ireland. (Uncle is off to Mayo next week.)
The evening advanced and no sign of Pops. It was still early so I wasn't too worried. Lady Chef and Adopted Dad arrived first. They had missed the raising of the glasses to Arthur at 17:59 (250 anniversary of Guinness last night). I got them drinks and we chatted. Travelling Fille arrived shortly after, having worked late. She was fighting off a cold but rallied for the evening, good woman that she is.
The official time I had given Pops to meet passed. "Where is the boss?" asked Lady Chef. "Good question... I reminded him at 4pm of the arrangements; I don't think he could have got lost--or forgotten."
Given his refusal to use a mobile phone, I had no way of getting hold of him. I wandered down to the bus stop to check for him. No sign. I then made my way through the hotel's other bar, which was packed. Again, no Pops. I returned to the others and chatted some more. 45 minutes past our rendez-vous I started to panic, imagining all kinds of accidents befalling him. (I kept a cool exterior though.)
I queried the staff and asked them to keep an eye out for a little old guy with a shuffling gait. Another trip down to the bus stop... no joy. I was eating cigarettes by this stage.
After again checking the lounge and second bar, I rang one of my neighbors. She hadn't seen him since 2pm. She was flabbergasted and tried to think of suggestions. Luckily while I was talking to her, Pops wandered out of the bar. He had been there for the best part of two hours; I knew he would be in a bar somewhere. He tried to tell me that we always met there (we never have). He brought me back there to meet the lovely couple he had been chatting to. The young woman was good-looking, which was part of the distraction for Pops. I asked him whether he had even looked out for me.
Anyway, we made it to the restaurant only a few minutes late. It was a leisurely, delicious meal and great company.
Afterward, I did my usual trick of putting Pops in a taxi. I escorted my adoptive family to their taxi (and inadvertently called Adopted Dad "Dad"). Then I headed to my local winebar to count my gray hairs from the worry earlier and relax a bit.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Trivia and Cohen
The table quiz Friday night, which was in aid of charity work in Haiti Glenda the Good Witch is going to do, was well worth attending. Our team was Pops, Corkman, Galway Girl, and myself. Galway Girl's brother came along to observe the proceedings and help with the collection of answer sheets.
We were doing well throughout the well-organized quiz, in the top three out of ten tables. By the end, however, we had slipped to fourth. Pops won a box of chocolates as a raffle prize, but he complained that those weren't the ones he liked. He looked greedily at the huge boxes of Cadbury's Milk Trays that went to other lucky contestants. The big child. I mollified him by saying we could swap out the sweets we had put in my godson's (Diddum's) as yet unposted present; it is becoming his xmas present at this stage. I got a bag full of bath goodies.
After Glenda the Good Witch had distributed the prizes for the winners, there were some prizes left over. She asked all those who hadn't won anything to stand up. People from three tables stood, including Corkman and Galway Girl. Each table was instructed to send one representative to the front of the room. We nominated Corkman. Glenda picked a topic for each of the three people. One guy got Literature, another got Science, and Corkman got Music.
Corkman was the last of the three to get his question. In his case, however, Glenda decided that he had to perform. She said to win a prize, Corkman had to sing Leonard Cohen's "Passing Through" song. The place erupted in laughter, and Pops turned to me in consternation. "Oh, poor Corkman, she is putting him on the spot terribly," he worried. I shook my head, still laughing at Glenda's stunt. "Are you kidding?" I replied. "We won't be able to get him to stop."
Sure enough, he took off his glasses and launched into song, complete with his generous arm gestures. Some of the audience joined in the chorus. After the second verse, Glenda and others tried to get him to stop. Everyone's cheering and applauding finally convinced him.
Corkman and Galway Girl took the brother and Pops back home before heading to our local. I headed off into town, having made alternative arrangements. Great night.
We were doing well throughout the well-organized quiz, in the top three out of ten tables. By the end, however, we had slipped to fourth. Pops won a box of chocolates as a raffle prize, but he complained that those weren't the ones he liked. He looked greedily at the huge boxes of Cadbury's Milk Trays that went to other lucky contestants. The big child. I mollified him by saying we could swap out the sweets we had put in my godson's (Diddum's) as yet unposted present; it is becoming his xmas present at this stage. I got a bag full of bath goodies.
After Glenda the Good Witch had distributed the prizes for the winners, there were some prizes left over. She asked all those who hadn't won anything to stand up. People from three tables stood, including Corkman and Galway Girl. Each table was instructed to send one representative to the front of the room. We nominated Corkman. Glenda picked a topic for each of the three people. One guy got Literature, another got Science, and Corkman got Music.
Corkman was the last of the three to get his question. In his case, however, Glenda decided that he had to perform. She said to win a prize, Corkman had to sing Leonard Cohen's "Passing Through" song. The place erupted in laughter, and Pops turned to me in consternation. "Oh, poor Corkman, she is putting him on the spot terribly," he worried. I shook my head, still laughing at Glenda's stunt. "Are you kidding?" I replied. "We won't be able to get him to stop."
Sure enough, he took off his glasses and launched into song, complete with his generous arm gestures. Some of the audience joined in the chorus. After the second verse, Glenda and others tried to get him to stop. Everyone's cheering and applauding finally convinced him.Corkman and Galway Girl took the brother and Pops back home before heading to our local. I headed off into town, having made alternative arrangements. Great night.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Annual street party
The day was sunny and warm. We could have been in Barcelona. I woke feeling less than 100%... it had been another late night and I was getting a cold. The system of putting Pops in a taxi home at a reasonable hour, giving the driver instructions, and heading off to my late night winebar is a good one. Except for the smoking outside in the chilly air and getting a cold.
The kids were excited from an early hour. They wandered around, waiting for the party to start, doing some last-minute artwork, or practicing their drama performance. The adults were more blase although still cheerful.
By the time I had had my shower, I was feeling better. I helped with setup and then made a large potato salad, which contained olives and pumpkin seeds among other ingredients. Pops brought a chair into the kitchen and supervised the making of the salad. I just thought he came to chat but he got concerned when he saw what went into the salad. "Whose recipe is this?" he asked subtly. "No one's," I replied. "I just make it up as I go along... don't you remember? My younger siblings used to hate my experimental approach to cooking." Vague head nods.
As it was warm, I held off putting the salad out to share just yet. Neighbors and their friends had started to gather around. Pops pulled out a chair and was almost immediately offered a glass of white wine. But it was the homemade scones he was eyeing up... I think he ate 5.
Mrs O'Reilly and Mrs Sullivan stayed seated in their doorways even though people were grouped almost immediately in front of them. They had front-row seats and were loth to give them up. The boyfriend of my friend, Mad One, turned up with Mad One's half sister and daughter, along with their son. He dropped off the daughter, Daisy, saying he had to take his baby son home to change and put to down for a nap. The sister went with him, and somehow I got Daisy for the afternoon. She is a good kid despite her crazy dress sense (she is only 6). Pops did not expect her to show up in a tutu and boots.
As per tradition, a Johnny Cash song was played to kick the party off. Then the music changed, and face painting started, which I did not have to do this year. The kids were in their element. At that stage they had already dug into the sweets and orangeade.
A great time was had by all. There was a performance by the children (only one weird topic chosen by the slightly scary drama neighbor), art show of the children's paintings, raffles prizes, dancing, a film shown on the side of a house for the kids--complete with blankets and popcorn, just like old-fashioned drive-ins--more dancing, and lots of music. Oh yes, a bit of wine was consumed.
Mad One eventually showed up to collect her child; the boyfriend had got an earful earlier, I believe. Daisy had been left with no sunscreen on and no lunch eaten. She had to go home after some dancing but before the raffle prizes. She instructed me to hold onto any prizes that she won and notify her mother asap. Which I did.
Oh yeah, and it turns out that Mrs O'Reilly was a roquette in her day... the slightly scary drama neighbor had Mrs O'Reilly up out of her chair dancing and holding onto the telephone post for balance. Apparently, O'Reilly cut some shapes. I only caught part of it.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Critics can be harsh
They say that they don't mind that you use stories about them... you do, you embellish the stories, you change the names, and then they yell at you. Or at least get offended. Let me make this clear, I was not trying to invade anyone's privacy or usurp their life stories. I am practicing to be a "writer" or at least doing this for my own enjoyment. Apparently, not for the enjoyment of some friends whom I wrote about. Pshah. People are too sensitive (says Columbo, one of the more sensitive people around).
I swear, there is still a very limited distribution list, nobody knows the others, and almost nobody reads the damn entries anyway. But no matter. Readers are a fickle bunch.
I had a good night out this evening--after the giving out stopped. I had invited a gentleman out to join me/us but he didn't show. Bah, humbug. Men are useless. Or perhaps I am just crap at dealing with them...
I swear, there is still a very limited distribution list, nobody knows the others, and almost nobody reads the damn entries anyway. But no matter. Readers are a fickle bunch.
I had a good night out this evening--after the giving out stopped. I had invited a gentleman out to join me/us but he didn't show. Bah, humbug. Men are useless. Or perhaps I am just crap at dealing with them...
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