tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49172218826162805742024-03-13T02:52:03.201-07:00Dancing Pandagazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-85787264071848280182011-08-01T14:49:00.000-07:002011-08-01T14:49:48.192-07:00Catchy Uppy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I really want to blog y'see..<br />
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.....but I have a bad case of Bloggers Block. It's fame hogging cousin, Writer's Block, only hangs around for a mere few days (or weeks if you're an unlucky beggar and you've succumbed to making hand puppets with your socks, putting on nightly shows) but the Blogger's is a bit like that annoying elderly neighbour who always calls over for a traybake and a gossip just as you've found your 'comfy' position on the sofa. Urgh.<br />
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I should have blogged about spotting bears in Canada, playing the 'deaf card' in Berlin, my new *free* MacBook Air (an excuse to get back to blogging again if there ever was one, eh?), epic dodgeball games with the workies, the little boy who has become my lil hero over the past few months as well as the fact that I finally bagged the job I have been after for just under 2 years *does idiotic happy dance*<br />
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Speaking of the latter, I start tomorrow, new desk an' all which is just as well as they've lumped my current team in that section of the building completely devoid of windows to the outside world - oh hello, artificial light. <br />
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Gotta suit up (well, Google style...), look sharp and nail that role tomorrow - I be riding on the crest of a wave!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUPzsS3Lm6itotN0fEceaz7TUrETK1Q_HLAPt59_ng7qFMFxyfAt4lTKGqMzO7oisf81S9wKE9NaHmmFx8KASKw8OCjJdS7W-Xs4SEcJodjv4i5r7Tr67vXvcI2c_mJ3Hhymi3m5k46PJ6/s1600/keep-calm.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUPzsS3Lm6itotN0fEceaz7TUrETK1Q_HLAPt59_ng7qFMFxyfAt4lTKGqMzO7oisf81S9wKE9NaHmmFx8KASKw8OCjJdS7W-Xs4SEcJodjv4i5r7Tr67vXvcI2c_mJ3Hhymi3m5k46PJ6/s320/keep-calm.jpeg" width="274" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">google.com<br />
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</div>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-90034425385771278132011-03-23T16:41:00.000-07:002011-03-27T14:47:50.900-07:00March times...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Ah hello there, long time no blog, eh?<br />
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The last wee while has been taken up by a whole lotta work and a whole lotta movin' (i moved twice in one week, sigh!) This hasn't really given me ample blogging material sadly, and since I was always tapping away on this overworked laptop of mine, it took all my will not to throw it out the window by the time the ritual evening hobby of browsing the internets for funny cat pics rolled round (i'm kidding of course..*shuffles awkwardly*..)<br />
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Anyhoo, here are a few pics that sum up my last few weeks:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFidbV7eWYmQssy9IHuGjqqfi4EjMWm-u-xR_nR0TSCLaFOUtAtTcsVl1wBcd1vdGi1iGQpz4t8aAGpXdZ2PSaNXtQXrJKRROY8889bsRbY7sb9Nk9mVXYPf-YdMjGJEbTDPwvBBzzitkr/s1600/cakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFidbV7eWYmQssy9IHuGjqqfi4EjMWm-u-xR_nR0TSCLaFOUtAtTcsVl1wBcd1vdGi1iGQpz4t8aAGpXdZ2PSaNXtQXrJKRROY8889bsRbY7sb9Nk9mVXYPf-YdMjGJEbTDPwvBBzzitkr/s1600/cakes.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wish i celebrated Paddy's Day with cute cupcakes, went for the alcoholic beverage version instead, uh-oh!<br />
@<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'helvetica neue', arial, sans-serif; line-height: 17px;"><a class="colorless" href="http://go.pinterest.com/?id=1847X546955&xs=1&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.lovefromtheoven.com%2F2011%2F03%2F03%2Fgreen-velvet-cake-st-pattys-day-baking%2F&sref=http%3A%2F%2Fpinterest.com%2Fpin%2F7194360%2F" style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">lovefromtheoven.com</a></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkc3v4cQhV6cso0tKWGjvrooF7I0vsV2KejrrmdfIFsyWFtAZYDg0vyeBXcBDo4f8sNY3N4qAfeV09_yxcvzFXivi2OeGo41j0MGUfkLeOj11ES7PMd67qAN0nJj4pY_-gTp61WAfAMN6w/s1600/winning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkc3v4cQhV6cso0tKWGjvrooF7I0vsV2KejrrmdfIFsyWFtAZYDg0vyeBXcBDo4f8sNY3N4qAfeV09_yxcvzFXivi2OeGo41j0MGUfkLeOj11ES7PMd67qAN0nJj4pY_-gTp61WAfAMN6w/s1600/winning.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...table quizzes (especially when using my superior lip-reading skills to spy on rival team's answers! @<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://image.spreadshirt.com/image-server/image/composition/17852573/view/1/producttypecolor/1/type/png/width/378/height/378/winning-sheen-accessories_design.png&imgrefurl=http://www.spreadshirt.com/winning-sheen-accessories-C3376A7174895&usg=__Aa4NtTjuEcrnCC21DtzMKuKbgyw=&h=378&w=378&sz=55&hl=en&start=0&sig2=Ybe4YsWXKVOWzGkataHHJA&zoom=1&tbnid=CAkV5si4ttJihM:&tbnh=131&tbnw=132&ei=HYOKTbi_J4TdsgbgtZikDA&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dwinning!%2Bsheen%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1440%26bih%3D738%26tbm%3Disch&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=272&vpy=112&dur=2&hovh=225&hovw=225&tx=152&ty=110&oei=HYOKTbi_J4TdsgbgtZikDA&page=1&ndsp=32&ved=1t:429,r:1,s:0">sheen</a></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd9PDx7i7O79SLZezDl-E9LbnVWC4ZyTLLwENetstn3Gre0GcgcCD1NnyIpi9T6g3MTMeg0cYTIHcqRlGnCDhtPSpommoyLhGlm9ihKjO6Dv7PJ7zrjJkh8tf6_c15QeO75ts5VO8SLd0H/s1600/gnocci.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd9PDx7i7O79SLZezDl-E9LbnVWC4ZyTLLwENetstn3Gre0GcgcCD1NnyIpi9T6g3MTMeg0cYTIHcqRlGnCDhtPSpommoyLhGlm9ihKjO6Dv7PJ7zrjJkh8tf6_c15QeO75ts5VO8SLd0H/s320/gnocci.jpg" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gnocchi Mac and Cheese - perfect Sunday night noms! @<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://thecuttingedgeofordinary.blogspot.com/2010/10/gnocchi-mac-cheese.html">cuttingedge</a></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRGHOkHBSsduz88RaikzxeBsBsBt-b74H6DDhhS-WTMY4NToZDhT85nz_UNDCm7Cx-tHLHzSU9XksvNO9qLdU4Gzl1BnqNs6dq60e85ctey4PzOMF7vyR8kh1S0OnpUTO2Z3Fp7e5PXZ2/s1600/time.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRGHOkHBSsduz88RaikzxeBsBsBt-b74H6DDhhS-WTMY4NToZDhT85nz_UNDCm7Cx-tHLHzSU9XksvNO9qLdU4Gzl1BnqNs6dq60e85ctey4PzOMF7vyR8kh1S0OnpUTO2Z3Fp7e5PXZ2/s320/time.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hopefully some big changes coming....<br />
@<a href="http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/1jPtS6/pinterest.com/natmay/quotes/">NatalieMay</a><br />
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Sarah Kaye, the Spoken Poet. She's simply great; what are the things that <i>you </i>know to be true?<br />
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</div>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-13001734107721089042011-03-01T08:27:00.000-08:002011-03-01T08:28:28.376-08:00Ah, to be here...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZNW09923fh6AyJaLTgpsYFx3Pc4hAykWd_9JaN_doQx3A0To1mIrraQGSJV4ikie_m4jm091RZnVpS5QhL73hxI5GQSpPVMrX-xfMmNKy-63bPu9TwDtS9Vw8YtvhW8XO8-7OG7m9Ndb/s1600/fish.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZNW09923fh6AyJaLTgpsYFx3Pc4hAykWd_9JaN_doQx3A0To1mIrraQGSJV4ikie_m4jm091RZnVpS5QhL73hxI5GQSpPVMrX-xfMmNKy-63bPu9TwDtS9Vw8YtvhW8XO8-7OG7m9Ndb/s320/fish.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">Image: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4f4e4e; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><a href="http://nomstermonster.tumblr.com/page/3" style="color: #ff6699; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Hakuna Matata</a></span></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4f4e4e; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"></span>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-3603285856858292252011-02-26T17:55:00.000-08:002011-02-26T18:02:58.167-08:00Shiny, vibrating pebbles: one girl's storySo I was in town yesterday and suffered a truly morto moment. Its been 24 hrs and i think my face has just about returned to its original colour.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0OLT_rnwOfE96T7ijeNCKxIuX3_Zeo1dBjdWUoWokO_vjc2HW8-HUGWvq3JRFuxbi8uVKxo0iQHSzpYbm3mRiZyC5jZkxZRoQ6TJeAgr436OJouK9Cjqydw1pCM1nh8cs81SbNH0-hDJL/s1600/embarrassed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0OLT_rnwOfE96T7ijeNCKxIuX3_Zeo1dBjdWUoWokO_vjc2HW8-HUGWvq3JRFuxbi8uVKxo0iQHSzpYbm3mRiZyC5jZkxZRoQ6TJeAgr436OJouK9Cjqydw1pCM1nh8cs81SbNH0-hDJL/s1600/embarrassed.jpg" /></a></div><div><br />
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</div><div>Let me set the scene:</div><div>It was Friday, 'payday' Friday to be precise. I was in town and feeling like my underwear drawer could do with a touch of something scarlet-y and silky.....enter Miss Ann Summers. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Sure enough, there was plenty of silky, lovely things for the taking, but I quickly got distracted by...shall we say, 'props'. There was the usual suspects: the furry cuffs, the whips, the penis-shaped pasta and what have you. Then I happened upon a section devoted to Cosmopolitian products and started playing with what can only be described as a giant shiny pebble. I quickly discovered it was a massager for every nook and cranny of the female and male form; a classy pebble-shaped vibrator; a bit of an all-rounder really.</div><div><br />
</div><div>All you had to do was push down the top part and off it went, vibrating like there was no tomorrow. Push again and you have the slow-mo vibrate. Give it another push and you have the rythimic pulse. There was about 12 different modes in all, such fun! Once I'd got bored and drained most of the batteries, I decided that I had enough of said 'shiny vibrating pebble' and searched for the off button...which was nowhere to be found by the way. It was a shiny vibrating pebble - where the heck does the 'off' button go??! Blind panic set in and I tried to look casual as a fumbled around with it some more. "Christ!" I thought, "I only came in for some knickers". I couldn't just shove it back on the shelf otherwise it would make that horrible sound your mobile makes when it vibrates on the bench in the middle of a lecture at university, except the pebble was on the 'steady thrust' mode at the time, and that just wouldn't do.</div><div><br />
</div><div>"Er, can I help you with anything?" was the sweet, sweet sound of rescue. Concerned shop assistant must have spotted my pathetic self looking less than casual at the new Cosmopolitian promotional stand. And said concerned shop assistant was a dude who looked like he had a crazy love affair with his GHDs. </div><div><br />
</div><div>"oh yah..er..i can't seem to get this thing to stop...its going a bit crazy on me. Heh heh...(*awkward laugh*)". I handed it to him and he held the top of the pebble down for a few secs and that was it. that was it reader!! All I had to do was stop madly flicking between the modes and hold the bloody thing down for 5 secs. Of cooooourse. I quickly hot-footed it out of the shop, my silky, scarlet-y vision in tatters.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I should have just went for the pasta, at least the packet comes with instructions.</div><div><br />
</div><div>{Image: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/krisatomic/665520238/in/set-1386641/" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Flickr</a>}</span></div></div>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-39636829029462302372011-02-15T15:03:00.000-08:002011-02-15T15:04:54.782-08:00Movin' on out...So after 2 years of fun, tears, laughter and even a little blood, I have decided to move to pastures new and have bagged me a cute new crib in a cooler part of Dublin town! The big move isn't happening for a couple of weeks but I have already mentally picked out the new cushions to go with my new black 3 seater (bless you TK Maxx and your interior decorating department).<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAEtPsIFy93qN3S_qFful9mvOAP6zzWZfL5OXicdFzPU_3JbuivtPBnjODdm8HggcQpKNihHX1seorxXXAciAgLePrEmFWPm_fFOujOMqNhzUwu0G1FibAvAiy-w2YPVmCEJsuC4LMJBqh/s1600/moving2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAEtPsIFy93qN3S_qFful9mvOAP6zzWZfL5OXicdFzPU_3JbuivtPBnjODdm8HggcQpKNihHX1seorxXXAciAgLePrEmFWPm_fFOujOMqNhzUwu0G1FibAvAiy-w2YPVmCEJsuC4LMJBqh/s320/moving2.jpg" width="219" /></a></div><div><br />
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</div><div>While I'm so excited I could poo rainbows, there's that niggling feeling that I won't warm to the whole scary concept of living on my own. Yep, its me, one apartment, and a whole lotta freedom to walk about starkers. Okay, the last bit is a bit of a cliché but one does have to wonder what it is like not to have to grab a towel/hoodie/large coverable object, and dash across the hall on tiptoes when you realise you have left your bra in the laundry room. There's also the 'naked chef' idea, for which i'm game if it involves preparing salad or similar that won't spit hot oil onto my lady parts and result in an obvious John Wayne-style waddle for weeks afterwards. </div><div>Naked mishaps aside, my main worry is that I will turn into one of those sad, lonely females that politely decline all social invitations in favour of crafting new hats for her cats, and becomes so obsessed with the comings and goings of her neighbours that she spins elaborate lies in her head ("That Peter from No.4 is a member of the Ku Klux Klan so he is. Wears an awful lot of white so he does...")</div><div><br />
</div><div>I think i'll brave it. I can stink up the place when i want some fish for dinner...I can have impromtu visits without worrying that we are in the flatmate's way...I can wash my clothes anytime knowing the washing machine is empty...and best of all, the place is mine, all mine! Plus, I'm a cat person anyway :)</div><div><br />
</div><div>{Image:<a href="http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/2AqHIU/weheartit.com/entry/6809112">Moonface</a>}</div><div><br />
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</div></div>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-58100389794831571642011-02-13T13:50:00.000-08:002011-02-13T13:50:27.647-08:00Meanwhile in GaGa-land...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuCPCVjV3a3WCwzs_9QFH9ghkHMHJktZiOMVdPTjCqMhuWqSPqNjo_F_AK9yIPCJ6P5ggBgBl7AaoUGar-12cl0Fry5hq26A3XoXxlB97Y8ELXnCtoRJazzeolRtPzzEZ2F6vCQaT_NwW/s1600/egypt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuCPCVjV3a3WCwzs_9QFH9ghkHMHJktZiOMVdPTjCqMhuWqSPqNjo_F_AK9yIPCJ6P5ggBgBl7AaoUGar-12cl0Fry5hq26A3XoXxlB97Y8ELXnCtoRJazzeolRtPzzEZ2F6vCQaT_NwW/s400/egypt.jpg" width="292" /></a></div><a href="http://sofapizza.tumblr.com/post/3232223952/fashion">{sofapizza}</a>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-26958187136630439352011-02-09T15:56:00.000-08:002011-02-10T06:53:20.668-08:00Meeting the Parents....So last weekend was a monumental one considering i brought a boy home with me. An actual <i>boy</i> reader!<br />
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</div><div>I had been hiding him away for a year. Bless my parents; they saw the pictures, they laughed at the stories, they even waved and smiled like loons when a video chat with boyfriend was interrupted over Christmas. But alas, they hadn't met the man himself. It didn't help either that I was practically a part of the furniture at his place - his mother and I were swapping cooking tips the weekend before no less. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So when it turned out he had a football-free window in his calendar last weekend; I pounced. I made sure I booked my parents in for some 'pally time' and dragged the poor fella up the road for a couple of days of smiling politely and accepting endless offers of food.</div><div><br />
</div><div>In the end, I had nothing to worry about; my father was ready to offer my hand in marriage as soon as they both sat down to watch 22 men chasing a ball, shaking their fists at the screen every now and then. Mother was charmed when she was presented by a box of chocolates on arrival and promptly gave me a not-so-subtle thumbs up followed by a wink. It was actually the dog that turned out to be the one he underestimated; even chicken-flavoured bribes wouldn't suffice as she kept eyeing him up, looking for the most exposed part of his body to lynch on when the opportunity arised.</div><div><br />
</div><div>At one point in the weekend we gathered around to watch an episode of 'Hands On'. This is a TV programme for the deaf, rather like those programmes that you see when you switch on the box just as you stumble in from the pub at some unreasonable hour. I had already shamed myself on screen before Christmas with my stint on the programme but <i>of course</i>, they were having a 'best of' special that meant I had to relive the whole sorry thing again, with 7 extra pairs of eyes in the room with me.<br />
<br />
Mercy! <br />
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Don't get me wrong, 'Hands On' is great, but me? I'm still learning how to sign. If you saw me talk to one of my fellow deafies you would most likely see my hands flapping about madly in every which direction; think 'directing-traffic-in-central-Mumbai-rush-hour-traffic' style and you're pretty much there. You can see for yourself at 7:38 mins below, but Lord knows the vid itself may disappear in order to help my face go back to its original colour.</div><div><br />
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</div>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-61892295112611760332011-02-01T03:48:00.000-08:002011-02-01T03:48:48.677-08:00Sounds all too familiar...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7U3LFBNzoUEREJAoDn5fT1LJ_gapqbFKFPYvy0VnffwbuxdVw0HMob8pIb1UZ-Yg3cy9SIbkpO3fEhlZHKogeylj0g4pMkYfRQimxFGBX8Iw-krduR7Cv245zfdjj_Z2OIYcEN_eI52m/s1600/sleep.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7U3LFBNzoUEREJAoDn5fT1LJ_gapqbFKFPYvy0VnffwbuxdVw0HMob8pIb1UZ-Yg3cy9SIbkpO3fEhlZHKogeylj0g4pMkYfRQimxFGBX8Iw-krduR7Cv245zfdjj_Z2OIYcEN_eI52m/s1600/sleep.png" /></a></div>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-15952046799131759552011-01-31T15:20:00.000-08:002011-02-01T01:52:47.271-08:00Nom Nom NomSo we had the final of 'Come Dine with Me' last night. I was limbering up for a smug new post about how I managed to get them drunk enough by the time it came to scoring my winning menu when I realised that I neglected to blog about the day I actually cooked. Tsk. The reason it fell off my blogging radar is probably due to the fact that it was one of those days that it interrupts your train of thought, you feel a wave of exhaustion come over you, and need a good sit down with a cuppa tea (and a hobnob, if you're feeling extravagant) to get your bearings again.<br />
<br />
In a nutshell, we've taken the concept of the <a href="http://www.channel4.com/programmes/come-dine-with-me">TV show</a>, added a few Irish accents and got rid of the camera crew. So myself and 4 other budding masterchefs in my social circle take it it turns to cook a three course meal every other Sunday (ah, four free meals to help keep the 'end of weekend' blues away) and score each other afterwards. Add the scores up at the end and the winner is declared.<br />
<br />
I woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed the morning of my 'night', skipped off to town with my Eco-Warrior Tesco Bags (EWTBs). Checkout workers always give me that 'everytime-i-hand-you-a-plastic-bag-a-baby-polar-bear-dies' look when I forget to bring EWTBs. Since the only pictures of polar bears I have stored in the cranium are akin to the below, the EWTBs are coming with me dammit.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCGaPO9fyeIHxQMSMQVA3Rpsih92r6SZuCDmZbALxzNwZwJjY57n5tdcyZ0VY4vhI0QgzI6zmHNYxgJp4-UBb0CtGQAQqD0O6_-bYR-j2zA7QxRrgadc65f5Xz9EqTrloQkzsaoAFXUryZ/s1600/polarbears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCGaPO9fyeIHxQMSMQVA3Rpsih92r6SZuCDmZbALxzNwZwJjY57n5tdcyZ0VY4vhI0QgzI6zmHNYxgJp4-UBb0CtGQAQqD0O6_-bYR-j2zA7QxRrgadc65f5Xz9EqTrloQkzsaoAFXUryZ/s1600/polarbears.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Run along little bears, run along!</span></td></tr>
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When I arrived back at the apartment several hours later minus a months wages and an estimated 4 stone, my kitchen was fully kitted out with a new baking dish, a baking tray, a measuring jug and a 'revolutionary' pastry roller that I didn't need in the end as the pastry was already prepared and rolled out. But it is revolutionary, it will have its chance to shine when i finally purchase my '101 Ways with Pastry' book (read: when I make some homemade playdoh).<br />
<br />
I started cooking all at once - I figured I'd just go with the flow and wrap the whole feast in a blanket of clingfilm and tinfoil if worse comes to worse and its all done 2 hrs early. I had things boiling, baking, frying, steaming, melting, simmering, roasting and relaxing all at once. Not sure what that last bit was but it was something edible sitting in the fridge...relaxing. Any questions ask Mr Ramsey yourself.<br />
<br />
The dinner itself passed a in haze of paranoia; did i overcook the beef? Did i forget someone's allergy and they are about to drop to the floor clutching their throat and looking at me accusingly any minute now? Why is she only eating 4 spoonfuls of the soup? Is Colm drunk? The answers; No, not a rash in sight, turns out the poor sod was hungover and yes, yes he was.<br />
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I bet you're wondering what the menu was aren't you? Ah reader, I know thee too well. So here it is, drumroll please:<br />
Starter: Broccoli and Stilton Soup<br />
Main: Beef Wellington with a side of Potatoes Dauphinoise<br />
Dessert: Apple Crumble with Custurd<br />
<br />
In fairness, my fellow contestants did put up a good fight and showcased their culinary prowess with burger surprises, special edition chocolate cakes and alcoholic melons (yep, that was Colm again). Give it a go yourself readers - even if you serve up a burnt mess that would have you hauled up in front of a judge for animal cruelty if you served it to your dog, at least you will have a solid night's craic!gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-79403980437772549162011-01-25T12:58:00.000-08:002011-01-25T14:46:55.755-08:00Ah January...Did you know that January 24th was the most depressing day folks? Its a mix of failed New Years resolutions (we're all back on the full-fat mayo now apparently), the painfully long wait til you get your hands on that first paycheck after Xmas and well, its January ('nuff said). Thankfully that sombre little nugget of information just passed me right by as I was too busy yelping at a sewing machine on the day itself. See below for the fruits of my labour:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFVTbVhFqBl-6lcpvDYmobR0v3MM_ySj15rBGNV-up0V3y0oa2DihGzMgS9ERIwmGyCZ88Qklytwasl-XE86R-gXtotJQ-8IXir6vThV0mv37JX5BnEIWmhAAEC_pZ_E8TBxwrUu2c7Z7e/s1600/IMG_20110125_200529+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFVTbVhFqBl-6lcpvDYmobR0v3MM_ySj15rBGNV-up0V3y0oa2DihGzMgS9ERIwmGyCZ88Qklytwasl-XE86R-gXtotJQ-8IXir6vThV0mv37JX5BnEIWmhAAEC_pZ_E8TBxwrUu2c7Z7e/s320/IMG_20110125_200529+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Yesyes, its just a bit of fabric masquerading as some pathetic cushion cover at best (or at worse, some kind of towel to dry your springer spaniel off after a long walk in the countryside, in the rain). Nonetheless reader, this little patch is just the beginning of my furore into dressmaking. And next week we get to make a skirt! A <i>skirt </i>reader! I'm <i>so</i> excited i'm using <i>italics</i>!!<br />
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We spent the start of the class paired up and measuring each other. I happened to be paired with a pregnant woman (6 months gone) who helpfully decided to compare our measurements as we went along:<br />
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"I guess the bust measurement should be good for the ego, but it will all head south of the border as soon as I pop this little one out!"<br />
"Wow, what a tiny waist you have.."<br />
"Yeah i know, i've such such fat ankles now with all the water i'm retaining (sigh!)"<br />
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Mercifully, all was well in the end when it turns out she was a bit of a dab hand with the awl sewing machine and lamented on the little cute outfits she was going to make to kit out the new addition to the family (it was at this point in the evening where my ovaries started quivering at the thought of the little one in a matching cardie and beanie hat!)<br />
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In other news, the boyfriend did his bit for his country over the weekend and attempted to get a few in the back of the net, all in the name of futsal. The evenings were largely dominated by helpful reminders from my fellow spectator Lisa to 'breathe!!' when Joe got the ball and was dribbling in the manner of {insert famous futsal player's name here}. I managed to watch 3 games without falling into a hyperventilative state and congratulated him in the end:<br />
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In a totally unrelated note, I discovered the most luciously decorated bar in Dublin last weekend when out for a glass of Orange juice (*ahem* hi mum!!). If Urban Outfitters was a bar/restaurant, this would be it: <a href="http://www.shebeenchic.ie/">http://www.shebeenchic.ie/</a>. If you're in Dubbers this weekend go see, if only for the photo booth and to take style inspiration from the staff!gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-24832960142236408192011-01-19T14:46:00.000-08:002011-01-20T02:33:38.579-08:00Never friend a cat on FB; lesson learnt the hard way....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TI4D2oaK8mQzXY-1qoZuGjYXYoz47kJVAPjjNFMHUtdzyCWa-9gmrzdjYKUbgfXTqE0LUitLuAryI1SON0trSjodAJ-JLhhaxKb1I_9-d9ocwdIl-MSg59sbHSM7vFK0PxwFqwpz1psq/s1600/mike1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TI4D2oaK8mQzXY-1qoZuGjYXYoz47kJVAPjjNFMHUtdzyCWa-9gmrzdjYKUbgfXTqE0LUitLuAryI1SON0trSjodAJ-JLhhaxKb1I_9-d9ocwdIl-MSg59sbHSM7vFK0PxwFqwpz1psq/s1600/mike1.bmp" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-10610253630532561042011-01-18T15:38:00.000-08:002011-01-18T15:38:23.781-08:00In through the rabbit hole, round the big tree...Finally nabbed a place on a dressmaking class 10 mins away from my digs for the bargainous sum of 90 yoyos! This is all in exchange for 10 weeks worth of learning how not to stab myself repeatedly with the sewing needle and produce an elegant creation so delightful that men and women alike will tilt their heads and sigh in appreciation at the sight. I'm no budding Stella McCartney but if I ended up with something akin to the below, i'll die happy:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc7uq228PfRxZ5Ajp0xYN7OQWc0ObSALUMdhZXuu2-1gkLsA0UznPfKKiAgLQbmcPV7GkCYkMV_rFhhlbc9hJ7_7yQ3uYYeHxCysMBqrRMY3-Bxyi4fd0TzPXgj7hcVArm-SwX9ETVpSfP/s1600/scarlett.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc7uq228PfRxZ5Ajp0xYN7OQWc0ObSALUMdhZXuu2-1gkLsA0UznPfKKiAgLQbmcPV7GkCYkMV_rFhhlbc9hJ7_7yQ3uYYeHxCysMBqrRMY3-Bxyi4fd0TzPXgj7hcVArm-SwX9ETVpSfP/s320/scarlett.jpeg" width="229" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption<br />
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</tbody></table>Went to see Love & Other Drugs last night which was nice an all. Alas, the sex scenes disturbed me greatly due to the fact that Anne Hathaway looks the spit of my best friend's lil sister (uncomfortable, mostly due to the fact that she is still the lil 8 year old that followed us around looking to play, and maybe a lil bit due to the fact that she nabbed Jake, biatch)gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-70784476438876550052011-01-13T14:36:00.000-08:002011-01-13T14:39:57.740-08:00Say what?!So apparently I'm not a Capricorn anymore. This has thrown me slightly I gotta say. <br />
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When I was a deluded teen I used to hunt for the goat (my starsign 'mascot' if you will) in the 'astrology' page of Bliss magazine and devoured every word, especially the 'love life' section which satisfied me every time with its mention of 'surprise dates', 'secret admirers' and 'a spontaneous gift of a field of sunflowers in rural Sardinia in which yourself and hunk of the month will frolic in' (okay ,the latter isn't strictly true but I had a good imagination at the time)<br />
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So now I'm part of that cool gang of Aquarius'. Which sounds kinda like some achingly cool mermaid gang out at sea eating their organic seaweed and floating from place to place with a big glossy mane of hair which always seems to follow gracefully behind them so they never end up swallowing a mouthful when they make an abrupt turn with their perfectly sized fins. Sigh.<br />
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I'll ignore the fact that I think astrology is a load of rubbish and run with this little fantasy but if you are pondering your next tattoo, here is a useful guide:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsMkfNcUppa_JJqiq1a67cO64e5CkLuTd4WLZJqDKsr2ElbQtSDLIF-iuqrAk-YrgjVrIOxoSCd38mBKNLHKIAOdL5tb_kjmbmunawHfTck049duwDKVN47Ef7GDLLsNnPy0nS1xU8CZX3/s1600/astro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsMkfNcUppa_JJqiq1a67cO64e5CkLuTd4WLZJqDKsr2ElbQtSDLIF-iuqrAk-YrgjVrIOxoSCd38mBKNLHKIAOdL5tb_kjmbmunawHfTck049duwDKVN47Ef7GDLLsNnPy0nS1xU8CZX3/s400/astro.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
</tbody></table>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-29479778534503593172011-01-11T15:55:00.000-08:002011-01-11T16:06:27.693-08:00hullo 2011 ;)You'd be forgiven for thinking that this blog is as dead as a dodo but I felt sorry for this little blog with its outdated 'Christmas snow' effect falling sadly in the background so thought i'd give it some blog lovin'. The snow effect will remain until I work out how the heck to get it off, plus its very becoming don't you think?<br />
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So Christmas and NYE has been and gone and left my favourite jeans feeling a tad too snug for my liking. Christmas was a slightly tame affair since my childhood digs lie in the middle of the Mourne Mountains; they're very pretty with their snow cap and sunsets in the background an' all, but what with the local residents being a few hundred heifers, sheep and that odd farmer round the corner who opted for a horse in place of a wife, it didn't make for a riotous Boxing Day knees-up...i'm gonna be honest. I squeezed in a bit of reading, walking and gossiping with the few friends that happen to live within a 10 mile radius before donning my gladrags and escaping to Wexford (South Ireland) with around 30 others. <br />
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Wexford was a different kettle of fish altogether. If there was a cow, I wouldn't have been able to spot it for being distracted by this magnificent house we had rented for a few days to usher in 'twenty one one'.<br />
Cinema! Jacuzzi! Private Irish bar! Big Bouncy Trampoline!<br />
...I settled in no problem as you can very well imagine. Once I got past the fact that the main colour scheme was cream (30 people, alcohol; go figure) I had a large sea mammal of a time I tell thee.<br />
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Next up was my birthday on the 7th. This is quite possibly the worse time to have a birthday what with everyone on some carrot juice detox diet/broke/studying or too depressed over the fact that they have broken their NY resolutions already, although i do know someone born on April Fools Day which is decidedly worse.<br />
Joey exceeded himself by taking me out to my fave restaurant, a surprise gathering at the funfair and ice skating. The latter was tray amusant as the dude spent most of the time pulling himself around the edge of the rink while cursing the rink supervisor who was putting on quite a show - he only stopped short of doing a full mid-air pirouette dear readers. Joe contented himself with the assertion that he is very probably better at football than said supervisor and off he went for another long slug around the edge of the rink. <br />
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On an unrelated note, its my turn to unleash my culinary genius this Sunday for 'Come Dine With Me'. So far i've decided on Broccoli and Stilton soup as a starter (mainly because i know they will recoil in horror at the sight of it on the menu and i want to see their terrified little faces around the table) and apple crumble with custurd to polish it all off. You will find me in the 'Cookery' section of Waterstone's this weekend furiously flicking pages of Nigella, Delia and Gordon's offerings for something to complete the 'main meal' part of my winning combination (*kisses imaginary laminated menu*)gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-36504781875365556182010-12-14T13:04:00.000-08:002011-01-11T16:08:46.594-08:00Quick, pass the Kleenex!<iframe frameborder="0" height="225" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/12155835" width="400"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/12155835">Bottle</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/kirstenlepore">Kirsten Lepore</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
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<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><a href="http://www.kirstenlepore.com/" style="color: #3043a7; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Kirsten Lepore</a>’s award-winning stop-motion short <em style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Bottle </em>“details a transoceanic conversation between two characters via objects in a bottle.” </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><br />
</span></span>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-8721098820816959202010-12-12T16:37:00.000-08:002010-12-13T13:22:06.555-08:00(sigh!)Me: "Mum, my throat feels all scratchy"<br />
Mother: "I have something for that"<br />
<br />
Me: "Mum, I have this horrible stain on my new suede boots and it won't budge"<br />
Mother: "I have something for that"<br />
<br />
Me: "Mum, I've walked the dog and now she stinks"<br />
Mother:: "I have something for that"<br />
<br />
Me: "Mum, i want world peace"<br />
Mother: "Let me have a look in the cupboard, I might have something for that"<br />
<br />
Why think for myself when I can live happily ever after in this lil cuddly ball of cotton wool in which my mother has most likely placed a hot water bottle under the covers to keep me warm? You guessed it, I'm home for the weekend and loving it. The concrete jungle that is Dublin just doesn't appeal to my inner country bumpkin in the same way that catching a whiff of cow poo and having to walk for miles to encounter civilisation does!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR5ZvzCzWzB-gygNV0mgewy9JsB6YlFy76g7gXHBmzHperjwi78a_QQwJAg9zSOY_sdLlxHV47ubQRdT5gyqU-SUyPkOXEPh-4AB9jj8PbBg-e0xy63h7jxo5DPpgDanvsamnWsO5SOHQE/s1600/home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR5ZvzCzWzB-gygNV0mgewy9JsB6YlFy76g7gXHBmzHperjwi78a_QQwJAg9zSOY_sdLlxHV47ubQRdT5gyqU-SUyPkOXEPh-4AB9jj8PbBg-e0xy63h7jxo5DPpgDanvsamnWsO5SOHQE/s320/home.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><br />
c/anais lee creativegazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-73862730230499065252010-12-04T16:16:00.000-08:002010-12-04T16:16:49.683-08:00The Most Wonderful Time of the Year...Its that time of year again where i arise at some ungodly hour of the morning at the weekend and run like a headless chicken up and down Grafton Street looking for something to light up the faces of my nearest and dearest on Christmas Day. If i could get away with buying them some smelly soapy stuff from the pharmacy then I would have the clan smelling of roses with vanilla overtones on Christmas morning but nay, they're a fussy lot. I don't want to dabble in online shopping as I'd just end up using hours browsing through over-expensive remote controlled helicopters, bookmarking them for later and then going on to check out the credentials by reading the reviews. All this with Facebook breaks in-between. Nah, I'm going to brave the elements and get my sorry self to town. It may mean I will rugby-tackle a complete stranger to the ground for the last signed copy of Marian Keye's latest page-turner, but I know Mother Bleakley would do the same!<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I'm counting on a reaction akin to this one for my efforts:<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="400"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/pFlcqWQVVuU?fs=1&hl=en_GB"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/pFlcqWQVVuU?fs=1&hl=en_GB" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="400" height="385"></embed></object>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-13721218809786511632010-12-02T15:27:00.000-08:002010-12-02T15:27:53.357-08:00Snow? What snow?Not having a post about the recent white blanket that has enveloped our Emerald Isle would be like ignoring the big white freezing elephant in the room, so here it is. <br />
<br />
It snowed in November in Ireland, and it hasn't stopped. <br />
<br />
In the past week we have seen Facebook news feeds overtaken with snow-related updates (just in case you didn't know it was snowing, presumably), public transport services being cancelled mere hours after Brian Cowen and co asked us to rely on said public services. We've also seen videos of unfortunate souls doing their best impression of Michael Flatley on fast-forward trying to stay upright on the ice going viral on YouTube and the public masses taking to the streets wearing oversized slippers on their feet i.e. Uggs.<br />
<br />
I for one, quite like the snow. Its Christmas-y, its romantic and doesn't happen very often. But the real reason I love the snow is because I live 2 minutes walk from work, I don't drive a car and I haven't been pelted with a snowball by a lurking 12 year old looking to pass the time now that schools out. Yet.<br />
<br />
Here are some photos for your viewing pleasure old chums:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3cGjNetkwsUw8qajR7Oj3m-mo3nA_AzMyBgEUnUa4Pp3z5lOTl3osHKwbQPDMEmFb6Xw1vuVr1OuoasmYL5atMDOHnvCGnk5vF35m8S_sYsHbWoNlcbHX3g96hF_ZIj2LLgcAXSEGunn/s1600/black.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3cGjNetkwsUw8qajR7Oj3m-mo3nA_AzMyBgEUnUa4Pp3z5lOTl3osHKwbQPDMEmFb6Xw1vuVr1OuoasmYL5atMDOHnvCGnk5vF35m8S_sYsHbWoNlcbHX3g96hF_ZIj2LLgcAXSEGunn/s320/black.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh77O2M3XdcRpJw57SqaV_CQsdv6N1p6-aFAiB7sY8IdqVS6Hz-h4_fXOKWFEojEHvuctlnlLGqvUrzR3H_MoJnxnERuKdT8oG4GmTtC0mTlgzPHwgQurHSZI7sNHlvQzhLJcA0zQNAMGnV/s1600/snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh77O2M3XdcRpJw57SqaV_CQsdv6N1p6-aFAiB7sY8IdqVS6Hz-h4_fXOKWFEojEHvuctlnlLGqvUrzR3H_MoJnxnERuKdT8oG4GmTtC0mTlgzPHwgQurHSZI7sNHlvQzhLJcA0zQNAMGnV/s320/snow.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<br />
See that dude in that picture right there? Look up. Yeah, the one that's doing the 'why-is-she-making-me-pose-for-a photo-when-i-could-be-playing-with-the-ducks' face. Well readers, he's only gone and got himself a place in the Irish national team for futsal! Well done boyfriend, looks like he's gone and made a WAG outta me!gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-77095433363057488112010-12-02T14:34:00.000-08:002010-12-04T16:20:20.868-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUyK8sWZUu4c4YM8j1lMf2Cxg4JFCHj0IDYJt54xf6mnKYjr3bHwYz4zNJ1VLruS8JLlHAHppWIChYAqyoggLsTBr6ffXtuXVGetosQ4IjDndUvwdj6xY7dHysAciZ0VZJ38JjjtNpMW4b/s1600/don.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUyK8sWZUu4c4YM8j1lMf2Cxg4JFCHj0IDYJt54xf6mnKYjr3bHwYz4zNJ1VLruS8JLlHAHppWIChYAqyoggLsTBr6ffXtuXVGetosQ4IjDndUvwdj6xY7dHysAciZ0VZJ38JjjtNpMW4b/s320/don.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>@<a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/">http://icanhascheezburger.com/</a>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-1099143062529979632010-11-30T10:44:00.000-08:002010-11-30T11:36:10.567-08:00Body: 'hello Rachael? Please be nice to me, thanks. Smiley face."So I haven't really been embracing the whole 'body is a temple' idea what with my recent stint of body abuse the past few days. First up was the 2 hrs spent waiting for a taxi to ferry myself and a few friends back to my apartment after a night out in Dublin. In my head at the time, the apartment was not merely an apartment, oh no. It was a big, bubbling hive of warmness with cushions that doubled as hot water bottles, bowls of hot soup that made themselves, and an atmosphere that felt like you got a big hug as soon as you walked in the door. We managed to get to said apartment in the end, hurrah. Admittedly I was wearing heels that cut my feet to ribbons, so having to trudge to the taxi rank in the snow meant that even after i managed to thaw them out, they still looked a truly sorry sight.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Next up was an 11 hr visit to the A&E department after an attempt at baking breakfast bars a la Nigella Lawson came to a bloody end. Have managed to damage a few nerves and had to get a few stitches in (there was only 6 stiches, don't think i've earned bragging rights as far as those were concerned, pah). </div><div>Next week is a visit to the Hand Clinic which amused me no end. I imagined a clinic where the doctors have beautiful hands that flail about wildly as they talk for maximum effect. You wouldn't be able to tell what they looked like, such was the beauty of the nimble fingers and smooth skin that eluded even the most experienced palm reader. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So anyway, i arrived back this morning to see that the mixture was still intact and i can easily pick up where i left off. Dear help the poor souls who get to taste them. I'll be staring at them intently; </div><div>"You better enjoy those, i spent 11hrs in casualty for those y'know, literally shed blood, sweat and tears y'know?"</div><div>"eh...oh..okay, erm......nom nom nom"</div>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-72595737088313284712010-11-25T18:19:00.000-08:002010-11-25T18:30:45.776-08:00Lord. have. mercy.I think I may spontaneously combust if I don't have these now....<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bettycrockerrecipes/3307399156/" title="Warm Toasted Marshmallow S'more Bars by Betty Crocker Recipes, on Flickr"><img alt="Warm Toasted Marshmallow S'more Bars" height="375" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3624/3307399156_d3b9bd4630.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
<br />
Thanks to the lovely folks at Flickr, i may give it a bash if I can get around the very <a href="http://flic.kr/p/63ghxo">american-ified recipe</a> (Graham Crackers anyone?) Hope the local Tescos is ready to meet their most demanding customer yet.<br />
<br />
I miss baking. Since I upped sticks to Dublin my inner Martha Stewart is ambling on the sidelines, screaming for attention. Dear reader, I was <i>that </i>teenager who baked so much that Mother Bleakers kept having to replace the wooden spoon. And it was I who was primarily responsible for the ever-expanding waistlines of the family (although i never heard them complain in between helpings of my Pineapple Delights...). These babies in the pic above could bring me back from the brink methinks, better put that wooden spoon on the weekend shopping list.gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-66871107558567381452010-11-25T15:42:00.000-08:002010-11-25T18:24:35.633-08:00One for the weekenderInspired by a friend's recent project and the lack of plans for the majority of this weekend (i'm usually verrrrry busy and important of course...), I have decided to embark to a self-improvement plan of sorts. It goes like this; <br />
1) Scour facebook for your friends that make you laugh, that talk a lot of nonsense but still make sense, that have good taste and whom you have had at least a few drinks with.<br />
2) Go to the 'info' tab and check out what they have listed as their fave movies<br />
3) Well, simple really...beg, borrow or steal a few of the above choices you haven't seen before and watch as the world's mysteries suddenly make sense and self is considerably improved. Probably.<br />
<br />
So without further ado, here are my chosen few (drumroll please!):<br />
<br />
Stranger than Fiction<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0UAmDQ_CDQTvMr3QbP7Cyjv82EZV3yBItUpZSCqE1x0AYpsRYer8WgpFvvi4p4BUdfZsUCHJYjJb2e1SJ7FAjMoca9kYE8Gefez_ogtfmeYBRYuho1-vkOUIsJXfehbjaGMEpuK8Q0P4/s1600/stranger-than-fiction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0UAmDQ_CDQTvMr3QbP7Cyjv82EZV3yBItUpZSCqE1x0AYpsRYer8WgpFvvi4p4BUdfZsUCHJYjJb2e1SJ7FAjMoca9kYE8Gefez_ogtfmeYBRYuho1-vkOUIsJXfehbjaGMEpuK8Q0P4/s1600/stranger-than-fiction.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Love Me if You Dare<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcTB7go9_clFEWTLq6Veo14L7pn4vsqTGvFunuxzDkaT_AG-xQjhVGFL2MIzmoHdpJacZLaD9LexTGYoV2ek-i6RSgDz3m-nO2hN1YDcJKE3p38OS4gbbmrHzGn9Hx5mWeEGMIDqjzz77G/s1600/love1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcTB7go9_clFEWTLq6Veo14L7pn4vsqTGvFunuxzDkaT_AG-xQjhVGFL2MIzmoHdpJacZLaD9LexTGYoV2ek-i6RSgDz3m-nO2hN1YDcJKE3p38OS4gbbmrHzGn9Hx5mWeEGMIDqjzz77G/s1600/love1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<br />
The Cove<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL0Kyz3t8h8Fd9Ivv39l-C0BLWw2QQLmoUS9JcwItYKwYfljeQyNPmjAevY1TXgmFX_nEoA_3t8uL0mTyjmC3d-kGl5oIHI5V9Uk6wuuaoM1FPZ9Y02IWcBkQIfR_lYijq1qEfdfpi_ifo/s1600/cove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL0Kyz3t8h8Fd9Ivv39l-C0BLWw2QQLmoUS9JcwItYKwYfljeQyNPmjAevY1TXgmFX_nEoA_3t8uL0mTyjmC3d-kGl5oIHI5V9Uk6wuuaoM1FPZ9Y02IWcBkQIfR_lYijq1qEfdfpi_ifo/s1600/cove.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Bladerunner<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyN8T9IucKgeEeUsGOdZcffSZD_KU9tZlbMzD20IPtqoDmumpDeriY5YATJ2fI8sz-NbDtqdZ82HhyphenhyphenaJb7cgsnL981aw7bfUTqXMFERfQHoVSBgoE_EI2RcVKDzV7XBWlwz6xVvUKdexc7/s1600/blade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyN8T9IucKgeEeUsGOdZcffSZD_KU9tZlbMzD20IPtqoDmumpDeriY5YATJ2fI8sz-NbDtqdZ82HhyphenhyphenaJb7cgsnL981aw7bfUTqXMFERfQHoVSBgoE_EI2RcVKDzV7XBWlwz6xVvUKdexc7/s1600/blade.jpg" /></a></div><br />
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHKy-TTUgIgNm6IBEisgXidRKsb-M1FHK2ZOc0OGmbveHCkno6OpNNIyctayiQFw7NdG1zAR70rASSsVUQJWcJM4mBBgfBO3Ur7943Vs4-NVXNJlGX4Gpab7yg_Uk3jvVYGy_1pSivtNY/s1600/flew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHKy-TTUgIgNm6IBEisgXidRKsb-M1FHK2ZOc0OGmbveHCkno6OpNNIyctayiQFw7NdG1zAR70rASSsVUQJWcJM4mBBgfBO3Ur7943Vs4-NVXNJlGX4Gpab7yg_Uk3jvVYGy_1pSivtNY/s1600/flew.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The Visitor<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8K8S2Pzp-mB2vi0NuGXsq-8RfoiaB2B7eF22F9yjFjkas99ejo2wh-A2WjIS9bMNBmp1HnaT72sHHL7IO22hQg6f8IuPA-iBLs6fl39OlRXfgCfpfT9Yz8mMWB9ZSseG-as3l7WA6oumj/s1600/visit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8K8S2Pzp-mB2vi0NuGXsq-8RfoiaB2B7eF22F9yjFjkas99ejo2wh-A2WjIS9bMNBmp1HnaT72sHHL7IO22hQg6f8IuPA-iBLs6fl39OlRXfgCfpfT9Yz8mMWB9ZSseG-as3l7WA6oumj/s1600/visit.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
If any of my dear readers spot a glaringly obvious omission from the above 'watch before you die' films, i'm all ears!gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-10200082399968862312010-11-23T13:01:00.000-08:002010-11-23T13:01:52.464-08:00Yanks and promenades...Little Bleaklers (a.k.a. my not-so-little sis) has managed to snag a job running Coca-cola no less. OK, the last part might be a lie but the job title was so fancy I just assumed it came with a gold-plated name, an assistant and free tickets to the opera. So, she is upping sticks for Atlanta, America in January and reader, I have to say I turned a pale shade of green when I heard the news; the job sounds amaysing! Whats more, she's basically BFF's with her new manager after a very chummy phone interview in which he mentioned that his son will help her find her bearings (why did I get a flash of Lil Bleakers as a 'hockey mom' in 10 yrs hopping into her Volvo, driving lil Chuck and Randy to their baseball game?) I've practically booked my flight over to see her already - its guaranteed the girl will have an American accent within 2 weeks of hitting US soil.<br />
<br />
In a random moment this week, i've realised my 'normal' walking pace is way too fast for my fellow humans. I'm the one that decides a destination and promptly marches like something demented in order to get there as quickly as possible. There's no cash prize for getting there 2.50mins ahead of everyone else (unfortunately), but i may have ask for membership to the 'its the journey, not the destination that counts' school of thought lest i incur the wrath of the slow coach friends I leave in my wake. After all, if it means I avoid that awkward shuffle to try and overtake someone in the street, so be it!gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-91484635507372964012010-11-18T04:10:00.000-08:002010-11-18T11:25:26.895-08:00Queen Liz gets her facebook on...<object width="400" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/vIgdnlOSlps?fs=1&hl=en_GB"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/vIgdnlOSlps?fs=1&hl=en_GB" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="400" height="385"></embed></object>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4917221882616280574.post-24670787001507690472010-11-16T06:04:00.000-08:002010-11-16T13:49:01.105-08:00So i had a moment of madness this morning and pulled on a pair of heels, *gasp* For those who know me, they will know that i have an unrivalled loyalty to pumps and converses and I'm always the first one to laugh at the would-be Carrie Bradshaw's in the street walking like a newborn donkey on speed with the look of sheer determination on their faces. God loves a tryer, eh? Don't get me wrong, I have had many a moment cooing at the elegance of the offerings of Schuh and Office in town, but alas, said heeled wonders are always plonked back on the shelf, ready to entice the next battler willing to overcome a few blisters and bunions for pretty feet.<br />
<br />
So whilst my tan flat boots had served me well, the death knell was sounded when a patch started coming off at the tip of the boots and basically, i looked like a classy homeless person. Cue Lovely Brown Heeled Boots from Topshop who will hopefully be taking me on a few adventures over the next few weeks. Said adventures will probably include the A&E department but hey, I'm sure they appreciate a good pair of heels over there as much as anyone else.<br />
<br />
Just in case you wanted a nosey at the new object of my affection, behold Ladies and gentlemen; i give you Lovely Brown Heeled Boots<br />
<br />
*thunderous applause*<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTWIz7xF2EztIpFDAdqnWSuI2CdgS9cyo4zcGm0lb__1yVQcY5O57cT8EOJZsPA3DrFffXANcaT9tdao2MdOuNzrot_cqJIOvk21SXjHYyLiy2btYggNdeaFGm0fmVZlRhYfsPtYWOLO6/s1600/heels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTWIz7xF2EztIpFDAdqnWSuI2CdgS9cyo4zcGm0lb__1yVQcY5O57cT8EOJZsPA3DrFffXANcaT9tdao2MdOuNzrot_cqJIOvk21SXjHYyLiy2btYggNdeaFGm0fmVZlRhYfsPtYWOLO6/s1600/heels.jpg" /></a></div>gazingraspberrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15292205367810515277noreply@blogger.com2