My Very Interesting Subconscious

Dreams carry a lot of importance for me.

My name, if translated into English, means dream or vision. Aquarius is my starsign, and a very typical trait of an Aquarian is to be a dreamer.

So I always pay attention to stuff that happens in my dreams. I either write them down or tell my boyfriend, either way they get remembered.

I thought I’d share some of my most recent dreams with you, half hoping I’ll get some insights into their meaning, the other half of me hoping I won’t reveal myself to be some sort of sociopathic creep whose dreams mean wishes of grievous bodily harm. I’m sure it won’t come to that. But Freud, if you’re reading… I don’t want to know.

***Must stress:*** The things I do in dreams are not reflections of my real thoughts or wishes. Especially the violent things that occur in dreamland. Not my fault. My subconscious has a f****d up sense of humour.

Stranger than Strange Dream #1:

In a hotel, white walls, winding corridors. Running from my own hotel room to that of a friend, searching for something. Find my friend (who I will not name) wheeling a shopping trolley around, flanked by her parents.

Her parents immediately start calling me names, telling me I’m worthless and shouldn’t spend any more time with their daughter. I presume the friend has told something about me (untrue or not, I don’t know) to her parents and proceed to slap her HARD in the face and tell her I never want to see her again.

I then return to my hotel room to find it trashed and my money/phone/handbag/suitcase all gone. Then I wake up.

Stranger than Strange Dream #2:

I’m in my house, and there’s some kind of party happening (not for me, but I’m the host). The house is full of friends and family, and people are having a good time. I feel unnecessarily stressed and am frantically racing around looking for someone.

I go upstairs and enter my bedroom and find one of my friends (I don’t know who, I couldn’t remember) canoodling with someone (in the dream, I knew it was her boss, even though I don’t know which friend it was).

Don’t ask me why, but I got a bread knife and stabbed my friend in the stomach! Then I woke up.

Stranger than Strange Dream #3:

I am in a restaurant eating alone. My waiter asks me is everything ok, I start sobbing. He calls the police, who arrest me on suspicion of drink driving. (my subconscious is obviously a bit of an idiot)

The police arrive and take me home, but it’s not my house. I tell them I don’t live there, but they make me go in. When I reluctantly go inside, there is a disco on, and there are teenagers slow dancing everywhere.

The police follow me inside. I walk around the dancefloor for a while to see do I recognise anyone who could take me to my REAL home, when the police come back and arrest me for dealing cocaine to the kids.

Then I’m in a prison cell and there’s a woman trying to cut my hair (my creepy cellmate, I think her name was Glenda, or Gerty or something disgusting like that). I take the scissors from her and cut the metal bars of the prison cell. I’m fleeing through the pitch dark prison and a guard starts chasing me, and then I wake up before I find out whether or not I escape.

If anyone has any theories on these, or has any interesting dreams of their own to share, comment. Sure what else would ya be doin’?

Just to distract you from the mildly horrifying dreamsphere events you had to read above, here is a picture of a really cute kitten.

Question Time

Just a quick, freezing Monday afternoon post.

Up to my earlobes with writing this week, blogging not included, but I’ll have proper posts for the rest of the week. But for now, an appeal…

I might be way off the mark, tell me if I am.

But I always read blogs and wonder the most random things about their authors. What shoe size is she? Who colours her hair? What’s her worst habit? Where did she grow up? What’s her middle name? (yes, all my favourite blogs are by females, I’m not just being horrifically anti-men)

And a comment by a fellow blogger recently said “I feel like I know you a little better after that post”, so I thought why not have some form of open Q&A sesh with anyone who reads this blog.

So, have you ever wondered ANYTHING about me? About my life, my work, my family, friends, boyfriend, habits, likes and dislikes, favourite things, school days, the list could go on…

Would you like to know what the HELL I was looking at in THIS  ↓ picture?

May I also apologise for that picture. To you, and to myself. HIGHLY unflattering. Ugh.

Or! If you think I could provide you with advice on something, be it men, make-up or money, I’ll answer those too.

If you have something to ask, let me know.

Either leave a comment or if you prefer your question to remain anonymous to the rest of the readers (not me obviously) then email me at thinkwhatyoulikeblog (at) gmail (dot) com.

I promise I will answer honestly. Unless it’s libelous or insulting to anyone.

Don’t be shy!

The ‘I Love Your Blog’ Interview

Ask your slippers a question….. You’re going crazy.

(Classic Chandler line. Grainne, I know you know you know I know)

Right, so there’s this thing among bloggers that I recently discovered where they do a little interview having been requested to by the blogger that did it before them.

The wonderful Lady Peach listed me as her requested participant, so of course I’m obliging, and answering the interview questions. The last question differs in each one, as you create it yourself. Mine is about food. No surprise there then.

On with the Q&A, eh?

Why did you create your blog?

A combination of the following reasons: unemployment, boredom, a very powerful need to express myself via the written word, and also to see was my writing accessible and likeable to people. Wouldn’t want to go off and write a novel only to find out two years down the line that I had the descriptive powers of a hedgehog with Tourettes.

What kind of blogs do you follow?

I can’t really say which type of blog I follow, rather that I follow blogs with interesting people who write them. I love personal blogs the most I’d say, I love certain fashion blogs, and certain beauty blogs. I hate blogs who have sold out to The Man and are pandering to the whims of whoever sends them the most swag. Maybe this is because I am yet to receive any swag. But I hope not.

Favourite make-up brand?

Ooh, these questions are getting tougher. Better not pose any of these bad boys to Brian Cowen. My favourite for foundation is MAC, for mascara YSL, for eyeshadow Bourgois, for lip stuff Essence, for bronzer Rimmel and for eyeliner, Barry M. So a VERY mixed bag. Literally. My make up bag is as multi-denominational as a UN summit.

Favourite clothing brand?

My favourite shop is A-wear. I always get something I like there, and the jeans are a great fit for my shape. Oh and the sizes are accurate. In Topshop, I’m a size 14, in A-wear I’m a 10-12. I also love ZARA, and if I was laden down with wads of cash, I’d never leave Brown Thomas and BT2.

Your indispensible make-up product?

I had typed in Yves Saint Laurent Touche Eclat, which is an essential of mine, but if I’m being perfectly honest, Vaseline is my must have product. I can’t handle my lips being dry. And you can use it to give a little shine to anywhere on your face. And it’s €2. Unbeatable value kids.

Your favourite colour?

It literally depends on my mood. I love royal purple, deep red, lime green, cerise pink, lemon yellow… this could get rainbow themed. But there are some colours that physically and mentally bother me: dark brown, dark blue (but not navy, I like navy) certain shades of orange. I’m fussy about colours.

Your perfume?

Either Chanel Chance or Issy Miyake. As a teenager I favoured Tommy Girl, and still am partial to the odd splash of it to bring me back in time. I love the smell of some men’s fragrances too, like Issy Miyake for Men and Calvin Klein Crave, and there’s a few others I don’t know the names of.

Your favourite film?

While I think this is a ruder question to ask than asking a woman her age because of the conundrum it puts people in, I will be a typical girl and say that Grease, Dirty Dancing and Pretty Woman are probably definitely my top 3. Sandy, Baby and Vivien are my heroes. So WHAT if one of them is a prostitute?

What country would you like to visit and why?

I would like to go back to the USA and see New York properly, then go to Florida for Harry Potter world (yes, I am 7) then up to Michigan and visit my family, and then go to Vegas again – THE best place in the WORLD, in my opinion. I want to go spend a summer in California again too, and travel around all the nicest places in it. I would also like to go to Paris, Rome and Berlin, one of which I reckon I’ll be doing in the New Year.

Write a question yourself and answer it: List the top 3 meals you couldn’t live without, sweet or savoury.

♦ Aromatic Duck with pancakes and plum sauce (preferably from Mandalay in Northwood, Santry)

♦ Steak Teriyaki Soba and Duck Gyozas from Wagamama

♦ Sunday Roast á la Mammy & Daddy (in particular my Dad’s mashed potatoes – world class).

I am listing these fine lasses to hopefully continue this on.

(this whole process has shades of a 1990s chain letter, doesn’t it?)

The Licentiate

Elle of the Ball

Blink and You’ll Miss

S-oh S-ew

I…am….job.

I. AM. JOB!

(quote from Mrs Doubtfire, for anyone who doesn’t recognise it. Shame on you for not recognising such a fabulously quoteful movie.)

**College gang, may I just say: Touch me again I’ll drown you, ya bastard**

Just a teeny tiny minuscule (commonly misspelled ‘miniscule’ FYI) barely-even-there post about a teeny tiny minuscule barely-even-there success I had recently.

I won’t bore you with details, but basically this is what happened:

Someone recommended me to be the new beauty columnist for the Irish Independent Weekend Magazine, after reading my blog and liking it.

The editor contacted me and we met, and she also liked my writing and style etc. and offered me the weekly spot as beauty columnist.

I did a celebratory scream, followed by a celebratory dance on my bed, followed by a celebratory hug from my boyfriend, followed by a celebratory trip to Wagamama in Cork for some celebratory Steak Teriaki Soba and Duck Gyozas…mmmmmm

Then a nice photographer called Clare came along and took 2 million photos of me for my byline picture. They were, no doubt, all identical.

I then started writing.

I haven’t stopped since.

My first piece was in last Saturday’s Weekend Magazine, you can’t miss me, there’s a picture of me and everything. And my name is on it, of course.

Here it is online.

So while I haven’t secured permanent, pensionable employment, I have secured a fairly steady freelance gig that could *I hope* lead to more freelance gigs.

Make sure you get the Indo on Saturday and have a read of it.

Just thought I’d share the good news and say thank you to everyone who reads this little aul blog. Thanks in particular to the very lovely lady who recommended me. You know who you are!

Things can only get better

Who knew D:ream would be the theme tune to our current economic situation?!

Elections

Economy

Budgets

IMF

ECB

EU

Brian Cowen

Brian Lenihan

Resignation

Instability

Bailout

Loans

Banks

Inflation

Tax

Motions of no confidence

Opposition parties

Pressure

Stress

Panic

Emigration

Brain drain

Sovereignty

Deficits

Finance Bills

CRISIS

These are all words that I have heard ad nauseam over the past few weeks. I’m not trying to trivialise the plight of the country, but I just feel like some positivity wouldn’t go amiss.

People (maybe rightly so) are talking about the economic crisis as though it means we’re all going to be living in shanty towns drinking water from a dirty river in a matter of months.

Perspective wouldn’t go amiss either. I mean, I know the banks are f****d, and I know we’re going to be hit hard with tax, and I know the government will be dissolved and we’ll have to have an election.

But think of it in the wider context.

There are people starving all over the world. North and South Korea (along with many other nations) are at war. There are millions of people dying from preventable diseases every year. We are not THAT hard up. And I know, it’s all relative, and we’re a developed nation used to a certain standard of living. But really, it could be worse.

I could go into my opinion on the whole economic hooha but I won’t. I’d imagine many of my readers use reading blogs as a form of escapism and I wouldn’t want to wreck your buzz. The radio/newspaper/general public tension will do that for you.

Pack up your worries, kids.

And finally, the immortal words of one Willow Smith, age 10…

You’re always running here and there…

I have a friend named Ben.

Well actually, I have three friends named Ben. One is a rugby-playing, gay-best-friend-in-a-staight-mans-body, college pal with welsh parents. The other is the cat called Ben from the novel pictured to the left*. This post is about the other friend Ben

As an aside, the Ben this post is about happens to be the world’s number one Michael Jackson fan

Another aside: I SWEAR that cat just winked at me.

I met him (real life friend Ben, not Cat Ben) when I started my college internship at an editorial/advertorial production company in 2009. It’s rare to meet someone who you feel instantly comfortable with, but that’s the reception I got from Ben when I started the new job.

Slowly but surely over the course of working with him I discovered that he was a miracle of a man. He suffers with an extremely rare blood disease called Fanconi anaemia, and had all manner of operations and transfusions and things throughout his 26 years.

You’d never think it to speak to him as he is unfalteringly positive and good humoured, never once complaining about anything to do with his illness. It was inspiring to sit opposite him in that little office on Dawson Street.

He is unlucky in that he has had to endure sickness in his life (and probably will for the rest of it) but let me tell you, he is certainly not in the shallow end of the gene pool when it comes to writing.

He is a ridiculously talented writer. Enthrallingly so.

I wouldn’t bother writing it if it wasn’t true, as I’m sure regular readers will attest to.

He has written two books; the first is called Two In A Million about life, love and illness, through his eyes as he was going through it. A heart-wrenching but heart-warming story. Expect tears, laughter and a warm fuzzy feeling at the end. Oh, and a slap in the face with perspective too.

He has recently launched his second book, a poetry book called Feather Silence: Poems by Ben Murnane, which I have yet to read. I can give you my word that it would be well worth a read. Ben sent me a few of the poems considered for inclusion back when we worked together and they were amazing.

It would be pointless of me to try to put his talent for writing in my own words, because it wouldn’t do it justice. Here is a link to his website, where you can read short stories, poems and essays of his, as well as buy his books and find out more about him and his work.

One of my particular favourite pieces on there is about him being bullied at school and retorting by becoming a bully himself, with hilarious, sheep-related consequences.

Here is an excerpt I’m sure Ben won’t mind me sharing with you.

“It is said that the bullied later become bullies themselves, and I have done my best to live up to this cliché. It looked like so much fun – releasing all that anger, the feeling of power attained when somebody smaller than you bends to your will.

One day, I just made the commitment: I decided to begin my bullying career. Unfortunately, though, I couldn’t find any human beings smaller than me to use as victims. So, I took to bullying sheep. I love sheep. They’re so fluffy and round and easy to bully. You can say whatever you like to them and all they’ll do is say ‘baaa’, if anything.

‘I’m better than you.’

‘Baaa.’

‘You’re a second-rate farm animal.’

‘Baaa.’

The problem comes when you try to move up to the physical bullying stage. I once attacked a sheep with a rake. A nearby ram then made me do five laps of the field before butting me over the fence, back into my own garden.”

May I also recommend the short story entitled Intensity. Give yourself the time to finish it, otherwise you WILL be late for whatever you have to do next.

I just wanted to write this post as a mini-tribute to a very inspiring person who I wish all the luck in the world to.

*that cat may or may not be my actual friend. I’d err on the side of ‘not’.