I'm Off To England, and a Review of English Passengers!

Last post before England! As le boif keeps reminding me. I'm still struggling to heal myself of this fun-filled cough, before I away, but time is running slim. And yes, I'll be a good girl and do as granddad tells me: "be careful of pickpockets, they're rampant there" (in London). It's such a hassle changing currency. "That's why we have the Euro" yeah, I know, I know. But I'm just moaning, I'm not for us little Irish having Euro really. Being a part of the EU, sure, but the Euro is a bit much. Saying that, do they make wallets bigger in the UK? The feckin' £20 notes barely fit in mine. Pickpockets, come at me bro. Even before my granddad's warning, I was already expecting thieving folk, I mean, I've seen Oliver. It's not like England has changed since then or anything... In fairness, the accent hasn't. As I've said before though, I'm a sucker for an English accent, so I'm not complaining. As long as my Irish little self doesn't go around bursting into fits of giggles every time anyone speaks... It's such a funny accent like... Le boif will have to control me, if I can't manage to restrain. That, or make some sort of excuse that I've got an illness, or a mental disorder or something. You can't blame me like. For a silly little lady who thinks accents are hilarious to go somewhere foreign, what do you expect me to do?

Anyway, I finished reading English Passengers by Matthew Kneale today (I was determined to get it done before England). I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed it. I loved the mixed narrative and hearing all the different accounts of things; it kept it interesting, even past the plot, as the book, in my opinion, is all about the characters. Whether you love them or hate them (mostly the latter), it's very entertaining to read. The plot was interesting itself, what with its close association to the truth, but what I probably enjoyed the most, apart from the very unique, polarised characters, was the way in which Kneale connected everything. You know from the beginning it's gonna happen, but it's just the way he ties it all up in a ribbon, the perfect linking up of characters, plots etc. It actually made me say "aahhhhhh!" out loud a couple of time, in a 'that's how it relates' type of way. The story unfolds very neatly, no strings left untied, and by the time you're finished, you're at peace with it all, everything making perfect sense. All in all it was a very cleverly written novel. Very quick and witty. There were a couple of small parts where I lost enthusiasm slightly, and read less, but these were very slight, and towards the end, after reading 50 pages, you barely notice and you want more.

I'd say my favourite character was Renshaw, which I felt I sadly didn't get to hear enough of. However, my favourite narrator would have to be (after a lot of thought) Reverend Wilson, because (no spoilers, I promise) the way he put things is just fantastic. Not the English he used, just his way of looking at and thinking of things. He has an amazing talent for making something so ordinary out as something extraordinary (you could argue it's a religious thing, but to a point; Wilson is way past that point). For anyone reading this, who hasn't read English Passengers, I'm flattered, but I'd strongly advise you to read it.

Mainly, to summarise, I'd have to say it's a story about a journey, while there is a more exact plot, it's the journey that steals the show, and within the journey, the mixing of characters, that often would usually never mix by both choice and lack of opportunity shines though. I'm a sucker for good solid characters, even more so than for a good solid plot, and this book didn't fail to deliver. I may sing praises, but trust me. Or don't. Either way, read the book.

Team America, or Should I Say Team Stupid (My least Favourite Movie)

Today, as you can see from the title, I've decided to share with you all what I think is the worst movie ever. Now I'm a silly little lady, so anybody who assumes Team America is too silly for me may assume again. If you knew me, and knew my choice in boyfriend, you'd understand that I have nothing against ridiculously silly. But just plain stupid is a whole other story.

Let me give you a brief synopsis of the plot of the movie. Team America: World Police is "an American satirical action comedy film" which centres around the lives of these purposefully stupid and badly worked puppets. The director and writers of this film are also responsible for the series South Park, which is a bit more bearable. It basically takes the mickey out of high-budget action films, and plays up stereotypes, and clichés for giggles. I never thought I could hate anything so much, even though I don't mind that type of satire. In essence, it's all about Team America, a sort of police force who employ an actor to help them take down Kim Jong-il.

Now let me tell you why I was forced to sit through this garbage. It was le boif's birthday, last summer, and he had a little get together with some friends. It was winding down time (in other words, movie time) and everyone gathered around the TV, allowing the birthday boy to choose his flick. You get the picture... To my horror, every terribly stupid (stupid being the optimum word to describe this movie) joke or badly worked puppet scene had le boif and his bromantic friend in stitches, while all I could manage was to stifle a growl. The look on my face during this abomination was one of such fury and despair that le boif thought I was angry at him, and I couldn't even manage to speak from the shock. And now my explanation and slating begins...

Firstly, I didn't even know if I could bring myself to share any links from this movie, as the language is so vile and so is everything else, but I will share a couple to illustrate my point: this movie sucks.

Let's take these video as examples. What even is there to say?

The first video: So much disgusting, so much lowbrow, very stupid, so damn much stupid. And it takes so long too. Good Jesus. Help me. It physically injured my soul. How is this funny? Why must they hurt me like this? The prolonged horror is just... What? How?

The second video: Even worse that the first. Nothing even happens! Yes they make fun of the "here's the offer, and here's the door" choice where everyone chooses the offer, but it doesn't work! Just because you mix it up doesn't mean it's good! I know, I know, "it's satire, it's supposed to be stupid, that's the point", but people actually find this funny. That's what confounds me. It's so painfully bland and tasteless. How can boring and bland be entertaining? And the vast majority of the movie is like this.

I'll share with you one more video, that's the intro to the movie, and it illustrates my annoyance in regards to the "puppetry" in the fighting part, and the lame, unintelligent, trying so hard to be witty, and to show off a shoddy budget ($32 million to be exact, don't ask me how they managed to spend all that, or where it's all gone to). The entire thing is a masterpiece of abhorrence. It's genius at its best, and by genius I mean idiocy, and by best I mean worst.

Enjoy! And pity past me for having to sit through hours of this nonsense.

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.

G.B.F. Jump Street

It is 01:20 and technically it is not today but tomorrow, but y'know, same difference. Yesterday was very nondescript apart from much movie viewing of the 21/22 Jump Street variety, both in cinema and home environments. Enjoyable I must say, but honestly, doesn't everyone, or at least every girl have a huge soft squishy marshmallow-y spot in their hearts for Jonah Hill. However, there is one problem with watching both movies in a row: confusion in the memory department. But then again, one forgets that when they see Channing Tatum (my Step Up fellow) with his shirt off, doing some parkour or something else impressive and muscle-y fit of that variety.

Today, not only have I been slightly creeped out and made jumpy by The Purge, but I was also miraculously cured by the gayest, jolliest, most quote-worthy movie that's ever been directed. This movie was indeed G.B.F. which of course stands for Gentile Bumbling Fish (I joke, Gay Best Friend of course), which I wouldn't be surprised if the four of us watching the amazing flick are the only ones to have ever seen it. It is beautiful, and the most intelligent, least predictable movie ever. While I may hate, I can't help but adore, I mean it's pure genius.

As short as this blog post is, I think I should return this iPad (which is totes awky to type on), and stop speaking to the internet before I blurt out something insane in my sleepy stupor (I love how that's a word). So Internet peeps, I'll play it like a Casanova and love you and leave you. Goodnight and such.

A Splash of Poetry

It's a terrible moment when you can't taste your coffee. I can smell it, and it smells as divine as always, but it sits there teasing me. I can feel it there lounging about in my mouth when I take a sip, but nope, no taste follows.

Anyway, today is quite an uninspired day, with a quiet me, so I've decided I'll share my writings from two more inspired days, when I had so very much to say. In other very hipster words, you can read my poetry.

The quintessence of beauty, tranquility and peace, to the foreign eye,

Is to me, a given, a burden and frankly, a bore. 

I long to be occupied, to be amongst a different species of breath,

A more active, more involved habitat, where swiftness is daily. 

But another variety calls, a more seductive, serene surrounding.

Salt, pine, sand or blossom; I suppose I could rest my head there with the same ease.

Until then, green will keep me captive in its manufactured wilderness.

And one more, in a sonnet type style.

A droplet patiently awaits its cue,

Suspended within a cotton-like fluff.

Its call is sudden and it falls when due,

Its force is gravity, its journey, rough.

As it falls, along with its brethren - quick,

What exhilaration they must enjoy!

They race one another, boasting their shtick,

With blatant disregard, like bombs deploy.

Sights the human eye can't hope to behold,

Stretch on for what seems to them a lifetime.

Each generation of droplet grows old,

And the view of the next is smoke and grime.

But each ending won't alter, just remain,

The death of a droplet, lost in the rain.

I have no titles, nor headings, forgive but don't forget me. 

I apologise for my silly little lady self today. 

My Boyfriend Loves to Shop for Clothes... Help me.

Growling laptops are quite off-putting, I must say. My chance to use the lovely Mac keyboard was destroyed due to unpredictable circumstances, and instead I must try not to provoke this growling, grumbling Acer, which I do fear may blow me to pieces if I anger it in any way.

Aaaaanyway... Today, has been... interesting. I went to Swords in Dublin with le boif, and his mummy and sissy, for some holiday shopping. Now, the usual circumstance for couples clothes shopping is quite simple, and the stereotype is rarely false: the girl drags the boy around Next, TK Maxx and Penneys, and his duty is to answer the "does my bum look big in this?" question correctly, and carry the bags. I say this stereotype is rarely wrong, but in our case (le boif and silly little me), this is severely reversed. I have long accepted the terms and conditions of le boif's admittedly camp obsession with clothes, and knew I'd have a thrilling shopping experience. 

Le boif is also aware of his oddness, and in preparation, or foresighted compensation, I was first brought to Tiger (a shop of knick-knacks), and received treats of sunglasses and a sketchbook  to keep me quiet for the next few hours. We also went to one of those fun photo booths, to be all retro and hipster, with our couple silliness. Thus ended the compensation. And so it began. After many complaints of "it's the wrong material", "they're too low cut", etc, and the trying on and modelling of the various items to be bought, I will admit, I was quite exhausted, and slightly losing the will to live. Coffee and chats did the trick though and I recovered gradually, but it was touch and go for a while, and I very nearly perished due to the overload of shopping coupled with uncomfortably warm sleepy weather.

The rest of the day was one of sunshine, sand and sea. Not bad for an Irish summer. With ice cream cones in hand, we all headed onto a Skerries beach, to soak up and relish the vitamin D we can usually only find in Super Milk in this country. Now, I'm not one for sandy beaches; yucky, dusty, microscopic annoyances getting all over your clothes and hair isn't my cup of tea. I'd much prefer a nice stony beach, on a not too hot day (so I can exist peacefully). But saying all that, I did enjoy my beach time today. 

I will admit it was quite cute couple-ish, the whole scene. Le boif lifting me, giving me piggy-back rides, falling on the sand together which sparked fits of giggles, and sharing sandy kisses, all of which are quite rom-com movie-ish. You won't find me complaining about having a movie style relationship, or anyone else out there for that matter. It's hardly a bad thing. It is incredibly cheesy and ridiculous, but so is love when you think about it, and that doesn't stop everyone from participating and enjoying the madness of it all. 

Sadly, we had to leave the beach at some stage, and no matter how long you stay, leaving isn't something you want to do. But we managed, and had a sleepy, bumpy road journey home to le boif's. Since then, we've been even more hipster cute couple-ish, playing guitar and bass together, while singing. The fun accelerated though when we relived our childhoods by playing Rayman Raving Rabbits on the Wii with le boif's lil' sis'. 

While I'm running short of new news, I gotta say, even with the growly laptop (who is behaving relatively well at present), and the lack of Mac keyboard, sitting up here in le boif's room, writing while he reads The Catcher In The Rye (thanks to my influence of course) unintentionally looking so damn cute and handsome, life is pretty damn sweet.  

Nervous Nintendo Types, Mario Stress, A New Wii, and Reliving A Childhood

Good evening, yes, it's that time again. That time where I fill you in on all my antics and musings. Welcome (back, if applicable) to The Life And Times of a Silly Little Lady.

Not a lot has drastically happened in the past couple days, except my lil' sis' has acquired a Wii. Y'know, those crazy Nintendo things where you have to move to play video games. It did surprisingly well for something forcing you to exercise. Saying that, I only know of a handful of people who haven't trading their Wiis in for some other less daring console. But there are Nintendo people, and not Nintendo people. I, am what I guess I'd call a "Nervous Nintendo" type. Don't worry, I'll elaborate.


While Nintendo are known as the good guys of the gaming industry (by good guys, I mean, for all the nerdy kids out there, no matter what age you are), I am a bit of an oddball when it comes to gaming in general. That's not to say I didn't have my nose constantly stuck in GameBoys and DSs throughout my (admittedly short) growing years (when it wasn't stuck in a book), bec- *was interrupted to do yet more chores, while my tea went cold*. Anyway. What was I saying? Yes, I was a complete Nintendo worshipper, but the games I frequented weren't Mario... I spent 100% of my GameBoy days playing Tetris, 80% of my DS time playing Animal Crossing (I nearly went out and bought a 3DS recently just so I could play the new Animal Crossing which seemed to have taken on board all my silent childhood suggestions and made them reality. I want New Leaf so baaaaaaddddd!!!!), 15% Nintendogs, and 5% 52 All Time Classics. And on the Wii, when I had one (before I traded it in...), I played 50% Rayman Raving Rabbids, and 50% WarioWare Smooth Moves. If you notice one thing about all those games, it's the fact that you don't constantly worry about dying, virtually, and having to redo the whole level all over again. This is why I was never a PlayStation or Xbox lady.

I did own both PlayStation and Xbox, but truthfully, I only played Lego games and Guitar Hero. I've often attempted to branch out into normal games, I tried to play Tomb Raider, and nearly had 7 cardiac arrests within the first level. Stupid wolves... So that didn't succeed, and I stuck with Nintendo. Now, most Nintendoers have completed Super Mario Bros. at least a handful of times, and most children find it easy, Nintendo are after all, all about the kids. Not me though... The amount of times I've fallen down those holes (ahh! fall!) and been killed by spiky fellows, I couldn't count. The amount of times I've completed a level I could. I'd estimate about 5 levels I've completed in total, and even some of those levels overlap due to me dying multiple times on the next level. I swear, it makes my blood pressure sky-rocket, and leaves me exhausted from all the stress. This is why I'd call myself a "Nervous Nintendo" type.


However, challenge me on the Super Mario Bros. mini-games and you've got a challenge, I'm such a mini-game type kid. Because I don't have to worry about death! It's enough to worry about in reality, I don't want reality invading my gaming time, especially not baby Nintendo! It's always fascinated me to watch all those proper gamers (even the not so proper Nintendo nerds I love so much) play their tension filled, thriller type games, and enjoy it, or even to watch children (or make-believe children) get through a Mario level with ease. The amount of "what? Mario? You can't play Mario? It's like the easiest kid game ever! How can that stress you out? Show me!"s I've gotten, and each time, I oblige, and fascinate them with my skills of stress and dying.

Only one person in the world, have I met, who understands this Nervous Nintendo disposition (I'm enjoying this term I've coined). And this person, happens to be my little sister. She, like I used to, watches her father play hours of terrifying games (in my day it was Resident Evil), and yet wouldn't play them herself with a ten foot pole. She actually comes to me if she's stuck on a Lego Batman level. And yes, I do feel like a boss when I succeed with ease (or without for that matter). She's gotten herself a Wii now, and no, she hasn't touched Mario yet, well, Super Smash Bros. is the closest she's come. Instead, she's been playing Just Dance (you've no idea how much I've fallen in love with this game), Wii Fit and *drumroll* Rayman Raving Rabbids. Ah childhood... My sister is just mini me, I'm aware of this.

I have definitely been reliving my childhood these past couple days, what with all the Rayman and the dance games (sadly, the latter were not present in my actual childhood). The cute thing is, my sissy rarely plays Rayman, but instead, watches me, the pro (hah!) play it. I have to say though, those dance mat style levels, step aside and make room for the champion. I used to restart the game if I missed a single Rabbid. I used to get my cousin to do any of the racing, flying or shooting games though... The shooting games were too stressful for me, even though I really wanted to rescue the baby Globoxes so much... And as for Just Dance, well, let's just say when my sister went to school, I played it for literally hours, no joke.


I think that's enough Nintendo talk. Apologies to all those grown ups and non-Nintendoers out there for my nervous nerdom.