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.

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.

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.

Llama Girl and the DOD

Oh my. A weekend of sitting out in the sunshine and turning slightly pink, only eating things that came off the barbecue, copious amounts of Bulmers with ice and partaking in four-player MarioKart Wii till the small hours of the morning. (My swearing abilities increase tenfold when I'm having a particularly bad race. Or when someone picks Yoshi before I get a chance to.) All of which took place back home home (on the range, like), where there's a deck to sit out on and alpacas to befriend.

Behold a selection of said alpacas

As luck would have it, David O'Doherty was doing a gig a mere twenty minutes away from my house on Sunday night. I had discovered this fact during my spell of inconsolable jealousy when he was supporting Flight of the Conchords at the Olympia and I was woefully ticketless. As such, I became determined to at least see him live. Especially since the last time was Electric Picnic in 2008 and this just would not do.


The great thing about the venue was that it was so small he barely needed a microphone, and our seats were about two feet away from the side of the stage, to the extent that when he thanked the crowd for coming he actually just said it to me seeing as I was the closest one, as he put it. The gig itself was a minimum of eight kinds of deadly, the first half mostly featured his reasons for being late (an untrustworthy and seemingly quite pervy Sat Nav was to blame) and in the second half the tiny Yamaha keyboard was unleashed. During the course of the gig, he ended up asking me and the Bear what we'd been up to that day, which led to about ten minutes of David asking me questions about alpacas. I was subsequently referred to as Llama Girl, and he even worked them into one of his songs. Which was exactly as fucking deadly as it sounds.

Hey Roomie!

Check out the steely alien gaze of Tommy Wiseau (middle). There can be only one.

I've previously blogged about the cinematic wonder that is The Room over on Culch.ie and attended a SoundCheck screening back in March. I also happened to mention a screening that would take place in May which one of the cast members, Greg Sestero (Mark), would be at. That fortuitous and magical evening has been and gone and last Thursday night was one of the most surreal and hilarious experiences I've had in quite a long time. For the uninitiated, The Room is the demented masterpiece of Tommy Wiseau, the actor/director/producer/writer of this film, he's something like the polar opposite of Orson Welles, with The Room often referred to as "the Citizen Kane of bad movies". That should have been bad in capital letters, actually. And that wouldn't even begin to cover how terrible it is. Here's the trailer, just to give you a feel for the glorious mess that it is.



ANYWAY.

With myself and the Bear that night, among lovely others were two thirds of The Dead Flags, EleventyFour (who got recognised on the night as "that girl from the TV licence ad"), and B (to whom we are eternally grateful for introducing us to The Room). Now, Eleventy and one of the Flags had never seen the film before and honestly, it was JUST as entertaining to watch their expressions of horror and bewilderment as it was to watch the screen.

The thing with these screenings is that there's a lot of audience participation, much like Rocky Horror. One of the biggest things, along with roaring general abuse at the characters, is to shout 'SPOOONS!" and fire plastic spoons at the screen whenever the weird framed pictures of, you guessed it, spoons, dotted around the apartment set come into view. This was the scene after the movie was finished:

Spoons ahoy!

Carnage o'clock. After the screening and before the Q&A with the actually-great-craic Greg Sestero, there was a competition for a signed tshirt, where contestants has to roar the famous(ish) "YOU'RE TEARING ME APART LISA!" line, which can be seen in the trailer. At the time of calling for contestants, I found myself herded onstage by B and the Bear and had to get the biggest cheer from the crowd. And guess what? I only went and fecking well won. GO ME.

During the Q&A, Greg came off as an absolute legend, well able to take the piss out of himself and the film, which was good seeing as many questions were along the lines of :"what were you thinking?". So seeing as my obsession with The Room shows no signs of abating, I went and got my photo with him.

YEAH.

So, to summarise:

GO SEE THE ROOM AT SOUNDCHECK BECAUSE IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE. They screen it once a month so get thineself over to their Facebook page to check when it's on again. Because words cannot describe.

Fighting On The Planet's Side

Dear God I'm much too hungover today to blog coherently. Also I somehow managed to bruise the palm of my hand. How does that even happen? A lot of fun was had last night though in celebration of Mazatron's birthday, what with the smuggling of Jameson into the pub (because it transpires that I'm actually a total knacker), trying to show T Cup how to Time Warp and conversations about how rubbish the "heart" power was in Captain Planet. Although the Bear later reminded me that there was an episode where they combined their powers without that irritating heart kid for some reason and as a result Captain Planet came out all mean and uncaring. So I suppose they did need him really. Anyway, hangover aside I will pull myself together just enough to say how much I love this ad for MAC's Viva Glam campaign with Cyndi Lauper and Lady Gaga. Of course, that's mostly due to the fact that it looks like it was shot in a cartoon bordello.

Gaga looks gorgeous altogether and Lady Lauper seems to be just the right side of Photoshopped-ta-Jaysus in that she's more or less recognisable at least. Hot stuff.

So just because it's amazing, here's the opening and closing credits to Captain Planet. Unfortunately it turns out that it's impossible to find a version of the frankly FANTASTIC closing song that doesn't have some announcer fucknut talking over it. Nonetheless, I dare you to try NOT to sing along. It just can't be done.

After Work Pints

Last Friday I was informed that I "had a head on me like a kid's TV presenter" and that I should've been on Bosco. Which I was pretty happy with, considering how badly a statement from a stranger that begins with "D'ya know what you're like.." can go. This observation was from a random guy called Deckie who had struck up a conversation with the Bear outside The Stag's Head, solely based on the fact that he too was a big beardy long haired man. In fairness to him, Random Deckie provided us with a good three and a half pints worth of rants, stories and shenanigans. He'd been out since two o'clock the previous day. I have no idea what was keeping him going but it made for some damn funny conversation. Especially the story about how he went to college with a guy whose mother was the voice of Bosco and a rant that involved the phrase "it'd be like sucking off Robocop".

I just wish I could remember what that one was about.

All That Jazz

"A 1920s-themed Christmas tree decoration party, eh?"

Is what I said to myself when the Bear took it upon himself to invite me to his friend's house party this Friday. While the craic is indeed bound to be mighty, what the flip am I supposed to wear to it? Especially since we'll be at yet another Dead Flags gig in Whelans beforehand. Yes, they're THAT GOOD. GO TO IT. (Upstairs at 8, a mere tenner in, you do the math...ok there's actually no math, don't worry. It was a trick.)

So back to my problem. While it would be a MINIMUM of twelve kinds of amazing to show up at Whelans looking like 1920s superfreak Theda Bara, before skipping off partywards into the night, with a bottle of rum in my vampy hand, it's unfortunately more than a little unlikely. Plus, it's rather chilly out to only be wearing snake shaped boob jewellery. And skipping would inevitably lead to various wardrobe malfunctions of the tits-falling-out variety. As it were.

Theda's got a bone to pick with you, bitch.

However, the most probable outcome will possibly be me in whatever I'd normally wear (unless I raid TCup and Mazatron's respective wardrobes and find that one of them has been harbouring a Velma Kelly costume all this time...) and a Penney's headband with a few stray seagull feathers jammed into it. Maybe not seagull actually, maybe a magic bird like this one will be somehow trapped in the back garden when I get home.


I'll go ask him why he's upside down and help him regain his freedom, all the while surreptitiously pilfering some of his feathers. He might get narky about it if he catches me but I'll explain my predicament and he'll understand and decide not to peck me in the eye.

Oh and I also have to bring a Christmas tree decoration. Hence the mouthful of a party title.

Glen, Vampires and a Table Quiz

Things that happened.

> Got demented drunk on Arthur's Day, my new favourite pretend occasion. T Cup and I managed to procure tickets to the South William to see David Kitt sing songs in a corner and I tried to give the illusion that I wasn't totally excited that Glen Hansard was drinking right next to us outside Grogans for the remainder of the night.

Hi Glen! No, over here Glen! Gleeennnn!

> Woke up the next morning with an enormous mystery bruise on my elbow of all places and not the faintest idea how it got there.

> Attended the outdoor screening of Nosferatu in Dartmouth Square on Friday night, a live band were playing the music for the film but I couldn't see the Engrish subtitles of the German intertitles what with all the heads in the way. Also, the two reincarnated meerkats in front of me didn't exactly help matters, springing up as they did every twenty seconds to read said subtitles and block my view in the process. If they were real meerkats it probably would have been all cute and endearing but in real life it was just a blonde bird getting in my damn way everytime. The film was quite good and still rather spooky, what with the mad scary head on him and all.


> Managed to soak my phone in cheap French rum (damn you Tico Tico Rhum Brun!) on the way to an outdoor Dead Flags gig in Ranelagh Gardens on Saturday. It's still a bit hungover and threw quite a few tantrums but I *think* it's almost back to normal now. Phew.

> Came 32nd in the Ray Darcy Show All Ireland Table Quiz last night with Team Dreamy Sleepy Nighty Snoozy Snooze (consisting of mise, T Cup, Miss Dizzle and Mazatron). Met lovely Lottie, ate lots of free wine gums and learned that Frankfort is in fact the state capital of Kentucky.


The end.

Return Of The Cat

Le grande sigh.

So I'm back from France and back to real life, which of late unfortunately consists of not being sure what day of the week it is, apart from Wednesday Day which means it's off to the Post Office to collect my magnificent sum of 204 euro and something cents for another seven days, lamenting the disappearance of Murder She Wrote from RTE One's daily listings as poor old intrepid Jess has been elbowed out of the way by the Afternoon Show harpies and looking up the job listings on Creative Ireland.

Why Jessica, why?

It was a great old week though, with an insane amount of cheese eaten by all. The wedding was all relaxed and lovely, the priest looked like Steven Spielberg, I (embarrassingly) started crying after my first ever slow dance, The Dress was admired by many and my bag (which was also charity shop-bought, get me!) was LOVED by the assorted aunties. There was also a ridiculous amount of drinking done, an 8k kayaking trip down the river Dronne which I miraculously survived, REALLY cute pigs on the farm our little house was on, the invention of Extreme Ball (you need a swimming pool, a ball and no qualms about dunking people underwater should they be in your way) and many many games of Villagers vs Mafia (if you know this game, you'll know it's difficult to explain but frighteningly good fun to play - we had played it for four hours straight one night without even realising).

I still have to unpack though. I hate unpacking. Maybe first I'll send this tshirt to Montrose marked for the attention of Seoige Junior and Sheana Keane.


That'll show them.

Teddy Bears Picnic

Oh Electric Picnic. Fun despite the freezing cold wind and welly swallowing mud and sideways rain. It went something like this...

- Shouting "He's behind you!" at an unsuspecting onscreen Linsday Lohan during I Know Who Killed Me in the Cinema Tent. Which, by the way is the most awesome terrible movie I've ever seen, it's destined for cult status and should be screened like a panto with designated crowd actions, à la Rocky Horror. The Bear decided it was the second worst Lindsay Lohan movie he's seen, in which she plays a twin of herself.

- A can of cider and muffins for breakfast? Don't mind if I do!

- The Bear taking part in a sack race in the Village Green, and managing to wangle himself a yellow 3rd place rosette, even though he ended up getting a face full of Stradbally mud in the process.

- Bopping my face off in the Crawdaddy tent to the amazing Miss Imelda May while drinking Southern Comfort and apple juice with ginger beer, which incidentally is tasty as fuck.

- Catching a bit of Jape, more so to see the guy in the band who apparently looks EXACTLY like the Bear. He really does, as it happens.

- Spotting Aisling O'Loughlin off Xposé, who then put on a hat and sunglasses after she caught me looking at her. One pint of get over yourself, please.

- Being told by a random guy called Dave (I think) that I reminded him of Florence, she of the Machine, although that was undoubtedly more to do with the fact that I have a fringe and was wearing a glowstick headband and sparkly things on my face at the time. And he may not have been entirely sober.

- Frolicking through the lovely forest to find Tucan playing on the Salty Dog shipwreck stage.

- Realising that 2 Many DJs are in fact AWESOME-O.

- Being delighted with myself for choosing a chicken pie with mash and gravy from PieMinister because if food could taste like a hug, I believe this would be it.

- The Sugarhill Gang playing Billie Jean as a Jacko tribute and saving Rapper's Delight to the end, amazing!

- Being jealous of kids who managed to get a hold of the giant yellow balloons from the Flaming Lips set. Which was fantastic, trippy and superfun.





So...back to real life then. HA! I think not, eloping as I am to France for a week on Saturday with the Bear to attend his friends wedding. Hooray! Suck on that, reality!

T Minus One Day!

Ooh, it's getting closer closer and it's almost time for the three days of guaranteed deadly craic in a tent in a field that is the splendiferous Electric Picnic! I've (finally) gotten last year's Stradbally mud off my sparkly blue wellies, (kind of) decided what to wear for each day, seeing as I've been trying to decode possible outfits from this mess of colouredy stuff (and am changing my mind as I'm looking at it even now):


Every year it's the same thing though, on the first day I'll want to look really cool and deadly etc but by the time Saturday and Sunday roll around, I'll be decidedly subscribing to the school of not giving a shite anymore and just being glad I'm dry (please, PLEASE in the name of The Sugarhill Gang let it be sunny and dry and lovely this weekend). So I'll undoubtedly end up looking somewhat less Dita Von Teese at Coachella and rather more Edith Bowman at Glastonbury.


But that's alright too, as I've got my blue, red and purple pairs of tights at the ready, not to mention GLOW STICKS (hooray!), my Bear to play with, a morbid sense of curoisty as the Cinema Tent is showing Lindsay Lohan's masterpiece "I Know Who Killed Me", an urge to get my face painted, and a proper tent this time around! (Last year I foolishly decided that the €7 one man tents in Dunnes were a bargain not to be ignored and will never NEVER forget the misery of waking up on the Monday morning last year with wet hair and a runny nose. Sexy.)


Right, I'm off to pour 70cl of Captain Morgan's in to an empty Coke bottle and scavenge for the final items on my List Of Stuff To Get, namely bubbles, batteries and maybe a glitter pen of some sort...

The Deadliest Jumper in the World

...belongs to this guy, the Bear's French buddy from Sligo. I decided that he needs to write a book, beacuse anybody who can start a story with the sentence "So when I was little I used to go out to Australia to see my Dad, because he was working in a diamond mine at the time..." just should.

But back to the jumper. Although it's technically a cardigan, and it warmed the bejaysus out of me while sitting outside The Strand bar drinking cider in Sligo last weekend. This was after our second attempt at entry you see, since the first time around I was caught with a can of Bulmers in my bag and sent on my way. I believe he's attending Electric Picnic too and as such I'm hatching a plan to make it mine.

Anyway, the Warriors Run had been on that day, so earlier on we had been cheering the Queen Maeve-bothering runners (well, I'm not sure I'd appreciate 800 people stomping around MY burial cairn) across the finish line. That night Strandhill was a freezing cold craic-fest of people, bumper cars, bright lights and carnie folk. And there were FIREWORKS! Who doesn't love fireworks? I certainly love them even though one nearly set my hair on fire one New Year's Eve quite some time ago.

Fun times! But on reflection I was definitely drunker than I thought since..(oh the shame) when the Bear and I got back to his house, I once again got sucked into watching that infernal puzzle bastard show PlayTV, and the answer was so plainly obvious this time that I...em...rang in. I know. But I hung up in fury straight away when I got automated questions about whether India was in Africa or not. Fuck you JG Murphy. Fuck you.

Hello Sailor!

On Saturday, I found myself charity shop shopping yet again, only this time in Dun Laoghaire with the Bear and the Dapper Man, our reasoning being that rich fuckers must have deadly stuff to give away. The Bear scored another fifteen or so videos, one of which was Animaniacs and I'm not ashamed to say I squeaked with excitement when I saw it.

But before that...

There was the dress...

What a dress...

And it was only €9 too...

And and and it has A BIG RED ANCHOR! Look!


Needless to say I love it to tiny pieces and think I might get one of those red underskirts to floof it out at the end. Which, I believe, is the technical term. Oh it's so much fun to twirl around in. Awesome-o. Two thousand. And fifty.

Sunday brought the First Anniversary of the Fashion Bloggers Brunch in the superswanky Harvey Nichols restaurant, and with it some savage goody bags and rather tasty and tiny food that made it quite easy for me to pretend I was a giant, féach ar seo!


There was also the choice of a Champagne Bellini or Bloody Mary on entry, which got me all excited as I'd never tried a Bloody Mary before and in my excitement I somehow managed to forget that I don't actually like tomato...or tabasco. I was reminded pretty sharply after the first taste though. Lesson learned.

Spain In (As Small) A Nutshell (As I Can Manage)

Apart from the English classes and evening activities with the kids, there were shenanigans aplenty for us teachers this year in Summer School. Such as...

Midlands Man who spoke at 100mph having to go to hospital with appendicitis in the second week, which subsequently led to a game of Pin the Appendix on MM one night.



Dizzy Redhead getting in a fight with a local skanger for kicking the window of her car and getting punched in the face for her trouble.

Grouchy Dude swearing like a sailor and scandalising the other girl teachers with his liberal use of the word cunt. He also got his cock out one night while wearing a dress (there were two priests and a monk in the room at the time, but like me, I think they only saw his arse) and lacerated his eyeball on the second last night with a piece of straw from a sombrero eating incident. He spent the next three days mostly blinded and with a bandage over his eye. I probably shouldn't have told some of his students that his eye had to be popped out and now he keeps it in his pocket, especially since little Jaime with his blue glasses looked like he was going to cry after I told him. Oops.

The Girls playing Wii Bowling against the priests and monitors outside when the kids had gone to bed, but all GIANT ON A BIG SCREEN! Amazing! And we won too!



Loopy Limerick Lass scoring three different fellas out one night, and getting a mortifying surprise during a crisp factory tour we had one Wednesday with the kids when she ran into one of them there, as that's where he in fact worked.

Me drinking so much of this deadly Spanish rum one night that the barman gave me a free one and I sang Love Shack all by myself for everyone when we got back to the school.

Everyone drinking so much of the aforementioned rum, €4 supermarket vodka, cheap wine, lethally strong but exceptionally tasty punch and one night in particular, an actual BUCKET of Mojitos (which I made sure I was sitting next to) that there were plenty of hangovers such as this one:



Oh and on our last night, most of us had gone to bed by 12.30 seeing as the night before had been a session that lasted till 6 in the morning, 7 for some. However the priests and a few of the monitors had other ideas, in that they arrived up to our rooms at 1.30 to bang on our doors to get us up to drink with them. They also stole everyone's left shoe at one point, played Suck & Blow with us, threw the Limerick Lass into the pool one night, tried to throw me in the following night and insisted on teaching us a Spanish song at 2.00 one morning when we were all exhausted and just wanted to go to bed. But they wouldn't let us.

Yeah, priests and a monk played Suck & Blow with us. Hilarious and downright weird.

Espcially since I was standing next to the monk.

Una Cerveza Con Limon Por Favor

In an effort to postpone any potential job hunting I could or should be doing, this coming Saturday at 6.20am (ungodly hour of the morning courtesy of Aer Lingus), I'll be hightailing it to a Summer School in the north of Spain that I worked in for July 2006 and 2007. That's right, with ne'er a TEFL to my name and six words of Spanish, I'm actually an English teacher in disguise. I'll be gone for four weeks, and although I'll miss the Bear and Tayto crisps like crazy, I'm looking forward to the day trips to bread factories and water parks, tortilla, cheap supermarket booze, acting the maggot in the swimming pool, tortilla and drinking games with the Spanish priests that run the school. Of course there's the actual teaching of classes in the morning and two hours of activities with the kids in the evening too but it's a pretty sweet deal even though you do have to go to mass on Sunday mornings.

Magic Shoooes?

Hello my chickens.

I've been off the radar with the last while due to that old unemployment chestnut and a not always reliable internet connection at home. So when I haven't been jumping through hoops for the dole office to prove that yes - I'm still me and no - I don't have a job anymore, here's some of the things I have in fact, been up to.

- Kissing plates of agar at the Science Gallery exhibition, Infectious. Here's mine and the Bear's lovely delicious bacteria a week or so afterwards.


Mmm, sexy! So who wants the shift then?

- Had a brilliant idea after hearing a story about a prank some lads played on their teacher; they stole the gates to his house and put them on a train to Galway, so the next logical step is to make a film out of it to rival Snakes on a Plane. Wait for it...GATES ON A TRAIN. Box office gold, and you know it.

- Went on the lash in Sligo and sweated the vodka and Lucozade out of my system by trekking through The Glen in wellies the next day. I say trekking, I really mean squelching through mud and climbing over bits of trees and getting a bit stuck in said mud on more than one occaisson.


And most importantly, this rather magic of places is where this legendary ad was filmed.



Jealous? YEAH. You should be. It was deadly.

Yes We Can Can

In other, much happier news, the Bear and I hit the Burlesque Ball on Saturday and had the mightiest of craic. Over the course of the night I managed to accost Lottie on the way out of the jacks, dance with Darren, hug Rick and RPs and really wish I had seen Miss Lottie miaowing at random strangers in her attempt to locate me. Good times! And the show wasn't half bad either.






Breakfast in Odessa the next morning: (HELL TO THE YES!)