New Year, Old Face

Hello! It's been a while - yet again. If I'm completely honest, I haven't really felt as if I had anything interesting/amusing/noteworthy to say, so I kept my golden silence over the holidays and a little bit longer. Here's a quick recap:

Christmas
Ahh, lovely Christmas. It truly was lovely. We ate, we drank, we had duvet days and generally spent a lot of time doing very little indeed. Mr. S was home after his 5 weeks at his father's place so we felt like we had to make up for lost time. I went back to work on the 27th of December to a very busy place indeed. There were a lot of people about, which helped me get back into the swing of things again. Mind you, going back to work after a very very lazy week off was a challenge in itself.

Roadkill
December is proving a very bad driving month for me. Remember last year, with the snow and icy roads I managed to mangle my pretty little car's back bumper? Well, this year, to balance things out I mangled the front bumper. And bonnet. And radiator. And few other bits. With the help of a ram in the middle of the road. That's right, a ram. In the middle of the f***ing road! It was dark as well, so didn't really see the little shit until he was on my bonnet. Thankfully I had slowed down a lot due to an oncoming car with it's beams and hazards on blinding me. The result of this little incident was a small state of shock, one dead ram and a bill from the garage totalling €2500 sent to my insurance company. Thank deities for no claims bonus protection, eh?

New Year
I was working, Mr. S was working, so we didn't really get up to much to ring in the new year. I was proud to have stayed awake until midnight, for one. For a brief moment we did entertain the notion of going out but then realised that would've involved getting off the sofa, getting dressed and actually leaving the house. We had wine, nibbles and generally a wonderful evening without being pushed about in a cramped pub by drunkards trying to get to the bathroom/bar.

Getting Older

moviedearest.blogspot.com

Yup, it was my birthday shortly after the new year as well. I'm feeling old this year, and have decided to do a Benjamin Button on my birthdays and turn 29 this year, working my way backwards until I'm 25 again, and maybe then I can start over again and try turning 30 again in 9 years time. Sounds like a plan to me. For my birthday Mr. S fed me until I was fit to burst. He knows what makes me happy.



Other News
There isn't all that much out of the ordinary happening here, if I'm honest. I'm using up my last year's holidays from work and only working four days per week for the next couple of weeks. Mr. S bailed out again for a couple of weeks, to go over to his father's and finish putting in a new floor upstairs. He's back next week. In the meantime, work has gone quiet, it is the low season after all, so we're all working shorter days. This means I've taken up knitting again and this time I'm going to tackle my greatest nemesis; the woolly sock. In my 31 29 years on this earth, I've managed to successfully knit exactly one pair of woolly socks, and that was under the extremely patient guidance of my third grade teacher. I found knitting the heel to be somewhat problematic and decided I didn't need to bother with them anymore. But how times change! After years of knitting hats, scarves and few successful attempts at mittens, I've decided to face my fears. I've gotten this far for now. I'll need to watch a few online tutorials on the subject but I'm fairly certain I'll be able to master it soon enough.

Exciting times, eh?

Time Warp?

What happened to June? Seriously, I seem to be missing a whole month. I was at work, signing off something and dating it 1/7/11 and then realised I seemed to have by-passed June entirely. If I was in an episode or Doctor Who, there would, no doubt, be some fantastic explanation as to where my month of June 2011 disappeared off to and we would probably find out that it was indeed the Cybermen who were to blame. Alas, not quite.

Where I work is now open until 7pm, and usually being the last one out of the building after cashing up and locking up, it means that I don't get out until about 7.30 the earliest. Factor in a stop at the local shop and the drive home, I'm usually not home until well after 8pm. Shower, dinner, washing, feeding the cats, ironing, some telly and off to bed. See how I have no time for blogging and it annoys me. I've had so many ideas floating about in the incoherent mess of my mind, but forgetting to write them down on the spot means I lose them almost as fast as I think of them.

It hasn't all been work and no play, mind. We've had some great nights out, some even enjoying warm, sunny weather (gasp!). On one of these nights, we hammered out a Murtaugh list for one of my friends, Teresa. She also has a blog here, but is even more sporadic in her writing than I am. Anyway, the list started out with about 20 items on it, this was at the start of the night. Oliver brought in the list and a pen. As the level of intoxication rose, the items on the list multiplied and got more insane as the night went on. Few examples of said items

• camp outside by yourself in a tent
• dye your hair a crazy colour
• get something pierced

And these are the ones that are somewhat printable. Others involve things that play into Teresa's fear/dislike to men in white vests, for example. You can tell a lot of thought went into this. The list deserves it's own Facebook page, we think. Or maybe a blog. Watch this space.

So, you can tell my June was very productive. I try to mend my ways in regards of blogging in July. I'm not making any promises, though.

Oldie

I believe I have previously said that I'm not all that bothered about turning thirty. Well, turns out that I am. It's only a bit over a week away now and I'm feeling a bit panicky. Or maybe not panicky, but you know that feeling you get when you know you were supposed to do something and you realise you've forgotten to do it? I'm just not quite sure what it is that I was supposed to have achieved by this landmark.

Don't get me wrong, I'm more than happy with the way things are in my life. I have a wonderful man, Mr S, who inexplicably is still around despite the fact that I can be a downright bitch to live with at times. I'm sure that goes some way of explaining why he works such long hours. We've been together over eight years which is quite an achievement for me.

As for things, material stuff. Well, I know a lot of people seem to think owning a house is something you should do by the time you're thirty but if I'm completely honest I'm not sure I'm ready to handle a mortgage right now. We've toyed with the idea of moving abroad, too, so I'm guessing the less baggage the better. Although looking around me and thinking I need to pack all of these things up into boxes very soon fills me with dread. Six years of accumulative stuff. We might need ten trips in the van just to shift my shoes.

I've landed a job which, despite all my moaning and whinging, I actually like. I like the people I work with, I like the type of work I do and it's more or less what I studied in college so I think I deserve a pat on the back for that. A friend back in Finland has changed careers three times already from travel agent to translator to banker and still hasn't found what it is exactly what they want to do.

So why am I panicking? Well I am and I'm not. I suppose it's just the feeling of oldness. Or maturity. I've always been taken for an older person than I actually am, which came in handy when you were 16 trying to get into a nightclub. But now I'm thinking to myself, am I going to look like I'm 40 when I'm only 30? I did get asked for an ID in Tesco not that long ago and it made me smile. Firstly, because the girl at the till was barely 18 herself. Secondly, because I only had my driving license, issued in Finland, with me, I had the pleasure of having to point out to the now very confused girl where to find my date of birth on it. I'm not sure why she decided to ask for my ID; I had a trolley full of food (about €80 worth) and two bottles of wine. How many 17-year old people do you know who spend that amount of money on food?

In a way I'm glad to be older, but unfortunately I fear I may be expected to act like an adult now. I do that at work, to a certain extent, but spending time with people good bit younger than myself dictates that I can't be wearing my mature hat out to the pub. St. Stephen's night outing in Westport proved that given the right amount of alcohol I'm no better than a teenager. I'm pretty sure I'm barred from Cosy Joe's.

But I'm starting to think that not even adults act like adults. You remember when you were small, you're parents knew everything? Right up until you hit puberty when they knew nothing. And after you came out of you horrifically angst-y, self-absorbed, moody puberty tunnel and saw the light of impending adulthood, you started to realise they might be onto something after all. But let's go back to when you're about four or five. Your parents knew everything. They knew how to cook food. They knew how to fix things. They knew how to grow things in the garden. They know how to drive a car, answer the phone, use a computer and they knew when it was time to defrost the freezer. Imagine someone coming up to you and whispering in your ear "They don't really know, they're making it up as they go along". Imagine looking up to your parents and realising they're just plodding along, just as you are now when you're older without a clear cut idea in your head as to what you should be doing.

Anyhoo, I seem to be rambling a bit. I'm looking forward to being thirty as much as I'm dreading it. Don't expect me to be any more mature than I'm now, I still laugh at farts and toilet jokes. A woman I work with, I'm sure I've mentioned her before, is over 40 and doesn't look or act it. I intend to go that way. I'll be okay as long as I don't wake up on my birthday and have this staring back at me.

For those interested, it's a painting by Quentin Matsys called A Grotesque Old Woman (or The Ugly Duchess).