I don't even wanna know her favourite colour

(via Facebook chat)

Dave: I'm watching Law and Order

The mom from Elf seems to have killed her son

and stored the body in her closet for

14 years.

I can't process that.

Robin Williams never had to deal with this shit.

When I was little my favourite book/movie/general story was Peter Pan. As such, I like to attribute much of my immaturity to this fact. If that man-child never has to grow up then neither do I. Unfortunately, reality, that old kill joy, has other plans and likes to remind me that social expectations don't share my views. I have to take responsibility, pay my way and, most infuriatingly, deal with bureaucracy. I have to deal with bureaucracy all the fucking time. Up until about 17 seconds ago I couldn't even spell bureaucracy. So many conflicting vowels.

I recently had my car NCT'd, it failed for some tire technicality. It is bewildering to me that the NCT as a system exists. Obviously its a fabulously necessary concept, to keep us alive and that. But their methods are just bizarre. They take a look at your car, suggesting they have a lot of know how about the ins-and-outs of how exactly cars work. They make a list of what is wrong with your car. They return your car to you, along with said list, with all the problems they've named still actively in play. You've told me exactly how and why my car is not fit to be on the road, and now you want me to drive away in it to get it fixed somewhere else, instead of fixing it then and there, solving the problem once and for all. Where is the logic in this? Please explain to me how such a charade has been branded with "National"? Ireland please get your stamp of approval off this!

Fuck you bureaucracy. 

I, along with nearly everyone else, often find myself in financial dire straits. One evening I was at home, in a pressing need to know how much money was in my account, but without the means to get to an ATM to check. Bank of Ireland, being the savvy, with-the-times institution they are, had been flogging their new online banking service all over town. When I logged on, hoping to get the information I needed immediately, my own personal information about me and my possessions, I was met by several insurmountable barriers. Apparently I needed to earn this information by completing set tasks. Assuming that I would still be able to check my bank balance once I had filled out all the necessary forms, I proceeded with this task. Several hours later, BOI thanks me for my cooperation and informed me they would send me out the necessary pin in 3-4 days. *RageFace*. Two weeks later the pin arrives. But I cannot use it. First I must ring BOI, give them the pin (the one they have generated and sent to me) then answer questions to verify my identity. Listen, Bank of Ireland, you are starting to ask a lot so I can have instant access to what can only amount to about sixteen euro. But I comply, I have an assignment to do, and I can justify this as a grown-up activity, worthy of procrastinating for. I ring BOI, my name is not good enough, they need my account number. I do not know my account number. I hang up. I find my account number. I ring back. I type in my account number. Due to a technical difficulty they cannot connect me to a server. They terminate the call. 

Fuck. You. Bureaucracy. 

Niamh 

Teenage Mutant Awkward Turtle...

Sometimes I wish other people could be in my head, just for a day, so they can appreciate the labyrinth of social awkwardness that is my life. I interact with people on a daily basis and can go from inappropriately affectionate to accidentally racist too quickly for comfort. However, I do believe this is not my fault. Factors outside my control  lead me into these situations and I never see it coming until it's too late.

Culture

Soon I will be living in Switzerland for 3 months. I speak no French and my knowledge of the Swiss culture does not extend past Lindor and Toblerones. I expect my first month of work and life there to be fraught with uncomfortable interactions. This is not mere nervousness, one of the most uncomfortable experiences of my life happened while in Boston last summer.

Working in a "Movie Theatre" for the summer was easy and had free food and movies. Many of my co-workers were African American, I'm going to say black, if you find that racist you may want to stop reading. So one afternoon the ushers, of which I was one, were standing having a chat between cleaning theatres. Suddenly a woman approaches us and lets us know her daughter has vomited and it's everywhere! My automatic reaction is to shout NIGS and declare I am not cleaning it up. So I shout it. I look around and everyone else is touching their nose and staring at me. I'm becoming increasingly aware that apart from one latina gentlemen and myself, everyone in the circle is black. I have just shouted the word NIGS at a group of black people. Instead of immediately explaining it means Not In GoalS, I freeze. The accidental racism just hangs there, festering. I snap out of my daze and protest my innocence. They were very accepting, but several of them didn't talk to me again.....

Chance
Randomness has more influence on my life than I care for. This is unsettling and makes me weary of interactions with new people. Recently I had my ruined computer and had it repaired. The courier who brought the computer back was helpful and a nice guy but apparently slightly afraid of dogs. Our dog, Oscar, barks continuously at strangers. The courier slightly nervously asked whether the dog was any danger. I assured him his bark was far worse than his bite. He departed wearily and I called the dog to me to alleviate his stress slightly. "Oscar" I shouted after my dog. The courier quickly turned, "Yea??". There is a startling realisation that his name is also Oscar. What are the odds of that?! There is no etiquette for this situation. Again I am a rabbit in the headlights and after what must have been nearly 20 seconds, I simply say "Safe Trip!". He says nothing and goes to his van, and leaves. "Safe Trip", who the hell did I think i was talking to! A simple Thanks would have been ideal but that would have been too easy.

Completely My Fault
Okay so this is not an extrinsic factor but I do acknowledge that I heap a lot of this on myself. I like to be clever or funny and all too often I fail and it back fires on me. Never again will I try to make a joke during a presentation because all that happens is I turn into a homophobe.
Studying genetics I often come across strangely named genes. One such gene is tinman, as mutants are born with no heart, like the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz. A theatrical reference I intended to allude to. But as I began "This gene is called tinman for the heartless phenotype, which is rather...", suddenly the word theatrical no longer exists in my vocabulary. I struggle and I search for another word. Instead all I manage to do is to mutter "which is rather....gay!". However, this time I keep cool, pretend nothing has happened and move swiftly, oh so swiftly on. A small victory, but I take them where I can.

I will continue to meander my way through life moving from one awkward moment to the next. I would like to say I am getting better but all three of these examples occurred in the last 6-7 months, but I remain optimistic!

David
(National Young Lepidopterist '06/07 )
   

Lets stay somewhere EVERYONE can see..

I like to think I have fairly respectable taste in music. That being said one of my favourite songs, possibly ever, is The Wanted's triumph 'Glad You Came'. There are many reasons I wish this was not so, but there it is. I like it because its got a catchy beat, an easy to learn chorus and some of the most appallingly ridiculous lyrics of all time. The song charts the efforts of a young man, presumably out "in da club", hoping to take a young lady home for a night of sexual frivolity. How he goes about it is, not only suspect, but probably open for improvement. 

You cast a spell on me, spell on me

You hit me like the sky fell on me, fell on me

From the off I am confused as to why the benefactor of this song should feel complimented. This clearly implies that, in the eyes of The Wanted, they are an obese warlock. 

I decided you look well on me

This is just frightening. Its like a letter a serial killer would write before he kills someone and wears their skin under his clothes. 

Hand you another drink

Drink it if you can

This is my favourite line from this masterpiece. Nothing makes me want to go home with a guy more than a good old fashioned throw down. The beauty of this is because of the incited challenge, the drink will definitely be drunk, and there are probably Roofies in it! Everyone wins!

Stay with me, I can make

Make you glad you came

I'm sure there are other reasons apart from you that she's glad she's come. Maybe all of her friends from school are there and she hasn't seen them in months, and she's having drunken DMCs about how growing up was difficult, but everyone's come so far. And her hair is really working tonight. And the music is bangin'. Get off your god damn horse! What? Double entendre? I don't... OOOOHHH... Well played The Wanted. 

The sun goes down

The stars come out

Silver lining; the guys observant. So at the very least you could get a confidence booster out of the fact that he has recognised that you are, in fact, female. 

All that counts

Is here and now

Downside; he's inconsiderate. I mean what if you have work in the morning?

I know my opinions makes it seem like I take the Liz Lemon approach to night life seduction... And I am fine with that. 

Niamh (Sister-In-Law of Kevin Federline)

I'd make him a Ham Sandwich

You all know Dave right? He's a pretty cool guy. He didn't lick that up off the ground though. Dave's dad, Winston, is so much cooler than all of us will ever dream to be. He's like a Liam Neeson/Michael Palin hybrid, who's hobbies include being witty and rescuing disadvantaged children. If that wasn't proof enough as to how fantastic he is, today I received this Facebook chat off Dave:

Dave: Winston's a Ham Sandwich fan

Asked if I knew them.

I was like

fuck you.

Endless LOLz.

Niamh (Vegan.)

Driving Miss Crazy. (Not the best pun ever, wanna fight about it?)

I, as a person, am not very achievement oriented. I tend to focus on one sizable goal a year, close my eyes and hope for the best. I've spent the last year learning too drive and it was an ordeal. At first I resisted it completely sticking with the unlikely, yet often irrefutable logic, that I was going to fucking kill someone. Learned drivers laughed this off, insisting that I just had to get the feel of the car, that it all becomes second nature. They just didn't get it. They were literally putting me in the driver seat of a death machine.

But it wasn't just the spectre of imminent destruction that clouded the path of enjoyment that was learning to drive. Mostly its just hours of social awkwardness. Every near crash made an instructive parent lose more respect for me, and as for the hours spent with driving instructors..

Spending more than an hour in a confined space, with a stranger, who you are paying to judge and criticise you. What kind of sick hell is that? And why have I endured it nearly 20 times? Intensely staring at me while I try not to steer a two ton death machine into a stream of oncoming traffic, while muttering "biting point" under your breath every now and then, does not a happy Niamh make. It stresses me out, to say the least.

My first driving instructor tried to bond over the course of our (purely professional) relationship by incessantly talking about his live in "partner" and her daughter. He was never inappropriate, by normal social standards. But as I think has been well established, one person's acceptable social behaviour and small talk, is my over share. I just did not want to know about this man's personal family life, especially as I was particularly concerned that at any moment I might kill him, robbing his pseudo step-daughter of a driving instructor.

My second driving instructor was a lot more reserved, and kept conversation strictly to observation, clutch control and coasting. This suited me down to the ground. However, instructor number two seemed to attract awkward incidents. During his driving lessons I was pulled over by the Gards on multiple occasions, even, on one memorable trip, breathalised. I will never get over this. I had to blow into one of those breathaliser machines on a mock driving test. My instructors reaction? "If you fail this breathaliser I am fucked." Eh, CHEERS. You're not the only one. During another lesson, at this stage we were driving around in my own car as I was a lot more comfortable with the clutch and the like, I drove him back to the industrial estate he had parked in. And remained parked in. As his car was locked in. He was the male, adult, driving instructor version of me, in terms of his awkwardness and plain bad luck.

The test itself is the most sadistic, state enforced requirement ever conceived. I am convinced that Driving Examiners are born, not made. It takes a certain smug, condescending, cruel asshole to conduct driving tests. They are suitable to no other position on earth. Once you fail your test (as I did, to the shock of absolutely no one, except my mother, who maintains an unexplainable faith in me) you are left in suspense as they bring you all the way back to the RSA offices, to inform you of your failure and hand you a "Statement of Failure". In case you you were in any doubt. The correct response to this is "Oh, fantastic. If you excuse me I'm just going to DRIVE MYSELF HOME. Bye now." My response was "Yeah. Thought so. . . . I'll just.... Go."

The fact of the matter is, that the Irish as a race are just too lackadaisical for such official documents as driving licenses. Some of the most terrible drivers in the country possess full licenses. And it means nothing. I drive nearly every day, and it is always full of incident, near crashes, angry interactions with pedestrians, other drivers and, the worst of the worst, every drivers nightmare, CYCLISTS. I never return from a spell of driving, not sick to my very stomach with stress and fear, caused by the mere though of all the damage and death I could have caused. But that's just how it goes. I'm awaiting my first, proper accident with anticipation. My "Statement of Failure" is soon to be framed and placed on my wall of achievements.

Niamh (Speaks fluent Clingon)