There Goes The Fear

I’m often too lazy to blog. Too uninteresting to have anything to say unless it’s a rant. Too passive to say anything that will rock the boat… And evidently so conceited that I think anything I say will rock anything resembling a boat…

This year has been difficult, stuff ranging from seriously ill mother, to better mother, rubbish time at work, unemployed and unhappy dad, reemployed dad, fracturing toes, losing touch with people, sister moving abroad (I know it’s only Wales, but that doesn’t mean I can’t miss the hell out of her). Basically, I’ll be happy as hell to see the back of 2009. 2009 has been the year of misery – not that I’m a miserable person – but I went and got myself the trendy old depression. I decided to go to the doctor since waking up at retarded o’clock feeling anxious over nothing and going out of my way to avoid people, or, when I did have to spend time with people, willing them to LEAVE ME ALONE, wasn’t entirely normal. He gave me a nice old four month prescription for happy pills and sent me on my way. Anyway, the four months are almost over and I’m alright for the most part. Sleep pattern is right fucked up, but I can deal with that.

This wasn’t supposed to be a blog post about sodding depression, it was supposed to be about perceptions. I’ve been informed that I’m a sarcastic bitch. Which, you know, could be true some of the time. Unfortunately,-and don’t tell anyone- I am a bit of a softie underneath it all. I take things to heart, and in the privacy of my own mad head and my bedroom, I get upset. I’ve always been like this and when I was younger I was a little softer but I learned that being a bit of a bitch was easier than people knowing I was a pushover, I guess… which stuck. I overthink things, I overanalyse and wonder -when I’ve been upset- why I can’t let it go for an inordinate amount of time. Usually I’ll get annoyed and upset over some stupid throwaway comment, too. So, yeah, turns out I’m quite nice and, euch, sensitive. Gross. But I’ll continue to be crass, abrasive and mean to your face… while anxiety and stress is inwardly consuming me.

Anyway, what I want to know is, how I can get out of my own head, stop dwelling on things and basically stop being an utter girl? Anyone?

Oh, don’t suggest alcohol, this hangover will attest to the fact that it doesn’t work…

Here’s a happy song for your time:

My Granny’s Failed Business Venture

I, Nana Shoes, don’t know why this t-shirt idea never took off:

This was a guest post by Nana Shoes. The views expressed herein are those of Nana Shoes and are not those of Scaraboo.

(psst, this is a childish joke)

The Wheels On The Bus (Make Me Want To Injure People)

Here are a few things that I dislike about buses:

Bus stops,
Full buses,
Buses that won’t stop,
Buses that are a minute too early,
Buses that are late,
People who don’t queue at bus stops and then barge in front when the bus arrives,
People who don’t have their change ready for getting on the bus, people who sit in the seat I wanted,
People sitting in front of me with really long hair that comes down in front of me,
People in front of me with dandruff,
People in front of me with spotty necks,
People who refuse to get up when you’re trying to get out past them,
People who read broadsheets beside me,
People who stand up,
People who don’t get up for pregnant women/people on crutches/the elderly,
People who leave rubbish,
People who smell,
People who shout on their phones,
People who cough and don’t use a tissue,
People who pick their noses,
Women who spend too long putting on their make-up,
People COUGHING ON MY NECK,
People who try to start conversations,
Drunk people,
Loud people,
People who think they’re funny and try to steal my glasses.
People.
I hate people.

Zero

I, like many others in their early/mid twenties, have stayed in touch with school friends long after the end of days. It’s nice to have these people to reminisce with, share stories with and relive youth with.

On the other hand, what are you supposed to do when you realise that maybe you don’t have anything in common anymore? Conversations are filled with uncomfortable silences rather than the laughter that once filled the air? What do you do when you know it’s not working but because of these extenuating circumstances and desperation to cling onto memories of youth you feel guilted into remaining a friend to this person? When you’re not putting your heart into the friendship and you spend more time being annoyed with the person and their behaviour? When you realise that you have never had anything but being a teenager/schoolgoer/girl in common with them?

Answer me that, folks, and I’ll be a happy girl.

All About Meme. ME!!!

THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
1. Sarah
2. Shoe
3. Scaraboo

THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD:
1. Scaraboo
2. Sarah Shoes
3. Black Star

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. My hair
2. My eyes
3. Mouth

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU DON’T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. My hair (love hate, see)
2. Excess baggage
3. Triangle fingers

THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:
1. Monaghan
2. Cavan
3. Meath (I think I’m entirely Irish)

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:
1. Spiders
2. Death
3. Lonliness

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
1. Phone
2. iPod
3. Mascara

THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING NOW:
1. Grey jammie bottoms with pink dots on
2. Radiohead t-shirt
3. Black glasses

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS OR MUSICAL ARTISTS:
1. Radiohead
2. The Shins
3. Yeah Yeah Yeahs

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE SONGS RIGHT NOW:
1. Skinny Love ~ Bon Iver
2. Let it Rain ~ OK Go
3. The Girl and The Robot ~ Royksopp

THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP:
1. Laughter
2. Hugs
3. Fun

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE, IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:
1. I have a potentially life threatening illness
2. I inherited my goldfish from a French chick
3. I have a cat in my back garden

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE PREFERRED SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU:
1. Good smile
2. Nice Eyes
3. Must be taller

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:
1. Cinema going
2. Gig going
3. Pub going

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
1. Sleep
2. Win the lotto (in order to…)
3. Take a holiday

THREE CAREERS YOU’RE CONSIDERING/YOU’VE CONSIDERED:
1. Radio producer/lackey
2. Something media based
3. Anything but this…

THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:
1. London
2. Miami
3. Italy

THREE NAMES YOU LIKE:
1. Emily
2. Dylan
3. Daniel

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
1. Visit Asia
2. Have children to scar mentally
3. Get a great job

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A GIRL:
1. I have boobs
2. I have lots of lipgloss
3. I have a handbag

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A BOY:
1. I wear boys trainers
2. Some other girls baffle me
3. I despise fake tan – the smell, the looking like you’ve been marinating in kia-ora

My Favourite Love Triangle Story. Ever.

I used to live with a girl, we’ll call her Jane (names have been changed to protect the stupid and all that). She was about a year or so older than me but we really could not have been more different as people. I was all for going out and getting sweaty in a dingy bar at a squashed gig and she went for breakfast with people. She got up early to socialise!

Anyway, she was going out with an equally boring boy who went on a three week boys holiday with his brother and some others… we’ll call him Pat. Jane goes to a boring Ball down on the Saturday after Pat goes on his holidays. The ball is in some mansion with lots of other boring people whilst Pat is off galavanting. Jane is with her dull friends, and is introduced to a ravishing man who we’ll call Chris (because I actually can’t remember his real name). Chris spends the evening trying to woo Jane and she resists his advances, trying to shove a friend his way instead. Chris is relentless anyway and come dawn, Jane has consumed enough champagne for her judgement to be impaired. She and Chris kiss (aw, how romantic).

But wait! What about Pat, the dull holidaying boyfriend? She telephones him on the Sunday, many thousands of miles away to confess to her indiscression… and he’s still got over two weeks to go in his holiday. Pat tells her that she’s forgiven and that she’d probably had too much to drink, was missing him, etcetera. Problem is, Jane is completely lovesick, smitten over Chris and quite probably wanted Pat to dump her then and there.

Monday comes and Jane is at work and flowers come in from Chris the cad. That evening comes and Jane decides to dump Pat. Pat is in America with two weeks to go until he’s home and is dumped. By phone. A phone call that he is paying for.

Thursday comes, and after watching Jane swoon around the house and she goes on a date with Chris. When I say date… they go for a walk. A walk!!?? A first date? Walking by a stinky Dublin Canal?? Anyway, Chris invites Jane to some races or something, entry to the VIP enclosure and all that, the following weekend. Being a posh lass, she’s delighted and by way of a thank you she offers to cook him dinner.

Saturday comes, Jane buys the ingredients for their romantic dinner and goes to his place too cook it. Stays there (what a friggin’ hussy, right?). Claimed that she took his bed and made him kip on the sofa. Ahem.

A couple of days later after a simply wonderful day at the races, away from the commoners, in the VIP enclosure, Jane hasn’t heard from Chris the cad so she decides to call him. He spins her some lines about not being ready to get into anything serious as he has just gotten out of one of those ’serious relationship’ things. So Jane suggests that they just see each other casually and see how things go from there. Chris spells it out to poor Jane and says (I kid you not) “I don’t want a relationship with you“.

Jane is gutted and sets about pursuing Pat again but Pat has returned from his holidays and is having none of it. He’s had his heart broken and he doesn’t want to take Jane back.

Jane tries to go about life as normal but also tries to win Pat back repeatedly to no avail.

Shortly after all of the drama she goes for a job interview and a few glasses of wine afterwards with a friend. She falls into the house drunker than I’ve ever seen, with lovely red wine stained teeth and upon arriving home sends a text message to Chris, asking him to come to dinner with her, her treat. (Drunk dialing, rookie mistake) Chris politely declines so Jane replies in what she thinks is a jokey way ‘you know how to insult a girl, don’t you’. Chris obviously has enough of her at this stage, she wasn’t turning out to be the quick legover that he’d been hoping for and immediately responds with…

“Don’t ever contact me again”

Breathtaking

I was sitting watching 8 Out of 10 Cats when I got a terrible fright. They played a clip from a popular Irish breakfast show, Ireland AM. I hyperventilated with horror.

So, I’m sharing this mortifying clip with the world.

To any Irish people viewing this: I know!
And to anyone outside of Ireland; judge away.

Lost Soul

It was bound to happen, I’ve started one of these fancy ‘blog’ things.

I’ve been feeling strange this past week or three – I’ve been a little less, well, ‘me’.
I’ve been losing my happy(ish) attitude. I’ve become deflated, disillusioned and generally just fed-up. It’s entirely my own fault. I’ve been in a job I don’t care about for over two years and I let my volunteer post in a radio station slide in January with nothing to do afterwards. I got lazy. Then I realised that I was painfully, achingly, lonely. I miss the friends I used to go to visit in Dundalk, where I spent a year in college. I miss the friends who lived in Dublin, who I used to irresponsibly socialise with on a ’schoolnight’ and traipse into work the next morning dying for a bag of King crisps, bottle of Lucozade sport and a handful of panadol. At 24 years of age, I’m alone in a big city.
I’m determined to shake myself out of this horrible slump. I’m toying with a few ideas… maybe going back to get my degree in Journalism and Media Studies and beat myself into the radio industry like a pest… Volunteering with a radio station closer to where I live. Well, when I said a few ideas I guess I should have just said two…

I’ll try to aim for more topical, interesting posts in future. I suppose I’m using it like a Richard Herring-type exercise… a bit of a diary and a bit of a forum to get more accustomed to writing.