Saturday, July 31, 2010

Dutch Gold

Amsterdam. Quite the delightfully crazy bitch of a city. The craic quota was well and truly through the roof for our week of mischief. It was just me and the Bear for the first four days, with the rest of the twenty-seven strong group arriving for the weekend with the excuse of a birthday loosely holding together the idea of a massive session in ye olde Amsterdam.

Antics included:

* Being generally amazed at the gorgeousness of the canals, narrow streets and the demented angles that all the buildings seem to lean at.

* Trying to decipher what flavour the bright blue ice cream with "smurf" in its name was. We never did figure it out.

* Finding it really quite difficult not to stare at the particularly hot lingerie-clad ladies in the neon-lit windows as we ambled past. And equally difficult not to stare at the rather more robust ladies that take the Sunday morning shift.

* Giggling our way around the Sex Museum, which really just amounts to a badly organised collection of things with naked people on them. Good for a laugh though, and true to form the man on the ticket desk made sure he got a good look at my boobs on the way in. In fairness to them they had some nice cheeky advertising for their 25th anniversary, when the Bear came across this coin in his change at one point:

* Learning a total of five Dutch words. Kangarooballen, slagroom, aardappel, bioscope and winkel. Which mean space hopper, whipped cream, potato, 3D and shop, respectively. Needless to say, I wasn't exactly engaging in any Dutch conversations during my time there.

* Waking up to find that both the Bear and I had been playing host to a mosquito orgy over the course of the night, as our arms and legs became the new Amsterdam hotspot for them to party down at. The tiny winged bastards.

* Cycling in a wobbly and momentarily terrified manner (as I've been cycling in or about four times since I was thirteen) to the Anne Frank House. Whilst queuing, the Bear asked me if I had read the book, to which I replied; "No, but I know the story. Y'know, from the bit with Peter in Family Guy." I kid, of course.

* Screaming our collective tits off on the mental rollercoasters in Walibi World, a former Six Flags park about an hour outside the city. There's nothing quite like being flung upside down and hurtling through a corkscrew bend before breakfast.

* Commandeering the couches by the window in the somewhat crack den-like surroundings of Hill Street Blues, as Deadly Jumper Boy asked me what the story was with my Jessica Fletcher obsession. Seeing as he's as yet unaware of this here blog, this was based solely on my Facebook updates. He doesn't know the HALF of it.

* Fisheye tomfoolery courtesy of the Lomo camera that Santa was nice enough to give me last Christmas. It was my first go with it, so the results aren't exactly spectacular or anything, but it was certainly fun to use.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010


The Bear and I got back from Amsterdam yesterday, having survived seven days of Dutch shenanigans. The subsequent time has been spent in a heap on the couch, catching up on telly (Britain's Next Top Model, The IT Crowd and the really quite good nudey-fest Spartacus: Blood & Sand), other blogs and finishing the Steig Larsson books (which I am loving despite myself and my previous condecension for this idiot Girl Who Plays With Matches and Kicks Bees In The Face. I'm totally sold). Between that and being practically asleep at my desk for the most of the morning today, proper blogging will have to wait just a little longer. Soon my pretties. Soon.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

The Sugababes of Thrash Metal

At a birthday party a while back, Dave Flag and I bonded up a storm over heavy metal and the fact that we had both attended Ozzfest in 2002, getting to see Drowning Pool before their lead singer snuffed it a few months later, just HOW AMAZING Slayer were and how nobody really cared that Ozzy didn't show up.

The conversation eventually led to us agreeing to go see Sepultura in the Academy tonight, with the Bear in tow. As I drunkenly put it last Friday night while trying to explain them to one of the lads; "they're a Brazilian thrash metal band, and kind of like the Sugababes of metal". In that their lineup has altered somewhat over the years. I'm pretty sure that's where the similarities end. All I know is that the teenage metalhead/smiley-and-therefore-rubbish-goth in me is only delighted at the prospect.

Also, just to make things interesting, the Bear and I are heading off to Amsterdam tomorrow afternoon for a week. Manys the hijink to be had. Manys the hijink indeed.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

O My Love, Ow My Neck

Check it. New video from The Dead Flags for their ridiculously catchy song O My Love, O My God, off their equally fantabulous album, Gentlemen's Club.

One Saturday a few weeks ago, the Bear and I danced our bottoms off for two solid hours in The Joinery in Stoneybatter as part of the sexy crowd in this very video. We also ended up spending the following Sunday in unbelievable pain, taking turns to lie on the couch and wincing when we had to reach for the remote. The Bear messed up his neck for the day, but it made for some spectacular slow motion headbanging shots in the final cut, so it wasn't for nothing. Being a dancing girl in a video is certainly not as easy as it looks. Especially not the next day, when filming was followed by an almighty session. The kind where it's daylight when you're going home to bed. I do love that particular kind.

(Also, if you're looking for something to do of a Friday night, this Friday night that is, the boys are playing the Clockwork Apple show upstairs in Whelan's. Tenner in, 8pm. Do it.)

Sunday, July 04, 2010

Stripperella Slippers

Whilst reading Go Fug Yourself recently for an occasional dose of bitchy fluff about famous people's clothes, there was a post about this Taylor Momsen bird. I reluctantly know that she is/was in Gossip Girl and now fancies herself as a singer or something. I wish I could be cool and not have a clue who she is, but I have a stupid ability to retain information about actors and actresses, to the point that I've been referred to as KMDb more than once.


In this particular post she was being berated for dressing like a skanky ho-bag, or at the very least for dressing wildly inappropriately for someone on the wrong side of statutory. Taylor's latest jailbait outfit included a pair of stripper shoes. And not just any kind of stripper shoes:

Stripper shoes WITH A BUILT IN TIP JAR. Seriously, click the picture to enlarge to see the dollars in the platform of her shoes. There's so many filthy euphemisms that could be made here about coin slots (which these shoes inevitably have), but I'm really not going there. While I do realise that these shoes are pretty knacktastic, quite a large part of me thinks that they're kind of genius and I really like them.

Don't you judge me.

Thursday, July 01, 2010

Pin Ups and Presents

Birthdays are great, aren't they? People you like give you nice things and more often than not there's cake involved. And cake being involved in any situation is never a bad thing. (Go on, try to think of a situation where cake wouldn't be a good idea.) For my birthday this year, I absconded to Edinburgh for the weekend with seven foxy ladies, which totally beats last year, where Michael Jackson selfishly went and died the day before and stole my thunder. The absolute cheek of some people.

So I've decided to show off some of my lovely presents, including a stack of graphic novels and some rather brilliant DVDs.

The Bear went and outdid himself this year, (seeing as I'm so ridiculously gay for classic pin-up girls) with a 1972 Playboy collection of Vargas girls and a vintage deck of Vargas playing cards. Drool.

Oh, and Dita Von Teese button pins. Allow me to say - Schwing!

I can't even begin to describe how amazingly gorgeous every individual card is, so I won't. I'll just use this photo instead.

They just don't make sexy playing cards like they used to.