Well, actually there are. But I am frankly not bothered going in to it. I’d be here all bleedin’ day rambling on about how wonderful Beyoncé is and that’d just bore you.
As well as that, I’ve spent all frickin’ day staring at a computer screen, and the last thing I wanna do right now, at 11pm on a Tuesday, is stare at ANOTHER screen.
So here’s Beyoncé performing and receiving her award at the Billboard Awards. She’s amazing.
I don’t *usually* resort to violence (apart from a few hairbrushes flung at walls when my hair does that woohoo thing) but I do get very angry sometimes. Mostly, about things I have no control over and things that don’t directly effect me.
Here are some things that have brought the rage in me in the past few days. Feel free to comment and tell me if you too get unreasonably angered by similar things.
I think unruly is a little too soft a word. I don’t like to refer to children as arseholes or bastards but sometimes I think I should. My reasoning?
I was driving *very slowly* into my estate today and a little boy of about 8 on a bike cycled straight out in front of my car without looking. Luckily, I had spotted him a mile off and had basically stopped. He, seeing me at the last second, got an awful fright.
Now. If that had been ME aged 8, I would have moved SWIFTLY out of the way apologising profusely as I went and I would’ve remained indoors and away from traffic for the rest of the week. No, no. Not this little fecker.
After I stopped the car, he stopped his bike IN FRONT OF my car and started screaming abuse at me. YEAH. He was saying “get off the f**king road” “watch where you’re goin’ missus” among other things. (before you inquire, I don’t live in some kind of slum with an unusually high crime rate or anything. I don’t know why that’s relevant.)
I nearly DIED. If he was my child, he would be hung, drawn and quartered for each individual part of his misdemeanor. Cycling out in front of a car? Slap in the head. Screaming at an adult? Slap in the head. Saying the F word? Slap. In. The. Head.
This isn’t the only example of bold as brass children I’ve had of late. I realise I sound like an *actual* grandmother here, but… You’d never have seen that sort of behaviour in my day.
Yes, it has grown so big it has formed a government and soon I predict some form of civil war. Being a beauty writer, I have to, eh… endure a lot of facials. *poor me, I know* So I had a little break out recently. Actually, not a break out. Just ONE GIANT MOTHERLOVIN’ CARBUNKLE.
Realistically, there is NO END IN SIGHT for this spot. It has taken up residence on my chin and greets people as I walk past them. And by ‘greets,’ I obviously mean ‘scares the living CRAP out of”.
Spot + Aisling’s chin = The Rage.
I will list my issues with the Eurovision once I preface the list with a note: I love the Eurovision. It’s a great source of entertainment for all and I wouldn’t be one of those naysayers usually. HOWEVAAA:
(b) Azerbaijan isn’t even in Europe. IS IT?
(c) Azerbaijan’s song was TERRIBLE. And I’m not just saying that because I’m bitter about Jedward losing.
(d) The old “vote for your nearest neighbour” thing was so obvious Marty Whelan correctly predicted 90% of the 8, 10 and 12 point votes. Madness.
(e) The German presenter lady was a COMEDIAN. German comedians are a million times less funny than the least funny Irish person we have. Who knew you could be a million times LESS funny than Pat Kenny?
Minor/miscellaneous things also causing me mild rage:
Wind (the weather system kind, not the bowel related kind)
Buying petrol – why does it cost so BLOODY much?
Blocked toilets
Katie Price
Mondays – they can feck off
So anyway. Those are the main things that are causing me rage lately.
**Repost Alert: This is lazy blogging at its best. I have neither the time nor the will to write something today, so I’m reposting one of my absolute favourite EVER posts instead. Enjoy! Read it well.**
I, for one, commit these ‘deadly’ sins on a fairly regular basis, in quite a casual way. And *hopes God can’t hear me* I kinda like it. So with that in mind, here is my guide to a truly DEADLY day.
***Disclaimer: this list is intended as a piece of light-hearted reading. I shall not be entertaining suggestions that I am “bearing false witness” or trying to rewrite religion. And God, if you’re reading this… I’m just trying to entertain your flock while you’re busy conjuring up tsunamis and creating new strains of cancer.***
Come ON. This one we all do. Sloth basically means laziness. I don’t know about you, but pretty much everything I do I try to do with the least amount of effort.
Commit it, old school: Refuse point blank to further God’s plan. If Cheryl Cole can refuse to send a whiny bitch contestant home, then you can sit on your lazy ass and not heed God’s will.
Commit that shit 2010 style: This has to be the easiest sin to commit. Lie in bed. All day. Sin = committed. Oh and to really stick it to the man, suspend your TV from your ceiling and don’t worry about holding up that head of yours.
This basically means overindulgence. If anyone reading this can honestly say they’ve never overindulged, on ANYTHING, I salute you. I also offer you my sincerest condolences on your alcohol allergy.
Commit it, old school: To slap God in the face with this one *waits to be cast alive into a lake of fire burning with brimstone*…you should rustle up a meal of loaves and fishes (why not just fish, eh God? Grammatical error should be a deadly sin) and eat until you’re fit to burst.
Commit that shit 2010 style: Do a fast-food joint lap of honour. Order a large meal from McDonalds, KFC, Pizza Hut and Burger King, making sure not to thank the lord for any of the food you eat along the way.
Ah, greed. Straight away you think of politicians, bankers and Ebenezer Scrooge. This one, like lust and gluttony, is a sin of excess. Greed includes such acts as treason (for personal gain) and of course, bribery. Are ya listening, property developers?
Commit it, old school: Pursue wealth, status and power as though your life depended on it. Oh, wait. We’re all doing that already. *presumes there are no nuns reading this*
Commit that shit 2010 style: When the ESB send you a bill, write them a nice letter telling them you’re on a mission from Blog to commit 7 Deadly Sins, and paying a bill would go against Blog’s wishes.
Lust is defined as either love for something that exceeds your love of God, OR excessive thoughts or desires of a sexual nature. Ya know where I found that definition? The internet? Ya know what the internet is for? Porn. And we, very quickly, have come full circle.
Commit it, old school: Declare your love for something, making it clear that you love it WAY more than God. Here are some things I KNOW certain people love more than God on the regular: chips, days off work, Robert Pattinson, the X Factor, vodka.
Commit that shit 2010 style: Find someone willing to do the horizontal tango with you. Flick open a copy of Playboy. Ensure there is an adult movie on loop in the background. And away you go, committing that sin ‘til the cows come home.
These sins just get easier and easier to commit, don’t they? The green-eyed monster comes out in us all quite regularly I’d say. Defined as “a desire to deprive your fellow man of that which is theirs”, (I feel I should add in “…and have it for myself. Mahahahaha.”)
Commit it, old school: Gain sinful pleasure from seeing others being brought to purgatory. If you can’t make it to purgatory on your sin-committing day, just gain some sinful pleasure elsewhere.
Commit that shit 2010 style: Walk into Brown Thomas (or other SUPER expensive store) with only 50c in your purse. Watch as rich lady after rich lady waltzes off with a brand new Chanel 2.55. Scowl a vindictive scowl. Exit Brown Thomas, sin successfully committed.
Defined as “as desire to be more attractive and important than others, excessive self love”. Apparently, according to Dante, (who?!) pride is the most serious of all the sins. Really? (FYI, God: Self-love should probably go in the ‘Lust’ section. Just a suggestion.)
Commit it, old school: Get a picture of God. Get a picture of yourself. Examine both side by side and declare openly “I am so hotter than you right now”. (NOT my responsibility to tell you where to find a picture of God)
Commit that shit 2010 style: Visit the Facebook page of any teenage girl. View the 15,000 pictures she has posted of herself pouting and sticking her tongue out while taking her own picture in a mirror. Emulate. Forward the results to God (ur-lord-almightee69@thepearlygates.com)
Uncontrolled feelings of hatred, anger or rage. Here was I thinking it had something to do with grapes (don’t die on me, Steinbeck fans. I kid). Rage is easy to come by these days. Dublin traffic does it for me. That and when the broadband goes in the house. Doesn’t take a lot really.
Commit it, old school: Provoke a feud with a vigilante that has the potential to last centuries. Or for the ultimate rejection of God’s gifts, direct your anger inwards and start beating yourself up.
Commit that shit 2010 style: Scream bloody murder at other road users from the safety of your car. Alternatively, watch an episode of The Hills and feel wrath bubbling inside you like Heidi’s silicon bits under a heat lamp.
Before I launch into the fashion round-up of the Met Gala, may I just draw your attention to the fact that…
And not just mentioned… Ray *actual* Foley practically read the entire post (yesterday’s one) and joked about it with JP and Nordy Eoin.
Nordy Eoin, who I neglected to heap praise on in my post, I do like you. Just not as much as Ray and JP. Although your accent is awesome.
Sorry there, but WHAT was WITH all the manky dresses?!? There were a choice few who looked good, but mostly the feeling was “Ooh, noooo” and “AGHH I’M BLIND…” Read on.
Rosie, you’re beautiful, but NO ONE can work THAT monstrosity. The only dress on earth that could make you look bulky.
Oh, J.Lo. This is all KINDS of wrong. I know you *had* to scrape your hair back because of the feathers, but eh… Croydon facelift much?
There’s Madonna. Looking, well… MAD. I like nothing about this dress, particularly the creases around the bottom. Minor detail/major pet peeve.
I feel like I’m blaspheming here, because you all know I adore everything Beyonce does. But I cannot get on board with THAT. Uh uh.
Maybe in a different length, or with a bitta visible shoe, or without the crazy headgear… But Isabel Lucas is purdy enough to pull this off. Kinda.
I *think* I like this. I LOVE her hair and the embroidered bit of dress towards the top. Dunno what the deal with all the draping is, but… Meh.
Hate the shoes with a passion. Brooklyn Decker (who?!) looks nice and I love the colour, but I’m not WILD on it…
Totally not feeling the dress at all, but look at that hair and make-up! Taylor looks amazing. I wish she was more interesting. And better dressed.
Okay, so this picture isn’t *strictly* from the Met Gala, but how luminous and glowing does Kate Hudson look? Being up the pole obviously agrees with her.
I have no criticisms for this. Gwyneth looks statuesque and I’m jealous of her hair/height/slimness/dress/role on Glee.
There’s nothing I love more than a full, blood red gown. Add in a gorgeous Brazilian model with a tan and waved hair and it’s close to perfection.
You can’t deny it. SJP knows where it’s at. How fabulous is this?? My favourite from the night. And ya know what? I don’t think that’s Matthew Broderick’s hand she’s holding… Ooh!
**Warning: If you wish your Wednesday morning to remain free of a serious amount of Foley related gushing, please stop reading now. If you love R-Fizzle as much as I do, read on and chuckle to yourself as you read**
JP Gilbourne. The Hero.It might seem a little eager putting Ray’s co-presenter at number one, but he deserves a good spot. Don’t tell Ray, but I think JP is *kinda* the source of all his powers. And sometimes I can’t tell which of them is which when they’re both talking at the same time. AND JPs voice and humour both make me all swoonful in equal quantities. If he was taller, I’d be actively trying to marry him.
Without the girls around putting manners on them, Ray and JP would spend their days trying to present the show through the medium of interpretive dance. The ladies are super fun and up for the buzz, and they don’t take any crap from the lads, despite their best efforts. And donchaknow loads of the deadly ideas for items on the show *must* be from the girls.
There’s no show like it when it comes to just having the craic. They’re not afraid to use the odd (or very frequent) strong mild curse word and they don’t shy away from hurling serious mild insults at various people like most radio shows do. They laugh in the face of whoever regulates the airwaves, so much so they came up with their own radio monitoring slot on the show – JP’s infamous “Feedback”.
For no apparent reason the other day, they replayed and replayed a recording of Tony Fenton saying “Hi, I’m Tony Fenton. Blow me.” I couldn’t breath for laughing.
Like how when a text comes in claiming to ‘love the show’, they speculate as to what show the listener could be referring to, never assuming it’s THE show. Another of the many running jokes is the whole “So much we didn’t get to do on today’s show” thing at the end. There’s just something about their inside jokes – you feel like you’re there and the inside joke involves you directly – the mark of truly epic radio, I reckon.
DJ Jayo (a character created and portrayed by JP) is a DJ, obviously, with a thicker than thick Dublin accent and a very typically Dublin way of ‘presenting’ his mini radio show. DJ Jayo shows up on Fridays and guaranteed hilarity ensues. I have come dangerously close to crashing my car from laughter at this part of the show.
Between Ann, JP and Ray, they take something from the news and have to create some kind of performance piece relating to the news item. I *could* go into the details and try to explain it, but I’m not funny enough, or descriptive enough. It’s really one of those had-to-be-there kinda things. So listen, righhh? I’m frequently blinded by tears of joy when listening to the hilariously ridiculous results.
Another of their deadly regular slots. What happens here is, a funny/quirky/ridiculous headline from a newspaper is read out and listeners are asked to text in suggestions for the best song relating to the funny headline. The winning song gets played in full. I almost drove through a toll bridge barrier concentrating on thinking of a song one day. Lesson so far? Me driving + listening to The Big Show = serious road hazard.
Go here. Look. Laugh. Instantly transform into a Ray Foley show die-hard fan. Three simple steps!
I saved the best ‘til last. He’s THE king of the afternoon, even if he does say so 
himself. If it wasn’t for his rapier wit and his mad skillz as a radio DJ, the show wouldn’t BE. He’s the glue that holds the whole thing together. Some people don’t like him, but those CRAZIES are balanced out by the sheer volume of passionate Foley fans, of which I am one. I frequently tell people of my love of Ray and it goes without saying that I’m terrible jealous of his wife. Damn her and her good looks and melty radio voice. *shakes fist towards Mrs Foley*.
All of my creepy weirdness aside, he is one of those one in a million type personalities whose humour is second to none and best of all, he doesn’t take himself or the show too seriously. I dread the day he moves on/retires and my 12-2.30 listening reverts to being decidedly average.
PS. If anyone in Today FM is reading this, I WILL work for you, for free. I might not be funny or talented, but I DO have a face for radio.
