Tag Archives: booze

I feel like I’ve been in a car wreck…


Oh what a night. Saturday, that is. iDJ and I had to go out to meet a friend. He doesn’t live here all the time, so when he’s home we can’t tell him no. It’s a little hard because we shouldn’t be spending the money we don’t have in the pub. However, it’s such a huge part of Irish culture that not going is an insult.

Luckily, we spent a good few hours at our friend’s place before the pub. We also went back there after closing hours to continue the session. It was the same as the night I turned 40 – everybody dancing in the house, making a mess, having a great time and eating caviar. It was black caviar this time, which I found out I like a lot more than the red. His house is a great place for a house party: no close neighbours to complain, and last winter the house flooded so there’s no carpet to worry about, just concrete.

It was (again) a great mix of people, different ages and different lives. I tell ya, we 40+ ers can really par-tay. It’s almost as if the booze is a stimulant, and we go bonkers when the music starts.

It’s not just us old farts that get down n boogie, though. One of my friends is 24, and she and I were hamming it up in the kitchen. The way I remember it is that she jumped into my arms… I held up for about .0003 seconds, and then down I went. Knees first. On the concrete. Carrying my weight and hers (thank goodness she’s a little thing). She snapped forward and smashed my nose, then backward and smashed her head on the dishwasher.

I was more worried about her. I can be very protective… Once we confirmed that we were both okay, we carried on. I didn’t look at my knees, but my nose was bleeding out of both barrels. Pretty. I’m glad I bothered to put on mascara before we went out.

Having loads of liquid painkiller in me, I didn’t think much of it at the time. Probably didn’t even check to see if I had blood all over my face or not – I don’t think about my looks often. The walk home hurt a lot, though. My knees weren’t happy…

So yeah, I have a blue and red nose, and some gorgeously colourful knees. Especially the left one, it looks like a sunset and is rather swollen. I can’t go down the stairs unless I go backward, it hurts too much the normal way.

My back is fine, though. Lift with your knees, not your back…land on your knees, not your crooked tailbone.

Here’s the gore:


Wine sucks


I have to write something! I’m sitting here, just goofing around fingerpainting instead of putting words on paper. Um. Pixels on pixels? Just what the hell is it called when you write digitally, anyway? We need new clichés.

I actually do use paper on occasion. Mostly to make a quick note to remind me of something funny, or a good turn of phrase I want to keep, something I want to Google later, or a date of importance. I have a crap memory. I blame it on all those drugs I did in the 60’s. Drugs, at least, would explain why I cannot keep to a single topic in a paragraph. Bad writing? Probably. Do I give a shit? Obviously not. This blog is me upending my cerebellum and splashing around in the puddle.

How many topics did I fit in there? I could have kept going.

Right, notes. I have four from last night, two from conversations with iDJ and two from the KIBIS meeting. One of the ones from my beloved relates to wine, and I have a photo to share, so without further ado, let’s talk about wine!

It sucks.

Okay! The ‘meeting’ was great craic of course. I’m glad we are making an effort to have a get-together regularly. Lawsy me, I do need a social life. We mostly talk about our pets, because we are all animal people and all have at least two fur-persons in our respective homes. Our representative from Italy (hereafter Mrs MMC) currently has way, way more than two, in two countries and at least three houses. Wow! Loads of stories, and despite English not being her first language, she can really tell a funny tale. But I can’t share them, because I wasn’t taking notes. Well, except for those two times I mentioned…

Mrs MMC and I share our homes with menfolk, along with the other animals. We have picked menfolk who are particularly good at letting animals manipulate them. If one of their cats miaows at her hubby he panics, trying to figure out what kitty wants: Do you want me to make you a sausage? Some take out? A curry?

My other note was about when they are at his parents’ house. Now, they feed a lot of local strays, and there are a lot of strays. Mrs MMC catches and has them vet checked and sterilised at her own expense, by the way. Thank you! Anyhow, there are always a rake of kitties outside on the back patio. When the parents aren’t home, Mr & Mrs MMC leave the door wide open and let the furry masses troop in and out as they please.

Right, maybe you had to be there.

Back to wine. Here’s iDJ’s temporary workstation last evening:


Yes, my Halloween decor is over the top. Feic off. I love Halloween.

Please note he has the essentials: Plastic Halloween wine glass, Mac laptop, and a box-o-wine, all ready to hand. Blargh! Even if I could stand wine, I cannot imagine boxed wine decanted into plastic tastes good. Yes, dear, I know we’re broke (that is for when he reads this and gives out to me for making fun of cheapo wine in a cardboard bottle).

Ugh! Just now: I needed to check the internal temperature on my pork roast. I’m not allowed to bend over cuz of the bad back, so I got on my knees in front of the oven (I’m tall, this put me eye level with the meat thermometer). iDJ starts in right away about how he never sees me on my knees anymore. Like, as in prayer (we are atheist). I told him I was praying to the pork, then wished I never, ever, said that.

Back to wine. See, I hate it so much I can’t even be arsed to keep writing about it for 10 minutes! M’man was giving me stick about not liking wine, and pulled out his old standard, “One of these days. I’ll keep working on you.” This got him a glare of rage and a rant about how, at my age, I fucking well know what I like, and no amount of different colours or flavors of wine was ever going to convince me that wine is palatable.

He kept at me, and I finally shut him up by threatening him with the words that have been uttered many a time since blogs were invented – just not said by me.

“Don’t make me blog about this!”