The National Lottie

Somedays I just want to go to work on my unicycle wearing my stripey socks.

Should have done this yesterday but there you go.

Istanbul, 2010 anyone?

Check out the photo on top of boat. Do you remember being young and carefree like this?

The case of the disappearing T-shirts. Cowengate reaches a new level of censorship.

Maxi tells us a True Story

The Plank calls it a day.

Each is funnier than the last. I love My Little Pony

Speaking of ponies.

And finally, two of my favourite posts of the week.

Peter talks about the Internet:

I’m not too sure to be honest what exactly my point or methodoly of making it is… but i think i’ve learned that whether it’s in a nightclub, the girl in the coffee shop or buying a three pin plug… eventually everything comes down to people and life. It comes down to manners, respect and living a life with other people in it. I remember when i was younger – a chap i knew said my whole life was a joke. It wasn’t nice. It hurt at the time. I was probably 7 or 8. I dont remember this because it upset me or i wanted to go on the Oprah Winfrey show… I remember because he was always ‘not nice’.

And Sinful Origami Paper’s Base Coat:

It changes once you’re back in the real world again, true, but you’ve seen something few people even know is there. It doesn’t happen every time, or with everyone or even ever with some people, but sometimes, rarely but never unexpectedly, you look over at one eye peeping out from perfectly tousled hair, and there it is.

“Don’t” she says. “I have a really bad feeling. Just for one night. Don’t.”

I never take her advice nor she mine, why would I start now?

This is her test. A litmus test of our friendship if you will.

I won’t listen of course but that doesn’t mean I can shake her feeling.

Money can be a dangerous thing. Whether you have too much or not enough, the power it wields can dig such steep holes.

It never ceases to amaze me, the things people will do for money. How they will allow themselves to be bought, sold or compromised for a few silver coins. Letting their deeds and actions become marred by price tags. Their gestures of kindness tainted by expectation. More dangerous can be those who have it. Those who will forfeit actual relationships for those bought and paid for to fill their loneliness.

Instead of reaching with an outstretched hand for a friend, they reach out with an open palm be it empty or laced with gold.

We do the same with our time. Time, not as that physical measurement or duration but of attention and consideration. We measure, perhaps unintentionally, who and what is worth the passing of our hours. How it feeds our ambition or personal agenda.

We allow ourselves to be wrapped, labeled and tagged, walking amongst the people in our lives, trailing our “worth” around after us like a withering balloon.

Having said all that, I am glad it’s pay day.

At the time my hair was unnaturally long. Red curls flowed hungrily down my back and rested on the crest of my bottom.  This was of course before the day of a thousand tears and if the wind caught it the right way it could blind you from three feet away. Then there was this young photographer full of romance and drama who had an unhealthy pre-occupation with my pre-Raphaelite tresses.

I think it was about this time of year when I stood on the rocky ruins of Black Castle, profiled to the sea, wearing a willowy emerald green-satin dress borrowed from the sergeant’s daughter.  Posed in the broken arch, perilously close to a long fall into a watery grave, the chill of the wind burning my skin under the light material, I felt so peaceful and calm.  So  peaceful and calm and so very, very cold.

Today I sat on the beach watching the waves rush up towards my feet.  The wind whipped my now oh-so-sensible shoulder length hair wildly around my face.  I tugged tightly at the collar of my winter coat and thought of that wonderful green dress and wondered whatever happened to that photograph and that romantic young photographer.

Thanks to the mad skills of my lovely boyfriend, I am now hosted here.

No more Register 365 (bastards).

No more CGI errors.

No more faults & failures.

More regular postings will  resume shortly.

Happy Days!

It has gone all wibbelly wobbely timey wimey and I am worn out.

Every fibre of my being is screaming to me “just walk away, leave it Lottie, just leave it”.

But the thing is, I have dedicated what, five years of my life to this? I can’t just give up now. No matter how much I might want to.  Surely we can work this out. 

What are we on? Series 5? After the latest episode I wonder if it just going to be another case of history repeating. Didn’t I give up on it last season?  Will I be sitting here in another five years time, pulling out my hair trying to figure out what the frack is happening?

What year is it? Are they all dead? Is it purgatory?  Is it just Alice in Wonderland retold? Will those crazy kids ever work it out? Is John really dead? Are any of us really alive? Is Sawyer the new Ben? No, what if he is Jack’s father? Who is Jack’s father? Didn’t yer man from Neighbours do well?   Is it all some alien experiment?  Or a crude reality TV show in Truman style? Is it a giant advert for American Airlines? What happened last week? Hang on, is that Michelle Desler?  What would Jesus Do?

Fuck it all anyway. It still has the best love triangle square ever and I’ll still watch it next week.

At least Sawyer is still hawt!

Mmmm, Yummy!

Juicy party in Greystones on 2nd April anyone? It’s for a good cause.

A lovely post from Wanna Be Dad.

Could you forgive this?

Google Earth is under fire, but I like Maxi’s take.

Quick. This might be your last chance to win.

Love this image via: Travors.

After falling in love with Joan of Mad Men’s wardrobe I set my sights on tracking down a red version of the dress below.

And yesterday, after much scouring, I found a close match in Dunnes Stores.It comes with pockets and all. Win!

(It does come red but I couldn’t find a good image)

Ponteroma Dress: Dunnes Stores:  €25