Merry Christmas RanDummies and mighty blogaruu readers! Hope you are still getting your turkey sweats on. While you do, why not enjoy this piece which I wrote for an Irish paper recently. Pants off. Trifle. On!
A Hollywood Christmess Story
Is that Slash? Hmm. Is he looking at me? Hmm. Not sure. Is it him? Is he real? Am I drunk? What’s going on? Hmm. I’m going back for a kip.
Next morn. Stephen’s Day. Boxing Day? Not sure what they call it here in L.A. Eyes open. I’m on a couch at Robbie Williams’ house. Awake. Alone. Alive. Stiff back. Slept awkwardly. No sign of Slash. No sign of anyone. All left. Or upstairs. Sleeping. Sensible folk. Unlike me and my dry mouth. Tastes like glue. And so this is Christmas. Continue Reading »
“Oh God. Why am I holding this man’s hand?” ’Twas the night before Christmas Eve and all was… Dead. First Christmas away from home. Away from the family. Away from my Mum’s mighty Christmas dinner. Aww. Poor little Merrick. Woe is me. All week I’ve been constantly asked, “Will you not miss going home to Ireland for it?” “Well, it would be preferred, but I’ll just have to make do.” Making sure to add, “And besides… In this economy? Hm.” That part usually confuses them enough to ask no more. Besides, I’m sure Cork will miss me just as much. Only the other day did a buddy Diane tell me, “Oh, eh, yeah. Christmas just won’t be the same if you’re not here. Like Disneyland without Mickey Mouse, so it will.”
So that was nice. Being compared to a mouse. Mighty. Anyway, last night I did the 12 Pubs of Christmas. Woke up this morning. Still full to the brim with Christmas cheer. Plan was to go to Charlotte’s for Christmas dinner. First, mass. Must go to Catholic Mass on Christmas Day, my Mum would kill me if she found out I didn’t! As it happens, two churches right around the corner from me. Go on the Google Maps. Hop out of bed. Bounce off a wall. Christmas clothes on. Scuttle around the corner. Blessed myself going into church. Found a seat. Sat down. Kneeled down. Stood up. Realised everyone else was still kneeling. Back down. Spaced out. Joined in. Humming prayers. Head spinning slightly. Saw a sign on the wall: Continue Reading »
Very sad day. Just took down my Christmas tree. Meant to do it last weekend but I couldn’t bear the thought/too lazy. Now it’s down. Meaning Christmas is over. Done. Dusted. Out. Buried. No more. Hard to take. Although the thing is:
Does Christmas ever even start in LA?
Not at all.
Week leading up to Christmas: No buzz. At all. Few places had decorations up, of course. Shops were plumping and pimping out Christmas deals. But all felt fake. Selling. As opposed to cheerful. Plus, I too was working a good bit – Book on – so it kept my mind off the cold, hardened, heathen, non-Christmas buzz in the air. People don’t even say ‘Happy Christmas’ here. It’s all ‘Happy Holidays!’ Just in case you somehow offend someone? Funk. That. Christmas. On! Ye whures.
Pint Per Pub. Shots Encouraged, But Purely Optional...
As always, 12 Pubs of Christmas held high hopes for kicking the Christmas buzz into gear. As always, initial responses to the mighty pub crawl were lukewarm/confused/uninterested/horrendous. Mighty. Thankfully, closer to the day, a group formed, Christmas jumpers were purchased, and the crawl was on. (Either way I was going on it but always nicer to have others in dodgy Christmas jumpers join you on your way.)
That was a good hoot at least. Quite and polite at first. Chug and chug at second. Warming up at third. Banter at fourth. And people out of their shells at five. As always, one quiet guy in the group burst out of his shell with a demonic smile. Hilarious guy who I know only as Dave. Don’t remember much about him. Just that Continue Reading »
Mighty news: I kind of finished my second book… RANDUMBER!
Full title of the mighty beast:
RanDumber: The Continued Adventures of an Irish Guy in LA!
I say kind of finished because I still have to do the final read through and read over the final batch of notes from the editor. However, most of my work is done. Which is all one really cares about.
It was being edited and proof read as I was going along, so she was streamlined as much as possible. Finally finished the final chapter Wednesday night. All now rewritten. Tweaked. Sorted. Dancing! Mighty word count to end on as well… Continue Reading »
Mighty times, blogaruu readers. Competition. Christmas. Santa. Baby. Jingles. All that horse gibber. Slightly earlier than originally planned but I forgot how dodge posting things is this time of year. Better if the winner gets it in time for Jesús’ birthday.
Anyway, up for grabs for one mighty blogaruu reader is une mighty: KINDLE 4!
Confession time: For far too long a period growing up I used to wear turtlenecks. As in, all the time. Pre denim jacket phase. Post oversized sports jacket. Turtlenecks were my item of choice. Anywhere. Everywhere. All the time. Must’ve thought I was French. Or Sean Connery. Not sure if they were actually in fashion according to the herd, but I assume I thought they were the greatest thing of all time. Every significant memory I have from the ages 15-18 involve me wearing a turtleneck. Maybe even push that up to 20. Clearly remember my first turtleneck. Saw it in a wardrobe at home one day. Wondered who owned it. Looks like my kind of top. Looks kind of cool. Let’s see what it looks like on… Oh Betsy! My distorted image of myself in the mirror telling me I was looking good! Very cool! Mum? Muuuuuuuuuummmmmmm! MMMMUUUUUUUMMMM!!!! MUMM!? Mum? Mum?!! MUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM… Oh, hi Mum. Who owns this top? Pardon? You!? Who? No way! Can I have it? Pardon me? Shoulder pads? Oh yeah, wasn’t sure what they were. Pretty cool though, aren’t they!? Right? No? Guys don’t wear shoulder pads? Says who, Mum? What do they know!?! I look cool Mum, don’t I? Sure I do, Mum? Mum? MUU… Continue Reading »