House Partaaaaaaay

Its that time of year again. House party time! Luckily not in my house ๐Ÿ™‚

SO whilst I will be gallavanting about this evening with Megan, Aimee, Emma, Niamh (the host of the shindig) and various non-blogging others, I do promise another post soon.

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One Of Those Faces

My mother has always claimed to have one of those faces. Something about it, perhaps caring, understanding, sweet, but whatever it is, random people do love to appraoch her and tell her their life story. In supermarkets, in communities, at work, no one likes anything better than reeling off their problems and highlights to Annette Stewart. And she’s not the only one. My aunts and sister are plagued by the same problem, which although for the most part is an indifferent affair, can at times be altogether withering.

I, on the other hand, have never had to deal with this, per se. Admittedly, I never have too much trouble making friends because people tend to gravitate towards me rather than vice versa, but I suppose I do give off a rather cold exterior to people outside my circle. My relative shyness makes for little conversation with new people and the headphones permanently affixed to my ears during any journey means the only sound I have to listen to on the bus is Broadway showtunes.

So, today was a bit of a change. Too tired to go look for my iPod, I high tailed it to bus without it (and got only got charged for a child ticket. Bus driver just assumed. Come get me CIE.) Nothing unusual, sitting on my own as is the norm. Then around Tutorial (for those not familiar with Limerick, this is two stops from the terminal) an elderly lady moved seats and carefully settled herself next to me. Had I my iPod with me, I would have probably turned up the Wicked soundtrack a little louder.

Then, from random comments (from her) and awkward replies (from me) a conversation sprung. About Limerick and cycling and the priests in Pallaskenry. She told me stories of biking twelve miles to get to the Savoy, where she and her friends knew the waitress, who would give them a veritable feast before heading to the movies on the floor below. She reminded me of my Nana telling us stories of back in the day when my sister and I were only young uns.

So maybe I do have one of those faces.

Although considering last night, the ultimate of creepy drunk guys decided to hang out with us for a sold hour and a half before I had him kicked out for smoking inside, maybe having one of those faces isn’t always such a good thing. ๐Ÿ™‚

The Rest Of The Action Plans

Ok, the title is a lie. Because there is no need to set out action plans for the rest of my goals. I just need to do them. In reference to Goal 2-Run a 10K, I need to find a new race. Turns out Cork Choral Festival and the Great Limerick Run are on the same day. Fail. But I have to pick Cork Choral. I love that Opera House *guuush* Fills any void I may possibly have in my musical soul. So any race ideas around the May/June time period are openly welcome ๐Ÿ™‚

This is a blatant plagiarism of both Nicole Nichol’s Confession series on the Daily Spark and Melissa’s SideNotes Series on Trying To Heal.ย But I find both so amazing that maybe its time I make this kind of thing part of my Action Plan #1. I just don’t want to make this whole blog a giant stream of “woe is me.” But at least this way, I can get it out.

So this week has been a struggle. On more days than not, I woke up feeling like I had a battle on my hands. Some days, I went to sleep feeling I had lost that battle. Other days, I felt like I had won but knowing that I’d have to fight the same battle tomorrow. Bingeing has been bad this week. But I am really trying again, resetting my resolve and trying to stay determined. I’m keeping my exercise going though. This is a step in the right direction. I’m watching calories, I admit. But the exercise is for my mind. Not as a binge/starve reaction. I am trying to focus on my running and yoga achievements (increased mileage and crow pose!)

The worst day was Tuesday night. I was in Cork and having a grand ol’ time with my friends (admittedly eating my weight in candy, but that’s another story) and we went out to a club. I was fine for the first half hour or so. Then I don’t know whether it was the amount of people, the public space, the amount of reeeeally pretty thin girls or what, but I became so self conscious and so upset that I started to hyperventilate and panic. Even after I walked out and got some air, I was like a piece of lead bringing down the whole group for the rest of the night. I wonder why becoming social has become such a big issue lately. Honestly, I’d just prefer an evening at the cinema with my mom… Is that sad or what?

In musical news, I am back in choir – first day back was exhausting! So much breathing… – and me and Daddy are setting to work on our new act. And by setting to work, we are essentially picking songs to do. But we should be singing by the week’s end ๐Ÿ™‚ As soon as we’re ready, I expect you all in Clohessy’s. Drunkenly supporting me ๐Ÿ˜›

Last Night

Worry. Nausea. Fear.

Family. Chips. Hot Water Bottle.

Anna. Megan. Jenny. Sca. GHD Curls.

Clancy. Squashing 6 people illegally into a 5 seater. Awesome speaker specs fresh from LeSAD.

The Old Cres. Cheap Drinks. Packed Bathrooms.

Dancing 90. Excellent playlists. Looking like an explorer (In a good way.)

Best Friend. Hugs. 18 kisses (for Steve.)

More Dancing. Frienassaince. Talking to people Iย ย haven’t seen in years.

Making plans that might never come true. Over-dancing guy. Hauntiness near our bags (shudder.)

Cheap taxi home. Pizza (Ryvita for me.) Late night X Factor.

Hot Chocolate. More Sca. Bed with make up still on.

That is what makes for an epic night.

Kate’s Adventures in OxegenLand

My working title for this post was “On Being The Lamest Person In Naas. Ever.” But I’m reading Lewis Carroll at the moment so I thought I would take inspiration from my surroundings.

On this Friday night, the first official night of the festival, where am I? Cosy in my pjs, watching Penn and Teller on Jonathan Ross. And I am happy out. At half 6 this morning, Amy and I donated our supplies, food and toilet paper and torches and such, to our friends and trekked over three buses back to our haven, our home, Limerick city. Perhaps there’s an irony in the sense of security one feels approaching Limerick bus station, considering its notorious reputation. But I love it (:

Getting to these three buses was an ordeal in itself. We started lining for the shuttle bus at 7:20 just to be sure we could get the Naas to Kildare at quarter past 8. But 20 minutes passed, the crowd waiting gets larger and suddenly you are told there has to be a line and you get pushed right to the back. People get moved, another line forms, and you realise three buses have left without you and your stomach spasms are getting stronger and your medicine is just not kicking in. Add to this the fact that your new and old Kerry folk are now in the line with you and their lasting impression of you is clutching a gate, screaming profanities at both the buses and your own digestive tract. Luckily, I have amazing friends who assure the organisers that we are a medical priority and we finally get a bus out of the place.

Kildare was nice. We found a cafe with epic soup and lovely passers by who kept asking were excited for the festival. The wellies were such a giveaway. We decided it was easiest to smile and nod and used our time together to have a frienaissance (she moved schools last year) and plan out our next adventure (Dundrum Shopping Centre, perhaps (: ) and also discuss the joy that was not wearing pants. I have this whole issue with wearing pants lately. The comfort of leggings, skirts and shorts is terribly appealing by comparison. Comfy as.

I’m not even disappointed. I prefer to be at home. Prefer to hang with the family today, chat to my mammy, plan to go to classical concerts with my daddy, have a sca with Aimee on the phone and be promised a salad made by my boy on Sunday. Although I did have some truly lovely moments yesterday, it did just get too much. My slight claustrophobia caused a complete episode when I was on the phone to my mom in my tiny, tiny tent and like 4 people crashed into it. I swear I thought I was getting slashed. I heard way too many stories to not be terribly paranoid. On the upside, we made friends with a lovely bus driver on our way up (he called my socks silly and warned me not lose my hat – but in the nicest possible way (: ) and dammit, I looked nice. Well, festival nice. In spite of all the looks I got ha. And I got to spend time with people who I wouldn’t usually have the chance to see too often. Which I adored.

Like I said to my nana as I came in home, it’s character building. Sure it’s an experience at least.