Ash.

So yeah. Ash.

Silly google, thats not what I meant.

Lets try again.

Did you mean: ash as in 'I hate Iceland' ash

(ah google, I knew you wouldn't forsake me.)

Iceland you have given the world many things. Not many spring to mind, but you are wonderful.

Then you make like the kid who farted in class except instead of toxic gases you let rip toxic ashes. And no one sits beside you in class for the rest of the year. I feel your pain.

I think I was the only person happy about Iceland's flatulence.

I happened to have a flight booked the day it happened and I wasn't planning on going, due to university interfering in my excursions.

So hey presto- refund just came through! KACHING!!

And what did I do with the surplus of monies? Well funny you should ask, I...ah... payed my rent. I know you envy my exciting life, don't lie.

In other recent news, I have finished uni for the year. But not exactly. I've been shipped away on work placement for the next two months, so I can learn things their to lazy to teach us in class. 'Practical experience' shall we call it?

I have one week down, and I'm ready for it to be over now, I want my life back. A nine to five job isn't something I'm cut out for. Long live my student life!

Maybe if I had said cheetah they would have hired me.

Financially speaking, I'm poor. Mainly due to the fact I'm a student so I guess its all just part and parcel of the lifestyle. Gotta love it!

As my oh so kind and loving flatmate pointed out I've had a lot of job interviews recently. But yet no job. Thanks for the support roomie.

Even though I resent her observation on my life, I can't deny it.

On paper I sound great. Lots of experience (ok, ok, so some of it is fabricated but everyone does it, right?), all my grades are good and then throw in some bullshit about how social and active I am blah blah blah.

So due to the brilliance of my C.V , 60% of the time, it works every time.(I just watched anchorman! brilliant!)

Herein lies my downfall. I go to the interview and it all goes wrong.

Now I'll be the first to admit, I don't make good first impressions.

I'm an awkward person. This is something I've come to terms with. I try to embrace my awkwardness but it can be difficult in certain situations.

Unfortunately for my bank balance, job interviews are one of these situations.

Most of the interviews I've been to have gone pretty much as expected. They ask me some questions. Time passes. Time passes. Time passes. I want the ground to swallow me up. Then I finally think of an answer that doesn't make me sound completely stupid.

Thank you, we'll be in touch.

But it's all lies, they never get in touch.

So for once, I want it to go down like this:

Interviewer: Hello, nice to meet you, come in to my office so we can have a little chat about your application.

Me: (*saunters into the office* got this one in the bag)

Interviewer: Ok so I've been looking over your C.V and I'm very impressed. It's clear you have a lot of experience of working with the oprah operating system.

Me: Oh yes, lot of experience with that under my belt.

Interviewer: Can you tell me some of the problems you've encountered with using it?

Me: Actually, no I can't. I only said I had a lot of experience under the guise of no follow up questions. So please, if you don't mind, next question.

Interviewer: Ok... What about your work experience. How long did you work as a receptionist?

Me: I don't know, what does it say on my C.V?

(*Flash my pearly whites* I'm so hot right now)

Interviewer: Right. Well maybe we should leave your C.V for now. Can you tell me about your skills that you think are relevant to this job?

Me: I can multitask.

(*start texting on my phone*)

See? I can talk AND text.

Interviewer: Thats, um, impressive. Well I think I've asked all I can here. Did you bring your references with you?

Me: No. My mums busy on Tuesdays. Is it cool if she calls in tomorrow?

Interviewer: I'm sure that won't be necessary. Last question. Protocol and all. Any criminal convictions?

Me: No. With legs like mine they never catch me.

Interviewer:...

Me: (*phone rings to the theme song 'you are beautiful'*)

I have self-esteem issues. But I'm in therapy for it.

Interviewer: We may or may not be in contact with you.

Oh no. Reading that back and its sad to say the above seems likelier to happen than me getting a job anytime soon.

I once went to an interview where they asked me who would I rather fight: a cheetah or a shark. And what would be my plan of attack. I said shark. And my flight hormones would kick in and I'd swim my ass off in the opposite direction. True story that.

Mistaken accents make for a sexy equation. Fact.

The easter bunny has come and gone and left me in a state of slobbery. Not just has the top button on my jeans had to be adjusted, but the button below the top one too. Oh the shame. There truly is egg on my face. If you substitute egg with chocolate that is.

Which brings me onto the phrase 'egg on ones face'. Isn't it a weird phrase? I have it on a very reliable source* that it originates in America.

Which, again, brings me swiftly onto my reason for this post (my english teacher used to tell me I needed continuity in my writing, suck on this Mrs. Quinn**).

The reason = my accent.

My accent = American. Apparently.

And this would be all fine and dandy if my nationality equaled American. And I could tell you it does. But that would be a lie.

Nationality = Irish.

This equation happened last night (some people get drunk on nights out, I make equations. Oh baby.)

Fig. 1 Sexy Equation

(Its sexy because I'm in it. And its my equation so I can say that bitches!)

Let me take you through the logic of this sexy equation.

I am Irish (But I attend university in the UK).

Randomers, the best kind of people(who are fairly intoxicated so are therefore feeling confident to say whatever they are thinking).

On a night out, celebrating my birthday.

These events all lead to me being accused of having an American accent(reason for this unknown therefore I shall call it X).

And then there's me(and I am not happy).

Can you solve X?

Thats not a trick questions. I need help.

I don't have anything against American accents. I just want to have an Irish accent. Because it makes sense.

I'm starting to forget the time when I used to take my accent for granted. It never occurred to me that it could be anything but Irish.

I think all this 'nice to meet you, what part of the States are you from?' stuff began happening when I moved to university.

I moved to Scotland. And anyone who's ever been to Scotland will understand that Scottish natives have a, um, particular way of conversing. There accent and slang has yet to rub off of me. But it was when I moved here and started to meet new people it all began.

The reason this has upset me more than it usually would is that on this night out my friends and I got talking to four different groups of people. Just having some banter. And all four off these groups thought I was American. This fake accent of mine must be getting more pronounced.

Plus it was my birthday and I live by the motto: Its my birthday and I'll cry if I want to.

Now I'm going to try and solve this sexy, but mysterious, equation.

I have spent 18 years of my life in Ireland. I lived in the country as opposed to the city, so if anything my Irish accent should be stronger because of this.

I have never been to America.

When I was younger I rarely watched American television as my household only had what could be referred to as the 'poverty channels'. These were three channels, one of which wasn't even in English, it was an Irish speaking channel. Although the odd American show was broadcast it was mainly home produced programs shown. I just thought I'd clarify that as one of the randomers suggested I had grown up watching too much Nickeldeon. Not true.

I can count the amount of contact I've had with American people in my life. I have American cousins, but I rarely see them. I think I've seen them around five times in my whole life. And then this American girl I met when I was busy looking after brats and being underpaid, also know as au pairing. Although we had an instant connection, as she was the only person I was around that could speak English, I only spoke to her twice. And thats it.

I did take speech and drama lessons when I was younger. But I'm pretty sure an American accent wasn't on the curriculum.

So I'm confused. Where is this coming from? I very much doubt that an American would think I had an American accent.

Oh and then this one time I was on the phone and this lady thought I was Australian. So I have an Australian phone voice?

My parents have either been lying to me about my childhood or I do indeed have a Irish accent. A somewhat confused Irish accent, but its there. Deep deep down.

*A friend of my sisters boyfriends mothers lovers illegitimate daughters dog walkers nanny. Very reliable.

**Mrs. Quinn- if only you knew it was Sarah Walker that spat in your water and not me. We could have had a beautiful relationship. Sometimes I cry myself to sleep over the thought of what could have been.

Spit or Swallow?

Bubble wrap. Newspaper. Old bras. Bottle caps. Used bed sheets. Rubbish bags. 

That pretty much sums up last night. 

And I'm not the kinda girl to get involved in all that dumpster diving craziness so where else would I be? Only at a green fashion show. Obviously. 

There I was, successfully convincing myself that a skirt made from old bras was a great way to reuse materials and a highly wearable garment at the same time. I mean, hellooww, functional piece of clothing right there people! When wouldn't you need an item like that in your wardrobe? Just think of the possibilities- a tongue-in-cheek burlesque dance outfit, um... a burlesque Halloween costume... excreta excreta. Just needs a bit of imagination, thats all. 

And then the hosts were all like: 

"Shows over folks"

(internal thoughts: Hmm I really should think about making a bra skirt...)

"But please take some time to check out our sponsors stalls and see how you can become more eco friendly"

(pssst, I'm going home to make a bra skirt, eco friendly my ass)

"And there is a free buffet at the back of the hall. Enjoy your night"

(.... free buffet... perhaps the greatest combination of words in the english language. The is no other two words strung together that can get me as hot and bothered as FREE BUFFET. Is that sad? I really don't care. I have to go load my plate with as much food as I can possibly fit, so if you'll excuse me I will be on my merry way. Eating my way to obesity, obesity, obesity, eating my way to obesity all the live long day...)

What preceded was some finger-licking, tongue-smacking, mouthwatering, scrumptious fun. So what better way to wash this down by some white wine, free white wine may I add- the best kind. 

Now I do enjoy the odd glass (or bottle!) of wine here and there, but I always feel sufficiently awkward when I'm in the presence of someone who knows stuff about wine. 

Enjoyment of wine and knowledge of wine. These two things don't go hand in hand. 

I don't think this is my fault. I socialise in certain circles where the only thing taken into consideration when purchasing wine is the percentage of alcohol to price ratio. My comrades and I may be found downing a bottle of vino before frequenting a licensed establishment. 

To the general public we are labeled as Students. 

When in other students presence this kind of relationship with wine is perfectly acceptable. 

But what if a student should find themselves in a certain situation where they must hold a conversation with people knowledgeable on wine?

As I found myself in this exact situation I have come up with a few tips on how to fool people into thinking you know what their talking about. 

Read these tips and thank me later. 

• A common misconception is that it's important the way you hold a wine glass. If a certain stance and expression is executed then no one will be none the wiser that you are a novice in the world of wine. Hold the wine glass away from your body in a way that seems you are repulsed by it. Now keeping the repulsed theme going, adapt an expression on your face that screams 'why am I surrounded by these peasants?'. Well done.

• Swirl the wine glass from side to side in a vigorous manner. Extra pints if you manage to spill some wine. Make some vague comment on on how the wine has nice legs. This is done to show how full bodied a wine is. Personally I like skinny wines. 

• Now for some metaphors. A glass of wine is often described as a flower. The skinny bit of the glass is referred to as the stem. Understand? And the round bit of the glass is know as the flower. Have I lost you? Well no matter, all you need to remember is to stick your nose into the flower part and inhale deeply. Sorta like when your trying to hack up some phlegm. Except stop after you inhale. No spitting. Yet. 

• This next step is perhaps the most difficult as wines will vary. However there are certain words that can be applied to nearly all wines when describing their aroma. To make it  bit easier try to generalise your descriptions. For example, instead of saying a wine smells oaky, say it smells like a deciduous tree. A safe bet will be mentioning the aroma of grapes in the wine. 

• Now comes the fun part. Tasting. Although this may not be what you are used to. You must go against everything you have learned. It has been ingrained in us since childhood to swallow our drinks. Spitting drinks was a practice that was punishable by a smack in my household so I find this step very liberating. Under no circumstance should you swallow the wine. Swish the wine around your mouth much like you would with mouth wash. People will be extra impressed if you can gargle it. Now for the pièce de résistance. Spit. You could be subtle about it and spit it back into your glass or a nearby napkin. But for that extra 'something something' spit it on the ground with force. It shows people that you know what you are doing. The will be impressed. 

These are basic tips. As you become more experienced you may want to add things that will reflect your own personal style. I for one like to gargle in rhythm to Lady Gaga's bad romance. Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah. Roma-roma-ma-ah. Ga-ga-oh-la-la. Keeping it real. 

Inside Leonardo DiCaprio's pants

So there I was one day, choosing sitting on the couch watching mind-numbing spirt-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into my mouth (two birds just got wacked with my pop culture reference stone, its too-cool-for-school and also informs you of my whereabouts in this universe). 

And then this advert came on tv. 

I could smell the cheese wafting from the tv but I couldn't help but smile.

This is a perfect way to meet some one.

Roll up to a music shop. 

Start playing the piano.

Sing a tune.

WHAM BAM THANK YOU MA'AM

But wait... 

I don't know of any music shops that look all vintage-ish and that have instruments readily available to be pawed by the general public in my area.

And although I can't be certain, even though my cv says otherwise, I'm not sure my air piano skills will translate to an actual real life piano.

Now the singing? No worries there, voice of an angel me. 

Still, even with these shit hot vocal cords of mine I think I'd be leaving any music shop I entered very much alone. 

But thats OK. 

Do not be under the impression that this blog is about me hooking up. Unless you look like Leonardo DiCaprio, in which case I would devote my life to getting into your pants. But until I find a guy with those credentials life shall go on. 

So yeah, thats what this blog isn't about. What is it about, I hear you ask? Touché my friend.