Emma's Misadventures With The Transcoded Rabbit

First Blog Post Since Dec 6th

2010-03-03T20:26:00.004Z

Good lord, what was I thinking?! I have no readers (Hi Chris!) and if I did they wouldn't want to read about my relationship status!

So, I want attention. I want it bad, don't all women want attention though? No, SEXIST! Jesus... SIGH!!! I have been doing exams lately and my brain is fried. Currently on the phone debating nuclear bombs and Age Of Empires... THIS IS AWFUL! I DON'T WANT TO POST THIS! I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY! Uuuurgh.... [/brain] .....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

My life is over, obviously.

2009-12-06T03:47:00.009Z

A brief summary of the social happenings this week...

Saturday: Hung out with a friend and the boyfriend.

Sunday: Went for a walk with the boyfriend.

Monday: Wrote songs with a couple of friends.

Tuesday: Hung out with the boyfriend.

Wednesday: Another walk with the boyfriend.

Thursday: Hung out with the boyfriend.

Friday: Hung out with friends and boyfriend, had dinner with the boyfriend and his mother, had drinks with the boyfriend and my family.

Saturday: Went for brunch with best friend and boyfriend, went to stock up on nerd supplies with the boyfriend, ate with the boyfriend, pre-pub bottle of Jack with the boyfriend and his guy friends, got dressed and ready with the boyfriend, went for drinks with the boyfriend and some friends.

See the problem? The problem is this: I am in a fresh, shiny, new relationship. It's horrible. All I do anymore is sigh and hold hands and talk about how pretty I am. And of course, half of me is saying "Once you get used to each other things will be normal again," and the other half is saying "Run like fuck!!" ...because I love him and this is not me! Hell, it's not even him! This is exactly how it wasn't supposed to be! *headdesk* I don't even know what more to say about it......Next week, I don't want to see him!!

{edit: feeling the impact was not obvious enough at first, I've oragified the problem for emphasis}

Heehee boys and shopping and shoes and...headdesk NO! RRGH!!

2009-11-28T19:05:00.004Z

Oh blogosphere, what is happening to me?! My days off have taken a sharp downward turn from debating and songwriting, to hanging around some man who, for rather obvious reasons, I'm not naming here.

So today is Saturday. Glorious, lovely Saturday. A day for shouting matches about political or philosophical views. A day for running free through the planes with a herd of wild ponies (herd?)... A day for ME, to rest and have fun and be productive. But no, instead I find myself teaming up with a guy to buy €15 worth of sugary sweets and listen to Led Zeppelin. The more I love this utter waste of time, the more I hate myself.

Tonight, the world and their mother are going for drinks in town. And I am not. This week, I was so foolish as to see a doctor who diagnosed me with severe insomnia and has put me on Xanax. So I can't go out at night, because I now have a bedtime. Yes, I'm all grown up now and have a bedtime again. Of course, I would typically go out almost every weekend so it is not a huge loss. Except that the aforementioned male specimen has requested I join the familiar motley crew tonight. It's killing me. I wish I could go.

And just a point of information before I go:- Xanax does not work!

CONSTRUCTION?!!?! WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE?!?!

2009-11-15T05:20:00.003Z

Well, I've finally gotten around to

starting it but now I'm tired... So

if anyone swings by the blog and it

looks sucky right now, it will be beautiful

beyond all reason soon, I promise.

{EDIT}

It's done now... I went the lazy way with it but it's still nice I think...

Tattoos and Funerals- "Humanity is Fucked" again

2009-11-13T06:01:00.008Z

I was about to facelift my neglected blog (maybe) but clearly I am now distracted.Well, the reason for my distraction is that I thought to myself "What's wrong with defaults?" for the first time since I first saw a computer and felt the uncontrollable urge to customise every pixel it showed me. What happened to default humans? The ones that were on the ground with the animals, rolling in muck and shite? Why is heterosexuality a default? White people think white is the default colour for some reason. You know what, I don't feel like getting into another rant so I'm just going to leave this paragraph alone (though I should delete it really) now and move on... But expect a rant on defaults soon...Maybe... We'll see.

Tattoos.
Since my last blog post I got my ribs tattooed, so let's discuss that, eh? Well, it hurt like nothing on earth. Serious ridiculous pain, I assure you! But it was entirely worth it in my opinion. It took a total of 95 minutes for the actual ink-and-needle part plus 20 minutes when my artist was readying a stencil and needles, and another 10 minutes when I cried with pain so he brought me outside for a cigarette break before we done the colour. As a massive fan of body modification, I honestly couldn't be happier to sport a personal and meaningful piece in a concealable, respectable spot. So why did I get this particular tattoo? Well...

My late grand-uncle had this expression "It can't rain everyday", meaning no matter how many heartships are in your life at any given time, things won't always be bad. The design is centred around this idea so it acts as a memorial piece for him.

I am a passionate, avid fan of music. In particular, that of The Cure. For over a decade now I have held one song above all others; Mint Car by the Cure. And to honour this, I now sport the first two lines in a near-perfect imitation of my own handwriting in bold red ink.

I can be moody, especially in gloomy weather (who isn't moody in gloomy weather? seriously?) so the cheerful nature and meteorological theme of the piece is to remind me that the sun always comes back and there's always a lot of happiness to seek out in the world.

Death.

Another thing that occurred since my last post was the loss of my young friend to heart problems. Well, this got me thinking again about the already-ranted topic of humanity. A mini rant must ensue:

Funerals are so sick if you take the time to think about it, really. Wouldn't it do better justice to our deceased if we were to throw ourselves to the ground in fitful prayers? Or scream? A funeral is a time to express your grief and pain, so why is there so much etiquette involved? Why can't I fall on my face, screaming with grief? Or beg God to stop his vile injustice? I think it would say more about the person who'd died than a quiet little lecture from a priest they never met. But we can't stomach the idea of a human not being pristine and false.... How depressing.

A side note- I want this skeleton tattooed on my leg... Cute, neh?

Keeping Up With The Neighbours: the least interesting blog post ever there has been! Really painfully dull!

2009-10-29T06:26:00.008Z

It seems everyone has updated their blog today but I. Similarly, I have tweeted only twice since I started blogging which is ironic as I used to tweet about how infrequently I would probably find myself blogging.... Tweeting and blogging and trying so hard to reply to my many text messages and IM's and online forum subscriptions and there's books to read and maybe to write, there's drinking and there's impulse purchases... Let me tell you something on this finest of early mornings, children; timekeeping is absolute hell! Hell, I tell you! HELL!!

I feel terrible, really, about abandoning my Unrealistic Dream Of The Day series so if anyone is reading this, we have a new schedule! It is now Unrealistic Dream Of The Undefined Time Span (did that make sense? I'm not sure, I'm very tired!) but rest assure oh my many imaginary readers, there will be plenty of unrealistic dreams to come!

Now, moving onto today's nonsensical drivel. This is a list of the families who live on my street:

Walsh(1)

Walsh(2)

Murray

O' Neill

Rowe

Walsh(3) *This is me!

[Vacant] Formerly Sheehan

Lennon

(I don't know their name, I call them the Newbs)

So, Walshs 1 are fine, nice folks really. Massive number of grown-up children, most of whom no longer live there, and a widow. Fine! Walshs 2 consists of one of the grown-up children, her own 3 children and possibly a man. She is a terribly nosey gossipy, and scummy woman but there's always one so I can get over that.

Now we come to the Murrays, a slow woman who talks unbelievably fast and frequently to absolutely everyone but in her defence, she genuinely is slow so we can move past that also, her husband is harmless also, and is not technically slow but is a tad creepy. We could describe the Murrays as being "lower lower class" folks and their decor can only be described as tacky. But again, we can forgive this.

Next is Mr. O Neill. He killed his wife. Yes, he killed his wife. He threw her down the stairs, everyone knows it, it is a common fact. He now lives with his sister and only leaves the house to go to meetings at the local Kingdom Hall (that's a Jehovah's Witness church/place to pray) and once brought some oddly large bones and asked me to feed them to my dog. I don't suspect they were the bones of his wife who he got away with throwing down the stairs, but they were indeed very large bones.. Almost like those of a large dog, I think. One of which he did used to have and the dog has not been seen for almost a year so it is possible that they were the bones of his dog though it's best not to jump to conclusions. I explained to him that my dog has a rare condition in her jaw and is not allowed to chew on bones because they will probably make her head break in half. He requested I prove this with a report from a qualified veterinarian. I requested he get away from my front door, or at least wait until my father came home and speak with him instead because my father is quite a large man and Mr. O Neill has the cold, dead eyes of a rapist.

The Rowes have 3 grown up children. The eldest is a very nice man, who recently turned 30. The middle child is an attractive and very talented artist of around 27-28 who has been a hermit for quite a number of years, roughly since puberty. Their daughter is 25. None of the children ever moved out of home, even for a day. Their mother is genuinely very kind and had breast cancer. She collects cats and keeps roughly 12 or so in her house, which smells faintly of urine. Their father is a raging alcoholic who wanders the streets of our town from 7am until around midnight, greeting young women... Creepy, huh?

Then there's my family. We fight a lot, my sister and I are frequently seen falling up the front garden blind drunk at the weekends, our music is generally too loud and we don't speak to any of the neighbors aside from Mrs. Rowe. but on the whole we aren't terrible, I suppose.

The Lennons are a single mother who is very frequently seen drinking cans of low grade larger and smoking marijuana (ha listen to me referring to drugs by their botanical names!) in the garden with her EXTREMELY low class sisters, her son is a nice boy who plays sports. Again, they aren't awful though I do try to avoid them because their pets are often neglected or dead and to me, that is not a sign of a good household.

The Newbs are terrible! They fight with their young son a lot and raise him with almost militarily standard discipline. His bedroom window is next to mine and he can often be heard crying on a clear night but I don't think there's anything amiss there aside from overly strict rules. They are, however, rude people. One day when out playing with my dog, I accidentally tossed a rugby ball over the wall into their garden and they refused to give it back, claiming I needed to "learn to take care of my things". To this I shamelessly replied "Go fuck yourself and keep my fucking ball if you really need your little victory!" because I will not be told to learn anything by an overweight middle-aged housewife, much less an overweight middle-ages housewife who listens to Shania Twain loudly in the garden while I sit above her garden in my second story bedroom window trying to write songs of my own. I mean REALLY? Shania Twain?

The point is that my neighbors are mostly townscum and wife-killers. Which is to be expected because we did move to this street before my mother had ever had a job and were thusly quite poor when doing so. Nonetheless, I hear these expressions about keeping up with the neighbours and it sickens me to imagine myself wearing, as most of the neighbouring women do, far-too-revealing clothes that are invariably a size or two too small. Terrible neighbours! Awful awful awful neighbours!

Cynicism>Love: a barely comprehensible rant.

2009-10-26T02:18:00.012Z

Once upon a time, there was a wonderful princess and she was in love with the prince! But her friend was skinnier than her and the prince was pretty shallow so he took his chances on the hot girl, and the princess killed herself.

That's not what you're thought in kindergarten. It's always "And they got married and lived happily ever after!" but what the fuck is that? Even if, for the sake of argument, I were to believe love isn't a complete waste of time... It's completely creepy and flawed and just so wrong on every level to live happily ever after.

Even as children, we're taught wrong. We're told that you fall in love and everything is perfect. But love is completely imperfect- that's the point. You're meant to fight and fall out and cry and bitch then get back on track and work it out. That's called "real life" so if they're presenting it completely unrealistically from day one... Why the fuck do our mom's and teachers claim they want to protect us from "the bad things in life" when all they're doing is setting us up to get knocked on our asses again? Maybe we wouldn't all be miserable and heartbroken if someone had given us a quick heads up. "Hey kids, by the way, it might not work out... Just sayin!" would have been nice instead of "You're going to find the perfect person who will love you forever and you'll be happy for the rest of your life!"

If I can get pills to stop me freaking out, pills to stop me killing myself, pills to stop me screaming as soon as a room gets too quiet, pills to stop me re-arranging my room so it's all lined up by the millimetre.. I'll bet I can get pills to stop love. It's just a chemical reaction. I'd bet it can be done, but nobody wants to do it.. Nobody wants to be the bastard that killed all our stupid childhood indoctrination. Nobody can stand to stop the lies and the fairy tales and the hope and the perpetual bullshit!

Gender roles done it for humanity. If we'd kept up the proper way (breed and move on) we would be living simply amongst the so-called animals and not doing stupid and ultimately destructive things to try and impress and/or lure in members of the opposite sex... Well we're here in our ape suits fucking the planet up and they're on the ground making every day another new day.. Now who needs a cage or, at least, a cold shower?

Earth is already fucked beyond repair. All because of gender roles and love and attraction. If we'd never been here it would be breath taking. Simple, primal creatures living and doing nothing more. Sleep, play, feed, sleep. When humanity comes to an end (undoubtedly by its own ignorant hands) Earth will be in a state of utter disrepair to a point where it will simply cease to function as a planet and collapse into itself. All because men need money to get power to get women.

NOT Liking Martin..... Possible?! NO!

2009-10-24T00:52:00.013+01:00

So Martin is my personal shopper.. No.. Secret lover!......no, not that either, what's the word? Right, friend. And he's coming to New York with me (refer to blog post about homelessness) and he's demanded a mention in my blog (EGOTIST!!) so here is a post all about Marty.

I'm like 95% sure he doesn't have a blog but if he does, I'll link it. Well, I've known Martin since I was twelve and he was fat, that's how it starts I suppose... Okay, he wasn't fat... As I remember, I was lying on a pile of grass shouting at our close mutual friend Devon, and Martin was wearing a striped hoodie and I kinda liked him but "meh, it's a random kid in town, I'll never see this guy again"...

So sometime later it transpired that Devon, Martin and I would be 3 of the core elements of a cute little group of creepy teenagers who were like permanently linked together. So I was dating a guy named Eoghan in (2007? I can't remember and he is not being ANY way helpful about it -rofl-) and then I cheated on Eoghan with Martin... (Is that bad?) so I dumped Eoghan and dated Martin for a few months. So we broke up and stayed friends blah blah blah. He's diabetic blah blah blah. Loves video games blah blah blah. Plays guitar, bass and drums and a wee little bit on keyboard etc. aaaaaand so on about Martin...

IN SUMARY: MARTY IS FUCKING BALLER! AWESOME GUY!!

I AM A GIRL!!! SHOCKER!!!

2009-10-23T19:51:00.005+01:00

Right, everyone needs to know that I am wearing 5inch high heels! Shocker! I'm so tall and my legs look major gorgeous... Sorry, I'll stop now... It's just weird not wearing the boots from the title pic!

If I had warts on my nose and Tim Burton's hair [Unrealistic Dream #3]

2009-10-23T19:49:00.003+01:00

I would want to be “The Cat Lady”…

Rather like yesterday’s romanticized view of homelessness, this is another thing I would do by choice despite typical standards. I, myself, am terrified of cats in real life but in this particular fantasy, I would live amongst them and call them my babies. As a child in Ireland, nobody was so story-book stereotypical but I’ve always imagined dark blue bungalows with wraparound porches on dirt roads. The house would, of course, be in a state of disrepair and the garden would be unkempt. At Halloween, mothers would warn their children not to knock at my door because throughout the locality there would be whispers of my hermitic insanity. Of course, if anyone were to come to my house and ask how I was doing they would find someone wise or articulate standing before them and smiling politely and yet I would never venture into the real world, except to steal the neighbors’ cats dressed oddly in a series of shawls and cloaks, looking almost like a pile of laundry.
Young children would call me “The Witch” and I would smile when I heard them, instilling fear into their young hearts by making solid and undeniable eye contact.

Someday, I hope to be homeless..

2009-10-22T19:48:00.003+01:00

I’ll get just enough money to go to New York, and to feed myself for a month. If I had any money left over, I’d leave it in the bank for doctor‘s bills if I were to get sick. I wouldn’t bother finding a place to live, nor would I have a phone number, skype or email. I’d write letters to my mother to assure her I’m alive. I’d make a thousand friends, each only for a minute because I would never be sure if I would be here or there or someplace in a day’s time. Nobody would know my name or care who I am, when I got too desperate I could shower in a nun’s house- nuns have to take you in, right? Maybe.. I’d steal the best guitar I could find- maybe two even- because, well, what have I got to lose if I’m caught?! I would never wear make up, and I’d cut my hair short. I’d learn to conquer my fear of public restrooms and to run fast, away from rapists. At night I’d wear tracksuit pants over my jeans to keep my legs from freezing. I’d befriend a homeless man named Adam with black hair, an under-bite, a black eye and a crooked nose. He would believe in strange things, and pretend I’m the one who’s crazy. We’d sit in a doorway, taking turns to sleep and pray we aren’t stabbed. We’d watch all the people passing by, and try to guess their names. But it wouldn’t be too long until Adam died in the cold, and that’s when I’d remind myself that my lungs would never handle another snowy New York winter.. So I would go home, and I would curse myself for giving up that life, when working in a Dublin restaurant and thinking back on the days when I had no name…

Another unrealistic dream of the day... How I love to daydream, if only someone were reading along as I fantasize.

Oh to have such fine and distinguished furnishings as these

2009-10-22T00:01:00.007+01:00

Shawn Lovell Metalworks Tree Bed from www.slmetalworks.com

Perfect, is it not? I'm a bit of a design freak, I must admit. I love this sort of thing.. But I just saw this bed and thought "Wow, that's exactly what's not in my life!" haha. In all honesty though, when I do have a house of my own I most likely won't be able to afford this sort of stuff. But someday I'll own a restaurant full of strange, beautiful and interesting pieces like what you see above and from that, I'll eventually become rich enough to furnish my house similarly.

And that's my unrealistic dream of the day because I figure to become a catcher for the Boston Red Sox was simply TOO unrealistic.

Does It Make Me Emo?!

2009-10-14T23:39:00.006+01:00

A blog post about a poem found in a library book... I am exactly the kind of person I never wanted to be right now.

Gripped firmly,

In the jaws of melancholia,

I find it hard to find the time,

To find the strength to find out,

What is the date or the season?

Frankly, that sort of thing doesn't interest me.

I'd rather sit over cup after cup of luke warm tea,

And think of how things used to be.

I found this poem written lightly in pencil in the back of a library book. And while I don't think it is very good, I love it. How pretentious and dreary of me to say so (especially having just come back from a minuscule screening of a subtitled film) but it's so inspiring that someone has taken to this notion of sadness, for whatever reason they might have, and then taken the time to share it with me, a perfect stranger.

Here I am sitting, at night, under my large window with a creepy yet picturesque view of a graveyard and writing a blog post. I updated my twitter today and sent many text messages and I'm signed into MSN, as per usual. Gripped firmly in the jaws of superficial, technological, clichéd youth and not those of melancholia or of poetry or of intangible connections to people I will never see. Somehow it seems the latter would suit me better.