Hoover, sweat and Tears.

Frustrated from pointless house working. Skin itching from sweat, cooled down with the tears of a stressed out parent. I used to be worse, I know this is just a fleeting moment in time. But it's my moment and I will tell you all about it because I have no other hobbies or friends.

Housework is a pleasure for some, and I do find it therapeutic on most days but every now and then, my mind is clouded with a sense of pointlessness to housework besides the obvious hygeine responsibility and organisation.

Throwing my own child like tantrums, tugging at the hoover wire that won't stretch far enough so the hoover goes off and i've got that anger-rage, anus-mouth, teeth clenched thang going on. I want to kick some Langer I don't like up the hole. Feels like that would be the only true relief but I  know I'm as delicate as a rice cake that's low in sodium and know I'd hurt myself more than the sphincter of a prick. Rice cakes leave alot of fecking crumbs too, it's a viscious circle (like yer man's hole). Why is this all focused on buttholes, I just don't know? Someone get me a psychotherapist, preferably one with good cleaning tips.

One of those 'housewife fo'  life' shitty days *does gangster hand signs followed by a Slav squat.

I am sitting down (ignoring my children) and reflecting on my feelings thoughts and priorities. Currently my priority is chocolate...it would be a fine whiskey but being a mom n all that I'd like to keep drinking and parenting separate. Dont mix business And pleasure.

That is the11th commandment, the one just before 'One shall not slut drop at a staff party'. (There's a whole section of don't mix business and pleasure there clearly) I reflect and realise that writing this blog has really helped, I actually feel rather jolly now and have said g'way housework, g'way. I don't need you in my life. But I will get back it after this chilli chocolate lindt bar. Compliments to Chris (Literally how my husband spices up our marriage)

Sponsored by Lindt...master chocolate beaters.

I, a mother of two, find breastfeeding in public offensive.

Oooiiii!!!! Put away your milk duds!!

In all honesty, being a mother of two I find only one thing offensive about breastfeeding in public.

That one thing being that every time I see the goddamn beautiful, most natural  scene
ever it makes me want to have another baby so I too can breastfeed again!!!

 NO !!! My head shouts!! YES!!! squeals my empty ovulating uterus. Leave me outta this!!! murmurs my heart.

My stretch marks tingle. Okay okay I get it, I will win this battle of biology. I have already par taken in procreation thus fulfilling my natural purpose as a reproductive member of society. Twice. Boom.

Yeah, but, I don't get the big deal about the whole breastfeeding in public. I tend to look away out of respect even before I had kids. And I'm kinda busy having a life that doesn't revolve around other people's life choices. Because I don't care.

Like when scummy folk are staring me out of it I look away also, out of respect that they won't beat me up are rob me. I find them offensive. Noone is shaming them
in their natural habitat and nature?

The world is offended by everything, thanks internet and global communication, perspective and opinion. It's very exciting but very tiring. I could go on like a racist old yolk on The Nial Boylan Show complaining about Dem Forenners being the reason we don't speak Irish or lost or cultural identity.

Like, come on guys, there's more to life like a million tv series and documentaries to watch on Netflix!!!

The thing about opinions is they aren't fact and more importantly -I couldn't give a two-penny fuck about yours, your entitlement of it or your righteous bullshit. And I am sure the feeling is mutual.

Soooo, let's go do fun shit...like not have babies and admire the mommies doing their best for theirs. Because, at the end of the day, you wouldn't be here without the mommies and their boobies. Before someone, who ever they are, decided hey let's feed off cows breasts ....not weird at all... mmmm delish.

Anyway, put that in your tit and drink it!

The king has returned, regards, The Momarchy.

My return to dat stage tho.

Hello I’m Dawn and its been four years since my last Stand‐Up gig. I had an accidental return(not the oops I fell on the stage kind of accident) but it was too good of an opportunity to say no and not to mention flattering. I have done three more gigs since in the last two years. Still rusty, still lacking that
no‐fucks‐given  confidence on stage that I used to have. That confidence, that energy, that fierceness I once had, is it lost? I ask myself. Am I just such a different person now? Am I out of the race, like a greyhound bitch who’s had pups and cant race anymore? I only wished I had the figure of one! Maybe my funny bone was located in my vagina and it was destroyed giving birth?? Nice one, another reason to resent my kids.

Since having kids I am STILL the same person and I still spend every moment looking at them thinking these guys just, like, fell out of me! Like I totally grew them myself. Like seamonkeys but with more responsibility. I am a mom but also a separate person with dreams and adventures that I still want to
part take in.

I imagined, foolishly, but hilariously that my return to comedy would be me riding in on my white comedy horse (ego metaphor, my ego is racist) and greet every one like they were adoring fans. Have a bit of  queen wave going on, few kisses blown AND CAUGHT!  Shouting ‘fear not peasants, I have returned to emotionally scar you and perhaps make you giggle.’  But my return went more like I was
telling people a very long taxi driver like joke and I had Parkinsons. I was overwhelmed with nerves. I mean I was always nervous before but usually just before I went on stage....not from the moment I
woke up until the moment I got offstage.


Now back in me olden days comedy opened a lot of doors for me‐like acting, (which is what I want to
do‐my dreams) also a spot on radio and a regular gigs 2/3 gigs a week when I was living in Dublin. I wouldn’t mind if comedy closed its doors to me now, as in I wouldn’t blame them. The absolute state of me. I mean I am getting  bit better with every gig but I will only get better if i am gigging more which is
incredibly difficult with two kids, a man‐child husband and no car. Plus there is only two comedy venues in Cork and only one of them is weekly.


I was always never 100% happy with any performance, I guess that was my driving force. I love comedy and performance. I love listening and watching other comedians grow and perform and evolve their sets
and themselves as comedians. I love writing and observing even though my observations are better than my writing. I am still using mostly my old set until I can find my stage self. Until my stage presence is concrete again. Then I will risk my new stuff. I find it very difficult to even talk to people on a daily basis when my mornings and nights and everyday
is just talking to my kids. I’m just weird! I’m not used to socialising and I find it hard to switch off MOM MODE. It takes me awhile, I am a fish out of water. After days of mothering, cleaning, shopping, refereeing, cooking..sitting down to write some comedy or even leave the couch is tough work.

So yes, I’m rusty and that’s not just the colour of my hair or the sound of my legs opening since they have remained closed since the last birth, not for renovations, just for the real contraception. But I am getting there....performance wise not leg opening wise (I could convince my husband I am  mermaid at this stage). Performance is who I am. Comedy is a door to another for me currently, a very creaky faraway door and a lot of doors.... kinda like getting into Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory. But fuck
it I enjoy the challenge. Thanks for reading.

Crank Dat Sh*t Up!

Being A Crank

Where I do I begin? Even the thought of blogging about being a crank makes me very cranky.

For me, being a crank takes skill and talent. Skill, as in perfecting your bitchy death stare looks followed by various huffs and puffs. Talent is embracing being a crank and all that comes with it, including eye rolling, slouching, shifting weight from one side of your body to the other to encourage whatever spatially unaware aura rapist is almost in your pants that you might as well have a sign on the back of your t-shirt that reads.. ‘queue on me... and please don’t forget to breathe on my neck while your’re mounting me’.

I sit here in my cosy sitting room, not a care in the world, happy as Larry..or Pharrell (that’s right, I am so up to date) ..then my perfect world is ruined by the excited shrill sounds of children (not my children, they’re tied up-it’s the new hide and seek), happy children outside playing in the sun, being happy. It annoys me. I am a crank, this is my fuel. I stand at the blinds like a 70 year old man, pants up to me chest , jaw out a bit further than the rest of my face cause I’m chewing on my false teeth. I am peering out using my laser vision to kill them all. How dare they invade my ears with their happiness.  I have visions of walking out in slow motion, while everyone else is in normal motion to make them feel even more uncomfortable, picking up their ball and talking out my ninja sword and slashing it in half like Fruit Ninja. Of course I would never do any of this but the thought gives me pure joy.

The kinda joy you get when an overly confident woman in stripper heels face plants herself on the ground  while trying to impress the lads in the nigh club with some sexy dancing. Or the kind of joy you get when you really hate someone but are afraid to say it but then it turns out a lot of other people hate that person too but were afraid they were alone and so stayed quiet also. Or the kind of joy you get from complaining in a blog about humans being human.

Being a crank isn’t for everyone, only the most elite, egotistical, centre of the universe, stern faced, easily annoyed people can claim the crank title. Here is a further list of things that really annoy me and turn me into a crank that probably shouldn’t but hey, just ‘Crank Dat Sh*t Up!’

-People who don’t queue

-people who queue

-people who think they are in a queue

-shop assistants who stare into your soul when giving you your change back

-shops

-people who shop

-people

-people who breathe

-people who walk slowly, people who walk fast

-going to a shop with a carrier bag from another shop

-playsuits (no one wants to see your arse ingest your clothing)

-hair up in a messy bun (the unwashed backcombed nest hair doesn’t just scream hobo it just screams... cause it’s a half dead animal and needs CPR.. or a brush)

Bah humbug

Lovely To Look At Delightful To Hold But If You Should Break It, Consider It Sold!!

If you have never read this on a sign in a shop before, it could be a marriage agreement in some other culture. Or a clever/creepy sign hanging in a brothel or S&M club.
I, of course, am using this term towards Heartbreak.

Now, when you think about the title of this blog again you start thinking... oh ya...followed by, ehhh noooo. Sold to who? And who was at fault for the break? Reasons? Maybe that's just me too much psychoanalyzing ...it's why I cant do Stand-Up anymore, I analyze my jokes so much they piss me off and I start to look up counselling sessions cause the shite I just wrote there..ya I need help. Anyhoooooo....
Again 'sold' as in a metaphor for given away, returned, damaged goods, responsibility etc.
It may seem strange talking about heartbreak when I am in a very strong, solid, happy relationship with 1.5 kids. But hey, nothing lasts forever and you make it what it is. And I do believe some women, their ideas and wants make it worse for themselves. Looking back at my past I sure did.

A friend contacted me recently enough with details of her nasty break up and all the feelings she was feeling. Then all my heartbreak memories started flooding in, which was good as I was able to advise her like a pro!
Saying like a pro makes me sound almost like I was some heartbreak suffering, drama queen super slut. Drama queen; yes, heartbreak; a few, suffering; not for too long. The first cut was the deepest, as they say. I do believe there are different loves, break ups, reactions and results for different times in your life. You are ever growing, ever changing, ever learning. Some people are blessed or lucky to find someone who grows with them and they stay together forever. Not everyone finds someone and some find some later than others in the funniest of circumstances. That's what makes it all exciting. But life is not all about your relationship. Love is important and certainly adds happiness and comfort to our journey, but it is not the be all and end all. (But don't ever tell a heartbroken woman that, in the throes of pain who knows what they are capable of?) Heartbreak, after all, is almost like an illness.

 My first heartbreak; I could not eat, sleep and sometimes it felt like I couldn't even breathe. I did that really embarrassing convulsive crying, like I was going for an Oscar and all my family had been murdered, my face all red and puffy, like I was suffering from a nut allergy. My eyes looked more Oriental than usual they were so swollen with grief. Hilarious now when I think of it, but back then I was only 18. I had lost my best friend, the love of my life(as in I didn't know any better cause I was a child), I had nearly given up all my friends to spend every waking moment with this boy. I was alone. Stupid is as stupid does. But time heals all! I'm a firm believer of this even though I am extremely impulsive in my reactions to things but then clarity ensues. Then I mock myself. But at least I am aware and can admit to how I was/am. Now, those heartbroken feelings crept up momentarily in other relationship endings throughout my life. But never as bad. Experience blessed me with how to deal with emotional pain.

When I was younger, finding 'love/soulmate' was the most important thing once I had a taste for it (Before I had any hobbies or discovered how feckin' awesome I was on me own). The comfort, the love, the intimacy.. love certainly is a drug and I was an obvious addict and a dreamer. I was blessed with two good long lasting relationships before I met my current manslave. Everyone else was a notch in the bedpost... I know what you're thinking...'Ah she probably had no bedposts or frame left at all knowing her', but I was choosey with whom I left snoring beside me. Of course I had the few mistakes along the way but who hasn't? Mistakes are there to learn from. Anyway I was left heartbroken in both, for different reasons. One was my early 20's and was real love and great memories, personal growth and learning curves and the other one was the right time the right place sorta thing and I was so young and innocent (my first).

Now more memories, the more embarrassing ones flood in. The cringe ones that were clearly not real heartbreak but my own issues of not being able to handle rejection, feelings of loss of control, vanity bruising and a whole lot of other fancy terms I just cannot come up with now as I am getting demented flashbacks of crying embarrassingly to my cousin about one guy who was a right old nobjockey. And then crying to my bestie about another...and when I look back it has always been the men who rejected me, or didn't fully want me. I was in love with the idea of being in love, the addiction I had to the feeling of belonging, completeness. Daddy issues one might say.. but hey that story is for another blog altogether.

Heart break is no joke. It is a physical pain. It is felt in different ways depending on your life situation, your emotional IQ, your wants and needs, past experiences, your fantasy of what love and relationships should be for you. Women are born with that need to care, and heal, we are natural born mothers. That's why we put up with shit, that's why we fall for manipulators and mental f**kers and we think we can change them and look after them. We just be some crazy assed bitches just looking for a good ride and a cuddle if you catch my drift (drift is not a term for a sexually transmitted disease but sounds a hell of a lot better than 'You caught my aids' or 'if you catch my gonorrhea') . And drama sometimes make you feel alive when you are lost, depressed, or in need of filling the void (meant in more ways than one...eh eh eh *wink wink*nudge nudge*).
Be thankful for heartbreak. It was a lesson welcomed here many a time and has made me the person I am today... and I am pretty awesome.

Time heals all, and it certainly teaches. Love is honesty, truth and acceptance and should never hurt. Unless you are in that S&M club reading that sign.

PS my next blog will be called 'MY BLOGS ARE MUCH TOO LONG'

What it means to be a parent.

It 's 5 am, I am woken to the distressing cries of my nearly two year old daughter, Aurora. Aurora is Latin for Dawn.. yes you got it, I do love myself that much and Dawn Junior just didn't suit her. Obviously she has had a scary dream and needed some comfort, but the reaction in me is like a switch, almost like I need to rescue her riding in on a white horse, violently kicking away all the monsters and scary shadows on the journey to her room before I scoop her up into my arms like a newborn. That's the reality of how I feel, but the reality of the situation  is I have woken her Daddy up to go up and get her as I am five weeks away from giving birth to my second Dawn-Spawn and I cannot for the life of me lift her in and out of her cotbed without feeling like I am a human sized toothpaste tube and if I lean too much the new babs is gonna be squeezed outta me like a pearldrop! Glamorous, oh yes!

He delivers her to my arms, I guess it is okay to let him be the initial Hero. He is our Hero after all and she is a Daddy's Girl. I cradle her into me like she can't live without me and my mommy powers are the only thing that will soothe her.
She tells me she was frightened and was crying and calling daddy really loud. She asks to sleep with us. This is a rare occasion cause she is very independent and enjoys her space...bed space that is. She gets that from me. We snuggle down for a cozy sleep. I know I will not sleep with this lack of space and fear of waking her up with every move I make, but this is one of the sacrifices you make. A sacrifice you don't mind making and there is a comfort to having her so close..so is it a sacrifice or is it an automatic instinct adjustment, a natural reaction?

I lie there awake thinking of how I was before her, my life before her, before her daddy. How I felt about kids, babies, my friends babies and families. I always loved kids, they always loved me. I loved entertaining them and playing with them but never entertained the idea of having any myself until much later on. In fact pregnancy scared me, having a child meant life ruined. 

I remember I was 19 years old, a happy working professional, assistant manager of a retail shop, something I was really proud of and worked very hard to get to. This one day on my lunch break I went across to the shop, I bumped into an old friend from school who had dropped out in 5th year and I hadn't seen him since. There he was strolling towards me with a buggy and a girlfriend. I was filled with this fear and sympathy for this poor young man who's life was 'ruined' by this tiny, fatty, pumpkin of a baby boy. He pulled back the hood of the buggy and with excitement he was proclaiming 'look Dawn, look at my son', such a proud father. So happy, grinning from ear to ear, nearly crying from happiness, like something had been awoken inside him.

Of course I had the emotional capacity of a cat so I was still on the thought process of-'oh dear, his life is over, no fun, no social life, goodbye career, hello shitty nappies and constant cries'. Instead of understanding his joy and happiness I continued to feel sorry for him. Why? I don't know. I guess I was young and when you aren't in that position you cannot comprehend or understand as to what it is like. Why was my life somewhat better than his? I feel guilty for feeling that way then, but it is only until I had my own I understood. Even through my pregnancy I was still having days of mourning for my freedom, and even though it is to be expected when having an unplanned pregnancy, even if it was planned you will still have these moments, days of missing and reminiscing.

I gaze at my hilarious awesome offspring who has just dropped to the floor declaring she is a turtle ladybird and starts crawling around the room like a lunatic. Kinda like a drunken version of myself. A day never goes by that I am not amazed by her and also not a day goes by that I wanna drive her head through the wall. The 'terrible twos' have arrived and we continue to battle for control. She is a bossy little thing, a mini me. We clash at times and my empty threats of-'Do you want to go to your room?', 'If you don't behave you are going to bed', fall on not-so-deaf ears as she replies happily with yes to every threat that I received as a child. Maybe it is because she knows I am bluffing and battling for control and obedience or maybe it is cause I made her room so awesome with tents made of pink blankets and teddies and books so she would enjoy being there more than the mother child battling ground. With creativeness comes a fiery fierce temper, it is all part of who she is. At least when she disagrees she is always polite roaring 'NO THANK YOU' when I say I must change her nappy'. So it is a humorous temper. We both have strong personalities and are so alike it weirds me out at times. But she has and continues to make me a better person. She has taught me patience, something I always needed. Well I only have patience for her...not for anything or anyone else but it is a start.

I once read having kids is like having your heart walking around outside your body and  it is the truest of all the statements along with the wankery thing all parents say 'Until you have your own you do not even qualify to comment or understand'. Annoying but true. Even if you have a million childcare degrees or babysit your nieces and nephews every other weekend, until you have your own you really have no idea. 

I really didn't want to go off point or diddledaddle in getting carried away. This is my first Blog, I imagined it short and sweet with some charm here and there. I guess I will have to work on that as I am getting carried away. So، what it means to me to be a parent is- all of it, everything, the good the bad and the ugly (ugly meaning all the gross body changes and quickened aging). To the  parents-to-be I would like to say, you wont know what hit you but it all works out, it is a life changing and huge adjustment but have faith in yourself and your instincts. Ignore all the other parents who think they know it all, including your own. You will be in their position soon. Only you will know your child, and it is trial and error after all, like everything in life, it is a learning process. So don't be so hard on yourself. 

Enjoy every moment, even if they do shit all over you, it gets worse when their diet is varied ..if ya catch my drift. To the people who don't want children-us parents will always say, you don't know what you are missing, and we are right. But also I think in another life I had no kids and travelled the world having adventures and risking my life doing extreme sports and stuff I love my freedom, it is the one thing I miss the most. I can see why you dont want any, enjoy the life you have, dont be these people who 'do it for the sake of having one and to carry on the gene pool or save a frizzled relationship', it is a very shallow and selfish statement and reason to bring new life into the world. Don't be the parents who blame their kids for them having no money, or cant risk taking another job or being unemployed or couldnt take other exciting oppourtunites because they arrived. You can have a life and have kids, you have to make sacrifices but they are worth it, love outweighs all. You can still do all the things you want to do you just have to tailor it around your kids, which can be done and has been done since the Dawn of Dawn of Dawn. It is a choice, and it is hard work. Either way it is all part of your adventure.

These days parents are obsessed with parenting, what there kids eat, creative play, education their kids are their lives. Now I already psychoanalyze everything I do on a daily basis anyway and it is so tiring without spending my evenings waiting for my boyfriend to come home from work so I can cry in his arms because I didn't play enough with her that day so now she is emotionally traumatized, she won't love me anymore, she wont socialize well with others because I was too busy to paint with her and I gave her two biscuits and a packet of crisps as a treat and I shouldn't have because she had a treat yesterday and she shouldn't have another one until at least another month when her liver has cleared out all those bad processed sugars. Yes these are things I worry about. But I am getting better. she is my treat, she deserves to have treats cause she is only young once and soon she will be in my position worrying about her own health, weight, childs health and weight. This is how short life is.

Moderation is good. Life is better, live it and stop making life tedious for your kids. People judge me when I treat myself to  mocha when I am out and about in town once or twice a week, I am pregnant I shouldn't be drinking caffeine... well ya you are ugly so you shouldn't be out in public burning my eyes with your mutant face. But hey that's why we have opinions, they are neither right nor wrong just an opinion. Do you ever meet these people in life who wont eat certain processed foods cause they are so unhealthy yet they slam themselves with cocktails of beer and drugs on the weekend.... ya everyone's a hypocrite. Get the F**k over it and mind your business. *Slurps double espresso and shoves pastry down gob. And by the way it is called an ESPRESSO not and EXPRESSO.

Anyway I have gone off point. I guess next time I should plan and write out what I am trying to get across to you guys rather than verbally vandalizing this blog space.
Thanks for taking the time to read this and I promise the next one will be with more punch and to the point.

Happy parenting!