acarbery

Let me get this, erm, straight.

The new Civil Partnership Bill published last week, while indeed does make some progress for this country, doesn’t give same sex couples the right to marry? Just get tax break stuff, and the chance to have their same sex civil partnership registered? Oh, romantic!

So, a lesbian couple, one with a son or daughter, perhaps, can’t have the other partner adopt her partner’s child, even if she’s been raising the child for years with her partner? Or a gay male couple can never even be considered to become adoption parents, even if they are willing and more than capable of providing a stable and loving home?

And if a gay couple have a civil partnership, given the fact that the state doesn’t recognise that they’re married, when it comes time to filling in their martial status on any form, do they write in “Single”?

Just to clarify, like!

As if last Thursday wasn’t enough, I got a letter yesterday from Bord Gais, our lovely gas supplier, and now, supplier of our electricity. Yes, they seduced me with their Big Switch.

I was duly informed that one of the laptops stolen last weekfrom their offices contained my personal and bank details.

Of course it did. Here; here’s my money; you might as well just take it. Lucy Kennedy never warned me about that!

Sheesh. Kick me while I’m down why don’t ya!

I’m trying to find a witty, interesting or otherwise worthy way of writing a post this morning, about the latter half of my last week. But I can’t seem to find it. I’m also not trying particularly hard, in all fairness.

Instead I offer:

Last week I arrived home to a burgled home. No one was in the house at the time. The house wasn’t ransacked through and through, and a significant amount of electronic goods were taken. We’re all fine. Formalities are underway. All should hopefully be well soon again.
I should never have declared last Monday that is was going to be a good week. I jinxed myself.

So. What did I miss? Anyone with any news? Go on. Give me a bit of light relief. Anyone got any jokes?

I hate, hate, HATE cutting goopy, fleshy chicken fillets for the stir fry, and he, for some strange reason, would rather cut the goopy fleshy chicken fillets than empty the dishwasher of yesterday’s dishes!

It makes for a ship shop regiment of an evening.

The same over-chlorinated pool that had me blind for day now allows me to rock my spikey bedhead hairdo without the need for a single dab of gel, wax or any other product.

At what point should I consider finding a new pool?

My desk at work faces a window and, oh my, on this glorious day how the view is lovely!

I feel I should write more.

I just don’t want to bore you all. Although I’m sure many would agree that I’m too late with that concern.

Nothing new to report. I’m a new Uncle to a beautiful baby girl who rivals her older brother for pure cuteness. Isn’t it lucky that one is a boy, and one is a girl, so that I can still say cutest nephew ever; and just add cutest niece ever to the mix.

I’ve found a new CD that is just pure lovely on first listen; I’ll be sure to post about it on the almost defunct music blog I set up ages ago, but still have yet to do much with it.

I forgot to pay the bill last week, so that’s why my blog was showing links for single hot female girls. If you know me, then you KNOW I didn’t put those up!

And finally, yesterday was World Blood Donor day. I encourage everyone to go help save lives. I totally would, except my blood isn’t good enough, because I like boys and all. Sometimes this issue gets me more rallied up than the fact that I can’t get married, should I wish to.

That’s all. Happy Monday people. It’s going to be a good week. I feel it.

This time last week, I was nursing a bitch of a hangover, having celebrated Conor’s birthday in suitable bad taste. I will also now admit that some of the Bad taste outfits that were on show were outfits that I would totally like to wear on any given Saturday night in Waterford’s finest watering holes. I won’t admit which ones though.

Today, it’s rainy. I’m grouchy, and wishing I was still on holidays.

In an effort to pretend to be more responsible, I met with someone to discuss all matters relating to pensions, health insurance, payment protections, and sneeze protections. All very grown-up and boring. But everyone seems to think it’s important, so I don’t like to miss out on throwing away money.

The broker man asked the usual relevant details about my job, and how long I was there and what I did before. I told him, like I tell everyone, that I had a barrage of temporary, fixed and acting positions, before reluctantly settling down in my non-home town of Waterford.

“Oh! Did you do a course for your acting job?”

…

“Sorry?”, I ask, confused. “When you were an actor. Did you do a course for your acting?”

I think something got lost in translation along the way. Can you imagine, me, and actor!?! (I know, I totally can too!) I don’t know many thespians who quickly become librarians, do you?
Nope, I’ve never been an actor.
Well, there was that one time. But the only copy of that shaky tape is on VHS and under my possession, and will never see the light of Internet!

I couldn’t find my goggles last night, as I finally planned to bring my swimming routine out of a very looong hibernation today.

Oh well. Next time maybe. I’ll be damned if I’m going blind again!

Not Good: Insomnia until 6am, and then having to get up for work for 9am.

Also not good: You Tube clips of America’s Next Top Model, while insomnia hits its peak. I can’t figure out exactly what my fascination is, but whatever it is; I. Can’t. Stop. Looking. And I invariably end up feeling dirty afterwards.

Bright side: Headway made in the reading pile: The Secret Scripture finished, and In Beauty started.

Saving Grace: Coffee. At the desk, the following morning.

So, I’ve been having this reoccurring dream lately, where someone is trying to either injure, seriously maim, or indeed kill me. I know; cheery, much?

I dreamt one night that I was in fact, Nikki, from Big Love (which is strange, because I want to be Joey, but thought if I had to be a wife, I’d be Margene. Anyway, I’m gone off-track). So in my dream, I’m Nikki, and Roman is trying to kill me. Violently. And yes, it’s probably true, that I watched three seasons of Big Love back to back in too short of a time that could be deemed healthy.

But worst of all was another night, when I dreamt my very own certain someone broke my knee-caps in a fit of domestic violence! Waking up with a sweaty forehead, deeply disturbed, I decided enough was enough. When he woke up that morning, I was instantly furious with him, and he got a grumpy and abrasive Alan for that whole day! Man, did he pay for breaking my knee caps with a kick from his boot! I scowled, huffed and slammed doors in dramatic fashion suitable for the occasion. In fact, it wasn’t until he actually sat me down much later and asked me what was up with me, and how could he make it better, that I realised I was mad with him for something he did in my subconsiousness, and not something he actually did at all!

I think it probably says more about me that I was mad at my certain someone for something he did in MY dream than it does that I dream he was a domestic abuser in the first place.

My certain someone has a lot of patience, sometimes.

Tags: Alan is crazy, analyse that, dreams

I must have been treating myself too well. And this is the earth’s way of bringing me back to land

While climbing out of the bath last Friday, head warmed after a glass of red, candles throwing the bathroom into a glowing wonderland of femininity; I knocked my phone into the lavender scented bubble bath.

And it died. I’m my mother’s son, I am.

Tags: baths and phones don't mix, bubble baths, phones

Not only is facebook great for spying on boys you shouldn’t be looking at, it’s also great for reminding your certain someone to hang out the washing.

It’s all about building social networks, don’t you know.

Tags: communication, domestic bliss!, facebook, hang out the washing

Tonight, MONTHS after he actually officially moved in, I bit the bullet, moved some of my crap out of the small wardrobe in our room and FINALLY let certain someone move some of his clothes in out of the spare bedroom.

We now share a closet.

I wonder does my refusal to share some wardrobe space mean I have territorial, or other such issues?

Tags: clothes, cohabitation, compromise, I'm all give, sharing, sharing is caring