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.