A month without alcohol

Yes thats right the last post to grace the main thrusting thing. Yes it has been over a week since my last post and no it has not been a month since I stopped drinking. So why end this beautiful section in my lovely blog? I know: Because I’ve been drinking every day this week! It is fantastic! I love college, no other institution would allow you go to the pub at 1.30pm on a Wednesday! Its as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders and replaced with the type of empty highs and lows which originally caused me to start this blog.
I’m not happy when I’m by myself and I don’t know why. I think it goes beyond alcohol but I don’t know if thats the truth or if its just my brain subconciously trying to stop me trying to quit again. There is some bad mojo in the air

Before I start: It turns out that wordpress keep a record of when you post stuff up(slow clap is welcome as always). This means that I was able to count the days I left out and calculate that I have now been sober for 19 days.

I couldn’t get into a club last night due to the lack of a ‘proper I.D.’. ‘Sorry son, we only accept Garda ID’s or Passports’ says he. I had a brand new student card, printed that afternoon, which stated that not only am I a college student but I am most certainly over 18. He knew full well that it wasn’t fake, he also knew that its easier(somewhat ironically) to buy a fake Garda ID than a fake student ID. He just didn’t like the look of me and decided to be a cunt. He let all my mates in of course, to emphasize how unneccesary his power trip was. I suppose its understandable though: if I was short fat bald and ugly I’d be pretty pissed off too, I’d be a pathetic little schoolyard bully trapped inside a big mans suit too, I’d have no social skills either, I’d probably end up as a bouncer.
This isn’t the first time I’ve had a problem with bouncers. Anyone who goes to gigs in Dublin knows that scrawny dictator with no front teeth who stands in front of the stage at all the big indoor gigs. He’s threatened to kick me out of 4 moshworthy gigs for, wait for it, moshing(motorhead, dropkick murphy’sX2, the Pogues, RHCP and I’m certain there were others). Granted, in the wrong venue, moshing is a tad anti-social but we’re talking about bands like dropkick Murphy’s here. If it was James Brown I’d understand but punk gigs aren’t fun when your not sweating, bouncing or generally rocking out. He ruins gigs like that.
He’s also a big pussy. By shear coincedence Murphy’s were supporting the Pogues last Christmas. The pit was empty for the support act as all the pogues fans, in keeping with stereotype, were at the bar. Toothless joe ran the show, you couldn’t look left or right without the cunt giving you a dirty look. The crowd wasn’t allowed move for the whole set. Everything changed when Shane and the boys came out though. All of a sudden the skinny little punk crowd of Murphy’s was replaced by the Pogues crowd-big fat skinhead scary bastards who’d been drinking all day. The bouncer just stood back and watched for the rest of the gig as these pendulem shaped monsters beat the living shit out of everything that moved(it was great fun actually). What transpired was much more dangerous than any of the stuff which he’d earlier been so hard handed about-the big pussy was scared to give out, scared to do what he considered his job. His big girls blouse-like behaviour just proves that the man suffers from chronic small dog syndrome.

I just hate when they act like wankers. I have met nice bouncers though like the one in Galway who asked me if I had ID, I said no, he said ‘ah fuck it, go on anyway ye little skut’-I was 16 at the time

I haven’t been here in a while and as a result I have absolutely no idea how many days I’ve been at this sobriety larf. Todays Tuesday but I haven’t been online since a time which seemed very distant last Saturday which means that I haven’t been online for a very long time indeed. Anyone confused by the above sentence should not feel stupid because it actually doesn’t make sense, grammatically speaking.
As its been a very long time since my last post a lot has happened since said post. You may notice my newfound penchant for confused and repetitive sentences for one thing. The rest however is an odd amalgamation of epiphanys, hypothesis, prophecies and most important of all-stories.
Starting with epiphanies: I don’t need to be drunk to be crazy and stupid! Thats right folks, I do not rely on dutch courage to make myself do bizzare and unneccesary things and the proof of the pudding came on Saturday night/morning.
I was at an 18th held in the deserved honour of a good friend of mine. She lives out in the sticks in one of those massive houses that you can buy down the country for the price of a shed in Dublin. Its nearly the perfect party house, the only problem is that its damn near impossible to get home from. Hence, most people just crash overnight as I did.
She had a tent set up in the backgarden for dancing and what not. It is at this point that I must admit (despite being obsessed with all forms of music) I’m not naturally inclined towards the dancefloor. The night passed smoothly and soberly until about 2am at which point I heard the seductive snarl of one Keith Flint pounding out of the speakers. The tent was pretty much empty, as it had been most of the night. I decided to take drastic action that was more than a bit out of character.
I let forth a mighty battlecry ‘lads, lets have a rave-it’ll be deadly!’. Initially few heeded my promise of a night spent staring at christmas lights in a steaming sweat laden tent with the Prodigy pounding out of the speakers. In fact it took some serious work just to get us up to double figures. It carried on until 3:30 with about 15 of us in there.
At this point we started getting word from inside that people were going to sleep! Shocked and appauled I decided that it was time to initiate a game of last man standing as a message to all the boring sleepy heads inside. We danced until half 7 in the morning only stopping when our number had whittled down to two(me and one other guy who happened to be wearing a darth vadar mask for added trancy effect). In fact the real reason we stopped was because the lady of the house had risen and started cleaning up around us, oh and I was barely able to stand.
Now granted this isn’t really worthy of status as a crazy story. Crazy stories are usually based around that time we bought a watermelon at 3am and threw it off the overpass or when the lads got pulled over on halloween(the driver was only wearing his boxers and the passenger was dressed up as a priest) or when I broke into a hotel in Munich and beat the shit into one of their fire extinguishers then went downstairs and asked for directions home at reception! But this is a crazy story see, its crazy because its such an absolutely ludicrous scene to imagine: Me dancing in a wifebeater with darth vadar and 4 other mad scones while about thirty people inside try to get to sleep, all this in the arse-end of nowhere too. Now consider the irony that most of the people indoors had called me boring for not drinking at some point during the night.
That night/morning resulted in one other epiphany too. I didn’t get hungover-my God what a feeling! I had actually forgotten what it was like to look back on a really enjoyable night and not feel like shit. Not being hungover is amazing it really is.
More stuff happened to me but this is long enough as it is so……………………

Bhíos sa gcolláiste inniú don chéad uair riamh inniú. Thug duine éigean cárta dom i rith an lá faoin cummann catharnach ‘aware’. Bíonn siad ag phlé le daoine óga a bhfuil gafa ag an gruaim go hiondúil, is dóigh gur thosaigh siad ag obair de theasca an mhéad fir óg a chuireann láimh ina bhás féin gach bliann. Chuir sé ag smaoineamh mé, cén fáth a bhfuil an faidhb seo comh coitianta in Éireann sa lá atá inniú ann?
An ceist is mó atá agam ná, an rud nua é seo nó an pháirt dothinsithe don phearsanta Éireannach é? Féach ar na laochra stairiúl a bhfuil againn, chuir chuid mhór dóibh láimh ina bhás féin(Wolfe Tone nó CúChullainn).
I ndáiríre níl aon freagra amháin ach ba mhaith liom cúpla de na freagraí is tuaraimí eagsúile a fheiceáil scríobhte síos anseo

I pulled an absolute freaker at work today, some racist aule granny with a west brit accent started giving out to me because I work for Oxfam! Fucking Nazi Cunt! I don’t need that ye mad bat!
‘can’t they help themselves, they’ve had independence since the seventies’ she said, well even the most cursory knowledge of Irish history will tell you that it took more than a few years(after the war of independence and a vicious civil war) for us to get back on our feet after the withdrawal of colonial forces. Even at that, it took massive intervention and investment from the EU just to get us started on the rocky road back to the first world.
Having informed her of this with all the politness and grace my seething temper would allow she retorted with much vigour ‘ah sure there was no civilisation in Africa beforehand, weren’t they just goin around naked an’livin’in huts’. I offered up a humble one word answer: ‘Egypt’. Then she tried to tell me that thats not in Africa! It was at this point I started cursing as she waddled away pushing her big rusty bike-CUNT!
Needless to say she wasn’t the last pain in bollox that I met. A much more conventional racist granny. She saw the Oxfam sign on my folder and let rip. ‘Is it not enough that they come into this country and start taking over without you asking us to give more money!’ said she indignantly. My blood was still up since the last one so I skipped the foreplay. I turned on my heal and started explaining to her in Irish why, as an Irish person, racism was in itself a betrayal of your own ancestory and history and culture and all the sacrifices made on your behalf( be they in kinsale, Vinnegar hill, the GPO, the H-Block or wherever else you want to squeeze out some republicanism). Needless to say she didn’t understand a word I said hence proving her true ignorance. Not even knowing the culture she’s trying to protect from foreign dilution the womans argument cracked and crumbled to the ground, still though I will add the obligatory-CUNT!
To add and justify my comments above regarding Irish people and racism. Irish people have not the right to racism. Why? Because its not so long ago that you could go abroad and see signs in shop windows that said ‘No Blacks, No Jews, No Irish and No Dogs’. My point being that as we too come from the bottom of the pile we are brothers of all the other oppressed peoples(in a manner of speaking). That is to say that a racist Irish person forfeits the right to call themselves Irish by holding racist opinions and commiting racist acts. This is because they are themselves no better than the people who oppressed us for centuries, if they had the chance they would renounce their birth and side with the oppressor. They are in a sense turning on their own. Plus the fact that its just plain wrong.
Another point I’d like to make to anyone complaining about the influx of immigrants coming into this country is the fact that its just plain hypocritical. Irish people have travelled the world in search of work and refuge-can you name one major city in the worls that does not have an Irish pub? Secondly I’d like to ask how many of your own relatives had to move? How many aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters of yours have worked illegally in America? We built half of the modern world for Christs sake! And now, modern Ireland is being forged in an economic furnace run by the sweat and hard work of Polish, Nigerian and Chinese workers.
We don’t have the right to turn these people away. America has taken our coffin ships for long enough and its about time we repaid our debt to the rest of the world. Those are my beliefs in pricipal at least, I know full well that its not going to be all sunshine and lollipops in reality but the least we can do is get our principals right

I just realised that people read this-wow! feel free to comment and pad my ego, I’d really like to know what kind of people listen to the shit I come out with.

I also just realised that I’m just after reading a frightfully similar article on someone else’s blog

I also just realised that this is a bit of a waste of a comment, a particularily badly written waste of a comment. I’ll post some poetry or something to balance it out

Right, so I went down to the pub last night to watch the match(Germany 1-0 Ireland) and needless to say I was not having my usual tasty Guinness. It was going fine, not drinking? Not a problem, bar the fairly constant jibes at my sexuality(based purely and solely on my non-consumption of alcohol).
Yes, it was going perfectly. Perfectly that was until an X-work colleague by the name of Falco came in. He had quit the day previously and his new job, as he so rudely revealed, brought him forth in the mishapen guise of the Devil! The Devil doth tempt the weak at their lowest ebb. Ireland were 1-0 down from a cruel deflection, I was stone cold sober and I’ve never felt so alone. He was a drinks promoter. He offered me a free pint. How could I say no? What was I to do? I caved ladies and gents, I caved. And lo, the devil himself sat before me, black, heavy and hatefilled.
But by the grace of God I did find my streangth. In keeping with his usual manner-the devil promised much as a free pint but tasted minging as a new experimental brew of Becks. Any other brew would have roped me in and left me as a drunken heap on the floor but that stuff was genuinely disgusting. I’m talking about stale liquerish coated with mayonaise and left out in the desert sun-it was rotten! It tasted like the dregs of a thousand cursed pints gathered in a boxers spit bucket and fermented underneath a radiator-it was absolute dirt! That said, in the full of my drinking swing I would have minced through as many as my taste buds could support purely because it was free.
In other news, I finally got round to making up a nice pseudoname. Well actually I made it up quite a while ago but this is the first time I’ve actually used it. Anyone who doesn’t have a nerdish fascination with how a genius of my callibar comes up with such creative names and titles should probably stop reding now.
Basically, I took my first name from the nickname I had one fateful summer in the Gaeilteacht-me and about 5 million other gingers. The surname is a different story however. My real name, which I won’t mention, is one of the oldest surnames in northern Europe and certainly the oldest name in Ireland. It dates from about 940-80 AD. Its a strange corruption of old Irish and Latin, neither of which are languages which I actually speak. I decided to simply translate it as closely as I could to modern ‘caighdeán’ Irish. Then I twisted it a bit more so that it was at least pronouncable. Hence, despite having a pseudoname which appears completely different from my actual name I haven’t actually changed a thing. And so Rua MacTírean was born

Yes, I am a complete fucking loser

Guille anseo a buachaillí is a chailíní agus inseoidh mé scéal díobh. Bhí fearr ann fadó fadó as Baile Áithe Chliath. Rugadh agus tógadh é ann, bhí sé bródúil cearrt as freisin, ach is ó thuaigh a tháinig a chlann. Togha fearr é i siúile gach aon duine a riamh chas air. Bhí sé cliste, láidir, crógadh agus(an rud is tabhachtaigh, is dóigh) bhí sé píosa craic. Ionomarca craic fiú ó am go ham, ach sin scéal eile.
Ní raibh sé foirfe áfach. Bhí sé bródúil is stuama is santach. Bródúil, sin an focail a chuireann i gcuimhne é is mó dom. Bhí faitíos an domhain air cabhair

this is shite, I’m posting it so that I don’t have to waste anymore time playing with it

Not Drinking has been shockingly easy so far and frankly I’m a little bored talking about it(anyone who has read any of my previous posts will know that I haven’t actually spent that much time talking about it anyway-which shows just how boring it is).
Right now I’m weighing it up in my head whether I’d like to spend my night with two very attractive young women or go to sleep and dream about spending my night with two very attractive young women. What the fuck is wrong with me? This should be a no-brainer right? Well to my superiour intellect, which is purely for thinking not doing, its actually quite complex. Its quite complex because I’m tired and I’m trying to justify being a boring tosser. No, really, I am a boring tosser.
In fact, anyone who has time to write to their blog has far too much time on their hands. You have to ask yourself why your not doing the typical teenage thing of drinking, fucking and then drinking some more. Us so-called intellectuals pride ourselves on our ability to reflect on and analyse the world around us but truth be told this capacity for ‘higher thought’ is not a natural flair or inclination, towards such lofty notions as philosophy and politics, more it is a complete lack of anything better to do. If our days were crammed from start to finish with excitement and stimulation, like those people who so many disdain from, we may never have discovered the element Argon-heaven forbid! Yes lady’s and gentlemen, you are right, I couldn’t give a flying fuck about the discovery of Argon and no it doesn’t have any practical uses. Hence, whoever discovered it would have had a much more fulfilling life drinking, fucking and then drinking some more.
I want every day to feel like a Dropkick Murphy’s concert or a heart wrenching Shane Mcgowen lyric or a Sex Pistols two finger lyric. We all know the feeling where the blood rushes into your muscles as everything tenses and loosens at the same time creating the natural high derived purely and solely from the emotional rollercoaster that we call life. I want to feel that everyday. I want love,hate, ecstacy and tragedy all at once. I want ferocious and uncompromising tenderness. I want to feel the bloodlust rage within me everyday brutally brooding and searching for an outlet. I want to be uncontrollably in love. I want to experience every single facet of my emotional spectrum and challenge every belief I hold dear.

But tonight I’m a bit tired and the playstation beckons. Ironic no? Playstation being the most emotionally numbing device known to man etc.