J-Ro Vs Brain, pt 10

Brain: “Stop yawning.”

Me: “Stop making me yawn.”

Brain: “Dunno what you’re talking about. I’m busy trying to name the Best Supporting Actor Oscar winners for the last fifteen years.”

Me: “That’s what’s making me yawn! I’ll be asleep in minutes as this rate. I’m off to bed.”

Brain. “I just want you to get a good night’s sleep. It’s good for both of us.”

Me:. “Good. I’ve a really long busy week ahead, I need all my rest. Well, goodnight so.”

Brain: “Okay, nighty night. Sleep well.”

Me: “Really? That’s it? No fight?”

Brain: “Nope. Like you said, you need your sleep. I’m good like that sometimes.”

Me: “Great! Well, talk to you in the morning so..”

Brain: “Will do.”

Me: “……………….”

Brain: Just try not to think about that bathroom scene from The Grudge.

Me: I KNEW IT WAS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE.

You’re welcome. Each and every one of you.

J-Ro Vs Brain, pt 7

Brain: “Alarm’s gone off.”

Me: “Shurrup.”

Brain: “Seriously. It went off like two minutes ago. You need to get up.”

Me: “I know you speak English, because you’re essentially me. So I’ll say it again. Shurrup. I’ve hit the snooze button.”

Brain: “Get up. You’re going to be late. GET UP NOW.”

Me: “If it wasn’t going to be really sore for me I’d totally throw a shoe at you right now.”

Brain: “UP UP UP UP UP UP UP….”

Me: “I’m going to suffocate myself with the pillow. Nice knowing you.”

Brain: “I’m going to start listing off all the things in your life you should be worried about right at this very moment. Three…two…”

Me: “You wouldn’t d-”

Brain: “One. I’VE NOTHING TO WEAR TODAY IT’S REALLY COLD WHY CAN’T I FIND MY OTHER SHOE I CAN’T SEE WITHOUT MY GLASSES OH WAIT THERE THEY ARE IS THERE ANYTHING ON FACEBOOK GOD I’M THIRSTY OH WAIT I’VE ANOTHER IDEA FOR A BOOK OH WAIT IT’S GONE AGAIN I HOPE THE CREDIT CARD COMPANY DON’T CALL TODAY BUT YOU NEVER KNOW I THINK I NEED A HAIRCUT OH JESUS I’M SO FAT HANG ON I NEED TO PUT PETROL IN MY CA-”

Me: “Well played.”

Brain: “Cup of tea?”

Me: “Please.”

J-Ro Vs Brain, pt 4

Me: “Right, what’ll I wear today?”

Brain: “Let’s see. How about that black thing, matched with that other black thing, with some black leggings and a scarf? You know, for a change.”

Me: “Not a morning person, are we?”

Brain: “Why do you even ask my opinion anyway? I suggest lots of lovely things, and yet you always go for the same theme.”

Me: “What theme?”

Brain: “Slightly-Out-Of-Shape-Burglar.”

Me: “Asshole.”

Brain: “What are you gonna do about it? Feed me more pretzels until I get thirsty again?”

Me: “Nope….”

Brain: “Hang on a second. Put those headphones back. What are you doing? I’m sorry. I SAID I’M SORRY!! GAAAAAAH!!”

There’s Something About Metal Men…

Behemoth - I'd happily let them babysit a puppy.

Behemoth – I’d happily let them babysit a puppy.

This blog post is not about heavy metal music, it’s about not judging a book by its cover. This is a tribute to the big, burly, hairy, gentle giants who worship at the altar of Metal. Pound for pound, beard for beard; these menfolk are the soundest, most mannerly bunch of guys you’re ever likely to meet. I’ve spent years going to metal venues (in Limerick and Cork for the most part) and various other types of clubs and pubs, and out of all the places I’ve been, the menfolk who inhabit the world of screaming vocals and deathly guitar distortion are among some of the nicest people I’ve ever encountered.

Having only just recovered from the most recent Siege of Limerick, held in Dolans on Sunday 8th April, my opinion remains unchanged. I know at any given time that I can arrive into a metal gig all on my lonesome, get myself a drink and watch a great gig without feeling like I’m on display in a butcher’s window – unlike some other places I could mention. Being of the more petite in stature, both my two sisters and I have all had the same experience of being lifted out of a mauling mosh pit by some seven-foot bear of a man wearing a Cannibal Corpse t-shirt who took time out of his busy schedule of laughingly pounding his buddies to a musical pulp to haul one or more of us to safety by the scruff of our necks and scolding us for putting ourselves in harm’s way.

Now, some would say I’m biased, given that I write about metal gigs and move in these circles anyway – but over the years I’ve been dragged to every type of club / pub / theme night out that’s been going on in this fair city, and I’ll rave along with the best of them if the beat is right. However, my experience has almost always been that in your average super-pub or generic nightclub of a Saturday night, each gender is treated by the other as a target, an object, an entirely separate creature from the other, all in the pursuit of getting the shift. Go to a metal gig or a metal-themed bar, and you’ll see people there who have shown up simply for the band that’s playing, the good beer, the craic and the conversations. Women are treated with far more respect than in any other places I’ve seen. Sure, you might get chatted up, but it’s all in the best of fun and delivered with that old rocker charm. Everyone’s equal at a metal gig, but us girls are definitely looked after just that little bit more.

In short, this is just my way of saying “Gentlemen of Metal; I Salute You!”

Same as it ever was…

It’s diary time again…the time when I trawl through the many volumes of gibberish I used to write in an attempt to keep myself sane, and inflict them on you, the unsuspecting public. I’d apologise, but we’re way past that now.

It was June 1999, and I was living on the island of Rhodes, Greece. I gigged for a living with my best friend Louise, and had the best – and most insane – time of my life there. More about that in another blog post (once the names have been changed). This list was born out of not having a telly, or any of that internet madness that was sweeping the world at the time. So armed with paper and pen, I sat down and had a right old go at feeling sorry for myself. Turns out, looking back, I didn’t really have much to go on. But God loves a trier. Illustrations and everything. If all else fails I can make a living breaking into people’s houses, finding their personal journals and adding delightful drawings to their innermost feelings…

You bet your ass I blacked out the names...

Yes, that is a Robbie Williams quote at the bottom of the page. Mortified. I can only blame it on the constant exposure to the sun and cheesy Club Med tunes that permeated the Faliraki landscape when we worked there. Please don’t hate me…