I had the pleasure of driving up to Dublin today. Lucky me!

Every dick-head, asshole and bitch in the country seemed to be out to annoy me today. O yes, it was one of those days.

The first asshole I came across was the stupid fucker who insisted on driving up my ass. Now I have to admit this is the one thing in the whole world that makes me want to beat the shit out of someone. I was driving along the motorway minding my own business, passing out a lorry, when all of a sudden I practically had a fucking trailer sitting on the end of my car. If these people are in such a hurry why not leave a little earlier? Sometimes I make myself feel a little better by imagining a scenario where I have to slam on the brakes and their nice new, shiny and expensive car gets all wrecked trying to avoid my piece of shit, dirty old car. Of course no one gets hurt in my fantasy, well not me anyway. My second scenario is only a dream and I know it it will never happen so please don’t laugh. I imagine that maybe, just maybe the guards will catch them speeding and I will drive past and give them a little wave (and the fingers) . Total fantasy, but a girl can dream.

The second brain dead drivers I came across today was the people who when driving on a three lane road still insist on passing you on the inside. Today I was driving in the middle lane of the motorway, and doing the speed limit when I was passed twice by cars in the inside lane. Why not just use the fast lane if they wanted to go so fast? Although, the person who passed me on the inside on the two lane stretch, just to pass out a lorry before me definitely has a death wish, fecking hell. Maybe these people have much more exciting and fast lives than me, that’s probably true, but still is it worth risking your life over? Apparently so.

And of course I must not forget the lovely lady (bitch) who I let into the line of traffic. I was sitting waiting for a little wave of gratitude, what did I get? A flick of her cigarette ash in my direction. Straight away I regretted letting her out because it dawned on me that she was the type of asshole that just expects us humble folks to allow her pass.

Today didn’t turn out all bad as I feel I have learned a very important lesson, that stupidity and ignorance have no sexual preference, it is the one area where men and woman can equally be assholes and shit heads.

I am absolutely fuming right now. Totally pissed off!

I have just received a phone call on my mobile from Littlewoods (previously known as The Family Album). And under went an interrogation as to when and how I will pay my outstanding balance.

Fuck, I thought, I must be up to my eyes in debt!

When I inquired into how much was outstanding, I was informed I owed 30 euro. I actually cannot believe that they would ring someone at 8pm on a Tuesday evening for a lousy 30 euro. And, what sickens me even more, is that the item I bought off them was the biggest heap of shit. It was a crappy wardrobe that’s in bits already. My worst buy ever!

I feel like taking the fucking thing apart and sending it back to them.

I have learned something from this experience though and it isn’t that I should pay my bills on time. No, I have learned never to answer the phone if it displays the words ‘private number’.

I know I must sound like the scabbiest fecker ever but I’m telling you the country is gone mad lately.

I went to the hairdresser last Saturday morning to get my hair done for a wedding. The hairdressers in particular was more up-market than what I’m used to. In other words, it wasn’t Shelia, from down the road’s kitchen. But still, it it was no Toni and Guy either. I asked for GHD curls to be put in my hair, which basically means curling the hair with a hair straightener(?! strange but true).

As I sat peacefully while the hairdresser wrestled with the mop that calls itself my hair, a thought occurred to me. How much should I leave as a tip? I have to admit the whole tipping thing confuses and worries me so this meant I spent most of the next 40 minutes mulling over the problem. I eventually reached a conclusion. I deduced that my curls would probably set me back about 25 euro so if I left a 5 euro tip that would be fine. With the decision made and my time on the chair finished, I was relaxed, and gleefully admired my new poodle-like hairstyle. My glee was short lived though as the amount I owed was revealed to me. What?, I thought, that can’t be right, 51 euro! I must have heard wrong. But no, much to my disbelief my curls cost 51 euro! As I emptied the contents of my wallet and handed over my hard earned money, the receptionist had the cheek to stand there and look at me like I owed her something else. She practically took the clothes off my back and now she wanted more. Greedy bitch! Well, I left her fucking standing there!

I think though, I can rest easy in the knowledge that although I was stupid enough to pay 51 euro at least I wasn’t stupid enough to leave a tip too!

God I am a scabby bitch!

After a guy called to my door selling scratch cards for charity, a thought occurred to me. How much would I be happy to pay for one?

I hadn’t much money this particular day but I was going to buy one anyway. My mind suddenly changed, when after inquiring about the price, I was told these scratchys would cost me five euro. Now, maybe I’m just a scabby fucker, but five euro!? Even the guy sitting outside SuperValu every Saturday doesn’t charge that much. Needless to say I refused to buy one and closed my door quickly.

There is another side to this story that made me question why I said no. The charity this man was collecting for was one that worked with alcohol addicted teenagers . Could it be that I’m not very sympathetic to the plight of drink addicted teenagers? Could I just not give a shit about teenagers, sick children maybe, but teenagers no way. No, I concluded I am probably just jealous! (But seriously, isn’t being addicted to alcohol what the teenage years is all about?).

The truth is, if the man said two euro I would definitely have bought one, five euro, forget about it.

I didn’t realise what a God send the laptop was until I had to start using this bloody computer again. It’s just soooooo slow!! Plus I’ve to go upstairs to the freezing and extremely messy spare room every time I want to use it.

I guess I’ve been spoilt with the laptop, our laptop went everywhere around the house. Mr S constantly disappeared into the toilet with it, I sat it on the kitchen table during the day and then brought it into the sitting room later in the evening.

But now its dead, Mr S killed it, and then tried to resuscitate it by taking it apart to fix it himself, and killed it even more.

So my message today is; if you have a laptop, appreciate and look after it, and if you see a know-it-all, I can fix it, man coming towards it with a screwdriver, take your laptop and run away as fast as you can.

I feel compelled to write something about those poor Polish fellas that were murdered last week by those little scumbags in Dublin. I, like every other sane person in the country was shocked and disgusted by the violence of the murders. I was left wondering why this type of thing didn’t happen when I was younger. I began to remember what life was like growing up in my house.

There were no angels in my house for sure, but none of us, or anyone I knew, would have ever even contemplated stabbing someone. What makes it so hard to believe is that these kids thought that it was acceptable to do something so horrific. Looking back, it is clear to see that it was definitely my parents that kept me and my brothers on the straight and narrow. We all knew our parents were to be feared! I was never that afraid of the police because, truthfully, they had nothing on my parents. The police couldn’t give you a good kick up the ass (well they weren’t supposed to anyway), they didn’t give you the silent treatment for a week, they didn’t stop you going to the latest teenage disco in the local GAA club. And if for some reason or another any of us did get into trouble, which usually involved one of my brothers fighting, the police were never brought into it. I think it was a mixture of things that never brought the police to our doorstep; luck, a distrust of police, the shame of having a squad car outside our house. But the main reason, I believe is that my parents were determined to discipline and teach respect to their own kids, we were their kids and they would be the ones to deal with us.

Nowadays, there seems to be loads of parents leaving it up to the police to discipline their kids. Is it that parents are just not bothered or is it that kids have actually gotten worse? There has certainly always been rough kids around. When I was a teenager there were always fights between different gangs, schools and towns going on, it was just a part of life. It never went any further than kicking and punching, and certainly no one was ever stabbed. Things have definitely changed, kids need boundaries and they need their parents to put them firmly in their place, not the police.

Just read Kathy Foley’s article about Irish Bloggers in the Sunday Times. I’m glad to find that I’m not an intellectual. It has been a great worry to me in recent times that maybe I suffered from this terrible infliction, but now I can rest easy. I have come to this conclusion because to understand the language she uses in her article, I would need a dictionary.

I’m only new to blogging and I must admit I it’s hard to find the time to write most days. Unfortunately, I’m not a journalist so my day does not revolve around writing and having constant access to a computer. Plus I usually have to wrestle the laptop off Mr.S any time I want to use it.

But imagine if we did all started writing about our individual jobs just like the American examples she uses. You would then have blogs by retailers, hairdressers, accountants, IT workers etc, all talking about their jobs (no one would probably even read anyone else’s blog). Would this not mean that suddenly bloggers would be portrayed as a profession first and their personalities would become non-existent? According to the writer, in America there are ‘blogs on every topic imaginable-from architecture to zoology’, well that’s grand for all those zoologists in the country, all twenty of them. Does Kathy Foley realise that Ireland is a smaller country than America and that all the zoologists here probably know each other? Another point here is that we are not Americans. Might be a fairly obvious point but hey it’s got to be said! But seriously do you really want to start blogging about your job when you get home from work? Or read about someone else’s job? How boring. What I think this particular journalist is missing, which, in turn, is making her miss the point of a lot of blogs, is a sense of humour.

By evening time I find I have read the paper and watched the news, so when I pick up the laptop I’m usually looking for a little light heartedness even if it means making light of serious issues.

So after pondering over this article, I’ve come to a conclusion that maybe, just maybe, she’s pissed off that her blog didn’t win at the awards, and what annoys her most is that she’s soooo much more intellectual than everyone else and she still couldn’t win! It’s gotta hurt!

If the nearest school to me was an Irish speaking school, or I felt extremely passionate about our native language, I would definitely send my kids to a Gael Scoil. But the current bullshit that seems to be gripping the nation lately, which involves people spouting on about Gael Scoils, is seriously pissing me off. I’ve heard some people say that their pre-schoolers love the Irish language (speaking it fluently if you believed the crap they talk) and how only a Gael Scoil will be good enough for their little precious little darlings.

These same people are calling their beloveds’ Fionn, Fiachra, Caoimhe and when their own names are Ann and Barry. And yet, the more traditional Irish names such as Maire, Aine and Padraig being ignored. Of course, these names just wouldn’t be trendy enough for the snobby parents to be calling out across Brown Thomas or whatever other expensive knob-market they happen to be in.

Do you realise the eventual outcome of this phenomenon? In a couple of years we will be surrounded by a load of little snobs, speaking Irish in a D4 accent, which is fucking bad enough listening to in English. But after giving this problem greater thought, I realised that the parents will probably have embraced the next new craze by then. I wonder what it will involve? Maybe speaking French while somersaulting three times in the air bouncing on their 50 foot trampoline, or singing Spanish songs while standing on one leg on their pony. But the most likely new fad will probably be speaking shite out of their arses just like Mummy and Daddy. In a D4 accent, of course.