i hate dogs

Contrary to what the title of the blog suggests I don't actually hate dogs, but it sets the theme for my comments of the day. I'll aim to proceed in chronological order on this subject and see how well i get on. Im tired (of dogs) and I've already deviated from my point so Im not exactly hopeful of a clear blog here. Bear with me-animal pun not intended.

ANYWHO, it all started way back when I was a little lass. Being the youngest I was a bit of a spoiled brat and needed all the attention focussed on myself or it would be tantrum central. Then HE came along. A furry little creature called Max that came into our household and tried to steal my parent's love from me. He belonged to my sister who had no love for me anyway so I needed to take my revenge in the simple, psychotic way that little girls do. As I sat on the potty in the bathroom swinging my legs, I was singing away when a terribly genius idea came to me. I whistled for the loyal-til-death dog, who was oblivious to the fact that I never wanted to look at him, let alone whistle for him. In he bounded pushing open the bathroom door, and with only the agility of a four year old girl could do, I leaped from my position with a mid-air kung-fu style kick at the door and trapped the poor little thing's tail in the door.

So fast forward twenty odd years with many rodents and rabbits in between, my parents decide to go travelling for a few months and ask me to, not only mind their old persons love nest for them, but also the two mutts that come attached. Bearing in mind these dogs are like the only grandchildren the pair are going to have, and knowing my flaky history with pets (one of the mutts i think was mine once upon a younger year); it is beyond me why I was the 'obvious' choice. But I went along with the charade-no rent or flatmates for a while sounded ideal, and sure what was the odd walk or chucking a bit of food to the pets once in a while? How naive was I?

If I EVER have notions of popping out a sprog, it is not the inevitable stretchmarks and droopy boobies that will put me off, but a re-read of this blog and the reminder of the intense responsibility to care for a living being will do it. Not only do the two stare at me constantly watching for me to perform for them, they also demand to be rubbed to the point of hand cramp-very hard to do when they get extremely jealous of each other and theres only one of me. They have also mastered the art of making me feel guilty; so I have effectively turned into a fool. Dragged around an icy park at 730 on a Sunday morning, feeding them rashers at 130 on a Thursday night(I felt bad for leaving them in the cold all day), letting them toddle round the house with me as I do-not a good idea when weak/excited bladders are involved. My life revolves around them.

The cruncher came though when I returned from a trip away with my sister for a few days, and we asked a friendly neighbour to do the duties while we were gone. BAD IDEA. If I never knew what three day old dog poo smells like, I do now. Not only was it on the carpet(app neighbour didnt understand that upstairs was off limits:p) but it was also stuck to one of my lovely mongrels asses. An hr long mutt-shower involving two people, headlocks, many snarls, and a tube of bleach later, I was traumatised for life.

My friend asks me to come for dinner-'I cant I'm walking the dogs I say' in disgust. 'I hate dogs' he says in jest and we arrange to meet the following day. On arrival for some well deserved grub and vino the next day, my mate's door remains unanswered to my knock. Upon ringing to question the reason why I have been stranded in the cold, my dinner buddy has gone looking for his puppy that has escaped through the garden fence. An hour long charade ensues involving a crawling car, many questions of whereabouts shouted through open window, and uncharacteristically highly nervous passenger next to me looking for his lost mutt. It ends where it began and the dog is found in the neighbour's garden, but the damage had been done and my mate can never pull off his hardcore unemotional side with me again. We comment on the karma effect of the previous day's comment, and I wonder about all the complaining I've done re the pair I've left at home that evening. Not only have I grudgingly grown to care for the stupid things but my life wouldn't be worth living if my parents came back to even a slight change in personality of one of them.

I've got to go. You guessed it. Park here I come... whistle whistle.

say my name

Lately several schoolfriends/colleagues/relatives of mine have tied the knot or are at least playing with the rope anyway, and one subject that seems quite prevalent is the question of taking their future loved ones name. I ask the question: what difference does it make? I hear these cries of wanting to remain the same person and keeping onto some semblance of individuality and personality, but the bottom line is, from now on you will be known was 'them'. Regardless of what your second name will be, you will only be indicated by or asked to-wait for it-dinner parties in the form of 'jenny and gary', 'bobby and frankie', 'john and sarah'. You will have no seperate identity, you will merge into one, boring lump of greyness that does not need a second name to define itself because marriage already does by proxy. Any previous quirks or characteristics that made you feel unique will melt away under the pressure of being as close to your soulmate as possible ie drowning in a sea called average. Ok so Im a marriage basher. But let me defend myself-it is not that I dont believe in love or spending quite a good bit of time with someone even (gasp) years, but people grow apart naturally over time so whats the point in committing to someone when it would be a lot easier to drift away and towards someone you found more interesting/compatible/sexier/treated you better at that point in your life. Whats the point in 'working on' some relationship that has died years ago just because you've always been known as one name connected with your lover's? Theres a reason for videos and sketches like the below

www.youtube.com/watch?v=DTlqgpA0GSk



PEOPLE GET BORED. whether they admit it or not. At least those who take their partners name without a second thought know what they're signing up for and fully accept the situation-or of course, they may be too foolish to realise the implications either way.

Which leads me to another thing...

This mid-twenties explosion of wedding bell ringers leads me to the conclusion that people think you 'should' get married at a certain age just because thats 'whats done'. They have been together for four, six, eight years and its time. Time for what??!! What do you do then? Surely theres more to life than being mr and mrs(or mr and mr/mrs and mrs as the case may be) Im not saying promiscuity or fickleness or a hardened heart is the way to go, but when the bright lights and champagne and holiday frolics are over-what do you have to look forward to then?

A lifetime of adaption, 'give and take'? Nothing would depress me more than losing a part of myself to make a relationship continue on in a land far, far away from the world in which you both fell in love with each other. What about this for food for thought?

http://www.askthecomputerwizard.com/blair/images/page%20171/Married%20Life.jpg

ok rant over. Anyone for tennis?

lazy hairdressers?

So I decided to get the gruaig cut today and not for the first time was extremely pissed off by the lack of attention I got from my hair 'technician'. Now I know we may all have a bad day at the office/salon-but a bit of focus considering I'm paying 60e and an extra 'voluntary' tip wouldn't go astray. Mirror-watching my hair being severed by a person staring at other colleagues/punters does not make for a joyous experience. After recently finding out that there are 'keeping customer content and comfortable' exams in hairdressing school, I'm only more frustrated. The end result wasn't the worst though, and I did spill a cup of coffee on the floor so maybe I'm being a little harsh.