THE BIG CLOTHES POST.

I'd like to make something clear now: this is not, and will never be, a fashion blog. That's not me skillfully ignoring what's hip and cool these days, it's not me eschewing the Leanne Woodfulls of this world; it's that I don't, and never will, have a clue about fashion. I try, I fail. I don't try and I fail worse...it's just not my thing. Only the other day did I learn that bootcut jeans WILL NOT FIT INTO BOOTS. I don't know what's worse, in retrospect: the fact that I tried or the fact that I wear bootcut jeans. I think I'm selling myself short ever so slightly: I'm not THAT unfortunate in the dress department. I'm just not incredibly stylish, like some of my friends are. That said, I don't really try. 

The t-shirt changes. My favourite is either this one my Communist Party one from Threadless or a short blue tribal one my mum bought for me in America. The shorts are occasionally swapped for a dress, and the shoes change on occasion. I have these Docs in a shorter version and I love them. I also have black leather boots that have been worn to death ...But by and large, that's how I dress. Day in, day out. I like to mix it up soemtimes - one of my favourite things is a leopard print dress. Ooh, I know, I'm just mad. But I mean- 

 it's leopard print. Let me have this one, fashion world. I know I should leave it to people like Kesha, but the dress hasn't got a zip, or a belt, or anything awkward. One just has to put it on. It's lovely. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand I think I just proved the point is that I don't really keep up with trends, I don't actively seek out fashion and I'm really not that bothered. Sometimes, however, I just feel damn materialistic, and I drool over clothes from Topshop, A Wear and various other places. But goddammit. I just spent a good half hour online, looking at the above sites as well as others. It seems to me as though clothes I like have gone out of style, and have been replaced by ridiculous things like faux-fur headbands and peplum. WHO can wear peplum?! It's ridiculous!

This is why I end up in shops like Dorothy Perkins and this is why I'll never be as ~fashionable as some of my friends. I just don't understand a lot of the clothes out there today. Plus, I'll freely admit that I have an awkward body shape - by awkward, I mean big. Clothes just hang funny and "get caught" on my belly. What can you do?

I occasionally stumble across things that I love to wear, and I wear them to death. Some of them are a bit quirky, like the red beret I bought in Paris two years ago...

...which I wore in Paris, pretty constantly for summer 2010, for the entirety of last year's Gaeltacht, as a costume and teamed with a lovely red coat earlier this year. And all for the princely sum of 9 euro...

Some of them are completely un-interesting, like the leather jacket I bought in River Island the Christmas before last. I remember feeling sick to my stomach on seeing the 80 euro price tag, but thankfully the jacket is worn almost every day. It's been worth every cent...if only it was a bit warmer! Funnily enough, I have few photos of said jacket - I wear it with everything, but I always take it off when I'm inside.

So that's me and my relationship with clothes: in turns it's amazing, boring, depressing and exciting. I haven't been shopping in quite a while, but this post has made me want to go and take down half of Dublin city. Just in case anyone was wondering, here are my "fashion" tips:

• Hats are incredibly important. A hat got me a boyfriend. Never underestimate hats.
• Red, as Caitlin Moran says, is a neutral.
• Sometimes it's good to buy something you wouldn't normally - my flowery Docs, my rainbow suspenders. You never know. 
• If something isn't comfy, for Christ sake's don't buy it.
• Sometimes one has to step away from the floral. I own a hideous amount of floral clothes. Floral is cute but too much is just...no. I need to stop.
• Denim shorts + tights = lifesaving outfit.
• If you think something looks good, wear it. Ignore anyone else's ideas. One of my favourite dresses is yellow and ruffled. My mother did not approve, but I feel better in it than almost anything else.
• However, listen to advice sometimes.
• Always bring a spare pair of tights.
• Try to be interesting. It's all well and good to look like you've stepped out of a magazine (yay, you) but what does that say about you, really? My attempts at style make me look like a lunatic, but hey, at least I deliver what I promise.
• ACCESSORIES ARE GOOD. Outside of hats, I don't spend money on accessories, because I lose them almost straight away. What I have are a pair of earrings my darling friend Brenda made me, and a belt that doubles as a bottle opener. Buy accessories. Don't lose them. 
• Sometimes, sequins just have to be bought. I desperately want a sequin jacket. Then, maybe, I'll be cool. 
• ALWAYS BE WARM.

And that, my dear readers, is my part one of some on clothes, accessories, and what I have the nerve to call fashion. 

FAVOURITE DRESS IN THE UNIVERSE. 

I get fit! Part three: I go swimming!

Swimming has been a constant in my life since my dad threw me in the local pool at the age of three. My childhood years were spent doing lengths; I literally spent every weekend swimming for a couple of hours. Naturally, myself and my siblings progressed onto to competitive swimming, except when I didn't. At the age of eleven, I decided swimming wasn't for me, much less training several times a week. After several rows, my parents accepted that and while my brother and sister won medals, I sat on the internet.
Would I be writing my "I get fit" blog had I kept up the swimming? Probably. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I love food far too much to be thin. A life without saturated fat makes me sad. I mean, I just ate a giant plate of goulash (I might even post the recipe. Hmmmm.) while writing this post. No amount of training would make me look like Kate Moss, and it doesn't really bother me. Much.

My role model for the past eight years.

Anyway, I've been working at the whole getting fit thing for a while now. I'm eating a lot healthier than I used to, I've been doing loads more exercise and I am sloooooooooowly seeing improvements i.e. I look like a living human being these days. The best thing I've found has been swimming!

I go swimming in my local pool, and my first go at it (in about two years) was horrific. I flailed up and down the pool for ten minutes or so, gasping after a mere five lengths. I managed to choke out a further five before I quit, promising that I'd build it up and bemoaning that I hadn't swam in two years. Funnily enough, I kept my promise - I've gone swimming five or six times since and this morning I swam thirty lengths, with the help of my wonderfully encouraging younger brother. I was so proud of myself, goddammit. Swimming is something that -  prior to the contests, the lengths and the rows - I really loved. I still do - it's a method of exercise I actually feel comfortable with, which means a lot when one's trying to get fit.

A lot of people my age refuse to swim, for fear of looking silly in a one piece. This is something that riles me no end, because once you get over that: swimming is fun, easy and absolutely fantastic for your body. Yeah, I'm still more manatee than model, but I don't mind. The lovely thing about a swimming pool is that people will always look worse in a swimsuit than you - they don't give a shit, why should I? It's all about body positivity and health, to me. Anyone who's laughing at my body needs to re-evaulte their life choices, and as long as I hold on to that mentality it's grand to swim. My thighs bump, my swimsuit is a bit dodgy, but I'm in the pool, thrashing around trying to change it. I'm not Superwoman, it's hard to deal with that, especially when guys from my year are hanging around. It's fine once you get used to it, and I'm absolutely loving swimming. 

Fitness as of now:

I'm finally starting to notice my body shaking itself up. I think I deserve a new swimsuit, a la this lovely picture via Frances' pinterest: 

Now if only we had the weather for it...

Elliott Smith - Needle in the Hay

Ever come across a perfect, achingly sad song? They're rare things. Most songs have a tinge of sadness to them - it's much easy to write melancholy music. But when you do stumblr across this kind of song, it's hard to get away from them. Some of my favourite songs are very sad, but they make me happy because they're just...well, gorgeous. This song is one such perfect song, one I can't stop listening to since I discovered it via The Royal Tenenbaums last week. The simple guitar, the fact that I have no idea what Elliot Smith is saying, the end. Love it. 
Enjoy x

Les cartes.

Greetings, islanders. I write to you from the wonderful French west coast, where I have spent the past week. It's all been sun, sand, sea and, er, Breaking Bad until today. The weather has taken a turn for the Irish and it's been lashing since 6am. I woke up this morning to raindrops slamming off the roof, sounding like thunder. Not one for the sun, I don't mind too much, but my mum and my sister are distraught, particularly Eimear. She came here, it seems, for one reason only: to tan. Hilariously enough, my brother has tanned, but not her. I have freckled terribly and chunks of my shoulders are considerably pinker than others. My main gripe with the holiday has been the fact that I can't sleep - thank American Psycho and tin rooves for that.

Rain, rain, go away, you're ruining my sleeping pattern.

Unlike many things, La Palymre is considerably less fun when wet. My family and I have spent the afternoon in our mobile home, eating crackers and coaxing the shitty wifi to work. Shockingly, it's not that much fun in a mobile home, particularly when there are five people in it. Two of which are over six feet tall. Anyway, Enda's and my solution to the boredom was a deck of cards. Cards on holiday seem to be a quintessentially Irish thing. To me, it conjours up images of a Father Ted-style caravan holiday, with seven kids yelling snap at each other while the parents do shots of whiskey and make ham sandwiches. My mum spent her childhood holidays playing cards together because it was too wet to do much else, in Galway, Cork, Kerry and Wexford. Thirty years later, history is repeating itself - Enda and I spent a good hour playing twenty-fives. We played five or six games, one of which I managed to win.

The problem with me and cards is that my brain is...just...not...that logical. It's okay for social logic ("YOU CAN'T JUST SHIFT SOMEONE ELSES FELLA, GODDAMN!" etc.) but when it comes to any kind of numerical logic, I really, really fail at it. Of five. Maybe Enda has a gift for these things, I don't know. It was pretty embarrassing to lose that badly to a 14 year old, though.

It got me thinking about ~the simple things~. I've got a laptop with a bunch of movies on it with me, but it was just as enjoyable to play with a few bits of paper with Enda. I'm not remotely patriotic, but maybe the rain brings out the, eh, Irishness in some people. Or maybe I was just sick of the laptop. Either way, cards are great. I can't say I understand their logic (or even half understand it) but it beats walking on a beach in the rain by several country miles.

A bientot.

I get fit! part two: I do step and tone classes!

So I'm writing this on a Friday evening, almost a full week after my first get fit class. How did I find it? Well, I'm still alive, and my legs are slowly returning to their normal size and temperature. I'm going again on Monday and I hope to survive, but I can't promise anything. Here's what happened:

On Monday evening, my younger sister and self-appointed personal trainer asked me to tag along to her night class. Apparently, one could burn off about 400 calories, it wasn't that hard and I'd feel good after it. Not wanting to muss up my new hair by swimming, I decided to give it a shot. It was...interesting, to say the least. I arrived into the class five minutes late, clutching my iPod and a bottle of water. Having been in the gym for a bit beforehand and then having to run up three flights of stairs, I was pink faced and panting. Ah, the joys of muscle wastage during the Leaving! 


The room itself was like a typical "dance studio" - bright pink, wooden and full of women. Big women in voluminous grey tracksuits. Little, almost women in short, tight tracksuit bottoms and purple vest tops. A few people around my age who looked either super fit or super uncomfortable, and a few mammy types as well. All in all, an eclectic bunch, but this didn't make the room any less intimidating. "Jesus Chriiiiiiiiiiist, Eimear, I'm going to kill you for this\!" I thought, particularly when I spotted the trainer, an impossibly toned, Lycra clad, tanned lady who was dragging steps around like they were pillows. Everyone else was ready to go: I lumbered to the only spot left in the room The one spot no one dares to seek out. 


 Front and center. 


Think about that for a moment. Your first exercise class in about five years, and you have a room full of lithe sixteen year olds and superfit ladies forced to watch your arse wobble in a bad, bad pair of tracksuit bottoms. Not exactly an easy intro to the exercise world. However, I decided that I was there now and I might as well give it a go. This "fuck it, be grand" attitude is something I really ought to try more of. The class started when the trainer switched on the peppy, poppy, loud music and yelled at us to warm up. "okay. Warms up. Stretching and jogging. I can do that!" I figured. Easy peasy. I wasn't that unfit. 


Hahahahahahaha. Laugh, dear reader, as you sit at your computer. Go on, enjoy my naivety. It turns out that "warm ups" these days are the same as the rest of it: HARD! I spent the first ten minutes sweaty and confused, kicking legs and moving arms at total random. I eventually caught on - the premise of step and tone is simple enough.  You are given a step, and you stand on it in a variety of ways. It's very fast, and sometimes arm swinging is involved. I was okay at it all provided it wasn't too complex: my lack of co-ordination caught me out more than my general lack of health. 


One particular move astounded me: side stepping onto the step, lunging and swinging your arms. WHAT?!?! I am not Michael Jackson! I am not Rihanna! I just came here to become more human shaped, not become a backup dancer! My god, it was more like dancing than the gym. I was red-faced, sweaty and gasping for breath after 15 minutes, and when my sister's friend fell and hurt her ankle, a sick part of me was grateful that I no longer had to move my poor legs. I spent the next 15 minutes stretching out, hoping I wouldn't hurt the next day. I didn't hurt the next day - I hurt for the next five. 


You know, reading back over this post makes it sound like I had an awful time: I didn't! I'll be honest, I felt great when I'd finished. Super proud of myself for surviving and all doped up on endorphin. The instructor, though a bit scary, was nice and generally let me do my own thing when I ended up using my left foot instead of my right. As I said, lack of co-ordination. Fun times. Next week, I will drag someone with me, though: it's a bit scary to do all alone. I'll also be arriving about 40 minutes early to grab that coveted step at the back...

Fitness as of now: 



I am the lady on the right. I miss chocolate. Lovin' the exercise thing though :)

I get fit! part one: an introduction

Evening, everyone. I'm back blogging again after a pretty rollercoaster week of finishing exams (!), nightclubbing, partying and jumping around like an idiot to Red Hot Chili Peppers. However, with my Much Anticipated Post LEaving Cert. Week Of Fun out of the way, I've found myself quite bereft of a...project. Sure, I have stuff to do. My CDs need sorting, my room is a mess, my CAO, etc. etc. But this summer I'd like to have a big focus. Something to work on - and for the first time in a loooooooong time, it's not education related. Quite the opposite for me: instead of sitting at a desk, munching toast, I am getting fit.
Le gasp!


Yeah, I've decided that this summer, as opposed to trying to lose weight or drop a dress size, I'm going to be able to run by August. I want to be able to go to the gym without looking like Tomato Lady. Yes, I'm hoping I can shed a subtle 20lbs on my way, but it's not my main goal. So, first up on the plan: exercise. Something I've always had a little bit of a love-hate relationship with. No kidding, there are home videos of me whining about having to go outside to walk around. I'm about three. Yet I have every intention of changing that. I can swim, I can walk for miles and I want to be able to dance without looking like a total weirdo. 


What's all this got to do with my blog? Why am I blogging about it? What the hell is the point, Áine? It's simple really: I've tried diets and junk before and they have never worked out too well. I suspect that if people read my posts (or comment...! God forgive me but I love a good comment) I'll be super motivated and energetic. Won't that be nice? I hope so. That's what I envision the posts to be. Here's what they won't be: 

• "Thinspiration". God, I fucking hate that word. I hate the whole world of ABC diets, calorie counting and this idea that thighs touching means that you're as sexy as the aliens from Alien. No. This will not fly with me. 
• Boring. I plan to write about my plans to get fit in a humorous way more than anything. Laughing at myself with others is something I'm good at, plus I have a feeling there will be some pretty funny incidents involving me and sport! I'm never going to be an Olympic athelete or a Baywatch type, so I might as well try and get a few giggles out of my tracksuit escapades.
• Obsessive. Don't expect me to blog about exercise 24/7. Now that my exams are finished, I have a zillion and one ideas for stuff to write about, from short stories to blogs to (hopefully!) a film script. I'm not going to write about exercising unless something cool or funny happens.

So that's my plan for Summer 2012. Get fit. How? Well, I haven't a bloody clue to be honest. Walking, step and tone classes, swimming and yoga, if I can find classes. Wish me luck!

About to go "running". Hair trussed up and all! 

Paddy K and the Leaving.

I wrote this around Christmas time and for some reason it stayed stagnant in my drafts. I don't know why. I think it's quite a nice post. In the spirit of today being my second last day as a Leaving Cert. student, I think I'll post it. I promise stuff that isn't about exams as soon as I finish!

We studied Patrick Kavanagh in English class in sixth year, and while I wasn't enchanted with him like I was with Heaney or Rich, I did love the poem "Advent". In the poem, he talks about self-denial and other lovely Catholic ideas (no), but he does open with this charming and wise couplet:

"We have tested and tasted too much, lover/Through a chink through wide, there comes in no wonder"

When we did this poem in class, racist jokes were made, but that's not the point. I hate the idea of Catholic guilt but Kavanagh was onto something here. A chink too wide, comes in no wonder. Life gets very dull and monotonous very quickly if you're exposed to the crazy stuff all the time. Take this school year: Leaving Certificate year. The chink has become too wide, forced open by Home Economics notes, maths equations and Irish essays. Nothing I learn surprises me or interests me because the chink has been blown open, creating a huge chasm which I have to fill with really boring knowledge, like the Modh Conniollach and Simpson's Rule.

I tried to cram it all into my head (well, more or less. Thank you Biology.) and thus, there was  no room for wonder this year thanks to the unwieldy behemoth of the Leaving. I needed big things - a week off school, a party, way too much blue WKD - to cancel out the relentless slog of this year. Unfortunately, that sort of thing was thin on the ground, particularly when I got used to the Blue WKD. The little things that make me happy - or used to - no longer do so. Which is a bummer, because I used to be the sort of person who loved little things. A free class used to mean chatting and not cramming. A clean room used to matter because I got to stay in there. A phonecall used to make me happy, instead of an excuse to bitch and moan about the breadth of the History course. Little things are now met with a kind of "okay...great..." radiating from my very being.

Unless you count the wonder of a new refill pad or finding your purple biro after a three month absence. Or actually being able to do my maths homework - this happened last week, and hasn't since October. Or a particularly funny history class. A good speaker for Religion. No study on a weekday. Maybe the little things that make me happy haven't vanished, they've just...shifted slightly. Changed. School-related little things for a school related life. I miss normality, though. That might sound self pitying and over dramatic, but life hasn't been normal this year, not with friends telling me just how close exams are on a regular basis. Not with more rows chez-moi than ever before. But I guess I can't complain, considering how near the end I am. I'll probably look back on these posts from my wonder-filled life and wonder what the hell I'm on about.

Or at least that was the case. As of writing, it's the 19th June, and my summer holidays are just around the corner. Life has a funny way or surprising you - I looked at that paragraph up there, nose wrinkled, and went "really? REALLY, Áine? Life was that bad, was it? Grow up!" but the fact is that it sucked. I couldn't see the little things because the big things (aka exams) took over my life. With this sage knowledge, I look forward to a summer filled with little things that make a big difference. Big things have small beginnings, to quote Prometheus. But that's another blogpost.

Maybe the trick with wonder is to look for it. Maybe I have to stop passively noticing and start working at happiness. Go out and find things to marvel at. Have adventures. Through a chink through wide there comes in no wonder - but through a chink too narrow there comes in none, either. In lieu of that, here is my list of small things that made me happy throughout the last year: 

• Phonecalls with David.
• Going to the gym.
• Lemon traybake.
• Zoe's baking.
• Red and cream spotted underwear sets.
• White Apple earphones.
• The Hunger Games.
• Swimming.
• Doctor Who.
• Sunlight freckling my face at the bus stop.
• Going without a jacket.
• New friends.
• Seamus Heaney's love poetry.
• Writing something really good in class.
• The Big Lebowski.
• Sunday evenings in my granny's house.
• Babysitting a three year old.
• Long hair.
• Rum.
• My history research project. That was fun.
• iPhones.
• Sporadic blogging.
• Caitlin Moran's twitter.
• Twitter in general, and my little bunch of LC themed followers. 

And above all...

• Knowing that someday soon, the Leaving will be over. And real life cthe day after tomorrow at 12.30pm.
• Just around the corner.

Have some LCD Soundsystem. Party music.