Week Twenty Five - Subterranean Homesick Blues

Oh Holy God. I have it bad. I actually have a physical NEED to go home. It's giving me pains, like. Although that could be less to do with the homesickness and more to do with the fajitas we had for dinner last night.

To be honest lads I haven't been up to much this week, just crossing days off the calendar until the 31st when meseff and himseff are jetting back to the motherland for a few days. This week's grey days were punctuated by mortification and drunkenness though. Here's the highlights:

There is a new fella on our floor. A nice fella now, English speaker with a lovely accent. Didn't know what it was though until Tuesday night when I was taking scones out of the oven and he said:

"That smells really good."

"Ah thanks", I said and then went down the room to put one on a plate for him in the spirit of neighbourly goodness. Knocked on his door then and we had the chat about who we are where we come from. Turns out he's Canadian. He doesn't speak Italian and he is here to do a course for two months. Grand.

The next day anyway I was going to a funk gig that one of the lads is playing at and I said I'd invite the new fella along, seeing as loads of the lads speak English so he wouldn't feel like a tool. I went down to his room anyway. Knock knock.

He comes out.

"Oh hello."

"Well are you doing anything tonight?" I goes.

"Nothing much." says he.

"Do you like funk?" I ask.

"Nah not really", he goes.

"Pity now cos I'm going to a funk gig tonight and I was asking you along."

"What about your boyfriend...?"

This, like most things to do with awkward romantic situations, was lost on me. So I continued on, oblivious:

"Nah BBB's not coming, but all my friends speak English so no Italian is required."

"Um no, I'm not really into funk. Thanks though. Have a good night."

"Oh. Right. Eh, thanks, see ya."

I turned around then and walked slowly back to my room like "what the fuck just happened?"

A feeling crept over me. It wasnt until I was halfway back to me room that I copped on to what it was.

Mortification.

How did I know? Because all the classic symptoms were present: the big red head on me, the shaky knees, the SAS.

I suddenly copped on.

He thought I was asking him to come out in a rosemantic fashion.

Behind my boyfriend's Big Brown Back. Christ.

I thought about turning around and explaining myself, but that would only have done more harm than good.

Morto.

Now every time I want to go to the kitchen and BBB is not there to cover me I stick my head out the door and suss out the situation and then I leg it up at top speed, wrench whatever I need out of the fridge and then peg it back to the room, all the while praying he doesn't emerge from his room.

I just have to keep this up for two months, then I'm home free!

The rest of the week anyway was spent counting the seconds until our special Friday night: 89c prosecco in our scunders.

I woke up Friday morning, buzzing off me head, then I went to the supermarket and got 2 bags of jellies and 2 bottles oof prosecco for under €4 (I love Italy) and went home. In the evening I went for a cocktail with the girls, then I returned home to prepare the area for the calamity ahead.

After dinner myself and Gianluca took off our trousers (obligatory) and put our legs under the duvet and sat side by side drinking the prosecco straight from the bottles.

The next thing I remember is waking up Saturday morning.

I went into the bathroom to tinkle and the next thing I looked down and I was wearing a pair of red knickers.

That's odd.

I could have sworn I was wearing pinstripe knickers last night.

And what's more, when I went to pull them back up, something wasn't right. Something was definitely...amiss. I squirmed around a bit, and then I realised.

They were on sideways.

As in a leghole for a waist like.

I took them off and put them on again properly and went out of the bathroom laughing my head off.

"What's so...jesus!" BBB goes.

I looked down. There was a giant "scraw-eb" on my thigh, at least 4 inches long and 47 inches deep. It's ok though, it was balanced by the dinner plate-sized bruise on my other shin.

I have NO recollection of how either came into being. Or how I came to be wearing the red knickers.

I do know it was a BRILLIANT night though.

On Saturday then I had the world's worst hangover so we stayed in and relaxed for ourselves.

Then BBB suggested I try a puzzle game on the interweb.

4 hours later, he is rubbing muscle relaxant cream into my shoulders and neck and trying to pry my bloodied finger from the mousepad.

He should know better than to show me puzzle games.

I fucking LOVE puzzles.

On Sunday then we started PACKING OUR SUITCASE!!!!!

Excitement!

We'd be there folding up stuff and every three things folded we'd do a little excitement dance. Then we'd fold another three things. The give each other Excitement Digs. You know the ones. They are very similar to Love Digs.

Love Digs are what happens when you love something or someone so much that instead of hugging it or kissing it, you want to dig the head off it. Like my nephew Jack, for example. Every time I see a picture of him, instead of wanting to squeeze him and kiss him and hug him, I simply want to dig the little red head off him.

BBB suffers from a similar condition, called Love Seamuses. Sometimes he looks at me and goes:

"C'mere to me you!"

And as he pulls me onto the bed he INVARIABLY gives me a seamus. I mean without fail. He's after giving me at least twenty.

"Jesus! Me leg, ya bastard!"

"Oh no, have I seamussed you Love?"

"What do you think?"

"Here, give me a deadner back".

*Offers arm.

WHUMP!

"Mamma mia, you bastard!"

"Bastard is for boys and bitch is for girls."

"Oh right, sorry Love. You beech."

Lads I love when he speaks English. He says wonderful things like "Have you got your menstruation?" and "He wanted to go out with her but she renounced him."

Renounced, like.

Love Digs.

Even Better Than The Real Thing

Lads. Lads.

I didn't make the finalist list for the Blog Awards.

I'm very sad.

I also want to raze the Irish Blog Awards to the ground. Only a small bit though.

My main feeling though is one of pissed-offedness with myself for choosing the wrong category. I can't help but feel that I should have chosen Humour, seeing as there isn't a dry knickers amongst my followers of a Monday morning. Up and down the country bidets are preparing themselves for their Monday morning pissy marys.

"It's only a Mickey Mouse award! It doesn't matter!"

This is a statement that does not make me feel better in any way, and I have heard it four thousand times since Friday so I DON'T want to hear it any more, please and thanks.

I don't mind about the other blogs because I quite like them and I think they deserve a nice award; the killer is that now I have to find something else to buzz over! I was tipping along nicely on the buzz off the Irish Blog Awards. Now I have no buzz! Well I had a bit of a buzz on Friday night when I drank a bottle of 89c prosecco in me knickers. Don't worry, I didn't drink it on an empty stomach - I had a bag of pick 'n' mix for me dinner. Actually that was a brilliant buzz. It was such a buzz that meseff and himseff decided to drink prosecco and eat pick 'n' mix in our knickers next Friday night as well. And every Friday night after that.

Plus we are going to Ireland in 9 days.

Ok I just realised that I already have plenty to buzz over. It would seem the problem is somewhat solved.

Now to find some pride Arnica.

Anyway as my lovely Daddy would say - fuck it, what harm, forget about it! I have allocated the lines above to being a pissy little bitch about it and now we are going to move on to pastures anew.

That's right, I've decided to have my OWN Blog Awards. Right here, right now.

First up, the award for Best Blog by a Mary Harney Hater goes to Grandad at Headrambles.

Congratulations on being a legend, Grandad. I think we are all in agreement that Mary Harney's job could be better done by a trained monkey.

Or an untrained one.

Or perhaps a zombie?

Next up we have the award for Best Blog by a Bearded Bonsai Enthusiast. It took me a while to get through the thousands of applicants for this popular category but in the end the choice was clear - congratulations Andrew of Chancing My Arm, you must be so proud! I hope things are going well with you and Stella.

Now for the much anticipated Best Use of the Term "Galloping Gee Rot" in a Blog award. The gong goes to the lovely Rosie at The Spanish Exposition. Well done Rosie, I hope your gee has returned to its former glory!

And finally, the futuristic "Best Blog That Doesn't Exist...Yet" goes to my loyal follower Niamh Doherty for her future Irish Blog Award-winning food blog. Get the finger out Niamh! I need an engaging post on the 7 best uses for creme fraiche!

No, seriously.

That's about all I have time for folks, seeing as I promised myself - or rather BBB made me promise myself to put the pedal to the metal on the aul thesis today. I hope ye found something new to tickle your fancy in this post. Have a gawk through the list of blogs I read over there on the right. If I read them, they must be deadly, like.

Until next week, I'll soldier on.

Week Twenty Three

This week I said something absolutely mortifying in Italian. How unlike me.

Monday 8th March

Today is my lovely sister Hazel's birthday, but more importantly in the global scheme of things, it is International Wimmin's Day. This is taken very seriously here in Italia. Wimmin all over the country will be gettin a little bunch of yellow flowers from their nearest and dearest greasy eyetalian man.

Not me though.

At first I didn't even know it was International Wimmin's Day, but when I rolled over, bleary eyed this morning BBB was standing next to the bed and goes:

"Best Wishes Love."

"For what?" says I.

"It's International Women's Day", says he.

"Oh. Right. Thanks....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."

That day we were in town and there were fellas lining every street selling those little bunches of yellow flowers. Every fella walking past had a bunch of them to bring home to the missus. That's when I copped on that it was such a big deal. BBB said he was bringing me to my favourite shop to buy me something nice and I was pleased. I kept expecting him to stop and pick up the yellow flowers though.

Something you should know: I LOVE flowers. I love them. They are so lovely even just looking at them puts me in a good humour for the day. And if a delivery man comes to the door with said flowers? Well then. You are just in me good books for the rest of your life then, aren't you?

So we went to my favourite shop and he bought me a lovely pair of satin jim jam knicks-style shorts. As I type I am having a sexual love affair with them. No go on the flower front though.

On the way to the pub then he goes:

"I hates buying girls flowers, so I does."

Oh dear.

"I like to give presents that last, flowers only die."

"Right. That might cause a few problems then, seeing as I love getting flowers."

"Do you? Shit! Don't worry, I'll get you loads from now on."

That's more like it.

Tuesday 9th March

It was absolutely freezing today and then in the evening it started to snow. And snow. And snow. And then snow a bit more. Approximately eleventy million foot of snow fell.

While BBB was at outdoor soccer training, it should be noted.

Hates that, boy!

I am so over this whole snow thing. It was deadly at first, but then it gave me the worst cold ever, rendering me completely and utterly over it. I am so ready for my lovely Spring coat.

Piss off snow! I want to eat strawberries outside!

Wednesday 10th March

Now it should be well drummed into yer heads by now that I hate snoring. I cannot cope with having a snorer within a square mile of me.

After BBB stood on goal for an hour and a half in the snow, naturally he had a terrible case of the sniffles that night in the bed. And I had a terrible case of the Axe Murderers. He was doing earth rumbling snores into the back of my head and I couldn't take it any more. The Night Time Crazies struck.

"Jesus CHRIST!"

"W..what? What happened?" he says, still half asleep.

"You're snoring the ear off me head!"

"I am not snoring! I am breathing."

Oh he was breathing alright. Through a fuckin trombone by the sounds of it.

Thursday 11th March

Lads can we talk for a minute? There has been something playing on my mind a lot lately, since BBB officially moved into my room.

It's...it's....

It's the toilet brush.

When I moved in here I had to fill out a checklist for the office, ticking off all the stuff that was in the room.

Chairs...tick!

Waste paper basket...tick!

Toilet brush....oh no.

They put a toilet brush in every room. Which means that the person who lived in the room before you's poo particles are still thriving in your bathroom.

I mean, I just don't believe in toilet brushes. They are filthy. They are full of poo like. It just lurks there in the bristles, festering. So I happily hid it behind the toilet so I never have to look at it and become upset.

I believe that Domestos and lashings of it is the way to go on the toilet cleaning situation. Leave it in there overnight and if you die of toxic fume inhalation in the night, at least you can rest easy knowing your toilet is sparkly clean and fresh, should the paramedics need to wee.

I just cannot get my brain around "cleaning" your toilet with a toilet brush.

Anyway since BBB moved in, it has happened a few times that I go into the bathroom and it's there. Out from its dark corner behind the toilet. Basking in the warm tungsten glow of the bathroom light. Challenging me.

And because the shower head is in the main part of the bathroom, ie it is a shower head sticking out of the wall, when you use the shower water goes everywhere, including into the end of the toilet brush holder if it is not in its safe dark place. This results in a murky, shitty soup lurking stagnant in the end of the toilet brush holder.

Lads I'm upset.

Plus I can't do anything when it is in view. Like, every time I go in there I feel like it's looking at me. It's like when you are bursting for a wee but you know there is a spider in the bathroom. You know it is at leaast 6 feet away from you, because you can clearly see it there, but you are afraid to make even the tiniest of movements in case you touch off it and it runs its filthy hands all over your body.

I have to stop now, it's all gettin a bit much for me.

Friday 12th March

Today Ailbhe kindly informed me via facebook that my blog had been shortlisted in all three categories it was nominated in.

Delighted, isa?

Did a dance, did I?

Yup!

The Blog Awards will be on the 27th March, but I was after booking my ticket home for Easter for the 31st March, because I didn't have a notion of when they'd be on, shur. I'm goin mad now though. It would have been some laugh to head up. I hear there does be some drunken tomfoolery going on up there, horseplay even. I do enjoy a bit of horseplay.

Sigh.

Saturday 13th March

Had a tremendous argument with BBB today. Went off to seek sanctuary in Laura's house. Then we went and did a bit of retail therapy. Well she did, I watched.

I eventually headed home to find a ginormous bunch of flowers on my pillow. They were tulips, my favourite. And there was a yellow rose in the middle of them, which I prophetically explained to BBB on Monday means 'sorry'. They were gorgeous.

I wanted to fuck them out the window though.

Sunday 14th March

All is well in the woodshed again. I spent the day sorting out my Etsy shop and in the evening we went to the pub for drinks and snacks and while we were there I made another linguistic faux pas. My best so far, if I do say so myself!

We were sitting in a snug with some other couple (I hate that about Italian pubs - they always seat other people up in your feckin ockster) and BBB was naming out animals in English and I had to say the Italian names.

"Cow! Pig! etc" he goes, and I was calling out the answers.

Next question:

"Sheep!"

And I said, yes that's right, I actually called out:

"Pecorina!"

And I didn't even realise what I was after saying until BBB was bent double with the laughing and the couple next to us were averting their eyes uncomfortably.

That's because the Italian word for sheep is actually pecora, and what I called out was pecorina, which means doggy style.

Let me die.

Pray for me

Now lads, I don't know will I be able to post up my long post today because on my way back from the supermarket this morning I bollixed up my hip afresh. How is this affecting my posting I hear you asking? Well it is a little known medical fact that my hip bone is directly connected to my two typing fingers, thus rendering me unable to finish this week's post.

In real life though the pain is making me feel sick and I need to close the shutter and lie on the bed and make low pitched whiney noises for the rest of the day. Or at least until BBB comes back from the pharmacy with drugs for me.

Trust me though, this week's post will be worth the slight delay - I have some thoughts on toilet brushes that I feel the need to share with my public. I think you will find them interesting and insightful.

Week Twenty Two

Lads I promise I wasn't being the boldest girl in Ireland yesterday, but my interweb was on the blink again and I couldn't get into my blogger account. Anyway you can't be mad at me, seeing as I'm now a cripple. Read on...

Monday 1st March

Christ. The fella in the first room's mother is back. Every time I go to cook something she is down there taking up all four hob rings and generally giving me ire. And she doesn't just spend a half an hour cooking up the lunch either - oh no. She is down there milking the cow to churn the butter to fry the onions with like.

Every night I make scones to eat for our breakfast the next morning. Today I went to put them in the oven and surprise surprise - there she is. Then she has the cheek to offer me some helpful advice.

"No you put them on the other shelf."

Now lads. If you want to give me ire, just try and tell me how to cook my own food. I am the scone master, noone beats me in the scone stakes like.

Then she went on to ask me what kind of pre-packaged pastry I used for them!

I gave her the laser death stare.

"I make everything from scratch." Laser death beam gaze.

Then I had to go down the room and bang a few saucepans around.

No like, just no.

Tuesday 2nd March

You know the way they say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach? Well it's true!

One day, shortly after BBB came back from his Chirstmas holidays he was sitting at his desk when he did a big dramamtic sigh.

"I miss Mamma." he goes. No surprises there, seeing as this is an entire nation of Mammy's Boys.

"Aw, why's that?", I goes.

"I miss her cooking and her bringing me snacks."

Now I don't know what happened, but that flicked a switch deep inside me and since then I have been plying him with home baked goods and top notch dinners. I think I'm actually addicted to feeding him. Every time I put a plate down in front of him he looks up at me with these puppy dog eyes and goes "I love you." No really, every time.

There is something so satisfying about watching a man eat. I love it!

"You spoil me girl," he says every time I put a plate of something fresh baked in front of him (after he says he loves me).

"Will I stop?", I usually answer.

"Christ, no!" says he, "Pass the jam, please."

Even considering how much I spoil him, he hasn't turned into spoilt shithead. In fact I have found that the more I spoil him, the more I become his queen.

This pleases me.

Wednesday 3rd March

Every night we fall asleep in the same position and then during the night I break away for some Jennie time and then in the morning when the alarm goes off he pulls me in for a five minute snuggle before we have to get up. This morning was no different.

Drrrrrrrrring! Drrrrrrrring!

"C'mere you til I snuggle the head off ya!" he goes.

And then proceeds to pull me into him, while simultaneously bending his knee. Why like, just why? Why on earth would you pull your girlfriend into you while bending your knee?

The obvious result was that he kneed me square in the gooter (pronounced "gew-thor"). As a good friend Jac would say "I didn't get a knee in the fanny since school."

It's still tender.

Thursday 4th March

For the last few weeks, every time I go for a run my hip hurts me. I thought I was just working some deep down muscles but now I feel something more sinister is at work. On Monday night as usual my hip was hurting me, but I didn't think anything of it. On Tuesday and Wednesday I stayed at home doing a bit of work, plus it was raining so I wasn't too bothered going outside. But today I ventured out to go into town and Christ! The pain!

I started off walking and I could feel a little niggle, five steps later I was limping like a leper. It's not a sharp kind of a pain, it's an aching pain, and more than anything the frustration of it is driving me crazy. It is just there.

I feel like I want to either feel the pain or not feel it. I don't want this kind of presence. It's like a shadow or something lurking in there, driving me nuts. I feel like I need someone to break my hip or pop it or something. I am fairly close to doing it myself, to be honest.

Since then anyway I have been doing extreme to the max yoga hoping that in some crazy stretch position it might pop or something. Me nerves!

Friday 5th March

Today I limped into Laura's and we did some fun activities including baking some amazing lemon and blueberry breakfast bread. I brought a loaf home for myself and BBB and when I got back to the house I was emptying the contents of my bag out onto the bed, just organising myself a bit. The next thing BBB bursts in:

"There she is! Come here to me you!" and scoops me up and starts swinging me around and then he plonked himself down on the bed with me in his arms.

A distinct squashing noise could be heard.

"Get. Up. Now."

He got up and we turned around to look at the bed. Sure enough, the cake was as flat as a pancake. It was in one of those disposable baking tins that's like the chinese box you get a 3-in-1 in. Needless to say it was completely concertina-ed.

If it wasn't so funny I would have murdered him.

"Jesus look at it!" I goes, peeling back the lid.

"God yeah, we should definitely eat it all now," he goes.

"I think you might be right", says I, "just to be sure like".

Om nom nom.

Saturday 6th March

Had a nice day today gettin up to various fun activities and in the night BBB headed off to Switzerland to see some car show. He was dying for me to go with him but I would literally rather he die than me have to go to a car show.

Harsh but true. I wouldn't drag him around a knitting show like.

Actually that's a lie. I totally would.

Sunday 7th March

I had a lovely day all to myself with BBB gone to Switzerland for the day. I indulged in various bidet-related activities and watched 47 thousand episodes of Desperate Housewives and Grey's Anatomy.

Then I hobbled to the supermarket and then I came home and did some extreme yoga. Exciting stuff, I hear you say.

BBB came back from Switzerland around 9.

"Jesus I missed you!" he goes.

"Sit down there boy and have the last scone", says I.

"Ah I couldn't, that's yours," he said.

"I kept it for you."

"Ah you're the best, you're always spoiling me. I love you."

It's good to be queen.