Packing Dilemmas, Holiday Excitement and English Boys

Packing is hard. It's not natural. How is a silly little lady like myself supposed to know what she'll feel like wearing every day for the next more than two weeks? C'est impossible! Nílim ábalta! I know some humans out there get their clothes ready days in advance, or at least the night before, and some of those inhuman humans can somehow pack confident in the knowledge that they aren't forgetting anything and have everything they need, but I'm not of these people. Yes, occasionally I know what I'll wear in advance, for an occasion! Not a whole fortnight... But usually I spend at least 20 minutes staring blankly into my wardrobe, completely dazed and incapable of choosing. There's never anything to wear. As a female, the words "I have nothing to wear!" being screamed every time I look for an outfit, are acceptable, and it is my right, as a lady, to have a mini tantrum or breakdown every time alongside this exclamation. Saying all this, le boif seems to think he's a lady in the clothes choosing department too... But no matter how many "should I bring a shirt and tie"s or "I don't know what shoes to bring"s he gives me, I have enough of my own packing dilemmas, I cannot play mummy and pack for him too! I don't mind his little clothes interjections every few minutes though, he is le boif after all, and a lovable one at that.

So, how about I help all you packing people out there with a few tips I came up with all on my own?

1. If you're going on a plane, pack at least 3 big bottles of nail polish remover, shampoo and conditioner, along with your machine gun, hand grenade and blades, just in case customs start giving you any trouble.
2. Also if you're going on a plane, don't bring your passport, nobody cares about them anymore, I mean technology has taken over, your iPhone will suffice.
3. Bring as many suitcases as you want, it's not like they charge you extra to bring another.

That's how aeroplane packing works, right?

Anyway, as you might have guessed, I'm not going on an aeroplane - oh, and the destination is England by the way - because ferries all the way. My favourite bit will be the 5 hour car journey in the Nissan Micra with us three kids in the back. It'll be so roomy. I can't complain though, le boif's family are pretty much treating me to a holiday, and even surprised me by extending the holiday so we can go to a Japanese festival (wannabe Japanese nut over here). Aren't they so cute?

Even if it's only across the water, to England, we're all still very excited. I have never been, believe it or not, and my fears of going are trying to remember which side of the escalator you're supposed to stand on, and which side to walk on (Ireland doesn't have any of these silly little rules that make sense, we don't like social unspoken rules, we like Guinness), that I'll get extremely lost and accidentally die, and that I'll fall in love with every single person there with an English accent. I'm a sucker for a cute English boy, ask le boif, and even he is worried about silly little me cooing, giggling and fangirling every time I meet a young fellow with a cute accent, especially his silly little friends! I'll try to restrain myself but I am a girl after all, you can't blame me. I will end up with an English accent after being there for a while though. Camouflage and all that jazz. Gotta be careful so I won't get the "no dogs or Irish" response my granddad did... I kid, it's not the 60s anymore. But I do tend to develop an English accent when chatting undilutedly to English people (and by undilutedly I mean only). My Japanese friend has ordered me to Skype her when my accent reaches its peak. Even Japanese girls love an English accent... I'd say le boif will get a top up on his little London-Irish accent (the Irish part obviously, I jest, I jest) and that'll keep me entertained for at least the rest of the summer. He'll just be stuck saying the words dance, France, girl and bad-ass for my giggles, but he's aware of these terms and conditions.

Just as I'm aware of the terms and conditions relating to le boif's clothes shopping, and over-excitement. I will be playing in suit shops all day, and I will be given at least one headache from rapid loud nonsense speak. But such is love, eh? I put up with his silliness, while he puts up with mine. Happy out.

Disaster, Cute Couple Time, Common Sense and General Knowledge

Home at last! But not without calamity!

My mother broke her finger in a foreign land and has been flitting from doctor to doctor in search of adequate medical attention ever since. Also, my state of sanity is being tested by the scorcher of a day it is turning out to be. Not to mention I left my phone in le boif's car, and feel naked without it.

Regardless, the weekend came to a close on a positive note for me, myself and I.

Yesterday I had a very cute couple-y day, consisting of painfully giggly giggles, us two goggly glasses teens reading our books together like old age pensioner married couples, coffee, flicking through guitar, bass, Beatles and album cover books, and cinnamon buns.

Now, my boif ain't known for his common sense, but it's a whole 'nother story when you end up in his neck of the woods, topic-wise. He may have trouble applying butter to a slice of bread, or even toast for that matter, but ask him the year >insert name of some guitar< came about, who played it, and ask him to draw it and you'll find he's more than capable to make you feel like you're the one lacking in common sense. I'm not complaining, I find it quite an endearing thing. I'm aware of my lack of knowledge in the matter, and especially because of that I love to hear someone chat knowledgeably in their niche that is so foreign to my ears. To me, it's fascinating to hear le boif recite a load of specifics, and years of albums, makes/models and artists, that even if I read 10 books on each, from cover to cover, I wouldn't know a single solid fact, never mind any dates or years. But I guess that's the way my head works.

While le boif lacks common sense, I lack general knowledge. Don't ask me who Rolf Harris is, I couldn't point Alex Turner from the Arctic Monkeys out of a line up, despite the fact that I love them (I barely even know the lead singer's name), but I could recite whole script (or at least whole scenes) from Anchorman, Napoleon Dynamite or The Breakfast Club, and I'm quite adequate at solving equations, if I do say so myself.

I guess oddballs fall for adorable fellow oddballs; I'm not complaining.

Whilst looking through/looking at the pictures of the book Fab Gear, a very unexpectedly large book about the clothing of The Beatles, I began wondering how the authors could possibly fill a whole book with descriptions and such of the clothes, when all you need are the pictures. So I ventured into the dangerously comical world of reading the descriptions of each photo, and I was not disappointed. The analyses were splendidly hyperbolic and melodramatic, to the point of inducing stitches of laughter in both myself and my other, nearly wakening the entire household.

(All doodles are courtesy of le boif, thanks for that!)

A Typical Day, Sleepiness, Chores, and Messy Rooms

Well, after an exhausting but amazing yesterday, today arrived too soon. As my mother flitted off to her computer-y course (only after giving me a mini chore list), and I drifted back to sleep, all too soon I was violently forced to stumble reluctantly out of my bed to answer the home phone I so seldom touch for fear of having to talk to strangers, or anyone I know for that matter. But alas, stumble and groggily answer I did, managing to show off my skill of sounding refreshed and awake even when I hate everything but bed and can't yet fully open my freshly baked eyes. I have developed such a useful skill from years of pretending I'm awake for school, while sneakily catching 3 more Zs. Anyway, I did my moral duty to take a message for my mother, while sounding perky and pleasant, and I ran back to bed for some more dozy moments before having to arise again, one final time.

All too soon that time did come, and my enjoyable but slightly mundane dreaming ended, as I was obligated to vacuum up non-existent dirt, whilst wrestling with irritating cables, and trying to balance the vacuum on each stair, and to dispose of all the fresh, warm clothes to their appropriate places of residence. (I promise I'm finished describing boring things soon.) After all these duties were finished, only a handful remained: 

Packing

Tidy My Room

Blog

Now I have mentioned my mother in this post once before, briefly, and I shall do so again. This morning she was flitting off to her course, and tomorrow she'll be flitting off to Prague, for a weekend away, like the lucky duckling she is. I say "flitting" because that's what she does. My mummy flits. She's always in a busy busy rush, hence the quickness, and she's also a little lady, like myself, hence the littleness. Quick+little=flit, like a little birdy flitting from branch to branch, singing his songlings. As I was saying, she's flitting off to Prague, so I must pack, for I shall be residing at le boif's family home for the weekend, thanks to a kindly invite. 

Usually packing is a tremendous difficulty for a silly little lady who never knows what she'll want to wear a day in advance, always has a messy room and can't find any of the clothes she wants to wear. Today's episode was different. It's summer! And along came the warm weather! And with the warm weather, out comes bright colours, skirts and long socks! I'm so accustomed to cold Irish weather that if it's sunny, I must dress nicely, I feel it's an insult to the day if I wear jeans. 

After packing, I helped my mummy fill out a form, so we can hopefully (cross your damn fingers for us) be a host family for an exchange student. Within the form however, we had to give brief descriptions of each family member... I was summed up in a few words, one of which being the unfitting term 'outgoing', which I'm far from. Chatty and talkative I may be in the company of loved ones, but only when I have something to say, and usually, in that scenario, I'm silent up until I deliver a speech, or participate in a debate, and then resume my quiet state. The task got me to thinking about how difficult it is to sum up a loved one in a few words. The usual positive words such as 'caring', 'kind', 'funny', 'chatty' and 'honest' are thrown around very often in this context, but they never do much justice. They can't possibly paint a picture of the person, the way we know them to be, in all their uniqueness, because no word is unique. We'd need to make up a whole new word for each quality they possess in order to get it right. Words are too universal for changeable, sensitive creatures like humans.

The only obstacle left in my day was my disgracefully messy room. Clothes were strewn all over the floor and I had been avoiding properly tidying my wardrobe for a number of years. I proudly say 'had' in that sentence, as opposed to 'have', as I have finally tackled the outstanding issue. 2 black sacks, a cloakroom full of coats, and much hanging and folding later, I found my bedroom floor and could breathe again. 

After a shower, and after trimming my fringe terribly as usual, here I am, completing my checklist. 

Blog=done.