At the request of a few anonymous information seekers (or maybe the same one each time, who am I to know?) I've written this list of my all time favourite twitter accounts. To make things fair I'm going to cover a few "categories" and list no more than 2 people in each. Otherwise, I'm just going to end up listing everyone I follow, and then what's the point?
Repeal the 8th Huns
The 2 most important gals to follow, if you're DETERMINED for the 8th to be repealed, or need a lil convincing:
@RebeccahLouise
@ScauldySpears
Daily Struggle Huns
2 more gals who just understand the struggle of day to day life and who are absolutely gas about it.
@nessadinneen
@rachelmakes_
Ones To Make You Laugh
These 2 always have me laughing into my phone. Always on point with their tweets
@LeanIago
@SeanMarum
(congratulations to Sean for being the first lad to make this list.)
The Perfect Work/Life Balance
Perfect for knowing that other people balance work and life and who doesn't need a lil professionalism on their timeline every now and then? Gas journalism, gas rocks. Good stuff outta them.
@AoifeLOL
@KevInJuly
Because I Need More Men
What's gender equality without recognising lads for their fire tweets? (And I've only had to shift one of them...)
@notstelfc
@MrNeeson
Tip Top Make-Up Huns
A gal like me is WEAK to root through other people's make up bags and these 2 have theirs all over their instagrams, Keep fighting that good fight huns.
@RayTheRoo
@GraceyOConnell
Maynooth Pals
3 years spent with the best pals and now I have to narrow my list down to 2 people? Rude of me.
@Rachel_Anne13
@livlila
Medievalists/Academics
They're pure sound, go follow them and learn something. (They follow me back and I feel bad that they have to read my shitshow of a life while I try and learn something even remotely medieval.)
@TomCODonnell
@FW_Medieval
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Musings of a Bollox in red Lipstick
Firstly, this is in no way to be taken seriously. I also do not wish to cause offence to any previous suitors. The purpose of this post is so I can have a good long laugh at all of my previous romantic encounters. If I have to mention names, they will be changed.
It is no great mystery that my love life has been more than colourful... but with every up has come an ever bigger down.
For example:
(note: these are also not in chronological order to avoid possible identification)
Boy 1:
If I'm ever to sit back and think "what the fuck?" it'll be about this boy.
A few months into our rather tumultuous fling, Mr. Not-So-Right looks me dead in the eyes and says "I regret leaving my ex for you."
Now that I look back on that romantic statement, I can't help but laugh out loud, I only remembered this recently but it gets me every time.
We stayed together for a little while after but if all good things come to an end, then apparently so must the bad ones.
Boy 2:
Where do I even begin? I wouldn't have classed this one as being a boy in my life only for the fact I was heart-eyes-emoji over him for 2 years and he used to barely nod his head at me if he saw me. My poor heart would flutter. As all good relationships start, we matched on Tinder one day. I thought nothing of it, sure everyone matches with people they know. Shut up, Éimear, he doesn't fancy you, stop that.
Long story short, we shifted all of about once. We didn't speak for 3 months when he then decided to break up with me out of absolutely nowhere.
Was I unknowingly in a relationship with this practical stranger? News to me.
Boy 3:
As with all of my romantic endeavours, I couldn't hold this one down for longer than a few months. It was only well after our break up that all of my friends thought he'd be in the news some day as a convicted serial killer. The sad thing is, I know they're right. What a fuckin' looper. I won't delve any deeper when it comes to this one, but lets just say I won't be visiting him in jail.
Boy 4:
Well if I've ever been in love, this was it. Talk about a generic Irish boy, lives with the parents on the farm in Kerry, only wears check shirts and chinos, bit thick, but G O R G E O U S. It's no secret that I'm in love with this boy and have been for the last 4 years. (Out of these 4 years, I haven't spoken to him for 3.)
It's Muster Final night 2015, Kerry were playing Cork in my lovely hometown of Killarney, myself and the #gals are out revelling in the post match crowd. I'm talking to a boy on the dancefloor, when out of the corner of my eye, I see him. Having not spoken in 3 years, I'm sprinting across the room to say hello to him and have a laugh. We got separated pretty quickly and I got very distracted by the fact Kevin McCloud (yes, the man from Grand Designs) or his exact double was at the bar. No one would listen to me. It WAS Kevin McCloud.
Eventually, who's next to me on the dancefloor only himself, all 6ft7 of him. I was hammered and needed to tell him that Kevin McCloud IS IN THE BUILDING. HE IS, I SWEAR.
Me being a miserable 5ft8 by comparison required him to bend over to listen to me over the music. He had absolutely no idea who I was talking about (and rightly so. Who under the age of 40 admits to watching Grand Designs???) and he could only say "what?!" so many times before it got awkward. Sure his face was right there, so was mine, we might as well.
The girls (who are all well aware of my grá for the boy) have never laughed as much in their lives. Admittedly, neither have I.
Either way, I wished the prick a happy birthday on facebook a while back and he never even liked the post. Gowl.
Boy 5:
I distinctly remember talking to this one on Tinder and unmatching him within half an hour. This lad sent shivers down my spine and made me weep for humanity.
I was out with the #gals one night, a few drinks in and we're tearing lumps out of the dancefloor. We had all been picked off by lads. One by one we parted ways to spend time making awkward conversation with lanky, spotty, over-mammied Kerry boys in the hopes of a few free drinks.
A very tall, very dark, VERY handsome boy comes over to me, he seemed fun to talk to and next thing I know we're shifting. (#RESULT)
By the end of the night, my feet hurt from dancing and I'm fit to collapse into a taxi home, already half-way through my 3in1.
All of a sudden, I see this boy in the street with his friends. Certainly a lot better looking when I'm drunk and it's dark. I remembered he was gas so I went over for the chats but realised I didn't know his name. As soon as I asked, it dawned on me. This was him. The pervert from Tinder. I've never run so fast in my life.
Sunday, August 16, 2015
All I Remember Is Alzheimer's.
This is by no means a post to generate sympathy, this is not to be considered me "opening up" about the past 6 years of my life. I am open about them, they're not a taboo subject.
This is an attempt to voice my opinion in more than one tweet at a time and I hope you'll read on with an open mind...if you read on at all.
A little under 6 years ago my father fell gravely ill, he survived but with one major complication: he would spend the rest of his life brain damaged. Initially, we didn't know how severe this would be, how it would manifest itself or what we were going to do. (Keep in mind, it was about a month before my 13th birthday, Mam probably knew but didn't tell me. I don't blame her.)
It turned out that my father recovered physically, walking, talking. coffee drinking. cross-word completing, chocolate-eating, and giving out better than ever before.
However he suffered from dementia.
Over the next few years, I watched a man I grew up with become a stranger. I no longer knew the man who would sit in front of me at the kitchen table. I became a babysitter.
It got to the stage where I would have to stay up all night and listen to see if he would get up and walk around the house, to see if he would hurt himself, to see if he would do something like turn on the gas stove and leave it on. He genuinely did not know where he was or what he was doing. Our home turned into something akin to a prison. We were all trapped.
Shortly after I moved to college things got progressively worse. He was constantly agitated, confused, dazed, easy to anger. Not the man we knew. My mother and I could no longer care for him, we didn't have the means to do so, he was in and out of hospital, and after MONTHS of internal debate, deliberation and tears, we knew he couldn't stay at home.
A nursing home was the only thing to do. It wasn't a case of "we're sick of you, off you go, we'll visit," It was a case of extreme necessity.
Many months of paperwork, visits from people who organise these things and people who probably don't, my father finally ended up in a nursing home close to home.
At this stage, 4 and a half years had passed, he was feeble, frail and half the man he used to be. Unrecognisable from his former glory.
Here, I watched his demise. We would visit and find him alone and isolated, he had lost all his social skills. He lost all his strength.
My mother, during this time, was a trooper. She visited daily, bringing newspapers, books filled with pictures, sweets, treats, CDs, fresh aftershaves, we made conversation over topics that he didn't have to think about. We learned to phrase questions like "I don't think I told you about XYZ but..." when we had told him about it 10 minutes previously.
At one point, my mother spoonfed him yogurts as he was too weak to eat.
Tea had to be thickened because he would choke on it. Solid food was a thing of the distant past.
The last time I spoke to him, we sat down and looked at a picture book, filled with pictures of his old hometown. He told me stories, I nodded along, careful to ask questions I knew he could answer.
Over the course of 5 years I literally watched a human being rot from the inside out.
He soon lost his speech. The last full sentence I heard him speak was "give me the paw" to a therapy dog.
I don't think I can do justice to the pain caused by this disease, not only to my father but to his family.
So I definitely can't put into words how much a ~certain~ novel/film/soon to be tv series angers me.
I'm sure everyone knows what I'm talking about when I say THAT film that romanticises Alzheimer's disease.
Because I'm 100% certain that when my parents got married many years ago that my mother's idea of her future was her spoonfeeding her husband in a locked ward in a nursing home. I'm sure she couldn't wait to have her only child go through the Leaving Cert and move away to college while babysitting an Alzheimer's patient. I'm sure the most romantic thing she ever did was sign the DNR papers, alone, I adored crying myself to sleep most nights because I was loosing my father and there was nothing I could do.
I'm sure she adored meeting me off the last train home, one unforgiving January night and telling me "things aren't good inside (in the home)"
I loved seeing my father helpless and drugged, sedated.
The most fun I ever had was when we nearly crashed the car on an emergency visit to say goodbye (for the 3rd time that day) as advised by the nurses.
The greatest morning of my life was the 19th of January when my mother woke me to tell me the news.
So fuck The Notebook and fuck anyone that claims it's the "most romantic film ever" because the reality of Alzheimer's disease is the furthest thing from romantic.
This is an attempt to voice my opinion in more than one tweet at a time and I hope you'll read on with an open mind...if you read on at all.
A little under 6 years ago my father fell gravely ill, he survived but with one major complication: he would spend the rest of his life brain damaged. Initially, we didn't know how severe this would be, how it would manifest itself or what we were going to do. (Keep in mind, it was about a month before my 13th birthday, Mam probably knew but didn't tell me. I don't blame her.)
It turned out that my father recovered physically, walking, talking. coffee drinking. cross-word completing, chocolate-eating, and giving out better than ever before.
However he suffered from dementia.
Over the next few years, I watched a man I grew up with become a stranger. I no longer knew the man who would sit in front of me at the kitchen table. I became a babysitter.
It got to the stage where I would have to stay up all night and listen to see if he would get up and walk around the house, to see if he would hurt himself, to see if he would do something like turn on the gas stove and leave it on. He genuinely did not know where he was or what he was doing. Our home turned into something akin to a prison. We were all trapped.
Shortly after I moved to college things got progressively worse. He was constantly agitated, confused, dazed, easy to anger. Not the man we knew. My mother and I could no longer care for him, we didn't have the means to do so, he was in and out of hospital, and after MONTHS of internal debate, deliberation and tears, we knew he couldn't stay at home.
A nursing home was the only thing to do. It wasn't a case of "we're sick of you, off you go, we'll visit," It was a case of extreme necessity.
Many months of paperwork, visits from people who organise these things and people who probably don't, my father finally ended up in a nursing home close to home.
At this stage, 4 and a half years had passed, he was feeble, frail and half the man he used to be. Unrecognisable from his former glory.
Here, I watched his demise. We would visit and find him alone and isolated, he had lost all his social skills. He lost all his strength.
My mother, during this time, was a trooper. She visited daily, bringing newspapers, books filled with pictures, sweets, treats, CDs, fresh aftershaves, we made conversation over topics that he didn't have to think about. We learned to phrase questions like "I don't think I told you about XYZ but..." when we had told him about it 10 minutes previously.
At one point, my mother spoonfed him yogurts as he was too weak to eat.
Tea had to be thickened because he would choke on it. Solid food was a thing of the distant past.
The last time I spoke to him, we sat down and looked at a picture book, filled with pictures of his old hometown. He told me stories, I nodded along, careful to ask questions I knew he could answer.
Over the course of 5 years I literally watched a human being rot from the inside out.
He soon lost his speech. The last full sentence I heard him speak was "give me the paw" to a therapy dog.
I don't think I can do justice to the pain caused by this disease, not only to my father but to his family.
So I definitely can't put into words how much a ~certain~ novel/film/soon to be tv series angers me.
I'm sure everyone knows what I'm talking about when I say THAT film that romanticises Alzheimer's disease.
Because I'm 100% certain that when my parents got married many years ago that my mother's idea of her future was her spoonfeeding her husband in a locked ward in a nursing home. I'm sure she couldn't wait to have her only child go through the Leaving Cert and move away to college while babysitting an Alzheimer's patient. I'm sure the most romantic thing she ever did was sign the DNR papers, alone, I adored crying myself to sleep most nights because I was loosing my father and there was nothing I could do.
I'm sure she adored meeting me off the last train home, one unforgiving January night and telling me "things aren't good inside (in the home)"
I loved seeing my father helpless and drugged, sedated.
The most fun I ever had was when we nearly crashed the car on an emergency visit to say goodbye (for the 3rd time that day) as advised by the nurses.
The greatest morning of my life was the 19th of January when my mother woke me to tell me the news.
So fuck The Notebook and fuck anyone that claims it's the "most romantic film ever" because the reality of Alzheimer's disease is the furthest thing from romantic.
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