Tag Archives: Money

My One Night Stand…

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Miss You – The Rolling Stones

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?

Ehh…

No.

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 »

Pubic Wig Hayes, They Call Me…

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Feel So Close – Calvin Harris

Did I mention I have a new publisher now? Dance. On! Finalising all the ins-and-outs on the Q.T. Done. And. Dumb. Book two a duu! Strict orders last week from the people in charge: Blog off. Book on! At least until I finish this draft. Unless something amazing happens. Obviously. Ergo, time for a quick embargo from the embargo. Brain is tired. Hoping that scribbling out a blogaruu will revive the beast. Eventful two weeks too, to be true. Ish. Pubic Wig Hayes, they call me…

Salt And Racism

Woke up to a text the other day: *A-lister who not only stars in movies but also produces some of the best shows aboot* is interested in your book. Apparently.

Took it with a grain of salt.

Woke up to an email today: Can we arrange a meeting to discuss the possibilites of moving forward with regards *A-lister who not only stars in movies but also produces some of the best shows aboot* and your book?

Still taking grains of salt. Big bowls. Better than a kick in the balls to be true!

Next day. Got booked to headline the Continue Reading »

Yeah… Gay Porn.

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Cornflake Boy (Solomun Vocal Remix) – Marbert Rocel

So earlier today I had a mighty meeting. Mighty man. Who also just happens to be a tres successful producer. TV. Movies. All those kind of likes. Mighty mighty!

First time in  Soho House too. Savage venue. Plush. Lush. Gush… I could go on and on about the savage venue. Or. Could perhaps just show you these photos… Continue Reading »

TGIFTG… Turkey On!

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Rollin’ & Scatchin’ (Chilly Gonzales Rework) – Daft Punk

While Ireland is being battered by all angles at home, it seems, I too have some important news to start off with: Got a hair cut this week. As opposed to a haircut. Hairdressers truly do baffle me. Ask for one thing, forced to deal with the some thing they give back. Tried to be as specific as possible. Almost as if I was asking them to do me this one favour, just one time. Please? Even had photos to help me describe what it was that I wanted. Hairdresser just looked at me. Down at me. Disgust. Contempt. Perplexed. Nonplussed?! All of the above. Eyes to heaven. And then went off and did her own thing. Cut one hair here. Cut half a hair there. Chat with her buddies. Slipped off to the bathroom. Still not finished. Please wait. Chilling and twirling in the chair while she disappeared. Returned. Did not cut one more hair. Decided, actually, she was finished. My hair was exactly as I had described. Twirled me around in the seat to show me the back of my head in the handheld mirror as if this was some sort of fool-proof proof that she did exactly as she was asked. Fooled me. Couldn’t see myself properly with their flattering light. Went to the bathroom to see if that was any better. Even worse. Made me look better. False light and smoke mirrors everywhere. Continue Reading »

Oh Dear Pod…

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In the past two days I have been spilling far too many items.

  • Cups of coffee.
  • Glasses of water.
  • Jugs of milk.
  • Bottles of detergent.
  • Big old pot of boiling soup. All over my hand. The most fun of the lot.

Spilling. Everything and everywhere I go.
Making me think that perhaps my mind is distracted. Elsewhere. Something. Continue Reading »

Purple Patch. Green Honey.

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Yesterday. Walked out of my lift. Went left. Down the hallway. Towards my apartment. Fork. Turned left. Glanced right. Happened to see. A dude panned out on the ground. Face down. Hands sprawled out. Grocery bags around him. Lying there. Down and out. Motionless. Stopped going left. Stood. Looked. Wondered. Waited for him to move. Finally he shifted. Muttered something to himself. Asked if he was ok. Stopped shifting. Took a step closer to him. Asked again. Heard him say he was ok. Ok. OK. Got the feeling he didn’t want me to help. Proud fool. Made sure he was okay? Didn’t respond this time. Shifted his hands as if he was about to push himself up. Not much I could do. Except just leave him be. Headed off to my apartment. Subtly looking back. Obviously. Watching the proud fool lift himself up. Phoenix, rising up. Didn’t need my help! Hauled himself back up on his own! Well, he actually just rolled over. Half sat up. Cursed his shoe. And tied his shoelace. Which is when I realised it was my deaf neighbour. Who saw me just standing down the hallway. Looking at him. Probably wondering why I didn’t offer to help him up. Proud fool. My neighbours are big fans of me. Continue Reading »