Unbearably Light
I do not think that word means what you think it means.


Cyber Puppy. Otherwise known as a distraction from the lack of me around here lately. Carry on!

From BestWeekEver


Pride as viewed from our apartment in the sky

Week over. Pizza on the balcony.

life; Dublin; this moment of June..


Australian police discover driver strapped in beer supply but not small boy



Hello I am back, I think.

I really would rather like this little tchotchke but my inner 40 year old is telling my inner 5 year old that it would be rather a bad idea don’t you know. Still, one can’t help picturing outfit plans to match.


So yeah my Dad just superpoked me.

(If you don’t know what that means, I offer you my congratulations and I urge you to go back to your pre-facebookion life and get as much work done as you can before you eventually and inevitably succumb.)

He rang me up a few weeks ago to inform me about this new brilliant previously unknown website he had just discovered that you could join and meet people you know on, and how amazing and ground-breaking it was and how he just thought that I should probably be told about such things because I work in computers and I should really keep up to date on the latest trends. It took me about ten minutes to realise he was talking about Facebook. I gently let him know that I had vaguely of heard of it alright, and before I knew it, he had found me out and added me to his profile along with a picture of him from 30 years ago. Apparently it was the only one he had handy. Heh.

Darn it. This has already happened to me on Bebo of all places. Oh yes, my mother is on my Bebo friends list. As are a whole heap of my internet-savvy extended family. Most of the time this doesn’t bother me a bit, but facebook needs careful monitoring.

A little bit of “lets block Dad seeing that photo, oh and that one, and oh my God let’s decide not to change my status whilst drunk”. Also, a few little texts and phone calls consisting of pleas along the lines of “Dad would you mind *terribly* taking down the family through the years picture album?”

An extended list of family, friends, work colleagues, and ex “it’s complicated” types makes for an uncomfortable mix.

While we’re on it, how do you politely remove an ex from your friends list? Or do you just put up with their daily status updates? Make sure your own status updates don’t appear to be passive aggressive responses? Decline an invitation from your boss gracefully? Keep separate profiles for work, friends, family, etc?

It’s a minefield.

And apparently, I’m not the only one who thinks so. How much should we censor ourselves when everyone else is listening?


The Delicious AnneElicious tagged me d’other day and I am told it is right and proper for me to pass on the goodness.  So here goes. Apparently I must describe myself in six words.

These words are as follows:

never finishes anything tries hard nonetheless

Ahem. Right, after a random look through my most recent comments, I choose to throw some tags in the direction of:

R to the P to the RapturePonies


Tenacious Timothy


Sarah over at CriticalJunk

Stephen’s Mammy – you can answer this here in my comments if ya like!

Fun Fun Fun.


I can’t express how good it feels to finally wake up in the morning and not be in pain and/or medicated.

I think my neural pathways are once again my own, after some scary painkiller withdrawal.  Word of warning to all you kids out there – if a doctor decides to prescribe you strong painkillers, be very. very. careful. Of course, the lazy trusting bunny that I am, I didn’t bother to research the stuff before taking it (only the prescribed amount) for the last, oh, 8 months.  Finally decided in a fit of hippitude that I wanted to come off everything medicinal and turn to alternate pain relief about a month ago.

Cue my own personal Trainspotting moment. Minus the dead baby and the toilet swimming.

Oh…wait, no, hang on I actually think there was a dream about a baby who was dead.

Shaking. Crying. Itching. Crawling. Insomnia. Depression.

Anyway. Finally, I woke up the other morning, and my first thought was about how I passed Nah-ah-lee from Fair City (remember her?) on the quays the day before, and not holy christ why do I feel like someone beat me up and fed me to demon chickens in my sleep.  Progress? MmHmm.

In celebration of my chemical free, depression free, almost pain free body, UnbLi towers is having a makeover.

Do we likey? It’s a leetle dark, but I’m digging it for now.


Am I right?

Probs won’t make a lot of sense to you if you haven’t seen the ad, but trust me. It is.


If Brendan from Cork who I had the pleasure of meeting in the Gaiety on Saturday ever reads this, that was the best line ever and I commend you. Even if you did start talking about how your mother told you to say it because it would get you laid. Haha.

On to last night, and the fabulousness (there can be no other word for it) of Har Mar Superstar. The man is a God. He had kind of passed me by until recently when I heard he was going to support Sia in Crawdaddy.

The album is quickly becoming my favourite get-off-your-ass-and-go-out-for-the-love-of-god moosic.

After that, Sia. When a gig involves bagpipes (a prank gift from Har Mar above), glow in the dark costumes, random stuffed animals, and songs called “Fuck the Cantaloupe” you know things are going to be good.  But then her voice hits you and everything gets all fuzzy and you can’t think and suddenly it’s over and you feel like you’ve experienced some kind of spiritual phenomenon.  The highlight of course was “Breathe Me” because it is one of the best songs in the universe.

Great gig, great venue.  Crawdaddy is so much better than Tripod next door.

Crap photos from the batphone:


Apparently the BNP thinks that women should stop making a fuss about rape and learn to enjoy it. Choice quote:

“I’ve never understood why so many men have allowed themselves to be brainwashed by the feminazi myth machine into believing that rape is such a serious crime … Rape is simply sex. Women enjoy sex, so rape cannot be such a terrible physical ordeal. To suggest that rape, when conducted without violence, is a serious crime is like suggesting that forcefeeding a woman chocolate cake is a heinous offence. A woman would be more inconvenienced by having her handbag snatched. “The demonisation of rape is all part of the feminazi desire to obtain power and mastery over men. Men who go along with the rape myth are either morons or traitors.”

Jesus, that’s a lovely thought, isn’t it?