Mashing spuds earlier, I got a nice phone call. It was from a dude I work with at a volunteer organisation, he was calling to leak gossip about the boss’ mumblings at a meeting the evening before, and told me that I’d been elected ‘Officer of Morale’, and that they are going to talk to me next week about it officially.
I doubt there are stripes for this, but a tattoo might not be out of the question.
Talk about tachycardia. My heart began to thump at the enormity of the job on top of my already extremely dubious title of ‘Chief Fundraiser’. An imaginary Imp popped out of the toaster and immediately convinced me that I now have the potential to let a lot of people down. But, then again that could be the DTs.
Depression (yawn) and anxiety are a pain in the ass. Why do these people have so much faith in me? it wonders. I am Eleanor Rigby, wearing my face that I keep in a jar by the door. Could be I’m a sucker for offering to do things or not saying no? Doing things is fun! That’s the irony. When a job is well done it’s a great buzz and the weight goes away.
Those potatoes got mashed very well this evening.
How does one raise morale in a volunteer workplace though?
Do we have a Silly Hats Day?
I know bowling should enter into it, a big old barbeque in the Summer maybe, but what else is there? I’ve no imagination with this sort of thing, not really being a people person per se. I like weirdness (see above) so have a large capacity for inappropriateness. Plus! There’s very little you can do around here that doesn’t revolve around booze which is getting boring.
Please let me know if you know anything about this sort of thing, any advice would be GREATLY appreciated.
She was very nonchalant about it, it didn’t seem to occur to her to be proud of the achievement at all… so much so, she forgot to tell me about it. I was reading the school newsletter when I saw her little name pop up in the section about the ‘Write-A-Book” project her school takes part in every year. She was one of two kids in her class to achieve a special merit.
I pee-d myself a little bit with excitement and shrilled scornful surprise at her for not telling me. She flushed and smiled a little bit, then returned to her own planet, and I to mine.
While I write this, there is somebody learning to juggle, and there is somebody learning to play piano. They are of course seperate people. I am the fly on their garden fences, that strangelady nosy neighbour. Enjoy!!! Tomorrow I may even be videoing paint drying.
For any straggler readers that may have read my old post ‘The Secret Fire’, for which I was very happy to win a pretty shiny thing last year and a phone which I still do abuse and adore, there is a nopportunity for you to enjoy a Deja Vu for your very own self. If you can’t make it, don’t waste brainage with wasted excuses this time, for these people do seem to appear every year, at much the same time. Without fail, they are a true constant. I’m sure you may make it some day in your own way. I’m here just to remind you.
If you DO make it Wicklow Townward this year at eight bells on August 9th, you’ll find me at the back. I’ll be the one with the kid and the baby and the boy in the wheelchair that gleans strange amusements from stringy vibrations. I have a noisy bunch, for that I apologise in advance, but I just had to be there. You understand! I hope the locals will too. Eep.
I never did thank you for nominating this mess for an Irish Blog Award, did I? Considering its content is a bit on the confused side and reflects the fact that the author has no idea whether she’s coming or going, and the sidebar doesn’t really seem to know what it’s doing, and the blogroll’s a complete mess, it was seriously sweet of you to see past that and give it an aul’ vote .
Then me aul’ one points out to me that it’s made it to the Personal Blog shortlist, too! This means that some poor sap(s) have had to wade through these pages when they most likely had something much better to be getting on with at the time, and gave it their thumbs up despite its misgivings. That was seriously sweet too.
Thanks lads :)
If the due-date for this kid wasn’t so close, and if the lengthy journey to Galway didn’t pose a threat for serious arse-cramps, I would be there with bells on. Instead though, I’ll be stalking the event via live blogging and (sigh) Twitter from a safe distance and crossing my oedema’d fingers for the rest of yiz.
Dammit I’ve been meaning to do this for ages… poor Thrifty needed adequate mourning time though in all fairness.
April’s Dog’s Bollocks Award goes to a lady who posts stuff extraordinary all the time but I keep forgetting. Her’s is one of those blogs that I find through linky-love and remember, but never remember to link to, so she’s my ‘happy surprise’ blog. Does that make any sense?
Not any more. Linked officially from here on in.
Voodoolady is the Dog’s Bollocks of the moment because of posts like these:
That blog is what this blog should be. I want to post every day, about stuff that annoys me or fickles my tancy, the every-day normal people stuff that gives blogging its humanity. I’d love to not give a shit, but sometimes when that happens, the paranoia overloads and I hate that feeling. To be honest, this blogging lark freaks me out a bit… the worst moment is trying to watch a film shortly after posting a weird blog post. It’s hard to concentrate when you feel like a muppet.
So my prize arrived in the post yesterday morning!! The postman raised an eyebrow as I signed for it and I knew right then and there that he had ESP. The Accidental Terrorist’s eyebrow raised even higher as I unclothed its packaging and since then, well… he’s getting a great buzz out of it let’s just say.
Also you should have a visit of www.sex-toys.ie… if not at least just to find out what a finger flipper is?! I accidentally left the browser open one day while carefully choosing my prize… TAT’s friend and a few visiting plumbers from the County Council copped an eyeful and gave me some seriously strange looks when I returned from the shop, especially when I offered them a cup of the hot stuff… ah well. It’s not like my reputation wasn’t shot to hell already.
This is the winning post in which I confess things I probably shouldn’t have, but am mighty glad I did now, I tells ya:
I fell in love on Saturday night at the Irish Blog Awards. When his big brown eyes locked gazes with mine… I almost dropped my cocktail. It would have been improper to approach him though, for he had important work to do but happily, later on in the night, he approached me! Or rather his owner did. Digital Darragh, you have the most beautiful Labrador in the world and it was wonderful meeting you both. I would’ve loved to speak to you and Emma a bit longer, but there’s always next year.
I got to play mindgames with Tinman18 at the start of the evening. How do you recognise somebody in person from their writing style? It’s not easy, unless you have their mobile number and you know you’re both in the same room. All you need to do is to some kinky texting, and watch out for the giggling bloke. Thumbs up. What a sound character! Thanks for the juice, dude.
I stuck by Robert Sweetnam for a good while, completely addicted to his Corkish accent, but I’m totally at a loss trying to remember what it was exactly that we spoke about. That’s a sign of a good night. I robbed this photo while he wasn’t looking:
Point of note… that’s the Accidental Terrorist second from the left. He is responsible for Rick O’Shea’s beard, though it’s a little known fact. There’s nothing like a bit of fuzz to boost a man’s sex appeal, I was beside myself from hugging them both on the night, I’ll never wash these cheeks again.
I also got to see a bride on a bouncy twister castle. I’ve scrapped the wedding plans and have re-arranged them from scratch. I am that inspired.
This bobbing bride is Ciara Crossan of Wedding Dates.ie, I got so much great advice from herself and Ellybabes, the support bowled me over. A definite highlight of the evening was Elly’s surprise gift… a handmade choker (something new!) to go with my wedding dress… it’s beautiful, I couldn’t believe she made it just for me. Thank you so much again, Ellybabes.
…and a photograph of some people blatantly ignoring the rules of bouncy twister:
And a shot of Grandad delivering the punchline to what was probably a filthy joke to Robert Sweetnam:
The rest of the photos are somewhat blurry as my demeanor got more and more hazy throughout the night, but I do remember swaying to Bock the Robber’s theories for a better world through a haze of Jack Daniels and laughy tears, and being poked fervently by Darragh Doyle, not for the first time either I might add. The following is his Wossy/Brand YouTube pisstake made with Maxi Cane… it was an honour to have my reputation so blatantly flaunted like that baby yeah!!!
The night was brilliant, thanks to Damien Mulley and his crew… I was bowled over with my award for best post (Thanks to KRO IT Solutions for sponsoring!), but even more so by the well wishings I got from people, it was an atmosphere dense with serial friendliness. Although I got to meet some of my favourite leg-ends… John Braine, Elfinamsterdam, Nick, Lottie, HairyBen (gorgeous he is) and Willknott (thanks for the badge, dude!) and Grannymar, I was gutted to have missed out on meeting some other fine heads I heard were there.
I honestly have to say I was equally gutted to find Xbox4NappyRash, the Sexy Pedestrian and Manuel so cruelly robbed of their trophies, for I was rooting for them something rotten, but blogging is a fickle thing and I know their time will undoubtedly come again.
Mostly I want to thank everyone for nominating The Secret Fire… the world seems dominated by paranoia and negativity, for they are the things that catch the headlines. To have so many people recognise the goodness in the little things, the fleeting beauty that can be found in the strangest of places… it’s wonderful to see. I hope, if anything, it gave people the ability to open their eyes and search for these tiny things, these small redeemers of humanity, for they are everywhere if you look hard enough. Blogging is a powerful tool… use it for the greater good. Follow in the good footsteps of Maman Poulet… we all have a voice.
Today I be mostly writing up an instruction manual for Laughingboy for the babysitters while I’m away at the Blog Awards.
So far there are thirty two pages.
Who says kids don’t come with manuals?!?! Mine does, and it’s a pain in the ass trying to remember how he works. It’s like trying to describe how to operate a stick-shift.
After all, our babysitters are both male… one is a DHL delivery man, the other is a chef. They have never looked after my kids before, nor do they know what they’re getting themselves into. I think they’re planning a party while we’re away…. heheh… good luck, lads.
Yes, I am pissed again, but this time I am cross too. Cross at the little scumbags that fecked a bottle at me from the bus as it went past when I was walking home. Missed me. Fuckers. Hope your knobs fall off.
“I like to think of it in terms of a society having a goal, this helps define individual purpose. If a society has a common goal, as can be brought about by a disaster or crisis, people pull together and have a purpose, they have the freedom to act to make their world better. In the case of negative freedom, it become random and base. People revert to their fundamental nature, consuming and rutting and fighting, with or without a thin veneer of civilisation”
Right on, brother.
Thrift Criminal, you’re a great buzz, your posts are clever and with a unique sort of humour… please don’t bugger off in March and have us fend for ourselves!! I don’t know what I’d do without your smartarse comments in my inbox.
We’ll miss you something rotten. You’re the Dog’s Bollocks mate.
I’m going to try and keep this short and sweet, but you must understand that there’s a lot of passion being supressed. This post could go on ’till next Autumn for all the potential content involved, but time’s short and the Chinese is on its way, fair play to him.
Rick’s radio show has been my touchstone for humanity for the longest time. He saw me through freezing weather in my forlorn days of window cleaning… his banter kept my soul nice and toasty. It also broke the ice somewhat given my situation – a bunch of belligerent blokes with a female driver, my territory here (you understand) was somewhat ‘spurious, but Rick levelled us to the same domain with perfection.
Then came my taxi driving boredom. From hackney to cabbie, the lost hours… those spent biting nails and scanning newspapers, waiting desperately for someone to fancy the thought of being driven anywhere… somewhere… the suspense of the next fare was healed by Rick O’Shea and his inane questions – questions that levelled Ireland to the same base instincts, the same issues, the same mistakes. I felt so at home, so entertained… I actually cursed fares that interrupted my concentration on Rick’s show between 2pm and 5pm.
2fm have seen it fit to call a halt to chat radio. They seem to think that they’re the only radio station playing pop music, that they have the edge on popular radio, but the sad thing is (from my point of view), is that the only thing they have going for them is Rick, and Nikki Hayes, the popculture guru that can be heard before Rick’s slot. These are the shows that determine real entertainment, something worth listening to. They call out to the general public, they hand the day’s subject matter to us, to you and me, and in my opinion it’s genius.
“What’s the last thing you tore up?”
“When’s the last time you told someone you loved them?”
“What’s the most embarrasing thing you’ve ever done?”
It’s the closest thing to a radio blog… inviting the public to create an atmosphere that nobody else can match… it grounds us all and lets us know that we’re not alone, that we’re all human underneath. I miss it so.
Rick’s slot is not gone yet, but his show is now lacklustre. He has no more questions, he plays music that everyone else plays, his voice carries dampened undertones as though his baby has left home for good. I hope he doesn’t mind me saying this, but his show (since he returned from New York) has joined the ranks of banality and I sense that this isn’t his fault. He’s been shot down.
Cut Gerry (perve) Ryan’s salary, bring back Rick. Oh ok, I love Gerry too, but seriously… he’s not worth that much. Ray D’Arcy fills my slot far more adequately most of the morning time, so to speak.
Long live Rick O’Shea, he is indeed the Dog’s Bollocks.