First off…

With this blog post, I plan on discussing my experience moving to New York City by myself from Dublin, and what it’s really like to be a Dublin stunhun in this city. I want everyone to get to know the trials and tribulations that I went through from the minute I walked through security in Dublin Airport. But I also want to share the funny, great times that I have had so far. I hope to make you laugh with some of my stories because they are really one-of-a-kind.

I moved here just after Christmas in 2016 and it has only been three months but I already have so many stories that I want to share with all of you.

I want you all to know, firstly, that I’m not the type of gal to go to a Starbucks and order a triple, venti, half sweet, non-fat, caramel macchiato and drink my overly complicated caffeinated beverage by myself. I just don’t do things by myself – it’s not my style. But sure look…

I will lay out the necessary information for you now. So, I came to New York in March of 2016 and I just absolutely loved it. I loved the people, the atmosphere, the buzz on the streets and of course the open-top tour buses. When I got home, I was straight onto the internet looking up visas that I could get to take me back so that I could actually live in the city that never sleeps. An insomniacs dream. Of course I have heard of all the U.S visa application sites already so I went with USIT. I printed out about 17 copies of the application because I kept making mistakes as I was filling in the information and I wanted this to be perfect – I was not getting turned down for this visa.

I got all my necessary information ready to be sent off and long story short, I get approved to go to New York for a whole year. The only thing I had to worry about now was actually graduating college and of course the hefty payment for the actual visa (cheers Ma).

Well, I graduated from UCD in September 2016 and all I had to do was wait 4 months and I’ll be jetting off to beautiful New York. IMG_4894

Here I am, on my graduation day and all I could think about was “I’m actually going to be moving to America!” You can sense it… It’s in the way I’m standing.

So there you have it – that’s sort of the background story as to why and how I landed myself in New York. And in my future blogs, you will find out how I’m getting on. I’m keeping this blog short enough because there is a lot more to come. Stay tuned…

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I’m Back Bitches

So this one is a bit delayed seeing as I’m back in Ireland about a month and a half now.. Sincerely apologise, although most of you probably don’t give a shit on my whereabouts but I am no longer in New York. Real sad. I’m basically going to blame it all on septicaemia. That just kind of fucked everything up… for the most part anyway.

I had booked my flight home for the 4th of July. I was so pissed off that I was missing 4th of July but economically, it was the only option I had. So I told my Mam that I’m coming back to Dublin and she just went clinically insane. She went absolutely ape-shit. Probably because she enjoyed my absence and she was just really not looking forward to seeing me and me lounging around the gaff all day. And then I was like “yeah but I’ll be arriving on the 5th which is your birthday… yay?!” And she was just like, “eh no yay”. I’m pretty sure she started crying out of pure rage. I think she actually looked up flights for herself to Switzerland where euthanasia can be performed on humans. My Mams first verbal reaction to me saying I was coming home was “I’ve fucking wasted money now booking flights over there for Christmas”. Wow – think about yourself more, please.

But anyway, a couple of days before I left, things were super hectic and I was moving around, crashing with friends and pretty much circling the drain at this stage. And I was also working in between all the chaos of this. My hair actually started to turn grey. And not the cute grey that’s actually in style right now but more so the type of grey that my Mam attempts to cover up with Root Touch Up. I had full sized tote-bag under my eyes. And without make-up it was a completely different story. I’m pretty sure someone called the coroner at one point.

I had been everywhere at this stage though. Manhattan, Queens and actually touched on The Bronx. I’ve obviously been to New York a couple of times before and of course I have lived there and I never went to The Bronx in my life. When I got there I honestly thought I was hallucinating, maybe due to heat stroke or something, but purely because I thought I was back in Ireland. It was really creepy. Like, everybody was Irish. I had to go into a bar and ask them to charge my phone, so I was just chilling there for a bit and these lads started chatting to me and they were just a little too Irish for me? There they were handing me Tayto and Hula Hoops and all. I actually didn’t know either to laugh or cry. But instead I just asked for a bottle of Heineken. My phone had enough battery so I stepped outside and called my mate Niamh to tell her that I’m in some weird Irish vortex in the fucking Bronx. And as we’re chatting, there was this group of lads who must have just come out of hurling practice. I just couldn’t believe it. Obviously I’ve heard that there’s a big Irish community in The Bronx but this is just on another level. I thought I was in a mini Santry to be honest. I had walked so far away from the subway station that I was practically off the grid. Snap maps couldn’t even save me. I’ve three bottles of Heineken and I’m 100% sober and of course I think I’m like Kylie fucking Jenner or something because I order Uber black to bring me back to Manhattan. A normal Uber just wouldn’t do. I’m so broke but I’m still going to chance my arm with this maxed out credit card. Full disclosure; I regret nothing.

I had got paid on the Friday before I left so I took myself to Sephora and just blew most of my money in there. Naked Heat Palette! I literally can’t even deal with it, it’s so fabulous. Like it’s that fabulous that I don’t even want to use it, you know? But obviously I did use it because I was going to a party on the Saturday and I needed to look fierce as fuck. But all I looked was hot, like physically hot, it was probably like 32 degrees and disgusting. So it was very hard to apply my 157 layers of make up. But I persevered and headed out to the party. My friends got me super drunk super quick which I really appreciate. I went to the bathroom at one point to fix my lipstick and that and I dropped my phone down the toilet. I don’t think it’s a party unless something like that actually happens. There is always room for technical drama. I came out of the bathroom and like, held my phone up to my friend and I was just like “it’s gone…rip”. Because I was somewhat drunk, I didn’t actually freak out. But when I got home I stuck it in rice and left it like that over night. I woke up the next morning and I honestly felt as if someone had died. My poor phone. I had to go into work later that day and I was just in a fucking heap. Because I was hungover, of course. But I still had my phone in this pathetic bag of rice and I was so upset and angry at myself that my phone was water damaged to fuck. My manager was like “take the phone out and turn it on and see what happens”. So I did, and it actually worked? Like everything was back to normal, the screen actually seemed to have better resolution than before. I genuinely had a gentle aneurysm because I couldn’t believe it. It was an iPhone miracle.

So on the Monday I went to Coney Island with my mates, Conor and Arianne, and I actually felt like I was in 1950s or something. It was insane, everyone needs to check out Coney Island. Got so sunburnt, I was all the shades of my Naked Heat Palette, had some slushy drink that left me with no teeth but it was so worth it, witnessed someone almost drowning. It was such a good way to spend my last full day in New York. Totes emosh. Got home, got my friends to sort out all my change because somehow I had accumulated $13 all in change. Got food and beers and prepped myself for this draining flight that was ahead of me.

Went to the airport with my friend because she was flying back to Rio so it was handy enough going to JFK together. Trying to bring 4 suitcases down five flights of stairs was however not so handy. We did it in the end though. I was at JFK super early and I was having something to eat and I rang my Mam and I could still hear the disappointment echoing in her words. And it will haunt me to this day. She told me that when I arrive to Dublin airport, I should go down to departures to get a taxi home. I was arriving into Dublin really early, at like 5am or something so I wasn’t expecting anybody to come collect me anyway. Even if I arrived in on a Saturday at 3pm, nobody would collect me.

After the struggle of getting these cases down 5 flights of (narrow) stairs

The flight was really empty so I got to flake out by myself which was the most amount of grand. Because of tail winds we arrived in an hour earlier so I got in at about 4ish in the morning. As we’re flying over Dublin I spot Clarehall and I had to put my head in my hands like I just did not want to be here at all. I was waiting for my luggage for ages and I knew I would be waiting a while. In the meantime, I was trying to ring my Mam and she was dodging my calls even though she was online 30 minutes ago. My eyes were peeled looked for a bright pink suitcase and some obnoxiously designed peacock suitcase that I just had to have. Eventually they came around on this geriatric conveyor belt and I made quite a scene trying to lift them off. A woman in a fucking wheelchair actually had to help me get my suitcase. So I gather myself and I come out and I see my Mam sitting there waiting for me. My first initial thought was that she didn’t want me spending anymore money on a taxi so that’s why she’s here. And it still is the most likely reason as to why she came to collect me. Got home and I was just so excited to see my kitty babies. And of course my goldfish, Kim Jong Un.

So in days leading up to impending doom, a lot of shit happened. I was sort of homeless for a while, but I always said, “if you’re going to be homeless, be homeless in New York”. I killed my phone and brought it back to life. But the most annoying thing that happened was I got a phone call from this company. Back in January I had gone for an interview with this place and they told me that they were interviewing about 35 people so I was thinking to myself, ‘okay yeah I will not be getting this job’. And I didn’t. But I had gotten a call from them about 3 days before I left and they said they regretted not hiring me when I was interviewed and they wanted to offer me a $40,000 a year job. I was like “eh I’m actually going back to Dublin in a few days, sooo…”. And they were trying to get me to stay and offering me an obscene amount of money. I couldn’t believe it. They wanted me so much that they talked about me getting a proper work visa and they would sponsor me. I don’t think I’ve ever been wanted that much. It felt good but I was totally playing hard to get.

I’ll see you in a few months though, New York. Missed u xoxo

But sure look, this is it.

I iz home innit.


That Time I Almost Died in New York…lol

This story is actually quite long so I’ll cut it somewhat short. I know that some people will want to know how I almost kicked the bucket – some may actually wished that I did. Basically this story will just prove how much of an actual dope I really am. A lot of people already know that but for those that see me as ‘that clever girl who has a degree and who is living in New York’ you’re in for a fucking shock. Now I wish this story was at least a bit interesting but it’s really not. It’s quite mundane to tell you the truth. I’m really only writing this because I got a text from my Mam pure pressuring me to write about my ‘near-death experience’. She’s like “it has to be funny okay?” and I’m just thinking like, how the fuck is nearly dying anyway funny but I’ll see what I can do.

It all starts with an open wound. But rewinding a little bit, there were a couple of days about three weeks ago when I started feeling not that well. I was in work and I was so cold. I said to one of the guys “are you cold?” I’m freezing!” and he just looked at me and was like, “Laura, its like, 85 degrees outside” which is about 28/29 degrees for my fahrenheit-challenged friends. So the answer was that absolutely nobody was fucking cold on that day. In my head, the only reason for me being cold is that just I just drank a load of cold water and that’s why I’m freezing. So that was probably it. I walked out of work, annoyed my Mam with the daily phone call. I told her that I wasn’t feeling to well. Now, she’s the kind of mother that will send you school even if you’re in a full fucking body cast. “Sure, go in and see how you feel”. So I don’t think she was majorly concerned about my ‘symptoms’ when I told her. I went home, I went straight to bed and I’m pretty sure I slipped into a slight coma for about 14 hours. I got up for work the next morning still not feeling too hot but it’s all okay because I was going for drinks that night and a bottle of Heineken will definitely help me. It did for like 2 hours and then I went home things just go way downhill.

I wake up super early the next morning and I was like, ‘yeah okay I’m actually kind of dying?’ It definitely wasn’t a hangover because I only had two drinks the night before and I know some of you will be like “ah was it really two though?” and yes, it fucking was just two. This wound on my leg is leaking a lot of sexy pus and blood and just beautiful stuff in general, I’m feeling very fucking cold but then I would just wait like, 5 minutes and I’d be sweating balls. A lot of uninteresting shit happens in between, basically I make a few calls, make an appointment to see some doctor in a clinic in Midtown, blah blah blah. I make my way downtown and I walk in and I’m seen to straight away. Once I mentioned ‘open wound and fever’ in the same sentence they were on the fucking ball.

The doctor that was treating me when I first went there was just super nice to me. Dr. O’Leary. Parents are Irish. The usual. Anyway, my friends will know him as ‘Arms-for-Days’. He had great arms. He ran a few tests, took my vitals, did all the hospital-y stuff. I’m literally lying on this hospital bed, hooked up to a million and three tubes and I’m of course wearing this super cute hospital gown. It was maroon, which is totally my colour so that didn’t really bother me. The only thing though is that the gown stopped just below my knees and I had tan only up as far as my calves (I was wearing ankle grazers) and he obviously spotted that I go from a lovely sun-kissed glow to a dangerously pale colour. He said to me “Ms. Donnelly, do you normally suffer from discolouration on your legs?” I was absolutely mortified. I had to explain that it was in fact fake tan and that I don’t actually have a pigmentation issue on my legs – or anywhere else on my body. I know that if my Mam had of been there with me she would have waited until the doctor was gone and she would have said “Jesus, you couldn’t have gotten a spray tan before this, no?”. I’m literally not even joking. I broke my ankle once and she was like, “you should have painted your toenails” as I was getting a cast on my leg. But that’s neither here nor there.

So anyway, I’m lying here for hours on this creepy hospital bed, trying not to bend my arm because of all the tubes and I’m in the most amount of pain. My Mam is texting me wanting to know exactly what’s happening and I’m trying my best to give her a play-by-play as to whats going on. She was texting me without fail, nearly every 20 minutes and I’m just kind of like, ‘why are you so obsessed with me?’. It was getting a little much for me so I just turned my phone off for like, 20 minutes. Keep em’ guessing. Is she dead? Is she alive? Is ghosting me or literally ghosting?After that really long 20 minutes I turn my phone back on and I text my Mam just saying general shit like “yeah, I’m still here”. It was about 7 EST which is 12 GMT and my Mam was still texting me. I couldn’t believe it. She literally goes to bed at about 9 every night. So for her to still be up texting me was good because I was discretely freaking the fuck out. My phone was getting hockied out of it because I put up a snap of the IV and people were like “alcohol poisoning? It finally happened, huh?”. And I’m sure if it was alcohol poisoning, I would have a much better story than this.

I have been waiting to get an answer as to what is actually wrong with me. That might be a very easy answer for some. But this time, I was diagnosed with septicaemia, which is blood poisoning, and the doctor was practically angry with me for not coming in sooner. It was so serious and scary and I was having a mini meltdown in my head. If I waited another 48 hours to see someone, I probably wouldn’t be writing this right now.

I was finally allowed to go home after 5 and half long hours. Lying on that creepy bed for so long and staring at that creepy ceiling for that long was just too much for me. I hadn’t brushed my hair in so long and I went to the bathroom before I left and I couldn’t believe it. My hair looked like a fucking medieval weapon. It was just spiking out everywhere. Thank God I carry a brush everywhere I go. I couldn’t believe that I’m only tanned up to my calves, my hair is like the rest of sticking a fork in a toaster and I’ve just been looking like that all day. Such a tragedy. As you’re probably figuring out, I get this from my Mam.

Actual picture of me

The doctor wanted me to come back at 7am the next morning for more IV and to run some more tests on me, so that’s what I did. And that’s when I met the love of my life. The other doctor. He was taking my blood and he took the needle out of my arm and my blood kind of went everywhere and I was like, “oh my God, I’m so sorry about that, that’s so embarrassing, I’m such a mess!”. As if I actually had control over that? Saying it as I’m twirling my hair around my fucking finger.

So I’m in this clinic for about an hour and a half and I’m hooked up to my IV and I’m not joking you, the fear of someone coming into my room and injecting air into the IV was so real. I was so afraid and nervous of that happening. Like, what the fuck is wrong me? Has the septicaemia reached my brain yet? Who the fuck thinks like that? I told my Mam that I was afraid of that happening and she was like “lol it won’t”. That was a reassuring moment.

Gettin’ that good shit 

Super cute doctor was telling me that I’m going to have to come back in everyday for the next couple of days for more IV treatments. I was already dreading what was ahead because lying on a creepy bed with tubes in your arm is just not what I want to be doing in New York. But at the same time, I have no one else to blame but myself. And probably my Mam. So anyway, after that very uncomfortable hour and a half I was free to go home and I’m walking to my subway station and I find out that my Mam was so close to booking flights back over to be with me! I couldn’t believe it! Of course in the back of my mind I’m thinking well, what would it have taken for you to actually go ahead with that booking but whatever, you know, it’s thought here that counts. It’s appreciated. Later that day though she actually booked a flight over here for Christmas so that’s something. It’s a step in the right direction.

So thoughtful

The next day, I do my hair and do my make-up really nice because I can’t even deal with this doctor and I wanted to look somewhat alive. I was almost positive that the nightingale effect would have occurred but something about a doctor – patient relationship being unethical is a thing. But anyway, I go back to this clinic for another 7 days and finally the infection is leaving my body. Basically, if you have an open wound and it’s deep, maybe go get it checked out, don’t wait like, 6 days for it to become unbearable and you won’t get septicaemia. Don’t be a fucking eejit like me. It was not a fun experience at all. And thank you to all my mates being proper mates and offering to do shit for me when I was just about to knock on heavens door.

So for now I’m on antibiotics and I’m not supposed to drink and I’m supposed to take it easy. Luckily for me I’ll be finished them this Thursday, just in time for my birthday, which is on Saturday and if you need my address to send me birthday money, ask my Mam please, because I like to be surprised. Thank you in advance.


I guess we are kind of alike. Two fucking dopes
The moment my Mam isn’t the centre of attention


That escalated


And as for me a super cute doctor – I have my team of experts doing extensive research to track him down online.



That Time My Mother Came to Visit Me in New York

So, as most of you will know, my Mam came to visit me in New York. And as most of you’s know me and mother have kind of a… love/hate relationship? To put it lightly. We can absolutely kill each other and not talk for weeks at a time and to be honest, I’ve really missed having someone to fight with. So when my Mam sent me the screenshots of her flight booking I was too excited. My first thoughts were “I have someone to kill and I can have a proper dinner after omg”. Because it’s been about 3 months since I had a good dinner. Living off pop tarts, ramen and Heineken isn’t exactly a balanced diet but sure look – this is it.

The first selfie 

So I had about 3 or 4 weeks to devise a schedule for when my Mam came over. The number one thing I wanted to do was to go to a bar and get her absolutely locked. I wanted it to be the trip where I could be like, “remember that time my Mam came to New York to see me and she ended up having to get her stomach pumped lol?”. That was my ultimate goal in fairness. Like, fuck the Rockefeller Centre – I want to check in at Mount Sinai Hospital. Because lets be real, if you go out with me there is a high chance of that actually happening. The limit does not exist.

So of course I’m telling her all the bars I want to bring her to and she shoots me straight down. “Laura, I’m not 22 years old, I’m not going out with you – no fucking way”. I want to bring her to the Lower East Side, maybe hit up Greenwich Village, maybe take a drunken stroll over to Alphabet City? And she’s just not playing ball here at all. She hasn’t even arrived yet and she’s already telling me things we’re 100% not doing.

She was arriving on the 12th of May, I had the times of her flight and I was planning my very long, tiring journey out to JFK Airport to meet her. I left super early because I knew I’d get lost going out there and perhaps miss my stop on the subway or get off at the wrong terminal. The times that I have travelled to and from JFK, my method of transport has always been a private hired town car or a white, stretch fucking limo. So God forgive me if I’m not familiar with the route.

I had this amazing plan to meet her as she’s coming out of arrivals and I’ll snapchat the whole moment because we all know that if it’s not on snapchat it didn’t really happen. I was practicing my ‘crying out of happiness’ look. Trying to master the perfect ‘tear wipe from eye’ move, whilst keeping my flicks in tact. I’m about 6 stops away on that fucking E train and I get a text from my Mam being like “hey, have just landed”. My plans have gone to shit. My train was delayed so it took me even longer than expected to get to the airport. My Mam ended up waiting about half an hour for me at baggage claim so that was really fucking great, I didn’t get the perfect snap. I did run up to her though and she’ll probably deny this but I think she may have had a few tears in her eyes? Can you believe that somebody actually wanted to see me that much to actually fly about 6 hours to come visit me? I said that to my Mam and she was like, “Well, yeah. Who’s going to turn down an opportunity to go to New York!? You’d be fucking mental if you said no”. So she certainly nipped that sentimental repartee in the fucking bud.

We didn’t opt for the private hired town car or a stretch limo to bring us back into the city this time. No, we decide we’ll take a cab. Do as the peasants do. So we’re in the taxi and it’s really weird like actually physically talking to her. She filled me in on a lot of the Dublin dramas and shit that’s been going on. And of course talking about my two children (the cats). We’re in the taxi and I’m getting a stream of messages from people who want me to go out with them. Like, the one weekend everything is going on and Moira just has to ruin my plans. I’m just so popular over here. I sadly had to respectfully decline each and every invitation. Sorry to all the homeboys out there. Brunch next Sunday?

Anyway, we’re driving through the city and we finally get to her hotel on west 52nd and 7th. Practically in fucking Times Square. Can she be anymore of a tourist? It’s actually quite embarrassing for me. She checks in, we make our way up to the 31st floor and in fairness, I was actually sort of jealous. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a hotel room. The room was deadly but to be honest I was more focused on what she brought over for me. She simply ignored the fact that I wanted my bottle of Absolut Vodka from home to complete my little bar area that I have going on in my room. So that didn’t happen. I asked her if she had my Marc Jacob perfume? She gave me this look as if to say “I used it all” so that was a solid no from her. I asked if she had my Puma runners that I specifically asked for? She gave me that look as if to say “I fucked them out”. Amazing start here.

Since it’s her first night here, I wanted to bring her somewhere not so touristy for dinner. But Moira said she was too tired to do anything of the sorts so we ended up walking down through Times Square, being hassled by Elmo, Micky Mouse and a couple of Transformers. And of course, if any of you’s walk through Times Square in the evening – all you’ll fucking here is “comedy show? comedy show? comedy show ladies? there’s alcohol”. But c’mere, there is this fella standing around Times Square with a sign saying ‘Need money for weed’ so if you’s see him, throw him a dollar or something. I just really appreciated his honesty. Anyway, as I’m walking through the millions of tourists, I make eyes at Sephora and of course I’m drawn to it like sesh-moth to a bag of cans. After my Sephora episode I ask Moira where she wants to go to eat and she’s just like “Irish bar?”. And that’s where we went. To one of a million Irish bars that are in the Times Square vicinity. But oh my absolute christ, it was so nice to eat dinner and drink some cocktails. Successful first night for my mother – arguments are pending though. I scheduled a  lot for this trip and fighting was a top priority.

The next day was an absolute wash out. Literally. 100% rain. There was no let up with the weather. I take the subway down to meet herself at the hotel. Spitball ideas on where to go for breakfast and ended  up settling on the first place that was mentioned. This process takes about 20-30 minutes. I really didn’t care though because I can’t remember the last time I ate something for breakfast. It’s such a foreign concept to me now. Eating something before 10am? What the fuck? It was so amazing. I’m thinking of it now and I’m nearly drooling over my fucking laptop. Sweet divine christ. Like, guys – I had bacon. I’m so hung up over bacon. I would swipe right for bacon.

Anyway, over breakfast I’m catching Moira up on all the stuff that goes on here. She’s asking me about 67 questions about everything. Boys, jobs, apartment, boys, money, friends, my face cleansing regimen and eh boys are just some of the topics she wanted to be caught up on. After all that, the question of ‘what will we do today?’ arises. Now, it’s absolutely pissing out of the heavens so anything sort of outdoors is being ruled out. I suggest the 9/11 Museum. And finally – one of my suggestions is being taken into consideration. She accepts my offer and we move swiftly along to the subway station. It was Moira’s first time ever getting the subway and it was so precious seeing her all excited about an underground. That novelty soon wore off when we got on a packed subway and she had to stand.

Fuckin’ eejit

We take the beloved E train down to One World and there is literally a queue to queue. I thought I was being deadly and suggesting something that no one would ever think of. ‘Museum on a rainy day’. What the fuck was I actually thinking? At least we’re near Century 21 and we can go in there and have a bit of a mosey around. I subconsciously walk towards M.A.C and Moira follows. Perfect. I haven’t been able to afford M.A.C since I thought I was able to afford make but in reality I was actually dangerously broke. I was too excited being in there. So many options, so many looks. I was instantly attracted to the lipsticks. Again, Moira follows. I say that I’m in need of a new lip colour and she basically says the exact same thing. Like, Mam… please. Why are you so obsessed with me? So I leave my Mam with the most amazing make-up artist to decide on what colour she gets. I’m looking for more a seductive lip colour. Something that screams ‘I can down this bottle of Heineken in 24 seconds and not ruin my lipstick’. I found the perfect colour just FYI. My Mam found her shade but honestly I don’t know who she’s trying to impress with a deep red lip? Something going on there Moira?

The ‘seductive’ colour. But can we just appreciate how skinny my nose looks? Like – lets have a moment 
Red lips & rain












After Century 21 we go into St. Paul’s Chapel to have a wander. It was sort of amazing considering this Chapel is so close to where 9/11 happened and here it was – still standing, still beautiful. My Mam goes to light a candle and I’m not joking you – she ends up nearly burning down the fucking Chapel. I couldn’t fucking believe it. We had those little sticks that you catch a flame with and light the candle but doesn’t Moira only go and fucking drop her stick? Stick is still burning with a flame. An impact of two skyscrapers falling didn’t disturb this Chapel but leave a Moira in there for less than 15 minutes and it would be like Dante’s Inferno. Jesus fucking Christ. I’m still shaking my head at that, Mam.

After that fiasco, we make our way up to Grand Central Station. Had a walk around, took some selfies. We actually saw a bride and groom getting their big wedding photos done on one of the balconies there and it was funny, my Mam was nearly actually included in a wedding photograph! Could you imagine… Moira in an actual wedding photograph… (in Grand Central).  We make our way out of Grand Central anyway and my Mam suggests lunch. Now, it’s been a while since I’ve even said the word lunch so there was only one thing on my mind. Big huge fucking dirty burrito from chipotle (with the lads). The word ‘burrito’ makes my Mam shit herself because she doesn’t know where to begin, she doesn’t know what to say, I don’t think she’s very familiar with Mexican cuisine at all to be honest.


We then make our way back uptown and I decide to go home and take an hour long shower. I get ready to meet my Mam for dinner and it’s still absolutely pissing out so I fuck the idea of getting a subway and just get a taxi down to her. In that taxi, I swear it was like the first time I felt like I actually belong here. The words that came out of my mouth were just so ‘New York’. “Take 7th – Broadway is a fucking disaster”. Like, I could probably live here forever now? Stick a fork in me – I am done. I get up to the room and we throw ideas back and forth again on where to eat and we land on fucking Applebees. The most touristy place of all time. Their chicken is really good but still, fucking scarlet for me. The server is being super friendly and he’s like “oh my god you guys! You guys smell great!’ Well, obviously, I am wearing Michael fucking Kors like. At the end of our meal the server comes up and he’s like “you guys were so much fun, I hope to see you’s again” and the first thing that comes out my mouth was “yeah, you might see me again…”. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. Instantly regretted that decision. Word vomit. And to make things worse my Mam nearly gives him a $120 tip. Head in my hands moment. We leave Applebees like two fucking eejits and we go to the infamous Rosie O’Grady’s. My Mam has a history with that place. Had a drink in there, it was really nice – slagging my Mam over a bottle of Heino. Like, it just doesn’t get any better. Good times Mam, good times. We call it a night and I’m literally already looking forward to breakfast again. Couldn’t sleep I was so excited. Another encounter with some baecon… amirite?

Sunday was a good day in fairness. We initially wanted to go to Ellis Island but the queues were way too bad. We were at South Ferry and two of us looking like fucking eejits of course attract the people who sell the tickets to all these sightseeing tours. We were stood in front of this guy about 20 minutes listening to him try and sell us boat tickets but once we heard “3 and half a hour wait” we were like nah. We started walking and accidentally merged with some French tourist group so we walked we them for a while. We ended up going back to the 9/11 Museum and we actually got in this time. If any of my friends here haven’t done it, fucking do it. It’s really good. I’ll literally go again with you’s if you want (if you’s pay for me). We then did Top of the Rock and I actually felt like such a tourist. It was a confusing time for me. Top of the Rock is pretty insane though and again, if any of mates here are up for cheeky sneaky cans on Top of the Rock, I’m game af. After Rockefeller we walked and walked and walked until we reached Nirvana. Okay – it was another Sephora but this time was more magical because I actually got items this time! Better Than Sex mascara. Ladies, pick yourself up some of that. I’m telling you. The only thing is, it runs down your face when you cry. Getting a straw stuck in your bottle of Heineken and you know it’s passed the point of no return, you will shed a few tears. It’s just something to look out for.

Spot the dopes






The next day I decide it’s time for my Mam to come up to see my apartment. But the only way I could do that is if I went all the way down to her and then get the subway together up to my place. But actually I had to do it anyway because I needed my excessive breakfast. I was literally eating like I was on death row. It was a good time. So after breakfast we get the 1 train up to the beautiful area of  137th Street and Broadway. I bring her into the building and up to my floor. I show her my bedroom and I try and be funny and I’m like “so this is where the magic happens….. I do really cool card tricks” and she totally just ignores what I thought was the best one liner of the day and the first thing she fucking says is “can I make your bed?”. Some things just never change do they? She is literally obsessed. I brought her into the kitchen and I think she was pleasantly surprised. I suggest taking a trip down to Greenwich Village, maybe see the Friends building. She kindly accepts my proposal. So back on the 1 train we go but not before we get a Dunken Donuts. As I’m typing this I’m thinking to myself “why isn’t Drunken Donuts a thing?” like, I feel like that would be such a good idea. Missed opportunity in my eyes. Maybe I need to check into a Betty Ford clinic?

After all that I then go back to my place and chill out for a sec, get ready to meet herself again and go for our last dinner. Now, she specifically said to me that she doesn’t want to do a lot of walking because she was wrecked so instead of walking down through Times Square we walk across to 6th Ave and try and find somewhere to go. This was the night we actually walked the most. We circled Bryant Park, ended up on the East Side nearly going into Lower East Side territory. Like, how the fuck did we manage that? We just stopped and said to each other like right we need to find somewhere, we have been walking for like an hour at this stage. I do the absolute unthinkable and I type into Google ‘Irish bars near me’. We found one and it was actually fucking great. They had Tayto, Bacon Fries, Mi-fucking-Wadi! It was fucking unreal! $2.50 for a packet of crisps but sure look. Has to be done.

The next day I was actually called into work. So I went for breakfast first and then went to work and left Moira alone in Manhattan. I was just as scared as she was. I get into work and I was asking my manager what time I’d be done at, hinting that it’s my Mam’s last day here and she just told me to leave work and go spend time with my Mam which was deadly. I’m leaving work and text my Mam and she had literally just been online and she must have just turned off her fucking data because she was not answering my calls or texts. So I’m wandering up and down Park Avenue like fake rich bitch and I’m in contact with one of my Mam’s friends (shout-out to Anne-Marie) and she sorts it all out. My Mam is actually in Maceys so I walk down and meet her outside and she bought me a cute little pressie. It was towel. Don’t get me wrong, I was excited, I like buying home-wear because I consider myself really old now. It was a Tommy Hilfiger towel though, no less. That will definitely go in my decorative towel section of the bathroom. We then go up to Central Park and just chill out on the grass. I take some selfies, some more slagging is going on. I suggest going for a spot of lunch and a glass of champagne in The Plaza and she elegantly declines that offer straight away. We settle for another Chipotle and it’s just as magical as The Plaza. We then stroll back up towards her hotel and stop into another Irish bar for one last drink. I actually got the strongest cocktail I’ve ever had in my life. One sip and I was absolutely fucking floored. Was gorgeous though – 10/10 would recommend. We walk back up to the hotel and she gets her suitcase and that’s it. I decide to go out to JFK with her because I’m really nice fucking person. Again, there were no private hired cars or limos only yellow cabs in our future. The cab ride there was honestly the longest journey ever. Went through all the creepy residential parts of Queens. Like, it’s so fucking creepy. People live in actual houses. I just don’t even know anymore. I’m lost for words.

I slagged her straight after that picture was taken.

We get out at Terminal 5 and we say our goodbyes. I was so heartbroken leaving her in the airport. I actually cried a lot, mascara running down my décolletage. I’m such an ugly crier so everything was just shit. Have you ever silently cried and you try and speak and it just comes out super loud and aggressive? That’s what happened to me. I basically screamed in my mothers face “WHO’LL BUY ME DUNKEN DONUTS COFFEE NOW!?”. It was so emotional. It was definitely harder to say goodbye to her this time than it was when I first came over here. I made my way to get the subway and I was in a fucking heap lads. I couldn’t cope. And to make things worse, there’s my Mam texting me and snapping me saying she’s really upset too and blah blah blah and that absolutely destroyed me. There was a pilot actually on the subway back into Manhattan and he obviously saw the fucking state I was in and he asked if I was okay and I accidentally screamed in his face as well. Surprised the MTA didn’t kick me off the subway. I’m pretty sure someone got a snap of me or something. Captioned ‘the weeping subway woman’. I finally got home and checked my face and I had black lines all down my face, my nose was red, and my hair was super frizzy. I’m so attractive in so many ways like seriously how am I still single. Jaysus fucking Christ I’ve literally never looked more wrote off in my life. It’s not hard for me to look bad but when a little bit of extra unintentional effort goes into it… Jesus, like I actually end up physically offending people.

Am I really attractive?
Can you believe someone could actually miss me?

I had such a good time though with Moira and did you’s notice something I left out? The fact that we didn’t fucking kill each other!? It just goes to show, you can plan and plan and plan but nothing ever goes to plan. I was really looking forward to throwing some absolute shade but she didn’t really piss me off. I had months and months of material built up to just unleash upon her but nope. There were no arguments. Not a cross word between us. Now, in saying all that, the fact that she didn’t want to go to The Plaza annoyed me but I played it super chill and let that one slide. She could be saving The Plaza for when she comes and visits me at Christmas… *hint hint nudge nudge*

We’re Not in Coppers Anymore Lads…

So, here I am. Back by surprisingly popular demand. Since my life has actually somewhat settled down, nothing interesting is really happening to me so I’m pulling ideas for new blog posts straight out of my arse here. On this weeks segment, I’m going to be discussing boys. A very hot topic here in New York.

So really the only time I would even get noticed by the opposite gender in Dublin is when I’m in Coppers and I ask for a straw with my pint of Heineken. A lad will always ask me why I drink through a straw and the answer is always the same. I’ve paid nearly €30 for this liquid lipstick – I’m not ruining it this early on in the night. I physically can’t afford to. So yeah, that’s usually the type of interactions I’d have in Coppers… for the most part anyway. But now, here in New York it’s completely different. Guys actually want to have a conversation with me? I know. I’m just as shocked as you are. It’s a totally different ball game here. No pun intended.

I’m really not used to random guys on the street asking me for my number and here it happens all the time. Literally just last Saturday, I was coming off the 7 train just at Times Square and some guy actually followed me off the subway and through the millions of people he managed to catch up with me and he tapped me on the shoulder and was like, “hi, I was watching you on the 7 train and I just had to follow you, I think you’re absolutely beautiful and I just really want to get to know you. You’re incredibly gorgeous, your green eyes are stunning and I’m even lost in them right now as I’m looking at you”. *vomit alert*. I genuinely didn’t know whether to laugh or run away. Or both. I just froze and was like “eh are you actually joking me?” and he’s like, “no, oh my god, your accent? It is amazing”. Genuinely thought at this point Ashton Kutcher was going to jump out from behind a pillar because this was just way too forward. Like, what the absolute fuck? He wasn’t even drunk! And I don’t think he was high either. Now, I had just been in work all day and I’m pretty sure my eyeliner was halfway down my face, my hair looked like I was fashioning a Richard Simmons hairstyle, and I’m almost 100% sure my face was so shiny, it would actually have just burnt your corneas straight out of your head. So to sum up, I was pure wrote off that day. This guy then asks for my number and the whole “I have a boyfriend” thing just slipped my mind and I was like, “eh yeah sure???”. Instantly regretted that move. And you can’t even give fake numbers anymore because they will ring that number right in front of you. He then takes out this Turkish chocolate and gives it to me. I was grateful for that because I hadn’t eaten all day and I was going out that night so that was grand but Jesus fucking Christ like, I can’t believe this whole interaction actually went down. Like, just this morning on my way to work I got serenaded by a fucking mariachi band on the subway. I know they were just looking for money out of me but still… it’s nice to know I have options.

And if you’ve read some of other my posts, I mentioned this guy who came up to me before work and asked me to go for coffee with him. I am genuinely wondering what it is, I get that guys are just generally forward here but do I look differently here in New York than I do in Dublin? Because there’s sweet fuck all going on for me back at home and I come here and suddenly there’s a fucking red carpet that’s sprinkled with rose petals laid out for me anytime I walk down Broadway.

That type of stuff just wouldn’t even happen back in Dublin. I’d be lucky if I got eye contact from a lad. The subway guy actually texted me that night but I never texted back. #Ghosted. And my Mam will definitely be onto me after she bothers reading this to give out to me. Literally, Charles Manson could hit me up and my Mam would be like, “omg you should totally go for it, he seems nice”. I’m not even exaggerating this one.

I’ve had so many nights out here and I’ve given my number out a million times and I wake up with texts from these random numbers and I never know who they are, where we met or what they look like. I have gotten some amusing texts which I have screened for your entertainment purposes. I’m even surprised I remember my own fucking address here let alone my own number.

fullsizeoutput_118c IMG_2643 fullsizeoutput_1190

The guy who wants to go skiing… Maybe I should hit him up. What do you’s think?

Realistically though, I am way too busy to actually start something here with a guy. Unless I could quit my job and they could support me but I’m pretty sure that’s in a different category than just ‘dating’. But for real though, I can’t do it here, I’m telling you, it’s like trying to climb Mount Everest in a pair of flip flops – it’s just not going to happen. Start time is at nope and ends at absolutely no chance. I know my friends reading this will be saying to me that I’m so contradictory because I’m always looking for someone to Netflix and chill with back at home but I’ve kind of just left that idea back in Ireland along with my constant need for attention.

But it’s strange here. Like, guys would actually do the whole dating thing and actually want to bring you out for dinner here whereas in Dublin they’ll just ask you for your snapchat, you’ll have a snap streak for about 6 days and you’s will be number one best friends and then they just never snap you again and that’s that. Well, I’m speaking for myself here because I know that I look like a 30 year old cabbage patch kid doll. Even a snapchat filter couldn’t help me.

Even the way guys dress is completely different here. In Dublin you either have the lads that wear the skinny tracksuit bottoms, no socks and a pair of adidas superstars or you have your lad that wears skinny jeans, some indie design on their tee-shirt, preferably with fucking triangles, a pair of the newest Nike Roshes and a hairstyle that looks like a loaf of bread that’s just sitting on their head. It’s just the go to starter pack for Dublin lads. I remember a while ago I was talking to a guy from Williamsburg and he told me that he only wears organic clothes. Of course because he resides in Williamsburg I would expect nothing less. For those of you who aren’t familiar with that part of New York, it’s just a super indie-hipster part of Brooklyn. You can literally get cars there that are gluten-free, organic, non-toxic, vegan, eco-fucker-friendly, alt cars that are actually made of ginseng and that run on good fucking vibes only. Yeah alright, that’s not true but I’m sure they’re not far off that whole idea. That’s how indie-hipster Williamsburg is. But yeah anyway, things are just so different here. Mainly the guys. I can get used to everything else but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to kind of attention that I get here. I remember one night I was out and I was of course wearing my thigh high boots and I thought guys were only looking at me because I actually walk like Bambi on fucking ice in those boots but no, I was getting very much positive feedback all round from the lads. However, I do think a man thought I was a prostitute at one point though because I was standing on a street corner for about 20 minutes waiting on somebody but other than that, it’s all been very positive.

Basically, what I’m trying to say is that even if you are the ugliest person in the whole entire world, you could come here and someone would still want your digits. If it’s happened for me, the human version of an actual fucking blob fish, it can happen for anyone. Im telling you! To be honest, I’m surprised nobody has actually mistaken me for a blob fish and fucked me back into the Hudson River already.

And people think I’m dramatic… laughable.

I reactivated my Tinder over here just to see if there was any talent floating about within the 10 mile radius of where I live. Tinder is absolutely fucking shite to be fair. It’s worse in Dublin but there are some freaks on it over here. They all have the same pictures as well. They all have some candid photo of themselves on some street in New York, a picture of them with about 17 friends so you never know who’s profile it actually is, a picture of them at a party holding a drink so you know they’re super fun and of course a picture of themselves with their hotter friend, either at the top of the Empire State or on Top of the Rock. I wouldn’t be an avid Tinder user to be fair, but sometimes I will go on and have a little swipe through and see what’s going on. I’ve probably seen more Irish lads on Tinder here than actual New Yorkers. I absolutely love reading their bio’s though. A very generic one would be like “Irish lad in New York, looking to meet a nice girl to show me around the city, tell me your favourite thing to do in New York and maybe we can do it together”. And you actually find out that this fella has been living in New York for 3 years so he doesn’t need any help whatsoever to be shown around the city. Of course another popular bio is something like “Dublin *arrow emoji* New York *Irish flag emoji* if we match, I’ll bring you out for a pint of Guinness *smirk emoji*”. I personally would never go on a Tinder date here. I’d be way too scared. I get enough creeps asking for my number on the daily that I’m sure behind their phone screen they would be 100 times worse. Anyway, I think I’m getting too old for Tinder. Like, I will be turning 23 this Summer. Can we just get a moment of silence for that please? I’m going to be like the fucking crypt keeper.

I am thinking though that if another crazy interaction happens to me when I’m out and some guy wants my number and if he actually asks me out…. I’m just going to say yes. I’m just going to fucking do it. I haven’t had a good dinner in a while so if he suggests going out for dinner, I’m all ears. That would be a good story to write about in fairness. Even if he just wants to grab a coffee at Starbucks, I’m so down because I really need to try that Unicorn Frappuccino and take at least one selfie with it. But for real though, the next guy that wants to take me out, I’ll legit say yes. Of course I’ll have some rules like he can’t be 20 years older than me or anything like that and he’s not allowed to be from New Jersey. Absolute hack of New Jersey. But other than that, I’m down for it. Stay fucking tuned for that one. I could end up completely abandoning my whole “I don’t want to start anything while I’m in New York” belief system and end up with a fucking green card in about 2 months. Who knows. Everything is more than just a Coppers shift here. It’s all about who stalks you off a subway and how much money they make.

Making My Way Downtown

‘New York has the best transportation services ever’ was my first thought when I moved here. I slowly realised that that was complete bullshit. I always take the subway to go wherever I need to go. The buses freak me out to be quite honest, I don’t understand them here. I’ve only ever gotten the bus twice since I came here and it was because alcohol was always the end result.

Now, I’ve been to New York twice before so you would assume that I would have gotten a subway or at the very least – a taxi. No, you’re so wrong. The only form of transport I ever used when I was here before were the open-top tour buses. Need to get Downtown? No problem! Just spend about $60 on an All Around Town Tour (Jesus, that’s a fucking mouthful isn’t it?) and hop off when you ‘think’ you’ve reached your destination. And of course the generous tip that is ‘suggested’ to be handed over as you’re exiting the bus. I can’t believe we didn’t just hop on a fucking subway. My Mam’s words “I’m too scared”. I’d be like, “Mam, lets get a taxi” and she’d still be like “I’m too scared”.

The subway is great and all but sweet suffering Christ – the weekend services? Absolute joke. Trying to get back to Manhattan from Brooklyn at about 6am after a sesh only to discover your subway isn’t stopping at the stop that you’re at. And you’re in your thigh high boots. And your eyelashes have fallen off your eyelids and now it looks like you’ve got a moustache. And not to mention the hair – I could say I stuck a fork in a socket and that would completely explain the hair situation. So yeah, it’s not a great look to have when you’re roaming around a creepy subway station trying to figure out what to do next. When I actually had some money I would just call it quits then and get a taxi. Unfortunately, I have to stick to public transport now. Which I don’t mind but if the trains actually fucking ran on the weekends, that would be great. I know that I could easily go back up to real world and just hop on a bus and I’ll get to where I need to be in no time but I don’t know, I can’t seem to bring myself to do that. Purely because I probably already swiped my metro card and I’m not wasting that $2.75 because I’m cheap as fuck now.

I used to take the No. 1 bus back at home & now you can see me riding the No. 1 subway up and down Manhattan.                                                     (I’m too afraid to get off lol) 

There was this one time I was out and you could say it was a late one. Started in Greenwich Village but somehow throughout the night we ended up in the East Village. But of course by that stage I was so mythologically drunk that I didn’t even notice I was on the east side. Went to get a subway home and I got on a random subway because once I see “Uptown'” I’m like, ‘yeah, grand, that’ll do me’. Of course this subway left me on the complete opposite side of the city to where I needed to be. So I got off, got some questionable street food and said to myself ‘fuck it, I’ll get a fucking taxi’. There were physically no taxis around. How is that even possible in this city? I actually got quite scared for myself because I know there’s always taxis around so I thought I developed a nighttime colour blindness which affected my ability to see the colour yellow. Apparently that’s not even a real thing according to Online MD but whatever. I remember I was standing on a street corner holding my weird halal street food and I was like ‘okay, I’ll just eat my food here and then figure something out’. Nopeeeeee. The guy never gave me a spoon or fork or whatever utensil I was supposed to use to eat this with. I’m getting off topic but I was so pissed off about that. Anyway, I just had to start walking, I didn’t even know what direction I was going in and I couldn’t use Google Maps because my battery was gone but I actually managed to find a taxi in the midst of all this confusion. I was close enough to my apartment so I knew it would only cost me about $10. Or so I thought. Turns out I was really far away from my apartment. The metre kept going up and so did my fucking blood pressure at this stage. I was thinking maybe I should just jump out of the cab and run but  a lot of taxi drivers here lock their doors until they get paid. Cheekaaay. Obviously I didn’t have enough cash so there I was in the back of this taxi thinking will I just use the credit card or what? I’m like ‘Hey do you accept Starbucks loyalty cards lol?’ He’s like ‘bitch, please’. So it ended up being put on the credit card and I can almost feel the wrath from my Mother as she reads this but Mam, for real though, I could have been sleeping in a subway station that night, Lionel Richie style – All Night Long. And I’m really not about that life so sorry not sorry.

New York Yellow Cabs on Time Square
How could I not spot one of these for legit about 2 hours? 

Like, I completely get that the subway is not supposed to be some business class, elite experience, it literally gets me from A to B with the least amount of exposed genitalia along the way. And I thank God everyday for that. Sometimes though the subway can be okay. Almost enjoyable. Sometimes we get our ‘in-train entertainment’. That would usually consist of some dance act swinging from the poles like they’re in some Rihanna music video. Like, that stuff actually happens here. And no one bats an eyelid – people really don’t give a shit here. People don’t even take a second and look up from their phones to see whats going on and I’m like ‘first of all, we have no signal down here, bitch who you texting? And second of all, ‘you can’t use Facebook either, we’re literally way underground right now, like, who is your service provider please?’.

Rush hour subways are the worst though. My face does be smushed up against the window and when a song that I’m not really in the mood to listen to comes on shuffle, I physically can’t reach my phone to change it. God forbid, like. So there I am, travelling at a great speed underground listening to Barbie Girl. And then it switches to Joy Division – Love Will Tear Us Apart. There literally is no in between with my music. The moment though that those doors open and a herd of people get off and you can finally move again after suffering momentarily hip dysplasia is such a great moment. One thing about the subways though, packed or not – never make eye contact with anyone. Just don’t do it. It’s just awkward for you and your soul.

Me: Crowds scare me                                Everyone else: You should so move to NYC

Now, people who know me will know that I’m not great with directions. Define direction you say? Gladly. Direction; just anything with a simple instruction. I can’t do it. Like the second you ask me to do something, you lost me. “Turn that lamp on, Laura” and I will literally stand there dazed and confused for a solid 5 minutes. My Mam will 100% back me up on this one. I’m pretty sure she tells people that I don’t know where O’Connell Street is. I am pretty bad with directions and simplified instructions, I must admit. A degree in Geography and I studied maps for what seems like a lifetime and I can’t navigate my way around Dublin but I can give you an in-depth analysis of the topography of the wonderful medieval city that is Dublin. But yeah, me a directions just don’t go well together. It’s like me with and cider, we don’t go together well. Maps and directions are exactly the same. But I’ll still have a go at it, I’ll see what I can do, but I’ll still end up completely lost and probably end up in a ditch somewhere – and that’s just after one pint of cider.

But I have actually been doing quite well in New York in regards to getting around and finding places and that. I amaze myself when I reach my desired destination. Of course I use Google Maps extensively (shout out) and it really fucking helps oh my God. I would be lost without Google Maps lololol. Of course though when I type in a location and it tells me to walk in a certain direction, I would always start walking in the opposite direction and it could be about 15 minutes before I realise I’m walking the wrong way.

All my mates though back at home think that it must be mad confusing trying to get around in NYC but literally, if I can do it – anybody can do it. Just make sure to know if you’re east or west and if you’re going uptown or downtown and you’re sorted. Be grand lads. And also, make sure to not get any body part stuck in the doors as they’re closing on the subway. I tried to be nice once – I saw a woman running for the subway that I had literally just got on and I put my arm out to stop the door from closing as this woman is about to get on. The doors shut on my hand, crushing my 5 metacarpal bones and my 14 phalanges. I’ve never felt more embarrassed in my life. Like, fuck the pain! The sheer embarrassment of it was way worse. And I could tell that story to everyone back at home and I’d get zero sympathy because ‘I’m in New York’. Yeah guys, shit happens here too! Bad luck follows me – as we have established in my prior blogs. I remember that day so clearly because I had just been in a Starbucks and they had no more iced cinnamon and almond milk macchiatos so I had to order a boring standard tall, half-caff, soy latte at 120 degrees. Ughhhhhhhhhhhh. Worst day ever amirite?

It’s totally fine… 

Pray for me.



Paddy’s Day Carnage in NYC

It’s just over a week since Paddy’s Day and I’m literally still recovering. Just letting you’s know. I’ve never experienced Paddy’s Day here so I was super excited to see what the craic was like in New York. I was in work on that day but I was off at 6pm which was grand. I was meeting two of my mates out in Woodside (shoutout to Conor and Arianne). Woodside is this magical part of Queens that has a million Irish bars and pubs scattered around the vicinity. So I got the subway straight there and met my mates at about 7ish. Happy out. In my mind I was thinking “yeah, sure I’ll just go out for a few”. Anyone who knows me and if I ever say that – it usually ends up being one of the craziest nights ever. This was no exception.

Pub No.1. Full of Irish people, banging out the Irish diddly-eye music and just having a bit of craic. The good thing about this pub is that they don’t accept debit/credit card so you can’t open a tab. Opening a tab is a dangerous business here, for me anyway “Oh my god just put it on my tab!” I’ve said that countless times here and I just end up regretting it. Purely because I know myself that I can flirt my way to free drink. #SorryNotSorry but I’m a broke ass bitch and if I can get something for free, sure why not. We had a few drinks in this bar anyway and decided to see what Woodside has to offer.

Pub No.2. This bar was so packed I actually felt like I was in Temple Bar or something. I would reckon about 30% of the people in here were actually from Ireland and the rest were just wearing green for the laugh. We literally stayed here for one. In my case two. I had to buy two Heineken at the same time because I had no cash and there was a $10 minimum so two at a time. I wasn’t drunk enough to start flirting. We neck our drinks and head out to the next pub.

Pub No.3. This was a classic ‘aufella’ pub. It was just scaudly as fuck. I was sure they would have Dutch Gold on tap. I’m so glad we went here though because this is where I found that stupid green bow I was wearing in most of snaps that night, if you have me on snapchat you’ll know – and if you don’t, omg add me! sexyglitter is my username. Swear to God. That’s not even a joke. I don’t know why it’s my snapchat name but I’ve learned to live with it. Anyway, we decide to head to back to pub number one because it just had a better vibe in there. My mate Arianne seems to think I had a thing for the barman. lol. He was a bit of a ride in fairness but I sadly learned throughout the night that he was engaged. Such a let down.

Drunk me featuring the stupid green bow and some weird vomiting owl? Genuinely have no idea where that came from

So we make our way back to that pub and we have a few more drinks there. The drunker I was getting, the hotter the barman was getting. Is that sentence even grammatically correct? I have a degree in linguistics and I don’t even know what the fuck I’m saying. I fucking hate syntax. But sure he’s engaged so no can do. Anyway, the three of us think about finding an offo to get some alcohol and just be complete scumbags and neck that and then go to another pub. Our logic for this is that if we get drunk on store bought alcohol, which is a lot cheaper, we won’t have to buy drinks at the bar. I’m not a student anymore but I’m surely living that life. We google ‘liquor stores near us’ and find one that’s open and start the 9 minute journey. A naggin of Smirnoff and we’re sorted. Walking back to the bar and we’re taking shots of straight vodka and in the midst of trying not vomit my life up – there it is. A gorgeous view of the Empire State Building which was lit up green – for the day that’s in it, sure. You could say that I was as lit as the Empire State Building. Mam: I know you’re reading this so I’ll explain. Lit is a term you use when you’re drunk. In a sentence “We’re getting lit tonight”. Get it?

(Cue the WhatsApp I get from her as soon as she reads this saying “I’m so lit lol”)

This is the best picture I could get of the Empire State considering the circumstances. (Circumstances being that I was in fucking Queens).

We get back to the bar but before we get in, there’s a group of people outside and this random woman starts talking to me. So I’m chatting to her and she’s telling me how much she likes my make-up and all that (standard amirite?) and she wants to buy me shots. Now, this woman was probably the same age as my mother so I was thinking to myself ‘right, lets see how much you can handle, Linda’. So she brings me in and she gets me a Tequila shot. And that’s when the madness actually began. Literally, the second that beautiful distilled beverage hit my tongue, shit hit the fan. Next thing I know there’s another two shots of Tequila in front of me with a bottle of heineken (with a straw) to wash it down. Jesus Christ, what was I thinking!?

As I’m sitting here with Linda, these group of lads come over to us and start chatting away. So all these guys were from… I actually can’t remember. Cavan? I’m going to stick Cavan. Actually, as I’m writing this, I remember it definitely was Cavan because as soon as they said it I was like “Ceeeyaaavaaan”. That’s the Tres Tequila talking. Not me. Apologies to anyone from Cavan reading this. I can’t imagine they’d even have internet there though so I should be okay. Hahaha JKJKJK!

So there I was, in this bar surrounded by a bunch a lads from Cavan (and Linda) and they were giving me some shit for my Dublin accent so we’re even. All I heard was “for jaysus sake” and that was going on the whole night. I don’t even say for jaysus sake! These guys were going off to another bar and wanted me to come with them so, you know me, I can’t say no to the sesh so off we went.

Pub No.4. This bar was so crazy. I was on approx my 267th Heino of the night and I was having the best time ever. This place was like a mini Coppers. And we all know I’m the Coppers Queen so it felt like home. It was Irish owned and everything, typical Irish bar. But everyone in there was Korean! It was insane! Who knew that Koreans would be into this! Like, I think the place was called Sean Óg’s so you’d know it’s Irish. Playing gangnam style on the speakers and all. It was so funny. The Koreans are a mental bunch of lads. I don’t know exactly what time it was at this stage but I’m going to say around 4am? Maybe? Who knows. The lads decide to go back to pub number one for a lock in. Ah for jaysus sake! (the irony). I was like “here lads, I need to go home, I’m fucking wrecked!” But they weren’t having it. I got dragged anyway back to the first pub for this almighty lock in.

I need to say actually, I hadn’t bought myself a drink in hours at this point so I was happy out. Just a bit tired. So we go back for the lock in and it’s mental. There were probably about 7 people altogether in this pub and it was literally the best part of the night. This lock in goes on till about 6:30am (ish). At this point I genuinely was dead. I literally had no pulse. I didn’t know where the fuck I was, who the fuck I was, if I was coming or going. I just hadn’t a clue. I think my brain just turned into Heineken and just came out my fucking ears or something. So then I say to these lads, “here I genuinely need to go home now!” And they were like “bullshit Laura! You’re coming from breakfast!”. In fairness, I hadn’t eaten in like 24 hours so I was down for some breakfast. Ham and cheese toastie and a coffee and I was in heaven. There were another group of Irish people in this diner so our group and their group kind of merged together and formed this super drunk group.

So standing outside this diner and I announce to everyone that I’m leaving. It’s probably about 9am now at this stage. And everyone was like, “eh what the fuck? we’re going to another pub now and you’re coming too!”. I had this (literal) dead expression and one of the guys just took my hand and physically walked me to this bar. This fella was gas though, he wanted my number so I gave it to him and he puts me in his phone as ‘Micky Smith’. I was on the floor laughing at that. I was sober enough but the hangover was starting to kick in so I literally just wanted to get a coffee and that’d be done. Of course a hot whiskey is planted right in front of me and I was thirsty so… why not? Drinking a hot whiskey at half 9 in the morning. Whaaaaat am I doing. I don’t even like whiskey! Some lad then buys a round of shots! Oh my god, as I’m writing this I’m shaking my head at myself. So I had two shots of raspberry flavoured vodka before 10am and I was back to being drunk. We then walked back to pub number one, where we had the lock in. Like, we only left this place a few hours ago and now we’re fucking back.

We get there and all I hear was “Laura? Heineken with a straw, yeah?” and I’m just like “fuck it, yeah”. So we’re here for ages just chatting, listening to music. I text my mate and I’m like “Conor! I’m still out, you coming out for one?” So he’s like “yeah grand see you in a while”. I facetimed my friend Telia (shoutout to T!) and she knew that I was out all night and I just wanted her to see how dead and not sober I was. I think she was in as much shock as I was. I had to talk to her though to tell her everything that was happening and tell her about all the boys! She literally has to have a play-by-play of what I’m doing. So I let her go and I just wait around for my mate to arrive. As I’m waiting for him to come around I get talking to this lad from Beaumont. Like, a D.9 head! I told my mam this and she practically sent out our wedding invitations. NO MAM! I AM NOT SEEING HIM AGAIN! She literally thinks there’s something between me and every guy that makes eye contact with me. Sad, really…

fullsizeoutput_10c4    fullsizeoutput_10c5

Above you will see screen shots of my Mam being… well, my Mam.

It’s around 2 or 3 in the afternoon and my mate arrives and I tell him about my night and he’s just like “how the fuck are you alive?” I’m still trying to answer that question myself. I don’t know how I did that. I’m in awe of myself really. So my mate then goes home and I make one trip to the bathroom to check out how awful I looked. It was pretty bad, I’m not going to lie. I still had a stupid bow in my hair. My lipstick was nowhere near my lips. I’m pretty sure I was missing a strip of eyelashes and my eyes were just pure hanging out my head. So before I leave I need to just take a second and fix my face because no one should have to see that. I drunkenly attempted to amend what was happening but I couldn’t save my face. It was past the point of no return. I come back upstairs to the bar and this lad from Kerry (my mates will know which lad) comes over to me and he starts chatting to me. We actually ended up talking all day. And no Mam, numbers were not exchanged. I’m not seeing him again. Please don’t even ask me!

At about 8:30pm I genuinely am just a dead woman walking. I say to everyone that I’m leaving and that I really have to go to bed and of course they wanted me to stay out but this time I physically couldn’t do it. I made my way to the subway station and I was in a fucking heap. If you’re in New York over a weekend and need to get a subway you’ll know the struggle. Weekend trains are just pure bollocks. I literally had to go backwards to go forwards. I made it home by about 10pm and that was it. I was in bed. Still had my mouldy face on. And I was in work then the next morning. Classic Laura, I tell ya.

You may ask “how and why the fuck did you stay out for over 24 hours?” and the only logical answer I can give is that I’m in New York and I’m 22. Like, you can’t argue with that. I did of course pay for it with a sexy head cold, a possible throat infection and a nice little chesty cough.

I’d 100% do it all over again though!

You’re also probably wondering if Heineken are my official sponsors because I’ve mentioned them so much. Yes. They are. Thank you Heino.

One true love. 

A Girl Walks into a Bar…

I’m sitting on my bed frantically sending out resumes because I kind of sort of need an income? I think since before I got here up until now, I have sent out over 150 resumes. I have spoken to a lot of employers and they have told me that if it was last year and trump wasn’t in power, I’d be hired on the spot. So, thank you, Trump. Absolute knobhead.
So yeah, there I am, sending out a million more resumes because time is running out. I am constantly checking my emails to see if anybody is replying to me. I’m getting to a desperate point here because I literally cannot afford to feed myself. I have a cleaner for my apartment that comes every week but I can’t afford food. What is my life? Fur coat no knickers, some may say.

After a while I check my emails in between a binge fest of Malcolm in the Middle. I get an email from a savvy salon Midtown East and they want me to come in for an interview. Tomorrow at 2pm. Yes!! The job is for a receptionist position. I can 100% do it. Sit there for 7 hours and fake a smile? Sure I did that everyday for three months in my last job. I can definitely handle this. So I do my little bit of research on the salon and prep myself for the interview.

The next day it’s pissing out of the heavens and of course the coat that I have from River Island, costing a leg and an arm (cheers Ma) doesn’t have a hood. So the 25 minutes of sectioning my hair and straightening it part by part was completely pointless. I leave my apartment and walk to the subway station which is less than 5 minutes away from me and i take my phone out, open the camera app, switch it to selfie, and I literally look like Shirley Temple with black hair. Ringlets for days.

Anyway, I make my way to the salon which is a bit of hack in fairness because it’s over on the East Side and of course, I’m an West Side girl. I get lost obviously but I end up making it for 2pm on the dot. I said to the current receptionist that I have an interview for 2pm and she makes a few phone calls. She then asks me to come back at around 3:30pm because they’re not ready for me. Like? What am I supposed to do in Manhattan for an hour and a half when I’ve got no money. I walk around looking for a Starbucks just so I can chill there for a bit. I was on West 54th and 2nd and I could not find a Starbucks but I did come across a strip of Irish bars.

I walk into this bar called the Irish Exit and I get a non-alcoholic beverage and I relax for a bit. I’m on the phone to my mam and let me tell you, I could say that I cured cancer and she’d still be like “yeah but, do you have an income yet?” or the classic line “and eh, where are you getting the money for that?”. So really I can’t win here. But anyway, I tell her that I’m sitting in this Irish bar just waiting for half 3 to roll around and she’s like, “ask the barman if there’s any jobs going?” and I’m like oh my god can I not just have a second without talking about this because my hair is going to start falling out with the stress. No more Shirley Temple curls. The barman actually starts talking to me though as I’m on the phone to my Mam and I just slide in the topic of jobs to him and sure we have a bit of banter and a laugh but then he goes over to another customer. So that’s the end of that. I then say goodbye to my Mam and the barman comes back over to me.

He starts chatting to me and I’m telling him my story about why I’m here and that and he explains to me that his wife owns a clothing store in Long Island City and she’s looking for help. I was like, “Yes, it’s me you’re looking for”. So I give him my number and he said he’ll pass it onto his wife and he’ll see what he can do. He’s from Ireland too so it was nice being able to have a conversation and say things like “ah sure look” and the famous “sure this is it”.  As soon as I write down my number for the barman, these lads beside me are like, “can I get a copy of that?” to which I elegantly responded, “Not tonight homeboy”. Cue the Stevie Wonder Song “Isn’t She Lovely”. I can’t be dealing with this. Not while I’m sober anyway. I just had to get up and at that point.

I walk out of the bar thinking like, Jesus, that’s gas isn’t it! Imagine now I got a job out of this! What are the chances?! I look at the time and it’s almost time for my interview in this salon so I stall it up and I walk in and I still have to wait about 20 minutes. As I have said before – I do not do tardiness. I eventually get interviewed. It went well but the guy who was interviewing me was actually so rude. He kept cutting me off when I was speaking and I get enough already when I’m back in Dublin. It seemed like a really cool place to work but I don’t know, now. I’ll have too see how things pan out. At this stage though, I know I can’t be picky about what I get. I get on the subway and go home anyway. As I’m walking to my apartment I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a car window and my hair is literally like something from the 80s. The only thing that I was missing was a ‘Choose Life’ tee shirt and even then, I still looked like an extra in a Wham! music video. Like, did I look like this all day? Pure mortified.

The next day I’m on my way downtown to take care of some business. I’m on the subway and my phone starts ringing. It’s the barman’s wife! Like, she actually called. I had to say to her though that I’m on the subway so I might lose signal. I get off the subway and I ring her back and we get to talking and she wants to meet me. Happy days! So I make my way out to Long Island City, find the cute little store and walk on in. She interviews me very casually, and I give her my resume and tell her basically that I’ll work whatever hours. She told me that her husband got home last night and said to her “you need to meet this girl, she’s so friendly and bubbly”. Now, you would want to have seen me yesterday, I was literally the human version of grumpy cat but sure, that’s the Irish looking out for each other. Building ourselves up.

So there you go, I walked into a bar and Paddy Irishman basically sorts me out with a job.

The Third and Final Day

It’s Thursday morning. I had a really shit sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about what’s ahead of me. I would love to just quit but I don’t want to be the one to be struggling so much for money and then quit a job. But I can only take so much before I literally set the place on fire, you know? It’s a tough situation. I know that people who personally know me will think I am being dramatic but this time, I really mean it.

I wake up on this gorgeous sunny Thursday morning and get ready to enter the gates of hell once again. I swear to God, if I actually went to hell, it would take me a solid week to realise I wasn’t in work anymore. I was in the subway station on west 116th and I was just not in the mood at all to get into a packed subway but surprisingly the train was practically empty. Is everybody feeling my wrath?

I get off on West 23rd and I’m walking down west 24th and 9th and I ring my mam. I don’t know why I do this because I know I’m just gonna burst out crying. I’m complaining so much about this job and I know my Mam is probably getting sick and tired of me talking about this everyday. She probably just leaves the phone down for a solid 10 minutes while she does her own thing and everyone once in a while just shouts in “yeah, I know, yeah, aw God”.

I get my Dunken Donuts coffee and the people in there actually know my order now. I call these people close friends now. Once you know and understand what I want in a coffee, we’re mates. I stand outside my building and wait just a minute to go in. I need to take a second and appreciate this freedom. I walk in and go down to the office. No one is in. Like, I don’t understand why they tell me to come in for 9:00am if no one is actually there. I just don’t get it. Anyway, I’m in there and I’m taking crying selfies because the lighting is actually really good from where I sit and the tears are just at the cusp of falling so I think this is the perfect opportunity to get a good snapchat. I sent my crying selfie to my mam and she texts me back and she says “love the eyes!” Aw, thanks for the support Mother. Means a lot, you know? When you’re on the verge of having a very aggressive mental breakdown – you want to know your eye make up is on point.


“Open an excel spreadsheet or something”. Yes! Of course! How did I not think of that before!? The power of healing is directly from the use of Microsoft Office Applications. I’m cured!

Eva gets in and brings me outside to their car and she’s like “I want you to search for seat covers for my car”. Fair enough. It’s not in my job description but okay, I’ll go with it. At least that will buy me some time of silence. Eva then sends me to the post office and she gives me directions as if she’s speaking to a 4 year old. I leave and I take ages getting back. I was so tempted to just go for a walk on the High Line. Just kind of piss about. Realistically it should take like 10 minutes but I took about half an hour just walking aimlessly around and I didn’t even care about getting in trouble. I get back into office and get shouted at to ring a certain person. I love this! Okay, so they ask me to get whoever on the phone and they literally give me no context or reason as to why I am phoning this certain person. And then once I asked them why I am ringing this person I got called a ‘retard’. I’m all for friendly insults but like, this was just not okay. I call this person anyway and he can actually understand me! Wow. I didn’t expect that. He actually says to me “I love your accent, where are you from?” So there I am, sitting at my desk, talking to this stranger on the phone and he’s literally flirting with me. He said to me he wanted to put a face to such a beautiful accent. Jesus like! He’d be getting a very below average face to go with that ‘beautiful’ accent. The guys here are so forward though it’s actually mental. I’ve never had so much male attention in my life. And yes, Mam, before you WhatsApp me asking have I found the one, there’s still no boyfriend! Don’t you worry Mam, I won’t be finding ‘the one’ here – I can barely find my own apartment. And that’s when I’m sober.

I take my lunch break and I go and get a love heart donut and it’s practically glazed with my own tears. Why am I so emotional all the time?! Like yeah, this job is hell on earth and it makes me want to rip my own eyeballs out of their sockets and roll them down 9th Avenue but I don’t know why all the crying is happening all of a sudden.

I go back into work and just kind of arse around. Like, I’m not doing anything meaningful in there and at this point I really don’t care. I get told to do some shit and I try and do it without any explanation and I get told right off for doing it wrong. I have come to the conclusion that I shouldn’t actually take their shit and I should start getting cheeky back to them. This twonk, Ryan wants me to call up this phone company to switch numbers or some bullshit like that. And I’m like “okay where do I find their number?” Ryan is like “Ehh I sent you that email the other day and all the contact details are there??” like he says it with real attitude. So I was like “okay Ryan, I can’t find this email – can you tell me the subject of the email?” Now, for those of you reading this, do you know what I mean by that? You know what I mean by saying subject and email in the same sentence? Like, you’s get it? Yeah? And if you don’t.. I’m sorry for your loss. Anyway, I asked him what the subject of the email was and he was like “what? can you literally speak english?” I thought he transformed into Kourtney Kardashian he was that monotone. I was like “yeah Ryan, the subject of email is what?” and he just did not get what I was saying. He was like “you need to be more understandable”. I cannot fucking try anymore. He eventually gets what I am saying and I manage to find this fucking email. I then said to him “okay cool, I have the contact details. You want me to call them right now?” and he takes this long breath and goes “……. as apposed to when, Laura?”. Absolute cheeeeeek of him. Seriously, as I am writing this, there is actual steam coming out of my ears oh my sweet baby Christ I’m so annoyed. How are these people still in business. Actually, I know the answer to that – when they meet their clients, I know for a fact that they’re fake as fuck with them. And that will apparently get you anything you want in this city.

Before we all leave work, there is some horrible fuck-up happening and thank god I didn’t cause this. There was a literal cacophony coming from Eva’s mouth. For those of you unfamiliar with the term cacophony, it’s basically a fuck load of noise often heard at a really loud volume. It would be as if you gave a group of 3 year olds every instrument in the world and asked them to perform one of Mozart’s symphonies. She was screaming so loud that I could actually feel it in my chest. I wanted to pluck my eyes out and just stick them in my ears. It’s a noise that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

These two twonks are flying to L.A tonight because they’re going to the Oscars. So they let us off at around half 4 which is fabulous for me. I have some shit left to do here but the minute the clock strikes 4:30 I fucking bounce. I am outta there. I’m walking to my subway and I get a call for another interview tomorrow and I just so happen to be off tomorrow so this works out great. I genuinely feel that by Monday I will have emailed these people saying “Thanks but no thanks you’s absolute wankers. Bye”.

The next day I have my interview and everything and that goes fine. I go home that evening and I’m lying on my bed and I can feel a vibration. It’s my phone. The name on my phone? Eva. I answer with a very quiet, very timid “hello?”. She is basically ringing me up to evaluate the past week. She states that she is sitting next to Ryan and I’m on loudspeaker. Love being on loudspeaker. Yep. Absolutely love that. “I’m just calling to talk about how you got on this week. We both feel that you are a great person and bring a lot of positivity to the office. We really do admire your positive attitude. We do feel however, that you’re not a right fit for us. But this is just our perspective – what do you think?” Well boy, let me fucking tell you what I think. I responded like “Oh wow, okay. Well I feel like I learned a lot in the past few days, got to see how you guys manage to run a business on a horrific communication basis. It was surprising to me actually, just the lack of communication that’s there. I don’t personally like being told to ‘fix’ my accent and I don’t like hearing the word ‘retard’ being thrown around. So really, to be quite honest with you, you’re not the right fit for me. So thank you and I won’t see you on Monday”. And that was the end of our conversation. Gas isn’t it? Like first of all; yes, okay, I would have left by Monday anyway but they didn’t really give me a chance did they? 3 or 4 days is not enough time to learn every single thing about a new job. Am I wrong in thinking that? It will take a while to learn the ropes, yes? Thank you!

So that’s it – we’re done with Ryan and Eva. It’s over. Thank jaysus for that! I really did learn a lot in those three days though. I learned that my skin ages horribly, I learned that I need to start using a night cream and I learned that I can fake a smile for a really long time. I’m learning so much here.

Day Two

Alarm is ringing at 6:45am. Snooze. Alarm is ringing at 7:00am. I get up and get ready to give it another go. Eyes, face, contour, lips and I’m ready to go. I need to look somewhat mediocre when I burst into tears. It pisses me off because I didn’t move to New York to cry all the time. I can do that easily back in Dublin. The only difference is that I can have a spicebag while doing it. I’m walking to the subway and I’ve got my sunglasses on and it’s a gorgeous sunny day but of course I can’t even appreciate it because I just feel like a big ball of dread. I’m on the subway and I’m listening to most depressing songs by The Smiths and nothing has ever fit my mood more perfectly than the song Asleep by them. If you know that song, you’re probably thinking to yourself like okay this girl probably should not be near any sharp objects. But sure look, that’s just me, I love depressing music. It just makes me feel so alive… you know?

Anyway, I make my way to West 24th and 9th and Dunken Donuts is calling me. I’m standing outside, getting my stuff together before I head into the office and where I am standing there’s just so many people walking by. It’s the morning pedestrian rush hour. Some guy walks by me and then he turns around and comes back up to me. I have my headphones in and I initially think ‘oh this guy is looking for directions’ but I was so wrong. He says to me, he says “are your eyes naturally that colour?” and I thought to myself ‘aw here we fucking go’ but I was like “eh yeah?” him “oh wow, what is that? Like, hazel?” me “yeah or just like, green?” and he proceeds to ask me to go for coffee sometime and I swear to good Christ, it’s not even 9:00am and this is happening. I’m so sh00k. I gave him my number because I felt bad rejecting him. I thought to myself if I did reject him he’d just be like “I got rejected before 9:00am this morning”. He texts me anyway within the same hour and I’m sorry but I just had to ghost him for now. Not today Andrew, I’m sorry, I just can’t be dealing at the moment. But shout out to you because it takes some balls to go up to a girl before 9:00 and ask them out. I’ll hit you up soon. Thought it was hilarious though. Guys back in Dublin wouldn’t even make eye contact with you. Maybe that’s just with me though, is it? I’m at that stage where half my mates are practically engaged and here I am, throwing grapes in the air and trying to catch them with my mouth whilst holdig a litre bottle of vodka.

Anyway, I was in the office by 9:00am and of course it was just me and Michael, the guy who also started with me yesterday. We were talking about how yesterday went and he seemed to think it went okay. Am I genuinely fucked in the head because I thought it was one of the worst experiences of my life. Way worse than working in Permanent TSB. And if you know me well, that’s really saying something.

I am sitting at my desk, still have that horrible dread feeling in my stomach. Eva eventually decides to show up on her own time. She started to bark orders at me. I want you all to bare in mind that this is my second day and I feel like this is a job that could physically destroy me. Like, I’m scared for my soul. Again, not being dramatic. Eva asks me to ring up a million and one people and I’m not really a ‘talk on the phone’ person so that just scares me. I still want my Mam to ring up the doctors office for me. The only time I don’t mind ringing someone is when I’m ordering a spicebag because Just Eat isn’t working. So I dial up these numbers and while I’m trying to listen to people on the other end of the line, Eva is shouting at me, telling me to do this, that and the other. I’m not a fucking octopus here, I’ve only got two arms. Have you ever been in that situation though? Where you’re on the phone and someone else is talking ‘at’ you? It really fucking pisses me off. There were a million and one thoughts running through my head. My head was all over the place, it was the perfect representation of when you’re testing out a pen to see if it works. It was just a shit show.

I was on the phone and I was like “Hi, this is Laura calling from blah blah blah…” and I was talking to this woman who just did not understand me. Now, I don’t think my Dublin accent is that ‘howiya’ that people can’t understand me so I was repeating myself and spelling out words for this woman and she was just not getting it. Eva told me that I need to “fix my accent” while I’m on the phone. And in that moment, I emotionally just signed out. Nope. I don’t want to work for people who want me to change my accent. Excuse the fuck out of me please. ‘Fix’ your accent? Basically asking me to Americanise my accent. Your one Eva isn’t even from America! Like, the only time I know people cant understand me is when I have about 3 shots of sambuca. And sure, we’ve all been in that state. But I didn’t even make my coffee Irish this morning so I knew I was speaking clearly.

I eventually take my lunch break and go and get a coffee. I ring my mam and I’m quite literally tearing up in the middle of Dunken Donuts. She was saying nice things to me which made me feel very emotional and I got upset because I can’t just go home to her and voice my frustration face-to-face and then eventually pick a fight with her because I’m upset. I hang up from my Mam because I can’t cope anymore so I ring Niamh then. We have a little conversation and a little laugh and I start to feel better. So I finish up my coffee and make my way back to this Satanic organisation.

The rest of the day was so hectic and there was so much that I had to do and so much that I actually wanted to learn but I just wasn’t given the chance because they expect you to have this stuff done and learned by yesterday. There is no time to ask questions and if you do, you literally get shouted at so I was so afraid of making a mistake but then I was so afraid to ask questions. Catch 22. I’m back to walking around the office like a giant question mark. The only thing having a good time in this office was the annoying little dog that Eva owned. The dogs name was Symphony. Ugh.

Evil Symphony

It’s finally drawing to the end of the day and me, Gary and Michael all walk out together. We all take one deep breath and just look at each other and collectively say “fuck”. We all cant believe that we work there! Seriously like. Michael out straight says that he won’t be back tomorrow. Gary says that he only started working a week before me and that he’s seen 3 people come and go in this job since he’s got here. Now, if that doesn’t say this place is fucked up than I don’t know what does. I’m really thinking like, shit, this job really is as bad as I thought it was. I wish I could just not turn up for work tomorrow but I need the money. I make my way to the subway and go home. I just need need a litre of vodka and a cat in my life right now. I have like no money to eat but to be honest, this job has made me lose my appetite so that’s fucking grand isn’t it? Every cloud, eh? I just don’t want to go back tomorrow but I know I have to. I need to buy things. I’m running out of mascara and like, I can’t live without that to be honest. Come to think of it actually, I need foundation, a new liquid eyeliner and a new beauty blender. I only brought three bags of make up with me! This is an urgent appeal for help.

I just have one more day to do in this job and then it’s the weekend and I can finally go out and get smashed and forget my problems for 48 hours. I would probably make an absolute killing if blogged about my nights out and all that but I know my Mam reads this. Every time I go on a night out my Mam always asks me if there were any fellas and it’s always the same answer. “No, I just got a few free drinks”. Classic Laura.

So yeah, this was day 2 in work. This obviously happened a few weeks ago and as I’m writing this I’m actually laughing. I would take Permanent TSB any day over this job! Shout out to the lads in PTSB! Anyway, there you have it, the second day in a job that will make you want to set yourself and everything you love on fire.



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