Even God Hates My Blog

For those of you who don't already know, I've made a fan page for my blog on Facebook. So far only 3 people are fans aside from myself, my mom and Paul. I'm quite disappointed. Little do people know, I'm leaving everything in my will to my fans. Mom, I leave you my stuffed unicorn. Polly, I leave you my recipe books. Koddie, you can have my permanent marker. Sabina, take care of my annoying plant. And last but not least, Paul, I'd like to leave you my blog. Can I also make a request to be frozen like Walt Disney please?



Not only that, finding people who write the same kind of crap that I do isn't as easy as I thought it would be. Paul asked me how my quest was going and our conversation went a little something like this:

Paul: So, how's your blog thing coming along?

Me: You mean my quest? Shitely.

Paul: Another new word you made up?

Me: Tis.

Paul: Well success doesn't happen over night, you have to work for it.

Me: I've been crazy my entire life, surely it should pay off by now!

***Silence***

Me: Hey, I have an idea! Lets go get trained on flying falcons! It can be one of our date nights!

Paul: The actual bird?

Me: What the hell else would you think of when I say 'falcon'?

Enough said. (More to come on flying those crazy falcons in the near future)

I was feeling pretty low so I decided to bake some brownies. Paul has never had a brownie before, WTF? I repeat, WTF?!?! He'll probably tell you he has, but that's a lie. He thinks anything that's chocolatey with a cakey texture is a brownie. News flash, that's a fucking chocolate cake Paul! As much as I love him, sometimes I think he uses being from Ireland as an excuse to piss me off about things such as this. Anyway, the brownies turned out to be delicious but not too pleasing on the eye. Basically, the batch came out looking like a big pile of giraffe shit in a baking pan. I did my best to cut them into squares but lets put it this way, if I were to give them as a gift, I would just tell the giftee that Helen Keller cut them for me. (Note to self: Helen Keller is an excellent scapegoat for fucking up on anything that involves the use of one or more of the senses.)

Not only was I feeling low, the brownies made me feel fatter than fat. Hmmm, maybe going to the gym would make me feel better? On my way into town on the train, a couple of girls wearing tracksuits asked for my help. One was slurring as if she had a little too much to drink (getting drunk actually sounded a bit appealing after immediately sucking at my blog quest) and the other had a few teeth missing. Mmmm, that's Dublin for ya! I kid you not, I once saw a homeless guy pull down his pants and take a poo behind Cleary's on O'Connell Street, the busiest street in the city center. Plain as day! It looked like chicken curry. To this day, I still wonder what he wiped with...But hey, who am I to complain? The Guinness here is like heaven in your mouth!

Back to the train! All I could think was, 'Oh bajeezus, is this really happening to me??? Crap, I'm going to get mugged!' I've never been mugged before but this is not how I envisioned it going down. I always hoped I would at least have a nice dress on and my hair done, like this scene from Clueless:

The good Samaritan inside me was yearning to get out, but what was I getting myself into? She pointed to a word in the Metro Herald and asked, "What does that say?" Were they taking the piss or was one trying to distract me while the other stole my purse?!? I replied, "That says Nathan" She seemed very skeptical of my answer and replied, "Whaaaa?! Whaaa's a 'Nay-tan'?!" WTF?!?

I quickly began to panic. All 12 years of elementary school, Jr High and High School were flashing through my brain. Holy shit, could Nathan have more than one meaning and she's testing me?!?! Why didn't I go to college??? Should I have stayed in private schools???

I decided to play it safe, "It's a name" I replied. She flinched in disbelief. "Whaaa?" Was she astonished that I knew what a 'Nathan' was, or did I choke on my words? Perhaps I am just an all knowing oracle (if she even knew what that meant). Luckily, they soon forgot about me but continued bickering and sounding out words between the two of them. I guess half of a brain is better than one. All the while, I battled with myself whether or not I should fake my stop and wait for the next train, or just pray they didn't ask me to sound out any other words. But I have to admit, giving them an edumacation was a lot better than getting knived by one of them! So much for telling them about my blog, they can't even read a damn newspaper...

All in all, what have I learned today?

• Giraffe shit tastes like brownies.
• I'm a fucking failure, God wouldn't even read my blog!
• Helping people to read scares the shit out of me!