Moustaches. Yessiree. I LOVE a good tache on a man. So you can imagine my delight when I came across this beauty:

It’s from Etsy seller SallyEnglandDesign. Sadly, she’s no longer producing it, but I feel like the world is a better place just because somebody dreamt this up.

Even better than a moustachioed pillow is a moustachioed man, and I’m proud to say that I came across one of those recently too. The Tache* is a beautiful, softly spoken eco-warrior with a heart of gold and a wicked sense of humour. We met a few weeks ago, and even though there’s some geographical distance between us we’ve kept in touch. In fact, we managed to spend a rather romantic weekend together not too long ago, and there’s talk of a visit next week.

The cynical and disillusioned romance killer inside of me wonders what’s the point. The Tache is going to leave our Emerald Isle soon enough for another globe-trotting adventure, and he’s so far away right now that we won’t even manage a passionate fling of any significance.

There is, however, an almost forgotten and often ignored part of me that still… believes. A flutter in my stomach from time to time. The occassional daydream about moustachioed kids.

But heck, it may never be a fairytale. The Tache is part of my life, for now, and we’ll see where it goes. I’ll make damn sure to enjoy whatever time we get to spend together, and try to keep both the Cynic and the Believer at bay. Maybe that way I’ll get to appreciate reality for a while.

*The moustache on the Tache is a ‘Trucker’, in case you were wondering.

Slouching around with your face hidden behind your hood in my sitting room does not make you seem mysterious or intriguing… it makes you seem insolent and adolescent.

Tweeting every twenty minutes and blogging about how hungover you are doesn’t mean you’re a poet or a misunderstood artist. It means you have too much time on your hands.

Growing your facial hair so long it makes you look like the fat guy from Bored to Death doesn’t make you look deep, it makes you look kinda like the fat guy from Bored to Death, but less attractive, because you’re not that funny.

You’re twenty six. Please learn how to smile.

The last few months have provided the usual hotchpotch of business, love, charity and disintegrating relationships (in reverse order of financial gain, and – hopefully – ascending order of personal growth). The Pirate and I are done, in the friendliest way possible, and even have our own break-up song:

There was a brief relationship with a new man, which was an incredible re-awakening of my romantic senses, and a subsequent break-up caused by his arguing style. So damn repetetive. I like my arguments to have the decency to appear to be moving in a forward-like direction.

I realise now… blessed hindsight… that the two years I spent with the Pirate had little to do with love, and more to do with a lack of disgust, as Eoin Colfer succinctly puts it in the next episode of the thrilling Hitchiker’s series. I do feel a little wiser than I did this time two years ago, but I also feel cynical and disillusioned, which will hopefully pass.

Cynicism aside, I’m enjoying the freedom of being alone again… and knowing that I don’t need anybody else. I had one of those rare moments of insight on a bus last week, when I suddenly wanted to sing and embrace the person sitting across from me. I managed to hold back from hugging strangers, but I did smile the whole way home.

So life is moving on, and I’m trying to keep up with it.

How have you been?!

There’s nobody here to hug me and make this seem ok. There never is. I’m single, so I don’t have the luxury of splitting my pain two ways. I don’t even have a shoulder to wipe my tears on. My parents went home together, united in their anguish. My sister is putting the kids to bed, then she’ll sit down with her husband for the evening. A team, ready to battle against the sorrows of the world.

I’m alone. And I don’t think I’m any worse off for it. I find that during most truly sad occasions, there’s nothing anyone can say to take the pain away. Being held when you’re crying doesn’t make you want to cry any less. It just means you have to worry about your mascara or mucus ruining someone’s jumper while you cry.

I make myself tea. I think. I write. And I’m uninterrupted. I don’t have to listen to anyone else’s point of view, or pretend that their words of advice are having an effect. I’m not going to upset anyone by withdrawing into myself for a few hours, or hurt anyone’s feelings by snapping at their attempts to cheer me up.

Sometimes, we don’t need to cheer up. We need time to accept reality.

People in relationships develop ways of coping with trauma the same way smokers or alcoholics do. Stressed? Have a hug. Upset? Tell me about it. Anxious? There, there. The constant attention, the sounding board, the affection. These things become essential means of dealing with the vicissitudes of daily life.

What happens when you run out of cigarettes, or can’t get a drink? You realise you have no other coping mechanism. You’re helpless, waiting for someone to walk into the room or into your life who can help you deal with the world around you.

I’m unleashing my creative juices on the world at the moment – I’m attending a creative writing class which is HUGE fun and I’ve just invested in a wee sewing machine.  A local curtain shop sells bags of scraps for €2, so soon I’ll be parading around like a Von Trapp kid. 

I fell in love with this book by Eithne Farry:

She’s fab – the book is full of shortcuts and stories, as well as a few inspirational projects.  A sewing book with a sense of humour – what a find!

In personal news, the Pirate and I continue to live together, happily.  He’s working all weekend but sent me a tip for a horse earlier - sweet.  Speaking of betting, the funniest emails to hit my inbox over the last few months have been from Paddy Power.  Marketing genius.

Life is very straightforward these days.  No emotional drama, no blog fodder.  You can see why I’m focusing on the handicrafts.  I might start a blog about the Irish Times Crosaire; it’s where the rest of my free time goes these days. 

Anyone for Scrabble?

Enough about him.  What’s worse is that she acts completely oblivious to all of the above, and spends all her time talking about how she’s ‘never felt like this before’, how he’s a ‘keeper’, and how she can imagine their wedding day already.  She prides herself on giving him space (she detests ‘clingy’ girlfriends) and not having any expectations of him.  Lucky guy.

What really bothers me is that I don’t think she has any real feelings for him at all.  Not just because I find him hideous, but because I’ve seen them together, and they don’t have a whole lot to talk about.  Here comes the really judgemental bit:

She’s decided that it’s a good idea to like him, because he likes her, and she doesn’t want to be single.  She’s even convinced herself that there are all sorts of things to like, and her imagination is so powerful she can ignore the fact that he’s a neanderthal.  She’s become quite fond of clichés like ‘I’ve never felt this way before’ and she interjects them into conversation as often as possible to further convince herself of their truth. 

You know, I bet you can apply the above to a relationship you’re familiar with.  Maybe without the tracksuits, or the ignorance, or some other detail.  But the big picture?  I think there are plenty of couples out there who are together for all the wrong reasons.  People who believe they’re in love just because they like the way they feel about themselves when someone else calls them beautiful.

The girl in question has always been one to rejoice at drunken come-ons, lewd pick-up lines and inappropriate fondling.  The last ‘boyfriend’ was middle-aged and incredibly imaginative.  He missed a date one night because he was in intensive care, and turned up the next day looking miraculously recovered. 

Is there a way to teach someone to love themselves?  And what will I do if this lasts and she asks me to be bridesmaid?!

It’s always sad when a love affair ends; whether it’s with a life partner or a household gadget.  We rely on these things to make our lives work smoothly, and it’s a real shock to find that you’re suddenly free on Friday nights, that nobody is going to fix the broken light in the landing, or that it’s not possible to print a Word file in a hurry anymore.

Although I don’t have anything nice to say about my laptop right now, I’m feeling generous when it comes to this teapot (and everything else on this site).

Yum.

Yep, I know it’s a lazy post, but it’s nearing 2am and the only things on my mind right now are finishing the RTE Guide crossword and dreaming teapot themed dreams.

Óiche Mhaith

The timing couldn’t have been better… I’ve been thinking a lot today about the Pirate and our relationship, as he brought someone home last night.  I’m delighted that he’s moving on, but earlier today I was distressed at the thought of anyone changing the great dynamic we have at the moment.  The someone he brought home last night is the same someone who stayed over on New Year’s Eve, and I felt threatened at the thought of another woman coming into MY house and interfering with our time together.

Now?  Well, I can’t say the idea appeals to me, but I can’t expect the Pirate to put his life on hold just because he’s still living here.  His staying was as much my decision as it was his, and I’m willing to deal with the consequences.  I’ve also accepted that MY house is, in fact, OUR house.  Sneaky inner child.

Yes, I know that I seem amazingly calm and philosophical about all this.  It’s because of the massive dose of perspective Joan Didion just treated me too.  The Pirate, his actions, and his romances, are never going to really matter.  Because we’ve already decided that ‘we’ will never be.  Because there are better men, and bigger dramas, in my future.  Because I don’t love him anymore.

Maybe a little change would be a good thing.  I’ve been neglecting my personal life of late; indulging in anti-social behaviour and spending way too much time in bed.  I haven’t even been drinking as much tea as usual.  Tomorrow, I’m back on track.  Fine-tuning that work/life balance and brewing a pot of Rooibos.

This week, t’internet has enlightened me in the following ways:

First up, the answer to a question that I’ve investigated so often by now I really should know the answer: the difference between ‘affect’ and ‘effect’.  I have to hit the reference books every time I go to use the word, but lo, I’ve found the solution.  Grammar Girl sums it up beautifully with this:

And the mnemonic: ‘a very easy noun’ which helps us to remember that affect = verb, effect = noun

Staying with the English theme, I learnt this new word from www.wordie.com:

autolatry

noun

the worship of yourself [syn: idolatry]

I turned both my niece and nephew into superheroes with www.makemesuper.com.  Not as funny as doing it to your significant other and them watching it at work with colleagues looking over their shoulders, but amusing nonetheless!

I browsed through random stuff on www.instructables.com… I didn’t use any of it, mind, but I now know of at least 30 different uses for plastic bags.

I tried various hairstyles on The Pirate on www.dailymakeover.com and was pleased as punch until I realised I’d have to upgrade to premium membership if I wanted to give him facial hair.  Boo.

I found a recipe for asparagus and leek frittata which resulted in this delectable creation:

Today, I’m keeping an eye out for cheap flights to anywhere with www.skyscanner.net.  And, of course, reading your blogs.  Two that made me smile today:

Planetross on Optimism

Restaurant Refugee on Mittens

The Yin to my internet-loving Yang is apparent today – I had planned a nice stroll in the park, but it’s 3.30pm already, and the park closes at 4pm.  Maybe tomorrow.

My bedroom is a sanctuary this evening, away from the post-weekend clutter that has taken over the sitting room.  I’ve seen cigarette ash hiding under the couch, and the kitchen is buried under a pile of dirty teatowels and empty bottles. 

This man is the only reason I’m smiling right now! 

This is Jason Mraz singing ‘I’m Yours’.  I’ve been singing this song like an idiot for the last few days.  This is live in Hyde Park last year – I love the way he plays with the crowd.

Other things that are improving my mood today:

1. GOOD coffee.

2. Potato farls (maybe an Irish thing?)

3. And this Emily Dickinson poem:

The words the happy say

Are paltry melody

But those the silent feel

Are beautiful –

I’m also excited about starting a new book this evening – I have a stack of around 22 books waiting to be read, and I’m definitely going to choose something cheerful.

Is there a song that makes you smile instantly?