Showing posts with label Comedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Comedy. Show all posts

Eurotrip

It started, as ever, with a kiss.

It always starts with a kiss.

It never starts with four pints of lager, a worse for wear laptop, tatty Penneys pajamas and an overflowing ashtray, does it? That just doesn't sound romantic enough. It isn't a good enough story to recount at your imaginary promotion dinner, fancied wedding reception or to your theoretical grandchildren.

Except that's, exactly, where this story begins.

The room was illuminated by two small screens and orchestrated by the sound of eight tiny fingers tapping away.

I opened a fresh can. My Debit card was settled neatly and trophy-like on the armrest in full peripheral view.

Book! Book! Book! Book! Book!(!!!)


25

I wrote this post as a series of microsections, chronicling random experiences up to now. Some could argue that the format mirrors my unstructured days and lack of direction. 
                                              ___________________________________________


At six, my first class teacher suggests that I go and see a Speech and Language Therapist. "He needs help pronouncing his Rs and INGs," she explains at the school-gate one day pityingly. My appointment is every Thursday evening at half-five in Galway city, and it quickly becomes an idyllic little date night between my mother and I. We always go shopping together beforehand and get in for early bird specials in cheap restaurants. We study our paper-menu place-mats in silence, ultimately ordering the same thing we've had before. It's heavenly, I discover a new quality in her - a friend. I have a special folder filled with games and activities teaching me how to move my tongue in a certain way to create and digest basic sounds I have not yet mastered. I tirelessly practice them at home with my siblings. "Listen to me say Wobber, Dad!" I demand, perched like a King, triumphantly upright at the head of the dining room table, tooting my own horn. On the fifth or sixth visit I tell the HSE professional I love her, whilst simultaneously handing over a drawing I sketched of a camel smiling. The work-of-art is a dazzling emblem of our relationship. A keepsake of our colourful time together. She smiles and tells me she'll frame it. After that episode I never have to go back again. "His speech impediment is miraculously cured," she cheers gloriously down the phone. Go figure.



Jurassic Galway

To the surprise of absolutely no one, Patrick has screwed up again. Normally, I don’t need to point this out. That’s what my father is there for. But this time the usual chorus of nagging cannot be overlooked because I've put the lives of multiple children at risk.

I'm always guarded against appearing dramatic, inconsiderate, arrogant, pathetic and any other trait that I consider inseparable from douchebaggery. It has now been confirmed though that I am all those things, and have viable evidence for securing my place in hell.



Weakest Link

Everyone of us feels some level of anxiety when we are made wait. In Supermarkets, we all jockey back and forth to the line we perceive is moving the fastest, easily getting frustrated when we choose the 'wrong' queue. When driving, we will swerve across multiple lanes of traffic to avoid the one with the biggest delay. Even in elevators we hate waiting so much that we will push the 'close door' button so often that those buttons are typically the ones most withered. Waiting rooms in medical practices though are a particular pet peeve of mine. And it's not the waiting itself that bugs me. My issue is with the place and the people.

Whenever I'm there it's generally packed to the rafters, frequently there's no available seating, and the magazines on display are often so dated that I need an archaeologist with gloves assisting me in flicking through one. Also, there's always some gobshite that seemingly cannot go anywhere without twelve to fifteen friends and family members attached via their umbilical cord. So imagine my mood yesterday, when I had to make a trip to my local clinic. 

( Picture via Thedogpaddler.com )
I wandered in and instantly eyes were staring, observing me from almost every direction. I came anticipating boredom and unease, but this was something I wasn't prepared to endure. Armed with my skinniest jeans and flaunting my most flamboyant oversized jumper, I stood out in the array of hopeless souls. My man bun refused to cooperate that morning, it didn't help the situation that my hair resembled devil horns on arrival. This was an extremely unnatural environment for anyone to be placed in.

The average age of the room was easily over sixty. Shuffling through the crowd I felt like I was one of the seven wonders of the world or some sort of character from The Ripley's Believe It or Not. The locals were looking at me like I was the Grand Canyon or had a third eye. One or two of the patients probably assumed Jim Henson created me. The only available chair was the one under the gonorrhoea pamphlets, which I accidentally picked up to read before realising what it was.

Once seated, I instantly felt a shiver down my spine. Various incarnations were still peering nervously at me. I saw a woman flinch as I bypassed her. With sideways glances I noted one man making a tutting noise and rolling his eyes in embarrassment. It was increasingly uncomfortable, feeling sensations of being watched made me get vertigo and goosebumps. I became conscious of how different I was to the rest of them, horribly different. The majority of the elders were terror stricken by my presence.

I have two piercings, they were examining me like I was a damn cheese grater, having holes all over my entire face. The woman beside me was acting like I had the Empire State Building shooting out of the side of my head. The same woman was one nut away from looking like Panti Bliss, so she should have kept quiet before I clocked her.

( Picture via DesignMom.com )
Waiting rooms are considered bright places, usually they have strong fluorescent lighting installed to illuminate the entire room. But this one was dark, with some of the back rows almost pitch black. Strange, inhuman sounds gravitated towards me from those rows every couple of minutes. I turned around at one stage to detect what the commotion was about and all I could see was big beaming eyes of a frantic nature glaring back at me. One man shined the light off his phone back there later on to try and secure a seat, I could hear people snarling at him, then scattering away weirdly to an even darker corner of the room. I rarely get scared, but at this point I felt real fear. Who were these people? Did that area enter the void? Was there another realm or portal in the same room as us? Maybe there was a decent WiFi connection back there?

What I noticed most is how incredibly annoying certain people can be when they are placed in a small space with strangers. One idiot had the television remote, guarding it like he earned the right to watch Animal Planet at an unsociable volume. If I ever have to listen to someone vividly narrating sexual intercourse between two orangutans again, I'm going to flip. There was another man chewing toffee so loudly that at first I assumed it was the sound generated from him readjusting his false teeth. The sweets he was eating were individually wrapped, every single wrapper had been thrown on the floor. The bin was two seats away from him.

The guy opposite me kept fidgeting, he was off-colour and continued scratching in a contagious manner until I got seen to. So although I'm safe for now, I'll probably be back there by early next week

May the odds be forever in my favour, I guess.  

( Picture via Pritchettcartoons.com )

___________________________________________


I've been shortlisted for both Best Lifestyle Blog and Best Youth Blog by this year's Blog Awards Ireland. I hate to hit ye with such a cliché but it genuinely was such a honour to even be nominated. A lot of my fellow nominees have far larger followings and greater fan bases than Loading Life so I don't expect to get any further, but regardless I'd like to thank anyone who has ever taken time out of their day to read my ramblings and musings. I blog fundamentally for myself, so to think that other people get enjoyment out of anything I've written remains quite surreal to me, it makes me very proud. It's nice to think that anything I've penned has helped pave understanding on a particular issue even slightly better for certain individuals and that the humour posts might have lightened up the dreariest of days for someone out there going through a tough time.   

The next round features a public vote, if you think I deserve a vote the link is attached above for both categorises. I'm not going to hound anyone for votes, that's not my style. In my opinion an award should be earned so only choose me if you feel I deserve it. Making the shortlist has made my month regardless.

Rent or Torment

My laptop has fallen victim to an untimely disease: old age. The poor soul to be taken too soon, has seen better days. Now near the end of its lifespan, it is only a matter of time before it takes its last breath and joins all my deceased Nokias and Tamagotchis that have gone before it. Maybe in its next life it could play to its strengths, and be reincarnated as a refrigerator.

Nowadays it is known to act up. The battery on it has already bid farewell to this cruel world, the hard drive has for all intents and purposes passed away, and the keys of the keyboard are so faded that I feel like I'm relearning the alphabet on a biweekly basis. It has lost all of its independence. It is like a spoilt, overindulged toddler these days needing constantly to be spoon-fed, consistently demanding what's left of my patience. I could realistically start applying for some assistance for it, a patch up job, but I've chosen to allow it go with some remaining integrity. Especially considering it has taken what's left of mine. 


( Picture via Kezj.com )
Lately, leaving it unattended results in a sea of pop up ads, the majority of them featuring a loud, phony pre-recorded sales pitch, explaining how simple it is for me to make millions if I surrender my credit card details immediately.

So, yesterday my landlord called for the rent. For the last two weeks I have been living by myself, with the Summer holidays almost over and the upcoming academic year due to start there has been a lot of reshuffling, each of my house-mates have one-by-one moved out, with new ones to come. He's aware of this.

He's one of those people that simply exude confidence, actively depicting someone that doesn't bear embarrassment and when/if he does it's just a minuscule bit detectable only to the human eye using a magnifying glass or fine-toothed comb. 


( Picture via Architecture.phillipmartin.info )
Just as I had the door opened, this loud fraud of an American started chanting all these repeated empty promises about an extravagant lifestyle of yachts, private islands and trophy wives for him to hear.

Landlord: "I'm here for the rent," he said sheepishly, not too bothered by the weird, slightly paranormal voices transcending from the living room.
Me: "Right, two seconds I have it left in the kitchen." Both my fingers, toes, and eyes crossed that he wouldn't notice the hysteria inside that was increasing in volume.

Landlord: "Are you home alone?"
Me: "Yep! I am," I gushed unconvincingly, handing him over the month's rent.

Pop up advert: "Are you poor? Are you failing to meet this month's bills? Today, right now, I am offering you an incredible chance to make a substantial amount of money with ease, there is no catch."

Me: "Thanks for calling, is that everything?" I said indignantly.
Landlord: "Do you mind if I see what you're watching in the living room?" He had every reason to believe I was hosting an Avon or Cash For Gold convention, on the sly.
Me: "Eh?" I blinked confusedly, trying to make sense of what he was talking about (at this point it is a possibility that I might have tried to mentally check out of the conversation to avoid further mortification.)

He then breezed past me, obviously one of those proprietors who believes that owning something allows complete access to every corner and fingerbreadth of the building, with or without my permission.

Landlord: "Is this a conference call?" He overstated, slightly startled. 
Me: "No, my laptop just does this sometimes." There was a 'businesswoman' consuming the screen wearing a push-up bra roughly two sizes too small for her. 
Landlord: "Oh, you're probably watching too much bad content on it."

I'm not a deluded man. I don't expect a future without further humiliation or embarrassment, but I also don't think it's unreasonable for me to hope that someday I can face an encounter with someone (who has the power to make me homeless) without the poisonous handiwork of my laptop getting involved. 

Clearly, I'm asking for too much. Maybe I should follow suit and raise the white flag too?


( Picture via Sodahead.com )


Mouse Trap

This post comes live from the eye of the storm. A dark, dreary, vicious storm. Okay, Galway may not be in the midst of hurricane Catriona, and maybe we might have been enjoying a slight good spell the last few days. Little snippets of sunshine and clear skies are active, it's a forecast Evelyn Cusack would be proud to announce to the nation.

I'm referring to a mental storm as currently I am in agony. I am curled up into the foetal position, swaddled tightly in a blanket, lying awkwardly on top of my unmade bed. I'm typing this post with one hand and sucking my thumb with the other, fighting back tears, rocking myself steadily back and forth seeking comfort after surviving a major panic attack roughly half an hour ago.

Yes, everything is very severe, crazy and dramatic but my day didn't start like this, it started off fine. I got up early, I had a shower, and I made breakfast (always a bonus). Just your typical run-of-the-mill sort of day. Hardcore normality. Until it came to my attention that I had an intruder. Someone sneaked into my home uninvited. I made this discovery just after finishing my breakfast. The invasion at least had the courtesy to wait until I had devoured my Corn Flakes.


( Picture via It.wikihow.com )
I saw a mouse, it paraded across my kitchen like it was someone contributing rent. I was in shock. We made eye contact, and for a nanosecond the world stood still. I saw the fear in its eyes, and it saw the fear in mine. Then I scurried like the vermin I am directly out of the kitchen and up the stairs into the safe confinements of my bedroom. I locked the door, and started playing music loudly to let it know I was somewhat still present.  

Slightly mellow dramatic, I know. But these rodents are crafty and if it thought I had vacated the building it would start getting comfortable. It could start inviting friends, family members, half-cousins into the premises too. The television is left on downstairs, that bastard better not dare clock up my electricity bill, I know how addictive a marathon of Friends can get. So I need to make my nervous, hysterical presence known.

My house-mate is due home in two hours, but I don't think I can last that long. I don't know how to assess blood pressure, but I feel like mine is dropping fast, and within the next hour I could need to use the bathroom.


 ( Picture via Izamgs.com )
I've considered phoning emergency services. The fire brigade or some armed officers could intimidate this entity out of my life for good. They'd only need one bullet or a slice of cheese, it wouldn't be much hassle. But realistically what will they think of me? They'll judge me, even though we have these services for our own protection and well-being and it's my right to use them as I see fit.

The oxygen levels in this room are dropping and the longer I spend isolated the greater the chance I'll start developing agoraphobia. Then I might never end up leaving my room. I'm getting weaker and that thing downstairs is no doubt getting stronger, it's probably impervious to pain.

The times are confusing and certainties are hard to come by. Light a candle for me, keep me in your thoughts and prayers. I'll try and ride out this torturous ordeal until four. Admire my courage and strength. Speak highly of me to others. Heroes as I said last week come in all shapes and forms, just maybe not as little fury, taunting, wide-eyed, rodents.

#HopeForPatrick


( Picture via Thesun.co.uk )

Searching for Trouble

When I'm not busy saving orphans from burning buildings or saving buildings from flaming orphans, I check the statistics tab of my blogger account to see what keywords people type into Google to find my blog. Monitoring where my web traffic comes from is kind of like watching paint dry, only without the sense of accomplishment or artificial high from paint fumes.

Blogger has revealed all sorts of interesting facts about the people who read this website. For example, every person who has viewed this blog has internet access and is not currently of the Amish persuasion. It also tracks the location of visitors, so I know that I get hits from such exotic locations as county Leitrim and other parts of rural Mayo. Yesterday, however, I got my first visit from Saudi Arabia, and a few weeks ago I got a hit from Tehran. American diplomats mistakenly believe that Iranians want to destroy the western world, when in reality they just want to know if Irish students enjoy the same music as them and if I plan to discontinue a trend of posts featuring my parents embarrassing me at every given opportunity. 


( Picture via Capitalbay.com )

Here are some of my favourites.  

'kim kardashian naked' This speaks volumes for my page and its visitors. Not only is one of my most popular search items crude, creepy and indecent, the inquirer is arriving disappointed. They're not even reading whatever nonsense I have to spew instead here solely to find a photograph that I do not own myself or have copyrighted appropriately. Integrity is overrated, or so I've been told. 

'milky bar kid now' It is one of life's greatest mysteries, and considering this blog used to be called Retired Milky-Bar Kid, it makes sense. We've all been there. At some stage you have questioned whether the Calvita Cheese Girl is still in such high-spirits with life/dairy products, if the lass from the Christmas Corn Flakes ad is still actively waking up in the middle of the night to search for random old men to appear in her living room and if the Kinder Chocolate Boy still has those immaculate set of teeth after countless chocolate bars. The wonder and unknown continues.  

'cheap turf for sale in boglands' Awh, apologies to disappoint but I only wrote about my participation there as a child. I don't sell anything on the internet, unless you count my dignity via the optimum of embarrassing, unneeded blog posts.

'how to successfully lie to parents' No comment. I'll just leave this here

'are cat biscuits edible?' Hey! Curiosity killed the (ahem). Yes, in theory they are, if you are a feline animal. But I'm still confident in the knowledge that cats cannot use the internet (staring in viral YouTube videos does not count) and so I'm going to assume you are a human being or a spam robot. No, they're realistically not. My mother and I speak from experience. But each to their own. 

'fat woman exercising' I give up. People are weird. 


( Picture via 360east.com )


Shop 'Til You Drop

I'm the sort of customer fixated on deals and discounts. The bigger the price cut, the more tempting a purchase something becomes and this regularly causes me to buy things that I don't truly love. You could be selling me limited edition onion goggles, if they are advertised with dramatically marked-down rates I'll be drawn in. I can't help it, it's a rush, an addictive quality.

Being a sale-obsessed shopper, giant reductions and clearance racks make me feel competent and in control of my compulsive overspending. It helps me rationalize a situation that leaves me drowning in debt and living on supermarket brand noodles.

(Photo via Newcircles.ca)
This week I was out bargain hunting, when I came across a pair of Vans reduced to a fifth of the typical retail price. They were a size and a half too small for me, but that didn't matter as they were cool, affordable and had a quirky design. A deal as beautiful as that was just too good to pass up so I did what I thought was the sensible thing and bought them, then continued on browsing.

I wore them the following morning. I knew it was going to be a struggle breaking them in. I miscalculated the intensity of that struggle. They were excruciatingly painful, almost unendurable. I thought at first I lost a toe. It was like an Asian foot binding master class, this discovery came when I was too late for work to turn back and change. I usually walk everywhere, for some strange reason I enjoy the exercise. Headphones in, parading through the streets of Galway pretending to me a member of Haim can be quite rewarding. Today wasn't a day for that, so I took the shuttle-bus in the midst of the morning rush hour.

I waddled onto the overloaded vehicle, throbbing in pain, blisters probably already formed. Tears visible, I was challenging my best Rylan Clark at bootcamp. A woman gave up her seat for me, assuming I had some sort of disability or podiatric disorder. I should have refused, but I got sucked into the moment and clarifying my appearance in front of all those restricted, cramped, distressed passengers could've got weird. 

(Photo via Lisasee.com)
Later that day I was stuck in a ridiculously long queue at the supermarket. A second member of staff was called over the intercom to help cut down the line of impatient buyers. Three men stood ahead of me, yet when the cashier came she offered to serve me first, I refused but everyone else insisted while simultaneously looking out for my carer and wheelchair. I kept quiet again and was given a complimentary shopping bag, maybe Dunnes Stores do have a heart.

I've always been overly courageous when crossing the road, involuntarily disregarding pedestrian crosses is something I really need to work on. This erratic behaviour usually provokes drivers and they're happy to unleash that anger and frustration in my direction. That day vehicles slowed down to allow me cross the road safely. I think I even saw a woman bless herself when I passed by her car.

I won't be wearing the shoes again, hip replacement surgery would be less physically agonizing. Dignity aside, I really appreciated my day's unexpected enhancements. This time, this reduction devotee got more than what he bargained for.

(Photo via Express.co.uk)

Big Jeans To Fill

Like it or not, we all inherit certain traits and characteristics from our parents. Not to contradict anything I've previously written, this isn't about physical attributes such as eye colour or height but features or quirks down to personality and behavioural habits. Your upbringing and environment is a major part of your heredity. Twerking and foam fingers aside there's a reason why Miley Cyrus can hold a tune and why at twenty-two months North West has probably already mastered the art of a selfie.  

On Sunday my family and I headed out for dinner, it's not often all six of us get the chance to do things together, restricted schedules or stringent sanity measures, you figure. It was nice, we got all dressed up and had the opportunity to appreciate each other's company outside the wonders of our living room. Talking about topics and occurrences that didn't revolve around the television guide was a breath of fresh air. 

(Photo via Shareabite.com)
The restaurant we ventured to was top-notch and well known for its tasty, good-tasting menu. On account of this we were sensible and each knew to be ready in both body and mind. That day we took it easy and refrained from eating too much, saving ourselves for what lied ahead. The preparation could be compared to those training for a marathon. 

Our reservation was for eight o'clock, for once we got there on time and found our table with ease. The staff were all very welcoming, they took our orders and brought us our drinks. It was a proud moment, no hiccups, no fighting, no spillages, no temper tantrums.

(Photo via Pixgood.com)
The food came together and lived up to the hype, we all have different taste levels so there was a real mix of dishes presented to us. Plates of Thai Curry, Sirloin Steak, sizzling Stir-Fry, Steamed Vegetables, Marinated Chicken, you get the picture.

And then it started, the humiliation that seems to shadow me continually at every moment and turn.

Father: "Well you'd know ye are all Kirranes."
Me: "Really?" 
Father: "Look at ye, all mad for food, like a bunch of cattle at a trough."
Me: "Right."
Father: "It's in our blood, my side of the family can always handle a feed."
Mother: "Mine too."
Sister: "Anyway better not keep talking." Mortified, she intended on diverting their attention instantly.
Father: "Waitress, you needn't worry about throwing any of this out, this lot are known at home for licking the plates clean, great grazing in them."
Waitress: "Happy to hear." Maintaining grace through tears of laughter. 
Father: "There's no need for a dog living with these."
Mother: "God bless our fine appetites."
Father: "Waitress, could you bring us down another side of Onion Rings? To keep these happy."

Forever the optimist I was hoping to possess some dominant leadership skills or nurturing expertise at some stage down the line. I could have developed an athletic scope or creative flair, it would have been pretty useful but no my siblings and I are praised food connoisseurs and it's going to be hard to forget it. 

It appears that we get this quality from both parents. Well played Padraic and Kathy Kirrane, well played. 

(Photo via Tavel.usnews.com)

Footballs

This might be somewhat obvious but I don't really like sports. From as far back as I can remember this has always been the case and I've made my peace with it. When I was younger I used to read the headlines of the sports section of the newspaper so that I wouldn't get caught out and embarrassed that I didn't know the latest game scores the next day at school. I'd even turn on the last twenty minutes of Match of the Day so I could fake it through the school yard small-talk.

Now older and wiser, I no longer feel self-conscious or dependent on how others perceive me. I've accepted that I'm passionate about so many cool and interesting things, but sports will never be one of them. They are supposedly a pleasant distraction from the misery of life, but each season ends in crushing disappointment for the fans of all but one team, so I fail to see the logic or apparent attraction. I'm pretty much content to permanently opt out.

 (Photo via InsideIreland.ie)


When the football was on last weekend, both my father and brother were glued to it. I wasn't allowed to touch the remote for fear one of them would do a Bobby Beale on me. So I decided to sit there and listen in on the backtalk of two men to a TV screen.  

Father: "This is an unreal Kerry team, they're all working well today." He genuinely feels he's more competent in analysing and reviewing the match in action than the selection of professionals seated in the television studio.
Brother: "Yes, great match." 
Me: "I prefer the other team, royal blue is very in this season." This is me trying, I swear. 
Father: "Shut up you with that cheek."
Brother: "Do you think they'll win it Dad?"
Father: "I do. Solid team and great control of the ball." A nominee for pundit of the year, surely?
Brother: "That Kieran Donaghy is some player."

Father: "I love The D."

Me: "Excuse me?"

Father: "I love The D, always have." I suppose scrutinizing toned athletes in shorts on a biweekly basis has had a lasting effect on him.
Brother: "Dad calls Kieran Donaghy, The D." He too wasn't aware of the evident double meaning? 
Me: "Oh yeah?"

I left the room at this point to go fill the rest of the household in on my latest discovery. I retreated back in for a bit of the second-half, his commentary and general criticism had increased. Still very much unaware of the noticeable sexual innuendo being used. 

Father: "Would they all stop grabbing The D."
Brother: "Just leave him alone."
Father: "The D always scores and is unstoppable."
Brother: "He's top-notch."
Father: "The D knows what to do, the D will break any player in half."
Brother: "The strength in him."
Father: "The D always has full control and is hard as nails."

Sometimes I get annoyed at the prevalence of sports in popular culture, but then I watch a game with my father and I remember that almost anyone can find entertainment in it, if they search deep enough.


 (Photo via Gaa.ie)
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