Do We Ever Really Get Our Shiz Together?

I’ll be the grand old age of thirty two in a few weeks. Thirty two seems absolutely ancient to me, considering I had always assumed I’d be at least married with three kids, multiple generations of golden retrievers and living in a house I could ill-afford but it has a veranda and it’s mine so who gives a crap?! Well…that didn’t happen. My relationship status could be described as more complicated than quantum mechanics explained through hieroglyphics, I have zero golden (or otherwise) retrievers and the only thing I own is a pair of Nikes that I’ve already scuffed because I can’t take care of pretty things (or houseplants, FYI). I don’t save money, I just had a jar of Nutella for my supper and there’s a spider living in my shower that has taken control of my bathroom to the point that I ask his permission before I pee (his name is Sebastian and he appreciates common courtesy). Basically, I’m an overgrown woman-child who probably shouldn’t be allowed to use adult scissors without supervision. In my defense, those mother effers are SHARP.

I always assumed that I would reach a certain age in my early twenties and BAM I’d level up and know how to adult. My day would consist of a seamless routine of healthy eating, classical music, being evangelical about the deliciousness of avocados, drinking half a glass of Malbec, picking up children (presumably, my own) from activities like décolletage and ballet, and cooking a tasty yet nutritious meal (see: avocados) for my appreciative family who would then serenade me with a nighttime song before bed (my hypothetical children are indeed the Von Trapps). Instead, any semblance of routine is nonexistent. I have a job, which I adore and…well, that’s it. There are no Disney children, no spinning classes, no lunchtime tipple with Sandra whom I rotate the school run with. I get up, throw on whatever clothes I’ve decided to wash, lament the rotten avocado in my dustbin, go to work (I do adore my job), come home, work some more and basically collapse. Sometimes I’ll exercise, binge watch Queer Eye and maybe make a sandwich. I’ll WhatsApp audio my friends with the fascinating details of my day ‘my favourite stapler broke…but stand down, I fixed it.’ When it comes to anything approaching adulterific (see: Oxford English Dictionary, probably), like bills or errands, I get it done but in the most chaotic and least seamless way possible. Don’t get me wrong, I have no debt, I have no major stresses or issues when it comes to my personal or financial life, but that’s not to say it isn’t difficult. I have a pile of clothes in the corner of my room that basically looks like some kind of textile Everest. I have a press of expired cans of beans that I assumed I would need in case of some kind of zombie apocalypse. My heating has been broken since Obama was in office. There is zero organization in any part of my home. I realise I’m not alone here, but I also realise there are countless people my own age who are just more…adult. They have savings, they have health insurance, they have orthodontists for crying out loud! Do you ever look at some people your age who just seem so together and think how the hell do they do it?

For me, adulthood is the realisation that you’re entirely responsible for yourself. There’s no one else who’s going to pay those bills, or get that boiler fixed. Sure, you might have a supportive partner or even parents who are always willing to lend a hand, but when push comes to shove, it’s all you boo. And it’s tough. I mean, I know that’s all part of growing up. And it’s exciting in its own frightening way. And I’m far too old now to be complaining about what are really my own responsibilities, and simple enough ones at that. It’s just…I often wonder… will I ever have this adult thing down to a fine art?

The answer is probably NO. I think, like most people, I’ll always struggle a little. When I was a child, I viewed adults as absolutely infallible. They were, in my gullible eyes, were beyond fault. I know now what I didn’t know then: that I make mistakes every day. That I’m still scared, that I’m still foolish (at times 👀) and that I’m still learning and growing. And I think that’s a lifelong thing. There is no moment in life when everything finally comes together and you’re presented with some grand prize for finally having your sh*t together. I’m maturing everyday (though do not point out a Great Tit bird to me without expecting a bashful giggle). Most importantly of all, I’m happy. I’m happier than I’ve ever been and really, isn’t that what matters most of all? Well, that and cats wearing top hats. So maybe I’ll never be a boss at adulting, but doesn’t the world need people like me who can’t figure out what a tracker mortgage is? DOESN’T IT?!

So tell me, can you adult good? And if so, maybe share some tips while I try and stay inside the lines while I colour.

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This is the worst post I’ve ever ‘written’

So hello there friends! How have you all been? I’m good! I’m getting super excited for Christmas and also not knitting. I said *not* knitting, so nothing new there. I may have just invented a new tongue twister.

Aaaanyway, I just wanted to stop by to say hello and to spread some positivity and love. I feel like Julie Andrews on Prozac because I just freakin love this time of year. Everybody “it’s the most wonderful time of the yeaaarrr” and I’m gonna stop now because I don’t quite know the lyrics so I’ll just hum instead…

So what’s new with me?

Well, I’m still working. I just got drunk at my staff party but that’s okay because it’s basically expected of me at this stage. I am busy trying to plan my wedding (I say my, because I may as well be marrying myself), I’m buying things I can’t afford, I’m learning French and I just ate two packets of crisps and I hate myself. Standard really.

What about you?? How you doin’? Wait, that sounded a little pervy. How are you? *tilts head to the side* did that sound more sincere?

Remember, you’re only as old as your bra size… and hey, if that’s like 40 FF, at least you have big boobs, right? RIGHT?

So what’s new with you? 

Happy Hallowe’en my dears 🎃👻 I am finding it insanely difficult to type because of these… 

so if I make some typos you guys will know why…. worth it though.

I’m officially on midterm break, woo! I have Gatsby lying next to me..


and I have the worst head cold ever. Typical, isn’t it? I get a few days off work and I’m sick. Ugh. 

But it’s fine. I mean it could be worse… probably. I’ll be heading to a super fancy hotel at the weekend and drinking my weight in prosecco so keep an eye on my twitter and instagram if cyber-stalking me feels like a thing you’d like to do. I mean, I do it to you. 

Okay guys, it’s legitimately taken 45 minutes for me to write this much so I’m going to stop now and cry for a while. Tell me about your life, your day, your lunch, whatevs. 

Yes

I long for the days that I was able to roll out of bed after a less than sober night and spring into immediate action; cooking my gals a greasy breakfast and cringing with them over our less-than-ladylike antics the previous night. Nowadays, I’m lucky if I can utter anything more than a mono syllable. Springing out of bed post- bender is still nothing but a dream *stares wistfully into the distance* in fact, rolling out of bed and landing on the rug is even a little ambitious. 

A wiser woman would know that there’s a lesson to be learned here somewhere right? And that lesson is…I JUST WON’T GO TO BED AT ALL. NO, that’s not it…oh right, I should stop getting unmercifully pissed and learn to drink responsibly. Which, to be fair, I am capable of. My problem is that nowadays I’m lucky if I go on two or three nights out in the whole year, so when I do…well, the four horsemen of the apocalypse actually follow me around, you know, just in case. 

So lesson one of my thirties?? NO MORE DOUBLES. JUST….NO JANE. BAD JANE. 

Do Something Silly

One of the things I’ve learned and accepted about myself since confronting my issues with anxiety is the fact that I over-think absolutely everything. I’m sure those of you reading this who have experienced the same issues will totally relate to what I’m saying. I constantly fear judgement, criticism and ridicule. As a result, I often find myself acting in a manner that really doesn’t feel natural. Sure, we all must act professional and mature in certain circumstances. Sometimes, however, being an adult means we neglect our inner child, or in my case, my inner goof. So I am urging you, dearest reader, to find that silly eejit who lives inside all of us. It’s liberating but above all, it’s fun. Here’s me playing around on Snapchat.

If anyone wants me, I’ll be hurling eggs at passing cars.*

*No I won’t because that’s a) dangerous and b) I’m actually making an omelette.

​​

 

Makes Sense 

I feel happy. And pretty carefree. Probably because I just had tea and a biscuit which usually results in a sugar-induced euphoria. Anyways, I hope you guys are having a wonderful Monday (I’m sure it’s possible) and I’m going to spin in a circle with my hand extended so everyone gets a high-five. Here’s my thought of the day: 

When the plan goes to pot

My life plan was pretty generic: get married by thirty, have some kids, secure a good job, buy a house, avoid violently murdering someone in the supermarket just because they skipped the queue…you know, standard stuff. Somewhere along the way, the plan went to s**t. I woke up one morning, at the ripe old age of twenty nine and realised I had done none of those things. 
                                                      

I know what you’re thinking: what kind of uptight loser has a life plan? So, okay, firstly, it wasn’t exactly a plan. More of a… life map. Wait, wait… that’s worse, isn’t it? Basically, I just had some things that I wanted to have achieved or realised before I hit a certain age. It wasn’t like I made exact goals to be achieved by exact dates…I’m not that obsessive *nervous laugh* 

                                                      

My team and I just planning what I’ll eat for brunch tomorrow


I felt that being married with maybe at least one kid and having some kind of steady income by the age of thirty seemed to be a realistic enough goal, right? I imagine a conversation with seventeen year old Jane to be a little something like this: 

Seventeen Year Old Jane: Woah, it’s me!

Current Jane: Yes, yes, you decide to ditch the bleach bottle and thick eyebrows are a thing now, soooo…

Seventeen Year Old Jane: Hey, I’m making it work. If it’s good enough for Gwen Stefani…anyway, how am I? 

Current Jane: You know, cool. Yeah, pretty cool.

Seventeen Year Old Jane: So I’m married then? To Jack right? He’s sooo dreamy.

Current Jane: Erm, no. No, you’re not. You’re engaged though. And he’s dreamy alright…but he does this thing with his nose when he’s sleeping and I swear to GOD itmakesmewannapunchhimsoharrrrd. 

Seventeen Year Old Jane: Eh…not married. Okay…okay…but, you’re… you’re pregnant right? 

Current Jane: Eh, no. That’s last night’s takeaway pizza but thanks for reminding me I’m not a size 8 anymore. Nope. No kid. Nada. Notta one. 

Seventeen Year Old Jane: Okay…okay…that’s not so bad… you own a house though? A house? Right?

Current Jane: Well, I don’t own it in so much as I…rent…it. So yeah, I rent. Still. But you know, it’s cool. I can totally do what I want with the place. I have a pretty bitchin’ collection of owl ornaments and seashells. You like seashells, right? 

Seventeen Year Old Jane: Uh huh. Seashells. Right. Erm, so a job? You…have…a job?

Current Jane: Oh yeah, totally, yeah. I’m a teacher.

Seventeen Year Old Jane: Wow! Really? That’s great. Okay that’s really reassuring. Okay. So you have a permanent teaching job. Woah, for a second there I was kinda freaking out.

Current Jane: Well, you know, permanent in the sense that my contract ends in like…four weeks. Permanent like a bottle of hair dye, amiright? Hello? Past Jane? 

Seventeen Year Old Jane: *hyoerventilating into a brown paper bag* 

So yeah, past Jane probably wouldn’t be too impressed with a snapshot of current Jane’s life. On paper, I guess it looks like I haven’t got much going on. The thing is, Seventeen Year Old Jane didn’t know much about life, and also believed that thirty was, like, really old. She also had very dodgy hair extensions, so I really wouldn’t listen to her anyway. 

                                                                

Seventeen Year Old Me be like “It’s called fashion, look it up, bitches”


I had assumed that I would have life all figured out by now. I also assumed that I would just magically become incredibly wise and responsible , like this guy 

                                                     

Except with marginally better posture and hair…


I never really gave any consideration to the fact that I would actually be the same goddamn person. You know, the person who’s sometimes lazy, sucks at long term planning and likes kids but also likes butternut squash…it doesn’t mean I want to commit to eating it everyday for the next eighteen years. I wasn’t going to suddenly transform into a kale-eating, stepford wife supermom. 

Right now, I am a little directionless. I’ll get married in the next few years. Maybe I’ll even have kids. I’ll probably get a proper contract in a more secure job too. Or, I’ll join the circus, grow a beard and kiss sexually-confused men for five bucks a pop. Whatever happens, I don’t need to obsess over it. Life has a habit of happening even when you’re not thinking about it. 

That’s my wish going into my thirties: (notice my avoidance of the word plan…*aggressive cat hiss*) I won’t necessarily plan. I won’t set unrealistic goals. Then, if I don’t achieve them, I won’t feel like flagellating myself with a spiky whip. My goals will probably be a little more shorterm like “get through at least one episode of Supervet without sobbing uncontrollably” or “maybe don’t secretly eat 95% of Jack’s dinner when he goes to the bathroom”. Obviously, big decisions do take some level of planning. But I think the key thing is is to stop setting the bar so high. I can f**k up. I can make stupid mistakes. I can get married in some cramped registry office and it won’t matter because I’ll get to share my life with someone very special. And you know what, if I’m thirty nine and my life is similar to the way it is now (well, minus the anxiety) I’ll be pretty happy. If it’s completely different, well I’ll probably be pretty happy too. The important thing is, I don’t know. I can’t know. And that’s okay. 

The past three months…

Hello everyone! So I said that I would eventually get around to filling you all in on the craziness that has been my life for the last few months, and as we all know, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s fulfilling vague committments to people over the internet….right? RIGHT?? 
Okay, so I have a tendency to disappear into the mist (both figuratively and literally, damn poor eyesight). Basically, stuff happened. We cool? Okay, thanks, bye.

Oh, you want more detail? Well, first things first: I got a job. Remember way back when I was unemployed and perfecting my impression of a duck using a mixture pringles and low self-esteem? Well, I finally got myself out of that rut.

   
                                                   
My reaction was quite bittersweet. Yes, I finally had secured employment after almost six months of what I can only describe as the worst period of my life thus far. I had been filled with self-loathing and despair and I genuinely feared that I would never teach again. To return to a school that I had already taught in (and adored) was the proverbial cherry on top…or, you know, in my case literal, as I celebrated with much cake. Much cake. 

So that was the sweet, why the bitter? Well, I’ve had to move almost four hours away from my fiancé and my pets, a.k.a. my reasons for living.
 
                                                                    

The job is only temporary, but it has been really difficult for us both. I try to focus on the positives though; I absolutely love the school I am in and I get to do what I love every single day…(in this instance, I mean teach, although I may also mean robot dancing…)I also get to see much more of my friends and family (the job is back home where I grew up) which is always a bonus.

The last few months have been difficult in many ways, however. My general health hasn’t been great, though I attribute that mainly to stress. I also found out in December that a past pupil of mine, whom I was very fond of, passed away in a tragic car accident. I suppose sometimes, all these challenges and unfortunate incidents come at once and they really are a test of character for us, aren’t they? I have been feeling much better lately though. Teaching really does help me, it’s what I feel I am meant to be doing and that gives me great comfort. My relationship with Jack has also strengthened because of our time apart, because let’s face it, I am a gigantic pain in the ass who enjoys yodelling and eating tuna melts. SOMETIMES AT THE SAME TIME.
Anyway, me me me right?! Bleurgh! Tell me about YOU! How have you been? Where have you been? What have you been up to? Come say hello!

Oh quick p.s. also…can anyone tell me where Rob from the v-Pub went? I’ve noticed his site is gone?? Thanks:)
 

                                                                           
 

 

It’s been a while…

                                                                          
Where do I even start?! The last few months have been a little crazy. I mean, not Liza Minelli in a tutu eating fried chicken crazy but…pretty crazy. In a nutshell, I had to move away from my beloved fiance (yes, I said beloved) to take a temporary job in a school I actually worked in a few years ago. While I am so happy to be back teaching, it’s been really difficult living away from Jack and my pets. Lots of other little things have prevented me from blogging, but right now….

                                                                               
Instead, why not come say hello (you know, if you remember me….*awkward silece*) and I can cling to you and not smell your hair because that’s weird. 

Until I get a chance to write a much more detailed and cohernet post (hey, it could happen)….

Peace! 

The Silliest Arguments I’ve Had With My Partner

Why, hello there. Fancy meeting you here. Is that a new shirt? How’s your significant other/family pet? Okay, now that the awkward small talk is out of the way, let’s get cracking!

I recently read the most hilarious thread on Reddit about the silliest arguments couples have had with their other halves. It got me thinking about my lovely other half, and our famously petty arguments. So here, for your viewing (er, reading?) pleasure, are the stupidest arguments that we’ve had (or continually have) throughout our relationship:

DISCLAIMER: 90% of the time, Jack and I are normal people who get on better than 1980’s Oprah and a Twinkie. Sometimes we disagree. And it’s ridiculous. Prepare to judge us.

1.I was once watching a programme about a man with a pet hippopotamus. The man fed the hippo litres of coffee everyday. Jack laughed and said ‘she reminds me of you’. He meant because she’s seriously addicted to coffee but since I had a bigger case of PMS than Bill O’ Reilly on his own show, I freaked out because I basically thought he was calling me a hippo. There was a lot of tearful ‘WHY DON’T I JUST GO LIVE IN THE RIVER’s before I finally calmed down and realised that meh, hippos are awesome anyway.

 

2.Conversely, I once called him ‘my little badger’ on account of his greying hair, which FYI, I LOVE. Turns out I meant Silver Fox. Fox, badger…what’s the real difference amirite?! *Nervous laugh*

3.I had a dream that he cheated on me with Rita Ora and honestly I couldn’t even look at him the next day. Now when I see her on TV, I actively hiss.

4.I woke him up from a dream where he was chopping wood with Steve Guttenberg and it was ‘the best dream ever’ and I ‘ruined it.’ How do I even apologise for that?!

5.He threw my stuffed owl toy in an old box and he got dirty. Hooty was never quite the same after that. *stares sadly into the distance*

6.I beat him at chess and just before I checkmated his ass, he flipped the board over. He says he “fell” but who karate chops a chess board as they’re falling?!

7.I make him apologise to our pets when he gets snarky with them. The dog knows when he’s being sarcastic.

8.When we play video games and he kills any animals. MONSTER.

9.When I don’t listen. Here’s an example:

Jack: Love, did you hear Leonard Nimoy died?

Me: Uh-huh.

*2 hours later*

Me: Oh no! Leonard Nimoy died!

Cue much disgruntled tutting and eye rolling. 

10. When he throws his clothes on the floor. He has a wardrobe and a laundry basket RIGHT THERE but oh no, the floor seems as good a place as any for his clothes. *Deep breath from inhaler*

angry dr. cox scrubs gif

11. When he farts and deliberately closes all the windows in the car, or wafts the smell towards my unsuspecting and delicate nose. Animal.

12. When he “honks” my boobs. IT HURTS.

13. His procrastination is so bad that he makes Hamlet look like John McClane. I’ve forgiven him because he has just inspired me to write the greatest screenplay of all time, which may or may not involve a Shakespearean-Die Hard crossover. *Scribbles furiously on notepad*

14. When it’s his turn to cook, I can see him in the kitchen manically over-seasoning everything. I don’t want to sound high maintenance so I tentatively ask ‘um, are you sure the steaks need that much salt and pepper?’ and he’ll tell me he used a ‘pinch’ even though I’ve seen him twist the pepper grinder like a genius kid on TV works a Rubik’s Cube.

 

 

15. I have a habit of unintentionally figuring out the endings of mystery/horror films. I say something like ‘I’ve got it now. I know who killed the gardener!’ For about twenty seconds, there’ll be a silence and then an exasperated sigh as he says ‘fiiiine. Who did it?’ I explain that it was clearly the chimney sweep, because he suddenly got that fancy new rake and sweeping brush set. Obvs.

16. I’m almost always on the other line when he’s trying to call me for something important. In my defence, hearing my friend’s dog howl the theme tune to Baywatch is pretty important. Jack can pull himself out of a car wreckage. HE HAS TWO HANDS. Sheesh.

17. Whether cheese is the ambrosia of the gods or a curdled block of unspeakable malevolence.

18. We in Ireland have several words for a hair tie or thin scrunchie. I say ‘bobble’, he says ‘bobbin’. BOBBLE/BOBBIN, LET’S CALL THE WHOLE THING OFF!

19. He wants to put items of clothing on the cat. The cat (and her very over-protective mother) don’t approve.

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Yes, that’s my cat. In a fez. She also has a duffel coat.

20. I like to drink pint glasses of milk, which he thinks is weird. He eats his pasta and sauce straight from the saucepan with no plate, but sure, I’m the weird one. At least I’m weird with strong bones. So there. 

I wish I could say this is it, but there’s so many more. The important thing is that he is amazing and we love each other and CLOTHES DO NOT BELONG ON THE FLOOR….I mean, you know….true love.

Do you have any petty arguments you’d like to share? Unload in the comments!