All the world’s a stage

Life has been quiet recently.
The last year was filled with a lot of drama and while I never like there to be bad things happening, there is always a bit of a buzz off group controversy.
You feel like once there’s some scandal going on, your life is interesting.
You have things to talk about and analyse and people to judge.
Let’s face it, if you meet up with a friend and he/she has ‘gossip’, you want to hear it.
Obviously you don’t like hearing your friends are in a bind, but at the same time it adds a bit of spice to life whether you’re involved, you’re trying to help or you’re just watching the madness unfold.

But life has been quiet recently.
There’s been very little drama.
Every now and again I look about and sigh, wondering if I’ve become boring.
I’ve nothing exciting to blog about, nothing super-interesting to tell people.
But it’s actually been kind of brilliant.
Maybe this is what growing old is – suddenly realising that drama is just a pain in the ass.
It’s stressful!
Because even if you’re not involved in the initial stages, you’ll always get pulled in.

And so I’m enjoying the quiet life.
I hang out with friends and we reminise or talk about movies, books, current affairs (ha, celebrity news), music, whatever!
We say “Any news?” and the reply is “Nah, not really”.
It’s nice.
It’s relaxing.
It’s a little boring, but hell, I’ll take boring!
Boring makes it easier to sleep at night.
Boring stops me from frowning.
Boring stops me from getting stressed out.
Let’s hear it for Boring!

“… you’ll have to fall in love at least once in your life or Paris has failed to rub off on you.”

I watched Midnight in Paris at the weekend and have spent the last few days in a bit of a funk.
It’s been over a year since I’ve visited the city and the realisation is more than a little heartbreaking.

Forgive me, but I’m about to wax lyrical.

It’s a shameful cliché – the wannabe writer in love with Paris – but it really is plain fact.
I don’t love it because of its rich art and literary history.
It’s not because of the abundance of great books and movies set there.
And it’s not because it’s the ‘City of Love’.
It’s nothing like that.
It was Paris itself that claimed my heart.
The atmosphere, the unique lighting , the architecture, the beautiful streets, the packed outdoor cafes, the Parisians themselves (despite popular belief)the smells, the colours and a million other things.

The main character in Midnight in Paris loves the city because of what it was.
I love it for what it is.
Its past doesn’t hold much for me.
I do understand why artists were inspired there, but the fact that they were doesn’t have an effect on my opinion.
But it is  more than likely that the same je ne sais quoi that captivated them is what captivates me.
The city just does something to me.
There’s something in the air.
This feeling of anticipation.
The notion that something wonderful is about to happen.
The notion that anything could happen.
There’s really nothing else like it.

What I feel for Paris is undeniably love.
It’s love.
There’s no doubt about it.
I think about it, talk about it, write about it.
I feel giddy with excitement as I near my time to visit.
I’m completely consumed by it when I arrive and I get this feeling I can hardly explain.
It’s joy and awe and electricity, warmth, sadness and peace all at once.
The experience is overwhelming and there are moments during my stay there when I just have to stop and breathe for a second.
Just to take it all in.

I know it sounds a little over the top, but this is how I feel.
It’s my favourite place in the world.
I don’t believe that anything could compare to it for me.
It turns me into this babbling, gushing romantic and I fight the urge to jump on someone’s couch declaring “I’m in love, I’m in love and I don’t care who knows it!”

But part of charm is the fact that my time there is fleeting.

It’s this wonderful treat for me.
Living there would make it ordinary and it would be a sin for Paris to ever be ordinary.
I savour every moment I get there, knowing that it won’t last and then I pull away, starving myself of it, so that its effect never fades.
The city has my heart.

And yes, the claim about Paris in the rain is completely true.

Playing Catch Up

Hello Folks!

Sorry I’ve been missing for a while!
Don’t be mad.
Look! Here’s an adorable kitten —–>
Anyway, things got a little busy and I was suffering a slight case of writer’s block, so blogging was put on hold.

I have been doing my thang over on Ramp though and I’ve two new “How To…” posts to show you.

First up is today’s How To … Have Sex and Be Really Awesome At It:

♥ Food

Incorporating food into the banging process is a firm favourite of Cosmo, which means it’s something that everyone does and that it’s awesome. Smear each other in chocolate, ice cream or honey. Nothing says ‘hot’ like stickiness and having to change the bed sheets immediately afterwards. Other suggestions include chewing pulpy (non-acidic) fruit and keeping it in your mouth while giving a blowjob and giving your guy a ‘beer facial’. Cosmo has also suggested that girls get their guys to eat sushi off their naked bodies because that’s obviously the time you both want to be thinking about fish…

Click HERE to read the full piece.

There’s also last week’s post, How To … Write a Comedy for RTÉ:

◊ Find Your Group

Once you’re in there, you must obtain a group of like-minded people. You see, RTÉ comedies are based on the kind of material that only you and your mates find funny due to the fact you came up with the concept during a night of necking Cosmos and have repeated the jokes constantly until you’ve forgotten why you found them funny in the first place and now just laugh automatically. Other sources of material are crap jokes that your writer mate came up with that you put it in the show anyway because you feel bad telling him he’s shit and his ego is too big for him to realise this himself…

Click HERE to read the full piece.

I worry about me sometimes….

Walking home from work yesterday…

*catches sight of a man’s reflection in a shop window – man is deathly pale with old-fashioned, shoulder-length black hair and black clothes*
*mentally gasps*
Thinks: “OMG that dude is a vampire!”
Then thinks: “Don’t be an idiot, Catherine – vampires don’t have reflections…”

Happy Friday, Folks!

The Surprise Party

“Sometimes I think surprise parties are more fun for people doing the surprising,” said The Roomie as we sat on the couch the morning after The Nurse’s party.

Myself and The BBF had been planning it for weeks.
We tracked down her friends and ours and coerced them into freeing up their schedules.
I booked The Nurse for the night in question, under the guise of cocktails and a night in Coppers *shudder*
We got food, drink and presents.
The BBF located an awesome cake.
I spent many hours decorating my apartment, filling the ceiling with fairy lights, the walls with streamers and the floor with balloons.
I even made photo booth props so we’d have fun photos of the night.

There was a close call when I checked Facebook that Wednesday morning and saw The Nurse had decided to throw her own impromptu party on the Saturday – the day after our party.
Would people be confused?
Would someone let something slip?
Would people only go to one of the events, leaving the other party bleak and empty?

It all worked out in the end though.
We had a lovely group waiting eagerly with cocktails and party poppers in hand as we came closer and closer to The Nurse’s arrival time of 9.30pm.
At 9.25pm she phoned me, causing mass panic as our final guest was making his way to the apartment at the same time.
She was still at home, being very relaxed about our meeting time (thankfully) and we got our last man inside without detection.

As we all chatted quietly far away from the open window for fear she’d hear us when she arrived, everyone seemed a little hysterical with adrenaline that was pumping around our bodies much longer than it should’ve been as it got further and further from her arrival time.
She appeared shortly before 10pm and everyone shouted Surprise and Happy Birthday and popped poppers and sang to her, while she stood look shell-shocked and threatening to kill me.
Good Times!

Excellent night all round!
And to those that have claimed my apartment is jinxed when it comes to parties, I say screw you!
Yes, one party ended in lots of fights and the other ended in lots of vomit and alcohol poisoning, but THIS ONE ended in happiness and joy and fun!
Good day to you, Sir!

comic-effect pictures courtesy of The BBF. photo booth props appearing in pictures courtesy of moi.

The Waiting Game

I’m a little on edge at the moment.
I’m waiting on an email/phone call about something that’s very important to me.
I’ve been waiting since Friday.
I really, really, really hate waiting.
I’m the kind of person who has things done five minutes before I’ve thought to do it.
Slight exaggeration, but you catch my drift.
If you’re an astrology person, I’m a typical Aries.
Bursting with enthusiasm, jumping into new projects, getting things done as quickly as I can.
Mainly because I hate waiting.
I like knowing where I stand and what an outcome will be.
This vague, elusive thing is in other people’s hands.
And so I sit.
Refreshing my emails every other minute just in case.
I don’t think I’m going to get the result I want, but I just want to know.
Hope is a bitch.

Off for a ramble…or a RAMPle…. *laughs alone*

God I hate Tuesdays.
Seriously, I know Monday has a bad rep, but Monday’s not actually that bad!
You’re energised from the weekend, you’re in a good mood and having a couple of days off work has taken advantage of your short attention span and you’ve forgotten all the terribly stressful things that happened during office hours last week.
It ain’t so bad!
Tuesday, on the other hand.
Tuesday’s the jerk.
Such a jerk…

The only good thing about Tuesdays is that lets me corrupt give super helpful advice to their readers at that time every week.
My latest piece is How To … Use Social Networking Sites.
Here’s your preview (click HERE for the full thing):

1. Profile Pic

The first thing you’ll have to do is add your profile picture. The key is to make your picture look as little like you as possible. Spend a couple of hours doing your hair and make-up until you’re barely recognisable to the naked eye. Your picture must also be self-taken, but you should deny this regardless of how blatantly obvious this is. Take a close-up picture, pout and then look in a completely different direction so that it looks like you don’t know you’re taking a picture of yourself and this is just you in a natural moment of pouty pondering. Once you have the picture taken, load it onto your computer and mess around with it – put it in black and white or sepia or ‘polaroid’ style so that people think you’re artsy and original. If you have Photoshop, even better, because you can distort your face even further. You’re basically aiming for someone to arrive on your page and wonder if they clicked the wrong link somewhere along the way…

Click HERE for the full thing!


A lot of people say that there’s nothing quite like your first love.
I’ve only had the one, so I can’t confirm this myself, but I usually tell people that there has to be at least one other out there who can make my heart skip a beat.

Truthfully though, I’ve been having some doubts recently.
Doubts about love.
You see, I remember when myself and The Boy got together and truly it was like magic.

Actually I should stop calling him that.
He needs a new name on the blog.
The Boy Formerly Known As The Boy?
It’ll do for now.

Anyway, it was like magic.
The timing.
The chemistry.
The compatibility despite being complete opposites.
The fact that being with him was the only time I really felt I was at home.
We were consumed by each other.
We’d start texting early in the morning and finish just before we went to sleep.
We chatted online.
We met up whenever we could.
We needed to tell each other everything that happened.
I felt anxious and off-balance if we were fighting.
And I never, ever once doubted he loved me.
I knew it.
No matter what was going on or how things looked, I just knew I was his world and he was mine.
It seemed perfect for so long.

And you guys know how the story ends, so I won’t go into all that again.

I didn’t lose hope after that.
I knew I’d find someone else.
But I’ve changed.
When I was with TBFKATB everything was so right that I just believed – and genuinely felt – that that was it.
And then all of a sudden it wasn’t.

Can I ever give myself completely like that again?
The perfection of the relationship was in its imperfection.
The fact that it had its flaws – God knows we had our flaws – but despite that we were still so sure of it.
Of us.

How can I possibly feel that again?
Knowing that despite how sure we were, we were wrong?

I find myself a little jaded by the whole process.
In subsequent relationships, I’ve been level-headed and compromising and rational and practical.
I haven’t bombarded them with contact.
I haven’t wanted to bombard them with contact.
I haven’t been overly affectionate in public.
I didn’t think about them that much.
I’ve given them space.
In fact, I really liked having lots of space.
I thought it was because I was just more mature, maybe more secure in myself.
Definitely less naive.

My gut was telling me to get the hell out of there.
But I kept telling myself that this is just how ‘proper’ grown-up relationships are.
That TBFKATB was My First Love.
That I was just overwhelmed and innocent then and that’s why I felt and acted that way.
That no future love will ever be that all-consuming.

Because the elusive ‘they’ say that.
Because so many of the relationships around me are like that.
Because I’ve seen so many people gush and rave about their ‘loves’ only to have it all fall apart.
Because I can’t imagine being able to be like that again.
It’s not going to be the same, so I can’t compare future relationships to that on.
I can’t possibly expect them to live up to that.

And then I sat down with a friend today.
She told me about her mum who has been dating for the last couple of years.
Her mum who met someone in the last year that literally makes her giddy.
Who she can’t stop thinking about.
Who she constantly wants to text and to talk to.
Who gives her hope and joy.
Who she’s completely in love with.

That story couldn’t have come at a better time.
I was the person who always believed in a bright and happy future.
Who always believed in the power of love.
Who believed wholy and completely in it, despite all the horrible things that happened, despite all the horrible things endured under the guise of ‘love’, despite having no real reason to trust in or want anything to do with it ever again.
I had stopped believing in it.
Sure I believed there were forms of it, that it was nice, but that it was hyped.
Love wasn’t magical, it didn’t conquer all, it was make-believe.

TBFKATB had confirmed that the faith I had in true, pure love all through my childhood, through my teenage years, despite my surroundings telling me different, hadn’t been in vain.
But when we split and I found myself dissatisfied with every guy I came across, I wondered if ‘true, pure love’ can only happen the once.
If it was that innocence and naivity that was the key ingredient.
That giddiness, the exhiliration, the encounters that leave you breathless.
It’s a one-time deal and if you can’t make it work, then you settle for a slightly blurred substitute.

That story made me believe again.

I’m not sure if I’m right back to my old hopeless romantic self, but I’ve definitely been set back on the path.

In a land far, far away….

I’ve a new post over on today.
This one is How To … Become Edward Cullen.

1. Appearance

First of all, dye your hair a really unnatural orange-brown hue and tell everyone it’s auburn. It should have some length in it, because you’ll have to pile it all on top of your head and then wax it into a giant nest shape. Once you have the hair sorted, you’ll need to get yourself one pair of gold contact lenses and one pair of black contact lenses. Alternate depending on your mood/hunger levels. Next you need to make your skin a pale greyish colour, then roll in some PVA glue and empty a bucket of glitter on yourself. The end result should be something like this:

Click HERE to read the rest!


*spots a fly landing on the wardrobe door*

Hello Fly.
I’m going to squish you in a second.
Actually, no.
No I’m not.
For I am a benevolent god.
I will show you mercy.
No smiting for you today.
I am not in a smiting mood.
Although I do like a good smiting.
Or smoting…
You will not be squished by me.
You will live to see another day.
Be free.
Why are you flying RIGHT AT ME!!?
Leave me alone!!!
Stop being a jerk!!!!!!!!!
*flails manically*


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