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.

Pops knows best

Well, the old guy is gone. Before he left I asked him advice about men. He laughed, enjoying that I was asking him. I did say I would not necessarily follow his advice but would take it under consideration. He loves gossip and scandal... so I have been keeping him informed of my doings. There are two age-appropriate men in whom I am interested. At least one appears to be interested as well, while the other is playing it cautious... icy cool even. It was interesting to hear an elderly Irishman's male viewpoint.
As we both agreed, it is early days and neither may pan out. Or as Pops pointed out, I may at some stage get annoyed with both of them and kick them to the curb. Which, knowing me as he does, is a very likely thing.
The two men are from different cultures. I met both in my local winebar although one is a friend of a friend. This is a new experience for me, having more than one potential candidate. Feast or famine, to use that well-worn phrase. I wasn't even looking for a relationship... just enjoying my social life and friends. My dear sister, Lovebug, said it has happened because "I wasn't giving off an air of desperation." Cheers for that, L.
At least I seem to have kicked the bad habit of dating inappropriate young'uns.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Week 3

For starters, this has been a long week since I have been home ill the whole time... working a bit, quality time with Pops, and not-so quality time with Pops, napping when "he did my head in." (He is taking that phrase home to Diamond Lil; you're welcome, DL.) I admit I have been grouchy: unable to smoke, having zero patience dealing with numpties, and being a lousy patient in general.
He quipped that he missed me today (I had an appointment) and I said "what, you miss being yelled at?" "Yes, I do" was his reply. I asked if there was anything he wanted to say about this week to contribute to this entry. As editor, I vetoed some of his suggestions. The best he came up with was that this week has been enlightening. Go figure.
He just commented, "you can make a fire though; I'm so proud of you." I guess parents have to take solace in whatever meager accomplishments their children might achieve.
Pops and I just had a discussion about Ulysses and James Joyce, as you do. He had been watching a taped murder mystery program and the last 5 minutes or so was the following program, a documentary about Jewish people in Dublin. Since I was a bit hazy on Ulysses and couldn't remember Stephen's last name, I did a quick search online and then gave more information to Pops.
Pops did some shopping this week to help me out. This translates to he is getting liver for his dinner this evening; he got to choose what he wanted.
Tomorrow night we are going to a table quiz for charity. It is his third Friday night out in a row. He was dubious about going but I assured him it is taking place in a pub and I will keep him supplied in G&Ts... well, within reason.
Roll on week 4.