Bachin’ it

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My wife is over in England visiting family- which means I’m left here in Belfast all by my lonesome for a couple of days.

The last thing she said to me was, “Do you promise to at least eat something and not fuck mess up the apartment too much?”

To which I replied:

“Duh. I managed to take care of myself for 28 years before I met you. I think I can manage four days. Besides, it takes at least a week to cause any real psychological damage and another couple of days before the authorities get involved. I’ll be fine. I’m not stupid, you know. You gonna eat that bit of Kit Kat that fell on the car seat or what?”

She regaled me with a blank stare, kissed me and headed into the airport. (Yes! Free Kit Kat pieces!)

I totally understand her concern.

She’s afraid that her “can-do” type o’ macho man (me) might remember that he doesn’t need her and that he’ll dump her (I’m still talking about me, by the way) and go back to his hedonistic ways of yore (the July 4 weekend of 1994. Man, that was wild..!).

And tonight the craziness began!

Woo-hoo!

I made a steak (seemed a bit redder/colder than maybe it should), washed a dish with a paper towel (why run hot and soapy water for a plastic plate? What a waste of our precious natural resources!) and drank a semi-cold beer all by my lonesome.

And I’m feeling pretty good about it.

I mean, I’ve left the toilet seat up, turned off the stupid hall light that always bugs me (but my wife insists needs to be left on), tossed my shoes in front of the sofa (instead of their designated place behind), thrown my jeans on the floor instead of the hamper, left the keys in the door and I am now sitting around in my boxer shorts and typing on the computer with NO GUILT WHATSOEVER.

Life just doesn’t get any better than this.

(And that’s more than you needed to know.)

See how crazy I am?

Whooooooo-hoooooooo!

*Did you notice the disgusting mange on that dog? Yeah, me neither. My wife pointed it out to me after I spent about 10 minutes petting the damn thing (I’m a dog whore. I just can’t let a pooch pass me by without trying to stroke the damn thing. I’ll probably die of leprosy or ring worm or something. I suppose I should have suspected something was wrong when the dog kept dragging its’ tits across the grass in what looked like a desperate attempt to either pull its nipples off or just gross out everyone around her. I didn’t even notice that the bitch’s hair was falling out. Why doesn’t anybody look out for me???).

Simply Pictures (Of County Kerry, Ireland)

Can’t stop to chat.

I’m a busy guy.

Here’s some more pics from the latest holiday.

And no, there’s no rhyme or reason to these. It’s just a simple tour. I may comment on some pics. We’ll see how I feel.

By the way… I hope you’re all doing well. I miss my normal life. I miss restful sleep.

I miss you. (Oh, you know who you are! Don’t be shy! Awwww shucks!)

I can’t really discuss what all is going on but I will tell you this: a big portion of my life will significantly change for good or ill on November 7. Other parts of my life are less certain.

We’ll talk more later.

Enjoy.

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‘Do not swim here’.

Duh… You can’t swim on rocks. Double Duh…

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This is where Aran Sweaters come from (I think)…

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I mean, these stupid sheep are just asking for it…

But wherever would you buy said Aran Sweater???

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Here!
(More to follow. Soon. Well, ‘Soon-ish’.

Funderland and Letter to America

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Sometimes, when things just ain’t so peachy-keen you gotta go out and do somethin’ stoopid.

Today was the perfect day for that.

Jett and I took it upon ourselves to journey to the Boucher Road to witness the wonder that is ‘Funderland’ and record the latest chapter of Letter to America’. (Yes. That’s the real name. (‘Funderland’, that is. That’s the real name of the ‘Fun Fair’ not the name of ‘Letter to America’. It’s name is actually ‘Letter to America’ (by which I mean ‘Letter to America’ not ‘Funderland’.) And, yes, that’s us on the ‘Jungle Fever’ or whatever water-ride. And, yes, I realize that it looks totally Photoshopped but that’s the actual pic taken by what looked like a traffic cam and presented to us by the Polish booth worker who shilled this to us. (Jett bought the actual ‘photo’ for 5 pounds whereas I settled for the 3 pound key chain. (By ‘pound’ I mean British pound, as in ‘currency’ not ‘weight’. A three pound (as in ‘weight’) keychain would be simply ridiculous . It would probably tear a hole in my pocket (literally and/or figuratively) (If I was talking ‘weight’ but not ‘currency’.) (Even though I bought it anyway (for three pounds. Currency wise (meaning ‘currency’) and not ‘weight’). Are you following me?)) (I’m now going to add a couple more parenthesis because I’ve lost track.)))

We only spent about 20 minutes there (you’ll have to listen to the podcast (coming soon) to find out why) but it was worth it. It brought a smile to my face and now I think I might just be able to tough out the next couple of months even though things are looking bleak.

We shall see.

Anyhoo… hope you all have a kick ass Monday and I apologize in advance if I don’t post regularly. I really am hitting the stink pile at work and in life. It’s gonna get crazier than any job I have ever had and the life thing…well, let’s just call it “life”, ok?

Here’s hoping I come out the other side (of both work and life) with at least part of my sanity intact.

*Deep Breath*

Let’s go to Funderland!

Sell Your Soul to the Shopping Mall

The last couple of days have been a real Karmic bitch.

Something quite good happened (we finally signed on the flat and the closing date is fast approaching) and lots of bad, personal-I’m-not-going-to-go-into-it type stuff has happened as well. It has all left me feeling incredibly burned out, exhausted and exhilarated at the same time.

Let’s just call it life, shall we?

Anyway, if I were to single out the strangest day this week it would have to be Thursday. At 9 a.m. that morning we essentially bought the flat and by 12 o’clock I was writing a press release for Chico and (I can’t even believe I’m writing these words) the Cheeky Girls who are making a special guest appearance at a mall at some god forsaken place or the other some time next week.

I still can’t decide if it was one of the best days of my life or one of the stupidest.

By no means do I consider myself an “artist” or even a “real writer” (though I do get paid to write stuff…oh, well…whatever) but it was the first time in this job that I stopped and said to myself, “YOU sir, are a hack!” (Little did I know that by Friday I would be writing and producing a radio ad starring talking feet. You just can’t prepare for shit like this.)

If I had any dignity and/or artistic integrity I would have said, “Fuck this! I’m out of here!”

And if I believed 100% in a soul, I’d have to say I sold it to a shopping mall.

But it’s paying for our new flat.

I guess this is what it means to be a grown-up.

The Dog Suicide Bridge

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Tonight my wife is heavily into “The Dog Suicide Bridge” a *ahem* brilliant semi-documentary playing on a shitty television station about dogs leaping to their death from a bridge (obviously) in Scotland (by “obviously” I meant they jumped from a bridge, not that they obviously jumped from a bridge in Scotland. That makes no sense whatsoever. Obviously.).

I’m not allowed to speak when it is on. (She’s very concerned about these dogs. She believes something is wierd. Like the river below is made of sweet, sweet liver or dried pigs feet and the dogs just can’t resist. I’m not allowed to ask. I will get yelled at. Shhhhhhh! Now my typing is too loud! She’s very concerned. I feel so callous. I’m SORRY!)

This is serious stuff.

Over 50 canines have jumped to their doggy deaths from the Overtoun Bridge.

Yet, somehow…I find this whole thing… amusing.

I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation (maybe Scottish dog owners are assholes or the bridge hurts the dog’s feet and they think “Goddamn it! This bridge blows! I’m gonna take a swim!”).

Anyway, I hope there’s a conclusive answer at the end of the program.

(But I doubt there is.)

Catholics Do the Art Thing- Catholic Style!

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Welcome to some nunnery or another somewhere outside of Killarney (sp?) Old churches kind of creep me out and this one was no exception. But I like looking at them. (And I always hope that God doesn’t strike me dead while I take a secular picture of said holy ground. Once again, I got lucky on this one.)

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This is the first “grotto” that we encountered in Kerry. In my opinion it’s just a very large statue at the side of a road that is full of awesome tourist eye-candy, but I suppose if you’re of the Catholic persuasion it probably means something to you- like you won’t drive off the road and into the sea if you’re groovy with the Madonna babe.

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Look closely and you will see the Virgin Mary taking a whizz on the quarry workers below. At least, that’s my take on it.
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Finally! An icon for the rest of us! A pro wrestler!

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I don’t know who he is but it seems the people of Sneem are very proud of him. I wish him nothing but the best.

But of course, he’s dead.

I hope he had a good run.

God bless him.

They Call Me Mellow Yellow

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Today was my first day back at work after a two week long siesta (is that how you spell it?) and I gotta say– it went pretty well.

But…!

I have a completely rational fear of coming back to work after long holidays.

Any time I’ve ever taken two weeks off in one single shot I’ve come home to find that I no longer have a job (one time it actually cost my wife and I a house that we were meaning to buy. Translate that into what that house would be worth now (which I won’t do cuz it’ll kill me) and that’s some serious non-phobic rationale.).

Anyway, like I said, I went back to work today and got several “Where the fuck have you been?” type comments so I take that as a good sign that I won’t be begging on the streets any time soon. Unless I fuck up. Which is all too probable.
Please sit back and enjoy this photo montage of nothing too special from our trip to Kerry last week. (I’m too overwhelmed by the outpouring of welcoming love from my co-workers to be too smart-ass-ish.) kerry-october-06-129.jpg

This is a two lane road.

Really.

I wanted my wife to take a picture of me stretched out across this lane (I would have easily reached from one edge to the other) but I was afeared for my life and she didn’t want to drive back to the cottage on her own. She’s so selfish.

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Celtic goodness.

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There’s more where these came from and I hope you like ’em.

But I think this is enough for tonight.

(I’m really relaxed and mellow after our trip. So mellow and relaxed that I think I’ll go and fall asleep in front of the TV now. Mmmmm…crappy television…..)