Scoring guys for fun?

Recently, on nights out over tha past few months, when it comes to the end of the night, I just want to kiss someone, and to be honest, I don't really take into consideration what they look like or anything, its just a score at the end of the day. Its the most unfulfilling thing in the world. Quite similar to comfort eating, like we don't really need the chocolate bar, yes we want it, and those first few seconds, after peeling the wrapper off in some sort of confectionary strip tease, are just like heaven. You take the first bite, the crumbs of chocolate melting into your favourite jeans, but it doesn't matter, its chocolate, you're eating chocolate. Everything else is irrelevant, it doesn't matter that each square which you scoff contains enough sugar to build Hansel & Gretel's house, it feels so good at the time. Well the same goes for nights out, you're dancing with your friends, the music is great, yes its great fun, but by the last song or two, the number of siamese couples begins to increase on the dancefloor, and you start eyeing people up. "mmm He's alright" or "He's ugly but he has a nice shirt on"....then as soon as the first guy gives you a flickr of attention you pounce on him like a hungry panther. Usually it goes two ways, he is a fantastic kisser, really sweet guy, asks for your number, and you spend the rest of the night chemically attached to him like a magnet. or the other way it can end is if he is a god-awful kisser, it feels like he is trying to stuff a dead,wet fish down your throat, you search your mind for excuses to get away. From the corner of your eye, you scan for your friends, but they've gone, probably to another part of the club. You don't have your glasses on so it would be impossible to find them. what to do? Keep kissing the dead fish, well theres nothing else to do is there? you end the night feeling absoutely disgusted with yourself. your friends laugh and slag you bout what a minger you pulled. was it all worth it?

Two Gingers don't make a right.....

I've held this theory for quite a while now, two gingers don't make a right. Did you see what I did there? Anyway, gingers, or red-headed people, shouldn't mate, shift, score, make-out with each other. Now the political correctness brigade can hold their horses, because I am , in fact a ginger myself. I'm not sure quite why I hold this theory other than the blatent fact that it is just wrong, plain wrong. Firstly, they look like brother and sister, secondly, and most importantly, think of the kids. If there is any hint of ginger heritage at all, the child is nearly doomed to a life of slagging. Imagine if there were two sets of ginger genes at work, what sort of monster would that create. The imagery of David Lynch's Eraserhead comes to mind ?

These are just a few photographs I took at the beach with my old Casio Exilim RIP

Apples and Wine......

I came across this posted in my auntie Helen's bathroom on Christmas day, I found it quite a useful passage for girls of a certain age to read. A certain age being late teens, early twenties, when you start to wonder if the right person will ever come along, or if all men are just Bastards.

Women are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. Most men don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they sometimes take the apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy. The apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right man to come along, the one who is brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree. Share this with women who are good apples, even those who have already been picked!

Now Men.... Men are like a fine wine. They begin as grapes, and it's up to women to stomp the shit out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.

Krissmasss

A lot of things annoy me about Christmas. Leaving the house becomes so unappealing, mainly due to the masses of idiot shoppers and their bovine partners plodding behind them. Everyone uses Christmas as an excuse to be happy for no particular reason except for the fact that it is ( how could we forget ) christmas. The hoards of tacky decorations, aching lights and infinite sparkle make Christmas all the more hard-to-stomach. The facts are, Christmas is the time when people drink more than they do all year and we all know the saying 'A drunk mans words are a sober mans thoughts',So at these dinners with family members we don't actually like, the shit hits the fan. It all leads to disaster, nonetheless, an inevitable disaster which people anticipate for months. Its as if we all develop Amnesia around September, October, we forget that Christmas in fact one of the bleakest, most row-ridden periods of the year. Maybe I'm being very negative about the whole thing. There are some good points, its nice spending time with the select few people you do actually get on with, and its nice having the fridge at home full of glorious food, the corner press well-stocked with fine wines and whatever beer was on offer in Sainsburys helps as well.

Can I try on your shoes please?

9 years till I'm 30!!!!

So I'm 21 on Tuesday, the thought frightens me, especially as my Mum informed me that when she turned 21 she had already met my Dad, had her first teaching job, and was practically settling down.  Jesus Christ, the thought of that scares me to death.  For a start, I'm only in second year of college, happily floating by, loving life in Dublin, living as a 19 year old, one might say. The reason that I'm living as a 19 year old, is because I delayed my college life by two years, by repeating a year in school, and by doing a portfolio course, so really I'm 19.  I am hoping that by the time I'm 29, I'll get away with telling people I'm 27.  Two years doesn't seem to make much of a difference, but the majority of my college friends are 18/19.. so I always seem retarded as far as my life experience is concerned. oh well.... what can I do,,,, only lie about my age..