Poor Boyfriend broke himself.

It was quite funny really, we were running for the bus with many a gin drunk. Two minutes to go and we had quite a distance before us until we reached the bus stop. I sprinted with grace and elegance while he lumbered along behind me when suddenly
whack
slap
crash
he thumped on to the ground face first after crumpling his ankle into a pot hole. Oh how I laughed. It's massive, and purple, hopefully not broken.

Alas, no more skating or surfing for 8 weeks, this may be detrimental to our relationship.

I don't if the three of you who read this know any surfers, but they are the biggest grumps in the world if they haven't surfed in more than two days.

*sigh*

Does the Queen call herself 'My Majesty'?

My boyfriend's grads ball is coming up. He repeated but never went to his first one so he decided to not be a dope this time and make his mother happy. I have a lovely dress and now need shoes, a bag and perhaps a hat or headpiece like this



or this



or this



I've been thinking about my own Debs night as a result of all this. It was all going according to plan for me up until five days before the night, when the aforementioned boyfriend decided to break up with me. I luckily had a good friend who acted as my back up date, but as I was so busy I never really even thought about the fact that I was now 'going through a break-up'. Consequently, my debs night was basically me in a full length Roland Mouret ball gown, pissed on gin, smoking and insulting people. The same 3,000 euro ball gown later fell apart on the dance floor, turning it into a see through mini-dress.
''It's supposed to be like that'' I slurred at my sober friends.
Thankfully I bought the dress for just 150 euro. It still hangs limp and sad in two pieces in my wardrobe as a reminder of what not to do on your Debs night.

To add to the humiliation, I woke up in my ex-boyfriend's house the next morning. Me and his sister had decided to have a sleepover for old time's sake apparently.

Ah the Debs. A great Irish institution. I'm incredibly glad I have a second chance.

Suckiest nightclubs in the land...

..and not even a bit of talent to go with it.
The nightclubs of Ireland need to sort their lives out.

Number one, Mr. Nightclub Man, stop playing Akon, Girls Aloud et al.
Number two, stop charging ridiculous prices for a frickin jaegerbomb.
And number three, open the smoking area, it's all you've got left buddy.

Kudos for the invisible, U.V. visible stamps though. I marvel everytime.

I pledge allegiance...

...bla bla bla, to the United States of America....
Nicest surprise ever today. My brother's kind-of-but-we're-not-too-sure-what-the-story-is girlfriend has come to visit us, all the way from Chicago! She is the cutest thing in the world with her denim shorts and hiking boots, little button nose and blonde hair. She is the most easily likeable person I have ever met, I LOVE her. She's gone to bed now, after we all managed to get her and our fine selves just a leetle bit tipsy. I hate trying to wind down at this stage of the night with a couple of drinks in me so I decided to stay up and blog.
She's a gas woman with the funniest name that I really wish I could share with ye. It's unusual I'm sure, to find an American who really hates certain aspects from American culture. For instance, she got rather heated whilst showing us her passport. Basically, in the places where your visa stamps go on a normal passport, Condaleeza Rice brought in this fantastic idea to fill these pages with images that represent American culture, the bald eagle, Mount Rushmore, oxen and buffalo, Native American totem poles, which my new friend so helpfully pointed out are all examples of either animals, natural resources or cultures that have been endangered or totally wiped out by modern and contemporary culture.
How very ironic.
Hmmm aaanyway, have to go find some friends who are up for some party party! There isn't a snowball's chance in hell I'm turning in yet!