My Year of Meaningful (2011)

We went to the Cork CityF.C. vs. DjurgardensI.F. game. It was a UEFA cup 2nd round- 2nd leg match so it was pretty important. Mostly because if Cork would make it through, then I THINK they would be in the same UEFA pool as S.C. Heerenveen (which is H's favorite team from back home) which means there's almost an inkling of hope that they would actually come here to play, or at least have to play Cork, somewhere, at some stage. That would be unreal! Plus, no, no irish team has ever made it into the UEFA cup! And now for the first time ever, it's those Rebel Bhoys from the People's Republic of Cork. Imagine the buzz in the Republic this week!!

Anyway Djurgardens is a Sweeeeeedish team, and like most swedish men, they're all hot. Their supporters were hot. It was all good scenery. The soccer was pretty good too. (Andy: I didn't manage to get my ass on tv, Hannes told me I had to keep my pants on. Plus, Alan from work could've seen it and oh boy the office rumor mill would've subsequently gone into overdrive god forbid.)
It was a night game, which I really love, and we rode the bikes over to old Turners'Cross Stadium so we could drink beer and enjoy ourselves in celebration.

WOO HOO!

We ate hamburgers and sang "CI-TY!" (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap, clapclapclapclap) CI-TY!"

It reminded me of when I used to live in DC, and as I was only going to be there for 6 months, I took it upon myself to purposely NOT make any friends. (I'd moved 6 times in 6 years at that stage, and had gotten well tired of constantly saying goodbye to people and being sad about leaving. So I made an agreement with myself to spend 6 months in social solitude and just get my own shit sorted out while doing my short-term job and living in the pimp pad in Georgetown.) One of the things I did SOLO was go to DC United games. I was living on an NGO non-profit intern salary, and that was one of the things I could actually afford to do in DC. So long as I sat in the cheap seats with all the mexicans and didnt get anything to eat or drink, or buy a program. Boy, fun times.

No really, it was fun. Me and the mexicans had some good times cheering fro DC United. Once some guy offered me some of his nachos. I was leery, and had kind of a woah! woah! woah! This is a friend-free zone, man-attitude going on at first, but los hombres got my back & I didnt have to worry. Back then, DC always lost though. And walking back to the underground station at the end of the night, in the dark, through east-side DC... boy, that was fun.

Anyway, Cork City FC. Yeah, the swedish supporters were seated closer to us than the Rebel Army's version of a cheer squad was, so actually, we had to listen to a lot of "Sheep Shaggin' Bastards" chants being directed our way by the swedes, but it was funny. It didnt rain, the sunset was decent, and the crowd was good n' rowdy.

What is NOT funny is when little kids about 8 years old, think they're really mature and witty, and insist upon yelling heckles at the field, trying to immitate their dads. Jeezus, 8 year old kids know NOTHING about defence or tactics or coaching or anything-- they just want to immitate the loudmouth adults who think they could be doing a better job, out on that field. It just doesnt make any SENSE when you hear a tiny little 8 year old yelling shit like "FIND DA GOAL, JOE! YA COULDNT FIND DA GOAL WIT A COMPASS N' A MAP, LIKE!!" dude probably doesnt know who Joe is, but thinks its really cool to say witty things about football. ---groan--- I probably did the same thing when I was 8 though.

Anyway, in true european football style, we didnt win, but because the final score was 0 - 0 , we made it through the qualifier and City . . . . reigns supreme.
Now for some more low-quality cellphone camera photos:

Today,

I was at work, and was getting small P. (as opposed to the 34 other "Ps" at my office) prepped and ready to do a site visit to County Mayo tomorrow. This is his first major field work out of the office on his own, so we were going over stuff.

I put my Boss Hat on. sweet.

P goes: "OK what else do I need"

I said: "do you have your location map of the proposed alignment?"

P: Yep

Me: Do you have the highway map so you can find it?

P: Yep

Me: You got the map of Mayo?

P: Yep

Me: Can you think of any other maps you need?

P: Dont think so

Me: Well do you have a map of my ass?

(he didnt hear me, I was facing my desk, so he just kept typing)

Me: I said, 'do you have a map of my ass?' cause you're gonna need to know where to go once you get there...

(he didn't hear me because I was still talking "away" from him)

Dammit! I started laughing really hard because that was SO DAMN FUNNNY (it was late in the day & I had 3 cups of coffee) and he all of a sudden goes:

"WHAT?"

Me: I SAID, 'do you have a map of my ass', cause you might not know where to go, when you get there!'

P: "HOLY MACAROLI!" (sometimes, P says stuff... from cartoons) "I dont even know what your husband would say about that?!?"

The funniness of this whole dialogue is directly proportional to how innocent our young hero is. I only wish I could convey this in words. Just wait til I add a photo. Soon.

That infamous DIY project downstairs is preventing me from doing anything
a) downstairs, or
b) with my mancakes
so I've taken to holing up, upstairs on the computer, or making phone calls.

I'm truly annoyed. But this is my new-age journal, right? So I can just let it out and write whatever I want to, RIGHT? But alas there's that gamble you take that someone out there in the great, wide, universe is going to read it and get offended, right?
Heh heh. Today? That sounds like something that'd be right up my alley.

It's happened again. Another friend dropped another kid. I don't even have a CLUE how many that makes for this year, and wouldn't have a hope in hell of figuring out what that makes for over the past 3 years. . .
All I know is that I get this really terrible "aw fuck, HERE WE GO AGAIN" feeling which, I know, is a terrible horrible damnable offense that I should be drawn and quartered and set alight for feeling. I'm a downright dispicable human being. Tell me something I didnt know.

I guess I can sort of quasi-protect myself by not naming names, but as far as I'm concerned, this baby has been in existance for literally only DAYS, and has already managed to affect my friendship with (we'll call her) Holly Hotpants.

Now, I have a lot of friends with kids these days, so I should just make the important primary note that this does not apply to all of them. . . oh god no, some of my parental-type friends are cool, and have cool kids, and don't act like total fucksticks when it comes to the things I'm about ready to let lose on. Let's just say that I can already tell that good ol' Hols is NOT going to be one of those. (Refer to afore-mentioned phone calls.) How can it BE... that something like the birth of a kid on the other side of the world can be a determining factor in WHO **MY** BEST FRIENDS ARE?!?!?

Note to self:
Self, I'm making a point of commiting this stuff to writing, in the hopes that someday you'll look back on this and read it and remember the sheer hysteria this subject causes in your mind. Someday, you may have a kid (oh god no, maybe only 1?? BUT ISN'T THAT INHUMANE, AND A SELFISH, UN-LOVING THING TO DO TO A POOR INNOCENT LIFE? HAVE ONLY ONE?!?? not two? or three? or like, REALLY good parents have FIFTEEN, right?!?!? They have to have PLAYMATES, you know?!?!?)... Wait!!, this isnt the paragraph where I'm supposed to get all aggro-freakshow on poor old Holly! Give it at least another paragraph or two! My point is only that I need to remember this stuff, because someday that COULD be me, and I need to GET SOME FRIGGIN PERSPECTIVE.
GO THE BLOG!!!

Here's why I get shitty with all these baby-dropping friends of mine at the moment. Allow me to just be bold and get it out of the way: Arrogant, self-absorbed, egomaniacs. That's what they turn into. (Disclaimer: NOT ALL, I said!) Experts on damn near everything. Sure, I'll give 'em the whole conception/incubation/labour/diaper-changing-thing. Please, TAKE IT. Be the expert. You're right. I haven't done it, so please, LET THE WORLD KNOW all about why you know so much about these things.
But religion? Politics? Ethics? Education? Social issues? Jesus christ, leave SOMETHING for the rest of us, wouldja????!?!?
Since when does YOU giving birth, take away MY education (some of us DO have other things besides babies, see) and make ME an idiot and less a part of society???

Let me give myself an example. I want this to be commited to writing. Seriously.

Conversation PRE-mother status:
HH: So what did you think of that restaurant?
ME: Kickass! The lamb vindaloo was perfect. But how 'bout yer woman at that table over there with the friggin life-sized SUV baby buggy in the middle of the damn restaurant blocking all the pathways and tripping up the damn waiter all night? Not to mention the screaming kid? Fuckin A, and the LOOK she gave me when I had to wedge my giant ass through that micro-crack, just to squeeze past and reach the TOILET! I must have accidentally TOUCHED the precious little poppet or something. (or was it the eyeroll? oh well)
HH: I KNOW! Who the hell brings a baby into a boutique indian restaurant at 9:30 at night anyway, let alone in a goddamn horse-drawn carriage!??! Talk about killing the atmosphere. Wasn't that supposed to be the one on the "top ten romantic date restaurants" they listed in the paper last week? Fuck!
ME: Yeah no shit, there's nowhere in town left for adults to hide these days. I HATE that woman. I wanted to SMACK her.
HH: Yeah, I mean, BABYSITTER, HEL-LO?!?!?

CONVERSATION POST-BIRTH:
HH: So how are you?
ME: Dude!... I just got a new j....
HH: You'll never BELIEVE how much ____ is feeding these days!! She just makes this most unbelievably intellegent noises!! OMG did I tell you about how yesterday she CHANGED HER OWN DIAPER??? I'm seriously considering locking her up in the basement for the rest of her life, because, you know, the liberal media is just TOO DANGEROUS she might turn into a TERRORIST and start shooting HEROINE and by the way did I tell you that when you come out to visit next summer you're going to have to camp in the backyard beause we're going to give her TWO bedrooms because she's just so special she needs one room for sitting and one room for farting, and oh yeah we won't be going out with you anymore when you come visit because we don't believe in beer, or babysitters, so maybe you can just drop your baby gifts at the door on your way to whereever it is you live now, I cant remember because I really dont give a shit anymore-- you did buy her presents, didnt you?

Exaggeration? Maybe. But the underlying currents are there, believe it.

And talk about CENSORSHIP. Holy BALLS batman! I cant say SHIT to these people anymore (we'll give Holly a break here, because this is something I've been going through for the last few years of my "special-friend-who's-childless" status). I used to be chilled-out Jill, who felt comfortable around all my friends, saying whatever the hell it was that came into my mind. Granted, that also warranted a few lessons in damage-control, but still!

Let me list a few things that I am no longer allowed, as a sub-ranking member of the human race, to utter reference to in conversation. They include, yet are not limited to the following:
-- Children screaming in public
-- Children running around in (go figure) adult restaurants
-- Mothers who plow into you with their life-sized SUV buggies and don't say "sorry"
-- People who talk about nothing but children all day
-- That kid over there who's grabbing handfuls of grapes off the produce counter and throwing them at me, whilst simultaneously screaming at the top of his little fuckin lungs and bashing some 95-year old man in the back of the legs with his miniature baby shopping-cart-of-death while mommy says softly "Owen, please dont make mommy sad, Owen. Owen, when you act like a menace to society it hurts mommy's feelings, Owen. Owen, Please don't make mommy say your name again, Owen..."
-- Anything even vaguely related to discipline, whatsoever. Be it my (god-given) humble opinion or just simple observations about the world that I, too, live in.

FAIR ENOUGH-- I go out of my way NOT to say anything pertaining to that whole childbirth thing, because they are entirely correct when they give you that whole "until you've done it, you wouldnt know" thing. And I mean, that's cool. (And True!) Besides, I know some of my peeps censor themselves in certain areas, regarding me and my convictions. Some of them know better than to pontificate on their sheer enjoyment of greyhound racing. My brother graciously avoids rambling on about his love of fossil-fuel guzzling yank-tanks which are used for nothing other than city driving and feuling George W's desire to ignore the Kyoto protocal. My dad and I don't discuss politics. Mike and I don't discuss the war. Ashley and I (TRY not to discuss), her chain smoking.

But those things are ISSUES. They're not censorship of ME, and my PERSONALITY, my WORTHY EXISTANCE ON THIS PLANET and therefore my priviledge to be able to have an OPINION, even in my lowly status as childless!!! Shit, I mean, I havent climbed Mount Everest either, but I can still have an opinion about the price of food in Tesco last week, right?!?!? Two completely seperate issues. Completely unrelated. As, (IMHO) is the fact that I have NOT been pregnant, but I DO still think that kid should not be allowed to bash that innocent old man in the back of the legs, with a mini grocery cart!!!!! Or that kids are obese now because they aren't ALLOWED to get exercise, and can bitch-slap their own parents into giving them whatever the hell they want for snackies time!

I mean what the hell am I supposed to do with 19 friends sitting around who I cant even TALK to anymore, because I might say something anti-baby?!?! They're so hyper-sensitive!! If I mention screaming kids, I'm anti-them. If I mention the abandoned dogs related to parents who have babies and believe that "pets are too dirty for the baby"... I'm SCODLED for being unenlightened by childbirth, and told I "wouldn't understand", nor will I be "capable of understanding" until I join the club. I mention my disgust at Irish parents who drive their kids 2-blocks down the street instead of letting them walk, I'm ANTI, I get the dagger eyes, I get the "hmmph!" and all the "you're-too-stupid-to-understand" look that goes with it.

I know girls who know EVERYTHING now. Just, like, in the last few years, all of a sudden they've become OMNISCIENT. And I'm a friggin dumbass. A dumbass who can't even feel comfortable MAKING CONVERSATION anymore.

But here's the catch, see I DO know stuff. I may not have the credential of "mother" added to my resume, but I DO volunteer for animal welfare, and I know the EXACT NUMBER of dogs in Cork who had "new baby in household" written on their charts, that were saved last year, by 1 organization, from being euthanized. I know the exact increase in one's ecological footprint that comes from the use of non-degradable disposable diapers per household (53%, depending on how cloth ones are washed- I'm not villifying them! It's just part of my job, so I happen to know, ok?). I know that there's a fuckin TRAFFIC JAM in Cork every morning that makes ME late to work, because mothers who won't let their 13-year old kids walk down the street to school/ride the school bus, are taking up 2 lanes each with their mighty mighty deisel SUV's idling, stationary so that little precious poppet can get a curb-side dropoff, on a public road that *I* have every right to be driving down, unhindered!!! I pay road taxes!! And furthermore, I was a TEACHER in this town for TWO YEARS, I know for a FACT that shit goes down! I do not make crazy stories up! I heard it from the parents themselves, I spent 6 hours a day with kids between the ages of 5 and 13. I am NOT a freakin IDIOT when it comes to the existence of children on this planet. I am not so stupid that I don't have a concept of how difficult it is to deal with kids, or teach them successfully.

And furthermore, was I not a kid myself? HOLY SHIT, I WAS A CHILD! lo and behold! Can I not have an opinion on childhood based on the fact that I HAVE EXPERIENCE AS ONE?!?!? Why does that not give me some credit? See, I'm not trying ty get credit as a mother. I know I'm not one. I also don't try to give advice. . . yeah, if I was a mom, that'd piss me off too. I just TALK. That's all I do. Me the Talker. I just live my life, and I talk about it, and if one of the things I want to say is "Man, I hate it when they bring the screamers into the PG movies at 9:00!!!", then why the hell can't I??? just because the "friend" I happen to be talking to, happens to have offspring!!!!??!?!? It's not a personal attack, it's not passive-agressive advice, it's just. . . ME, having to be a human on this planet, and having to share it with people who think they own the whole damn place!! I still have rights!!

I'll tell you one more thing I know: I grew up as a child in a household with a parent who thought she knew everything. Someone who physically WENT TO UNIVERSITY to study child psychology and fuckin early childhood-whatnot, just to make it worse and even more official that she knew EVERYTHING.
I hated her starting at age 13, grew up hating her, we had a shit relationship, and still do. In fact, if I can be so bold to say that it is that very OMNISCIENT parent, who makes me consider not having children, EVER.
THAT'S where being a parent who thinks they know damn near EVERYTHING gets you. And THAT is what you call real life experience, which I am also entitled to using in forming my stupid damn opinion!

The Baby Conspiracy:
I've already lost good friends to the babies. Yeah, ok, sure they're still "good friends". Right. yeah. THOSE kind of friends. The kind of friends you say are "friends" but do you talk anymore? No. Do you go out anymore? No. Are you even living on the same PLANET anymore? Hardly. Wanna talk about movies? Nah, lets talk about diapers. Wanna go out to eat? Nah, I got a baby. Wanna have a double vanilla vodka and tonic with a twist? Nah, I gotta breastfeed. For 10 years. Wanna hear my latest dirty jokes with lots of gratuitous cuss words? Nah, the baby might subconsciously get wind of it and become ruined for eternity.

Why do I bother with the international phone calls. I may as well be watching THE BABY NETWORK on tv for free, 'cuz thats the kind of banter I'm gonna get anyway, and saving all that money for more friggin compulsory baby presents. Friends. Hmmm. I sincerely hope my dozens of "friendships" will eventually become rekindled and this ever-present loop of "Another One Bites The Dust" by Queen, will stop running through my head, night and day!!!

I'll never forget the time Ray and I went over to Luthr's house, after his first little one was born. It really was beautiful, and I have to remember to thank him for this memory, next time I see him. Obviously Ray and I , being the childless low-life pair, figured that asking questions about the baby and sticking to baby-oriented topics of conversation would be the way to go... I mean, that's just what we were used to doing, and albeit more boring than hell, it worked to keep conversation going, and no one got offended, and the parents get their time to shine (which apparently they LOVE). Anyway, so there we go:

R: So, uh, when will she start crawling, exactly?
J: Yeah, you know, she really has your eyes. um...
R: I bet you're pretty tired these days, all those feedings...
J: Boy howdy! I just LOVED Seseme Street when I was a kid...
[Then, the weirdest thing happened]
L. (In kind of a "Holy hell who are you and what did you do with Jill & Ray!?" voice): Guys!! Jesus, we dont have to talk about baby stuff all day! Shit, she's 9 pounds, sometimes she poops, and maybe some day she'll grow up. So how was the trip over, and tell me about the Allmans concert, wouldja?!? I'm not gonna be one of those parents, ok?

I didnt appreciate it at the time, but now, that surreal experience in the Luthr household that summer day back in 1999 holds true meaning to me, and I feel I need to remember it for the future. You know, just in case.

Alright, I'll give the babies and the arrogant parents a break now. I think I've gotten it all out of my system. I'm just really shitty about the losing-friends part. They really are dropping like flies. And I cant put up with fake friendships that are based on phone calls where
1) I'm going to get treated like an idiot because I dont have kids and therefore don't get to have an opinion,
2) I have to talk about some baby I dont even know or care about, really
3) I have to act excited and itnerested in stuff that we would NEVER HAVE TALKED ABOUT BEFORE, SO WHY PRETEND, NOW?
4) Someone couldnt give 2 shits about me and my highs, lows, problems, ideas because there's this new UNIVERSE that they're living in which doesnt involve "those of us who just wouldn't understand".

Ugggg. I gotta GO BUY SOME MORE BABY PRESENTS. Who knows, maybe the whole gang'll meet up again once the rugrats are grown and gone and dont need the whole universe to revolve around 'em anymore, and then I'll be back to being an equal with a brain and some life experience, again, and we'll sit around the campfire, tell dirty jokes, and pass a joint and get wrecked and talk about fun stuff. And I won't be annoyed anymore.

Dear Bloggy Bloggerton,

As Adela would say, in her fake Kentucky-Fried southern accent, "Times is hard".

Remember we used to be poor, like back in student days, or back when my international phone bill of love ate up every extra cent I ever could make.

Then, post-Husband/Grad School/NSRjob, we became yuppies. Back in Melbourne we were living large, eating out 3 times per week, never making lunches for work, hitting the bars & clubs. . . drinking like maniacs. . . actually PAYING off debts. Then came the next move, when as with all moves, you become broke again because of relocating costs, but you get an extra part-time job, and you survive. Work a few weekends, get back on the horse, push through, and suck it up for awhile. Hell, you even buy a house in da 'pool! (BTW, does anyone wanna buy the pub across the street from us? Umm, there's a tree inside it. . . ?) But back to yuppiedom anyway. Back to eating out, taking trips, buying whatever the hell you feel like, and going to the cafe for coffee rather than making it yourself. It's a pattern, it's acceptable, and it's just the normal way my life works.

But now THE THING sucks out the very life of us as it is still but a fledgling little baby not quite on its own 2 feet and self-sufficient. OK it doesnt suck the LIFE out of us, but it does suck the fun money out. And that sucks.

Last night was Louise's going-away drinks at The Bodega. You know what we did? (oh man this is sooo bad) We went and played squash first (free!), then came home and made something to eat out of like 3 ingredients that we still had left in the house after not buying groceries for over a month now (amazing what canned tomatoes can do, actually), then we purposely watched an episode of Boston Legal at 10 (free!), which meant we didn't start walking into the city til like, 11pm. Because THAT meant, that we would arrive at 11:15 (3 hours after the rest of 'em got there) so that (1) We could each nurse 2 pints each, which would only cost us €16.00 up until closing time at 2:00, and (2) They'd all be well pissed enough by that stage that they wouldn't realize what we were up to, and that we weren't offering to buy rounds!!!
D'OH!!!

That's what you call some serious dutch shit.

And that is NOT what I'm all about!!

But shit man, this business, paying B's wages, buying a new fax machine because business can't run without it, buying plane tickets for 2 to go check things out in Gabz-city next month, deciding to remodel the bathroom at the most fuckin UNBELIEVABLY wrong time. . . the week the fax breaks down 15,000 miles away... we're basically back to living on one wage until certain invoices get paid and certain things start happening at the damn RIGHT TIME again.

And then guess what? It'll be time to buy plane tickets for xmas. BALLS!!!!

Why does money have to be such a bitch and why has it got ME on it's shitlist?!? HUH?!!??

This blogging stuff is amazing, I mean, it's weird how it seems every time I verbalize all my bitches and moans, I see a silver lining. Like RIGHT NOW, I'm seeing what I just wrote about revampig the pimp pad bathroom, and I'm realizing: man, last night really was fun anyway. Even sober! We got to see someone important acting sleazy, someone else doing shots and trying to speak malaysian, someone else being social for once, and some guy from Kerry flirting with Louise, who looked really good, BTW.... Yeah, and PLUS, I can just go sit my broke ass in the new tub, under the jets, and the pimp lights, with my smokin' hot personal DIY-servant, in the romantic midst of the construction zone that is our ground floor, and fuckin' pull it together and realize it could be a lot damn worse. Like that year in Wyoming when I had to work those 3 jobs at once. . . AND go to school. . . just to survive.

Man why didnt I think of that 10 minutes ago when I started this shit ranting?!?!?

Gawd. Holy God's Balls.

Dear Blogary,
I'm so damn old. I feel like I should record this NOW, as I sit here on my 29yearold ass, so that I can look back at this in 10 years and say "ah sure I wasnt that old then."

I was going to write this on sunday but then I got too messed up, thinking about it. I am so friggin old, I can't roll with things anymore.

It's an epidemic, man. I took time out and read Sarah's blog on the same day, and dammit she feels old too. I was at work talking to the guys and they feel old too. My boss feels old, Hannes feels old. . . it's not just me. But then again I hang around a lot of 29-ish types. So THAT must be the common thread.

I played rugby on C's team for a change this past saturday and lo and behold I found out she's only 23. TWENTY THREE!!! I just mistakenly ASSumed that anyone working for RPSwould have to be as old as me.

Then reality struck. . . I was working forNSR in Melb-town when *I* was 24. I had a MSc when I was 24. So it COULD be possible to be a scientist at age 23. Holy balls of fire. What is this world coming to!? I just have this inner feeling that 23 year olds should be running around being immature and calling boys and asking permission to stay out late. Huh?

Oh shit yeah, I almost forgot, reality struck AGAIN when I took another look around at my team on saturday. . . DUDE THEY WERE ALL BABIES!!! Little pudgy-faced, college-kid BABIES!!! I swear that Peter must be like, 20 or something!!! And I proceeded to think. . . shittttttttttt, if C is only 23, then R must be only 23, and feck it even KAREN must be -oh god she might be as old as - 25!?!?!?!?!? THATS STILL A WHOPPING 4 YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME!!! JEEZUS MARYANDJOSEPH I am never playing on THIS team again.

Once the thought hit me, I started to obsess about it. Which affected my playing. It affected my attitude. It affected my ability to be witty, sociable, and outgoing. My shiny personality was stunted for a whole day. I lost my GAME, man, my GAME was nowhere to be found.

Then sunday came. I was sore. SO FRIGGIN SORE. My old body just . . . UGH. (Nothing to do with age, Jill, you didnt stretch like normal, and we won all the tournament games which means 6 Games in 1 day. DUH)

Anyway, now every day I'm looking at myself in the mirror going: "do I look old?" Would I even notice if I had a grey hair? What if I have 20 of them and I just don't know it yet because they're all in the back of my head??!?

I'm starting to ask people how old they think I am. Em said 27 or 28. I love Em. But then again she also was aware that I'm obsessing this week. So maybe she was just blowing smoke up my ass.

Tadgh said he pleads the 5th, the damn bastard. If he thought I looked 27 would he still plead the 5th? Or is he just scared to say "30"?!?

What really freaks me out is that LIAM looked absolutely shocked when I said I was 29, the other day. Like, I didnt ask him or anything, it's just we were talking about ages or birthdays or something and when I mentioned I was 29 he was like "REALLY? Is that all?? Well you're just a baby!" But HOLY HELL he wasn't supposed to say that dammed "REALLY? Is that all??" part!!! WHY DID HE HAVE TO SAY THAT?!?!

Another Thing: People at work know I'm married. Non-americans dont GET married. Or at least they dont get married as young as americans do. So if you're married, that automatically makes you old. (Thanking god I dont have kids yet, or I'd be on suicide watch at this rate). THey know I'm married, so they MUST think I'm old. I'm a pseudo-boss, as well, and you can't be a boss if you're young, right? Strike 2 against wannabe-young jill. I might as well just start writing the obituary.

My obsession must stem from the fact that I was ALWAYS the youngest at stuff. I was always the youngest person to like obscure oldish music like the Allman Brothers, the Flying Burrito Bros, the Dead, The Band and Bob Dylan. I was always dating guys twice my age. I was always the youngest journalist for the ABB magazine. I was the youngest one my older friends ever knew to be reading passe' beatnik poetry. I was worrying about things like politics, human geography issues, and dead philosophers as a teenager. I was the youngest one in my group of old high school teacher-friends. I was always getting attention because I WAS the youngest in these situations. In fact, I guess BEING the youngest at ___whatever___ was my GAME!!!

Now what to do? My game has been stolen by that asshole Father Time! Shit man the only thing I'm the youngest at anymore is having bought a house and relocated intercontinentally about 6 times. But really, who the hell gives a shit about that? That aint gonna pick me up any hotties on the bar this saturday night.

Then again (lets wax philosophical, shall we? just me and you, Blog), I have Hannes and I dont need to pick up hotties and be popular and witty and interesting to utter strangers and older men. Hell, if I started running game on older men these days, I'd have to go find me some friggin 60 year olds! I mean, the 37-40 age group isn't even exotically "older" to me anymore!

And H. thinks I'm sen-bloody-sational regardless of my age (exactly 1.5 years OLDER than him, of COURSE...ugh) and duh, I could never ever want for anything more. Oh god, I loved my 20s. INDEED. But for most of them I didnt have my darling Manchop which is just tragic. Maybe my latest crisis is just life dealing me a good hand rather than a bad one. . . it's my little reminder that I'm where I SHOULD be right now, and that any other existance would be downright wrong and terrible. Yeah, sounds good. THATS what I should be focusing on.

But I'm still gonna be pissed in March when I turn 30. I'm gonna need one big friggin vacation to make up for that shit. 30. That's just MESSED UP.


The benefits of old age

Obviously, something I would want to preserve for the future would be the long line of fosters we've had come through this house.

H and I volunteer for this animal welfare group called CorkAnimalFriends. It's a desperately necessary organization around these parts, as Ireland has a terrible stray dog epidemic. These crazy feckers don't realize you need to get your pets spayed and neutred... especially if (as they do) you just turn them loose out the front door devery day, let them run wild in the streets, and dont give a shit if they return at nighttime or not. Very much the typical Irish "pet owner". Don't even get me STARTED on the way they treat greyhounds over here.

When we arrived in Cork 3 years ago we were like: HOLYshit it's worse than africa. Stray dogs everywhere. THEN we learned about the "Cork SPCA" (in quotes, as in, if you even knew what went on behind these doors, you'd want to sic the the REAL SPCA (wherever there is one?) onto these imbesciles). If a dog is turned into this *supposed* "society for the prevention of cruelty to animals"... it's put down. Literally, within 24 hours. Even if it's WEARING A TAG. You go, guys. They seriously need to do an expose' on this torture institution.

I could go on. . . and on. . .

Right. CorkAnimalFriends. Literally a handful of decent people/families who volunteer to foster stray dogs while they wait to be rehomed (via word of mouth, internet, posters), and thus saving one more innocent life from the vicious pound. We've had some of the best dogs ever stay with us (1 at a time) for up to a couple months at a time. It's great stuff for Reilly, because BillyBob and Reggie are too boring to play with her during the day. Most of the foster dogs have really kept her well-entertained because normally they're wild and wooly strays with a lot of energy to burn, since they're used to being on the run.

For posterity's sake, here they are*:

Tucker: The most doscile, sweet, quiet dog ever. (Not exactly Reilly's type) He had a scruffy coat and a little beard. He was a Heinz 57 terrier variety, who never did anything wrong. A lucky family from Wexford drove all the way to Cork to adopt him, and when they were here checking him out, he just layed on the floor in front of them and slept. He was SUCH a good boy.

Nacho: Another terrier mix, probably part staffie. He was H's favorite. He had such a personality-- the stubby little legs and the pointy bat ears. He walked like a stout cop on the beat. More like, he "toddled". His little front legs were so stubby, that when he went downstairs, it was like: kaTHUNK, kaTHUNK... 2 legs at a time. He had a really silky coat and he used to growl and sing all the time-- this really weird gutteral noise that sounded like someone was killing a baby, somewhere in the distance (?!) He and Reilly were best mates. Some nice yuppie couple from the south side adopted him. I was glad they had another dog already, Toby. Toby had a really metro-sexual bejewelled collar.


Josie: Our friends Mark and Joanne adopted Josie and then chenged her name to Roxie. Whatever! She was really cute and bouncy and roly-poly. Reilly used to drag her around by the collar whenever they were playing. She could really take some abuse, and loved it. H still maintains "she didnt really have much of a personality". . . but that's because we just had gotten rid of Sgt. Nacho. I mean, HOW could you compete with that guy?



Lucky: This is who we have now. She's the sweetest puppy ever, and she was found dumped in a box in the city centre, in some nasty alleyway. She wasnt even weaned yet, and wouldnt eat for days-- well naturally, she was supposed to still be on her mommy. Anyway she's part boxer, but the only person who has been interested in adopting her yet changed her mind because. . . SHE HAS A TAIL. As in, "not boxer enough" for them. This really gets me so fired up I should stop now. At any rate, Lucky is so well behaved and sweet, she's about 16wks old now and SO SMART. She's going to have really beautiful tiger stripes when she grows up... her coat is this amazing, silky brindle coat. I love her to bits. she sleeps in your arms and she plays like a kamikaze with Reilly. These long, gangly boxer legs on such a tiny little puppy crack us up.
**Apologies to Mason the german shephard and Ally the springer spaniel who we never got photos of, but are both happy in their new homes anyway.

Everyone always says how good the whole concept of CAF is, but that they'd be too afraid of becoming attached to the foster dogs... I dunno, we never had that problem, I guess we are just in "foster mindset" and we actually HOPE they get adopted, because that's what it's all about? Whatever. My point is, there are so many wonderful mixed breed dogs out there with no families, and who run the risk of being put down, hit by a car, abused, burned on a bonfire (yes, a truly irish tradition in certain neighbourhoods), or otherwise made to suffer in some way.... all because there's a stray epidemic since PEOPLE DONT GET THEIR PETS NEUTRED.

I really want Lucky to find a home soon, she's growing fast and I really want some nice new owner to get the enjoyment of her true puppy phase. Not boxer enough. Hmmmph.
Most rehomed strays are middle-aged (the most common age to DUMP A DOG) and therefore it's REALLY hard to find a home for them. I just dont understand how people can be so obsessed with buying puppies . They HAVE to be a puppy, and they HAVE to be a "breed". (And as a side note, typically the older dogs don't have the same high-maintenance problems that puppies do-- chewing, miniature bladders, un-harnessable energy...) There are so many rescues out there, wonderful dogs FREE to a good home, and you get good karma to boot!!

Photo1: Andy and Hannes in Stockholm
-----------------------------------------------



(Public Apologies in advance for the next photo down. It was Daniel's sack.)



New Ideas to come

I got lazy. I didnt blog because I was petrified of having to come up with a work story worth remembering every day. I guess it just wasnt a practical way to log memories.

I've just decided to remember the office as that old 1970's style brown brick building with bad carpet (lime green and brown in my section) and cubicles that go for miles, where funny people go every day to work and where tea time is at 10:30 and coffee time is at 3:15.

Side note/final office story (skip down to black for end of office tale):
Actually, i WAS going to write about how I turned my cube into a draft-free bunker (aptly named "The Bunker". . . although I'm thinking of starting a movement to call it "The Funker") anyway I got Donal to find me a big slab of plywood, a couple weeks ago, and I put it over my desk, resting it on the right-angle where my 2 cubicle walls come together over my computer, weighting it down with paving samples of faux limestone. Essentially I have a roof over my head now, about the size of one interior door. I did it because I was starting to get really shitty about the Arctic Blast coming out of the A/C vent RIGHT ABOVE ME. My hair was literally blowing in the wind.

Our Health and Safety guy, Jim, was probably going to bollok me out as soon as he saw it, I was told. So I decided I need to make some sort of safety warning so that no one would poke their eye out (the sharp corner sticks out above my seat at about eye-level) and sue. So I hung a piece of Landscape A3 paper (creased in the middle) to hang down from the sharp corner which says: "Danger! Watch your head!" and I even drew the universal symbol for emergency (proving to Jim I do know my OHS shit). I put my hard hat on my desk as well, should anyone want to avail of it, when they enter the bunker.

Now it's cleared health and safety. . . H&S Jim even took a photo of it to send up to the Dublin office to show them what a good example I was (the warning sign and well-engineered stabilization method of a plywood slab really impressed him) and now people are just starting to take the piss. I came upstairs from tea time one day and nutty John M. had hung a sign on it that said "This Structure Has Been Condemned" with a side note about how deconstruction shall commence at such a time as Jill has been away from her desk for long enough. I have recently taken some field samples of trees and began my own rooftop garden on top of it.

So enough with the office tales for the memory books. On to bigger and better things. Stockholm was fun. We arrived at about midnight and Andy took us to his favorite bar where we met Daniel, Jon, Axel (yes, a real swedish name), Ann-Sophie, and Jens. Daniel has the biggest scrotum in the history of the world. Within 10 minutes of being introduced to him, he showed us how he could pull it up to nearly touch his belly button. I took a picture of it with a garden gnome next to it, for scale purposes.

We stayed out drinking til 3:30am, at which time the sun came up. Went back to Andy's flat and it looked like it was about 9am. The tube in S'holm is really nice. Cleaner than Melbourne's even. Drank more Starkol back at his place and finally went to bed. Sunday we boozed around the city from 5pm (after obligitory sight seeing of course) til closing time (2am?) and took a picnic of a 3Litre box of white wine + 4 pieces of bread and about 15 olives, up to the top of the local ski hill by his flat, and went crazy. The sun was up about 3:30 again, and we must have been on that damn hill til about 7. I dont know WHAT we did exactly but Andy nearly broke his legs dangling from a cable car wire, Hannes climbed up some ski-lift structure he was not supposed to, and I insisted upon dropping my pants every 5 minutes and screaming profanities at the top of my lungs. I get turrets when I get drunk I think.


Monday - or was it tuesday?At any rate, at some stage we ate heaps of sushi and greek food- my 2 favorite things you cant get in Cork. And Swedish bread (julia kaka) and gorgeous cheese. And Andy's grandma's/mom's/dad's meatballs. Also, we took a boat out into the archipeligo, saw lots of islands, loads of birch forests, and amazing landscapes. But mostly we just drank beers. It was really sad to leave andy and he was really sad to see us go. It was So depressing. He came over to Cork to visit us only about a month ago, so after not seeing him since our days in South Africa 5 yrs ago, it was really nice to see him twice in one summer. We love Andy. I wish I had a nice single girlfriend who would marry him so we would always have an excuse to see him.
Now I'm sad again. . . but at least it's recorded.
EVERYTHING IN HIS FLAT IS IKEA.