Last week I finally giddied back up on the horse. Stand up sit down one. Aboot time. One might say. She has been a while. By my reckoning a couple months shy of a year. Long enough. Day of the show. Usual gibber… Ah shur I don’t actually even like doing it (Still debatable whether or not I actually do enjoy it. On the day. Covering my back. You know. Just. In. Case). Followed by me wondering if I had enough material for my set. Followed by writing a few pages more worth of gibber. Quantity. You know. Just in case. Followed be a few cocktails to calm the nerves. Back. Good to go. Thankfully. Turns out to be a… Continue Reading »
Maybe I’m just a wee bit of a funking idiot. Maybe it’s just because I had an average day and night. Maybe I just didn’t celebrate it the right way. Maybe it’s because I didn’t get to go to a parade. Or. Maybe. Perhaps. Paddy’s Day. Is. Quite over-rated. Ridiculously so? Maybe if I was American. And needed to feel more Irish. As it is the cool thing to be. To be true. Perhaps. Or. If I worked a 9-5 job and got the day off work, just to celebrate. Then. Perhaps. Paddy’s Day might live up to the hype. However. I am not. I do not. Instead. Tried too hard. Thought too much. Hype machine. Overload. Hyperventilating. Brown bag. Hi Pip. Meet ape. Continue Reading »
As far as weekends go, this one has been pretty different. Break from the abnorm. Different location. San Fran. Different buzz. Cousin’s wedding. Different group. All Irish. Almost. All family. Almost. Big crowd made the trip from Irland. Smugglers. Bags of tea. Bottles of fake tan. Hello old foe. Different. Mighty. My parents were over. First time boozing with my younger sister. First time experiencing random guys not knowing it was my younger sister. Which was different. Different different. First time seeing the power of ‘I Gotta A Feeling’. Cult like. All ages. Breaking down barriers. Stampede to the dance floor. Drunk. Sober. Young. Old. Dance on! Or. Stand at the bar. Watch them dance. Both pretty Irish. Continue Reading »
Loose ends. Tie them in. Previous blogaruu in two. Clever thing would probably be to delay this but plough on! Quantity all the way! Gemini. Exit route. As I was saying, it is good to know that with people who are into their star-signs here, being a Gemini is a way out for any of my actions or lack of actions. For the chopping and changing of my mind. Everything can be explained and fit into a hole, if the person is big into astrology. Added to this, not knowing any better as ‘I’m Irish, uh-huh, chortle’ seems to be the key for any words that may be construed one way or the other. Or, as I was told last night, for the way I dressed. It was ok though. My style was acceptable due to me being Irish. Cheers. Overall though… Gemini. Irish. Giddy up. Although, I do have one issue with the whole being Irish thing. Continue Reading »
At times it is a challenge to tie a series of random events together in one big bow of a blogaruu. Isolated events of oddness which just occur and end with no string attached. However, other times, these random events occur in a sequential order and all lead up to something. Saturday, running into Sunday, was one of those days. A match. A long train ride. A lack of seats. And a distracting thought about corn all tied together to lead up to an event. Which never ended up getting off the ground now I think about it. Back to the start… Continue Reading »
On the surface, today was not the most productive of days. I prefer to look deeper though, get to know the person first. Started off with a few conversations with my roommates about the night before, fishing for clues of what happened, trying to act as if I remembered having the same conversations with them the night before, I just wanted to double check, thats all.
One bit of good news to kick the day off at least. I had got a job, for the whole weekend. Wuu duu. It was about 4 hours away though, so I would be leaving Friday night, and be back Sunday night. These days I probably have more gold to my name than money, so I jumped at the chance to finely tune my Shammy selling skills some more. Plus, can’t beat an old road trip and overnighter in a hotel, with the added bonus of never meeting my co-worker before. Money on!
Needing to get rid of the rave going on in my head, I decided after breakfast I would hit the gym. This was about 6 in the evening, productivity on! Although saying that, in my world, and so I can feel justified, writing emails and reading a book are ways of being productive too. It all depends what scale you use to define your productivity. Now that I think of it, one might even consider waking up and eating food as being productive. I was off to a flyer.
I am sure that I’m not alone, but after a night out I regularly wake up wondering what actually happened, and then which parts did I dream happened. And I don’t dream parts like me being able to fly or pulling the hottest girl, I dream what I like to call “reality dreams”. These freak me out. I wake up wondering did I actually do that to that person, or dream it. Did I tell that person what I actually thought of them, or dream it. Did I actually do her, or dream it. All very confusing, and at times, alarming.
As I was still piecing together parts of last night, from 12 on, went to bed at 5 I think, if I got 10 minutes from every hour it would give me piece of mind. On my way to the gym I saw the strip club was open. Needing a bit of information to push my memory down the right path, I decided to go up the bouncer again and gauge his reaction when he sees me. Then I shall be able to determine how drunk/annoying I was last night. Great plan really. How’s it going boss, eh, I was here, last night, not sure if you remember, Irish ape, drunk, oh you do remember, ha, high five, you actually remember my name too, good work, em, I forget yours, apologies.
Big Jim as I like to call him, (I think thats his name anyways, I’ve forgotten again already, I am horrific with names) – not to be mistaken for Big Gay Jim in the gym – filled me in with some good details. He set me on the straight and narrow with a few blurry areas. He had let me in for free for the following reasons: a) I was Irish; b) I told him I forgot my wallet, but mostly; c) I told him I needed to use the bathroom and would only be 2 minutes max. Max Jim, 2 minutes, I swear, the memories started flooding back. Two minutes turned into about 50 minutes, according to Jim.
Jim also reminded me that I had indeed made him laugh with my number joke, but I had also not ended up giving mine or getting the hot stripperauu’s number and probably won’t ever now either. Where’s the faith Jim, it’s a process, give me time!!! The reason too why she wanted my number so much and thought I was funny (I must’ve saved my 3 minutes for in there) was mainly due to the fact that I insisted to her that in Ireland, when you go to a strip club, it is the guy who dances for the stripper, not the usual way they have in Emerica. Us Irish huh, we’re a bit backward, huh. I am a fan of the huh’s today, what do you think, huh? Anyways, I then proceeded to dance for her, which went down well, no clothes came off at least for me too, maybe a runner and a sock, tease her a bit. I must have started to get the spins from dancing, and it was around then when I bolted to go home realizing I was goosed.
Big Jim capped it all off by asking me why I hadn’t called up earlier today to ask about the DJ’ing job, like he had told me last night. Not a notion, but apparently when I offered my DJ’ing services, Jim spoke to a manager, who told me to call up today about the possibility. Balls. But, big sound Jim said tomorrow would be fine too to call up during the day to speak with the manager, anytime between 12 and 6, go on the Jimster! Looks like I’ll be having an early 4 o’clock breakfast to make sure I make it this time around.
Anyways, home from the gym, get an email inviting me to a lunch shindig on Saturday, my networking has paid off! Told it would be a good place to meet writers, directors, producers perhaps, meant to be members of the organization only but a girl has hooked me up to slip me in the back door, say nothing. Wuu huu. I could make a cheap crude joke here about me repaying her the favour, but I wont, I’m not that kind of stand-up comedian, ha. Anyways, she also mentioned that there might be a sponsor or two there who could potentially help me out with a visa. Sweet Lord, what a productive day.
Then, then, I remembered I have committed to working this weekend. Balls. Not only do I desperately need the money, but I would also be letting down my buddy who has organized it all, only really setting up the gigs because I agreed to do it. Some balls. Visa chance and networking, or the commodity as rare as gold dust, money. If I don’t make that money, the dream could be taking a nose dive. If I don’t network and try to get hooked up with the visa possibility, then I have a limited time that way too. What to funking do? Any advice, feel free to horse it on!
Finally, I get a text, asking me if I wanted to watch the big Ricky Hatton fight on Saturday night, booze on, mingle on, party on, should be savage, probably won’t get that chance again really, could only be offered it here in L.A. Told keep it on the q.t though, so I can say no more, some ape for one ape!
I must sleep on the dilemma, money, or hit and miss possibilities. What to do? I should go up and ask Big Jim really, he seems like a wise old owl.
Song of the day… Aint No Easy Way Out by The Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
Enough Talk, More Writing! 