It is time……

I’ve had long warrior poet hair for nearly two years now and it is with a heavy heart that I concede its time to finally shave it all off. Its been bothering me for a while now but the clincher came from work. I have to tuck it behind my ears and wear a baseball cap-like a sex offender! No really, and the beard doesn’t help, I look like one of the founding members of the KKK(when I’m in work). Its time to get rid of it, plus my boss assured me that I can lose the baseball cap if I’ve got short hair ie: I will no longer look like a weiner who wears a baseball cap.

Downsides are few enough; I’ll look permanently angry for a while, can’t do cousin IT impressions anymore and have lost the option of shaving my head to avoid ‘the fuzz’. Ah fuck it, this is the longest I’ve ever gone without shaving my head. I’m gonna trim the beard so that its all the same leangth, I’ll look like a small burrowing animal-it’ll be savage!

Always bring your shovel if you want to go to work

I love working in the Deli. I’m yet to show up for work in the full of my capacities but nobodies seemed to notice it and the shift sandwich system is pretty relaxed so I can probably start getting breakfast lunch and dinner there for free-result! Its also provided conversations like this:

X: Hey man, whats your name?

Me: Rua

X: Rua? Man, I ain’t never heard a name like that before. Thats pretty crazy

Me: whats your name?

X: Julius

Me: fuck off

(and banter did ensue)

I have however noticed that everyone who’s been working there for more than a few months is a fat fuck. I’m a fat fuck too though so its ok. I vividly remember the first time I finished an American portion, a full three and a half weeks after I arrived. I was so proud of myself, it was a real milestone. Then I looked down and realised that there was a lot more of myself there than when I left Dublin….meh, just means I’m harder to kidnap

You want me to take a what test?!

I am currently sitting on my living room couch waiting for a callback about a job handing out fliers(I know, glamorous). The guy called me up in the Mall but(in a fit of unparalleled idiocy) I asked him to call back in an hour because I couldn’t hear him over the anarchy in the background. “oh, you’ve a lovely Irish accent” sounded like “welcome aboard, we just have to fill out a bit of paperwork” as well as bit of a come on. Who knows, if the bastard ever does call me back I might live out the American Dream and fuck my boss up the ass(I’m not gay but I’ll learn, for all the dreamers out there…).

I applied for the job with a certain reservation. The add on craigslists made repeated use of those dirty words ‘clean and sober’ and worst ‘drug test’. Granted, gone are the days when my piss was so intoxicated that’d melt clean through the test cup (whilst sprouting out unicorns and other mythical creatures) but I’d still have a hard time passing. In fact, I’ve spent the last half hour trying to work out whether or not I need to fork out $20 on whatever ’snake-oil miracle drug test passing kit’ they have in Walgreens. I found two timetables of how long it takes for stuff to get out of your system and decided that the most accurate one was the one in which I had the best chance of passing the test.

The guy has a fair point though, people in such important jobs need to be checked up on. I handed out flyer’s with AAF in Dublin, it wasn’t the worst job ever but the people we were working for were assholes. It quickly got to the stage where we were showing up drunk not for fun but out of some warped sense of principal. The worst was handing out Wall Street Journals having gone straight to work from the night before, literally standing up at a session table downing drinks and saying “we goshta gofer worrrrrrr…..k”. Our supervisor was not impressed, I stopped getting phonecalls after that. AAF got the odd one but only because she wanted some of his honey*.

Speaking of which, his girlfriend is coming over which means…… he’s moving out which means…… I get a room all to myself for a full 4 days!! Although, I can see the Coy getting promoted from the floor in the girls room……………nahh! 4 full days!

 

*not literally, you fucking moron

You asked for it

A job on craigslists insisted on a two sentence cover letter on the subject of a dream job, I obliged:

 

I hope I’m not the only person who’s being honest here but my dream job would involve an extortionist fee to travel around the world and meet loads of cool and interesting people(essentially what I’m doing now). Needless to say, I’d pick my own hours and my comission would be based on how much fun I was having.

Until that happens though I’m sure I’d be very happy working for you.

Hope to hear from you soon,

The Rua Herald, shit that done happen’n’stuff

Crime in the City

M missed a job interview yesterday because, the feckin’inconvenience of it all, she witnessed a drive-by shooting! She was on the bus when she looked out the window and saw a guy on the ground holding his leg, blood everywhere. Then the SWAT team got on the bus and shuffled two dudes from the back off, everyone had guns. Here’s the funny bit, when all was said and done two kids behind her said “dogg that was hella gangsta”-the San Franciscan equivilant of “bleedin’deadly buzz!”

The Economy

3/5 J1ers I’ve talked to don’t have jobs which leads me to believe this was probably  bad year to come over. For some reason the words ‘Global Deppression’ didn’t set off alarm bells in my innocent Celtic Tiger Generation head. Being unemployed is awful, I now fully understand the allure of hard drugs. Put simply, it’d be something to do.

I got a phonecall yesterday, a lady really wanted to hire me-she really did. Then I let i slip that I don’t have a car-cunt! Fuck you, I could hitch-hike to work!

Current Affairs

I now have to get a loan off my mam, she called me this morning and said, quote: “we’re talking about money, speak in Irish”. All my housemates think this is hillarious, I think its another reason why I can’t go home before September. Papa Rua says that if I don’t get a job I should just come home….to continue not having a job? I can garuntee you  that there’s less work going in dear  aul Dublin than in this city.

Sports

We bought a two litre bottle of gin, a two litre bottle of rum and a two litre bottle of Southern Comfort the other day. After training last night the Southern Comfort had quite a severe bruise in its upper 900mls, while the Rum seemed to lose form before suffering two broken legs. The Gin is fit to play tomorrow but drinking is a team game. Luckily, there’s still time to get a few transfers in from the 7eleven before nightfall.