librarian logic? love it.

Ok, so I know I haven’t posted in a long time, and I will catch up. But before I tell you about spring break, st. patrick’s day, the foibles of irish males and the day I finally understood something in my Ulysses class I bring you this: Today I brought back a photocopied essay I checked out from the special collection in the library because I had been told that if I didn’t bring it back by 7 tonight I’d be charged 3 euro, or roughly 6 dollars, 3/4 of a pint, 3 irish coffees, 4 cadbury eggs or 2 trips to city center Dublin by bus per each hour if I had it out past 7. I then asked if I could check it out again?  And she said no. So I said well, when can I check it out again?  And she rolled her eyes at me and said, see that trolley (I did, in fact see a red trolley) and she said, the essay would go on the trolley, and when the trolley was filled with books they would then put said books and my essay back on the shelves and if I happened to be near the essay’s particular shelve at that time, then I could check it out again. Now, I realize this is a policy intended to promote equal opportunity access to a limited selection of materials but this was an essay, from the 70’s, about the definition of disability in sociological works, people were not exactly lining up for it, 45 page opus of pc clarification though it was. And it made me laugh. So that’s my story. Librarians are good craic:  

letter to my shower

Dear Merville Apartment 3 Shower,  

 You suck and let me tell you why. First of all your name, “Supa Jet.” Really shower? You think that’s accurate? That’s what it says on your temperature adjustment wheel but I’m pretty sure Peter O’Toole gets a better stream going when he pisses. To this day.

And why a wheel? That seems a little ambitious Shower,  that seems a little like you think you’ve got some sort of spectrum of degrees going Shower. What you should have Shower is a switch. Just a switch, blue on the bottom for ice pelt and red on top for lobster fry. Because that’s what you do Shower. I get in and it’s on lobster fry and it’s ok, I scald myself into a happy blazed oblivion and once I’ve shampooed and my conditioner is conditioning, while I shave, then do you know what you do Shower? You do. You switch to ice pelt so every fibre of my being shivers. It’s sort of like a micro electric shock induced workout. Are you saying I’m getting fat Shower? Is that why you make me go into muscle spasms?

It was especially neat when you did it when I was sick Shower, there’s nothing better than being covered in ice water and soap when you have a cold. I guess you could be an outside shower, Shower, that would be worse. I mean I get that you’re in a shitty student residence. I get that power and hot water are limited since the Irish have actually started putting environmental programs into practice instead of just making documentaries and t-shirts at urban outfitters about it. I get that Shower. But please. I’d like to shave both legs for once, I’d like to get all the shampoo out of my hair before I get out. I’d like to be clean.

You’re turning me into a dirty european Shower, the kind no one wants to stand next to on the bus, and I thought you should know. 

Sincerely, 

angry wet redhead

down in dundrum: Valentine’s Day

Note: I don’t know why the formatting is so weird. Does someone more talented than me know?  

So. Even though there are many many many things to write about on this beautiful Sunday afternoon in Dublin, I’m going to write about the V-day and then pile a bunch of [hopefully] more interesting post on top of it because the only thing sadder than having a blog is having a blog dedicated to your pathetic love life (no offense, obviously, to the writer of that blog…I bet it’s great).                                      

Confession: This was the first time in my whole life I’d ever had a real life, non-lesbian, non-alcoholic, non-dairy based date on Valentine’s day. Needless to say, it freaked me out. For one, the little jerk wanted to be all adorable and surprise me with where we were going instead of just TELLING ME so I could wear the proper attire, mentally prepare myself accordingly ect.  So I panicked, naturally, and took a shower and made myself look like a cutter by slashing my legs in various patterns with my shitty razor, tried to make my hair look non-spaniel like and put on a green dress (but not a real green dress, that’s cruel). He showed up as always right on time (it’s kind of freakish, I think he may be a robot) looking all europy chic, wearing way too much hair gel and smelling all lovely.                

We left my apartment after my roommates inspected him and told him to have me home by nine. He put his arm around me and instead of heading for the bus stop into Dublin, he steered me towards the middle of campus. I was like, yes, yes, I would like to go Mc on you in the library, good call. But apparently that was wrong and also inappropriate for the vocalizing. While walking he gave me a card. A warm and fuzzy red and pink store-bought one with a bear holding a bunch of heart-shaped balloons and at the bottom of his message he signed it, “Iany.” Now, if you know me, you know that I would never succumb to such levels of coo. Iany? I had never called him that. I will never call him that. Ergo: HE GAVE HIMSELF A PET NAME. Ack. I laughed and asked if he named himself that since I wasn’t going to, he said, ‘I don’t know, I thought it sounded nice.’ His accent is very cute so I forgave him.            

lalalalala, a class well missed

So. Today I meant to get up bright and early at 9:o0 to wait in the Q for tickets to see J.K. Rowling tomorrow night but instead I woke up at 10:00  and ditched my Irish Culture class (oh boo, Irish Culture is all around, do I really need a class to tell me there are remnants of the early conservative Catholic reign everywhere? No, I do not.) to wait in the huge line.  And I got a ticket! and I’m seeing J.K. Rowling! Who wants to fedex my Potter collection over here??? 

dante on the rocks

I have a date for Valentine’s Day.      WTF.