Outrage ensues

I can't believe that freakin' NERVE of Bepe's girlfriend!

I was all geared up to go to the International with Saoirse when she comes in in a pair of rhinestone infested jeans.

"Oh goodnight," she said. "Early for going to bed."
"I'm just heading out," I said.
"I see," she said. "I was confused because of your pyjamas..."

Pyjamas??? I might not be as gaudy a dresser as some people but I was wearing MAKE-UP.

I was so cross I didn't go out and to make matters worse I don't even know if they do shows Tuesdays. I didn't check. I texted Saoirse and told her that the night was off, went and bought a couple of cans of Guinness and drank them morosely in my room. So you would think that that was bad enough but when I came out to pick up a snack in the kitchen, we had this exchange:

"Oh look, you've got one of those children's stick-on tattoos. Just as well it will come off, coz who would want a bat on their wrist forever."
"It's a real tattoo."

I HATE HER.

However, the good news is that her job situation is not going well. She's too fussy -- doesn't want to do anything that might involve breaking a nail. So it looks like she's going to have to go back to Italy. And that means that I won't have to leave this apartment, which Iwould really not do. However, she's going to be round for a couple weeks more, which means that I'll be OUT as much as possible which in turn means that I'll have a lot of things to write about which hopefully will mean that Dublin Tourism will keep posting my blog and MAYBE (hint, guys) throw some tickets to the Dublin Theatre Festival in my general direction. It all looks good. I have my preferences, but I'll take anything ;-)

Especially as I have to make it up to Saoirse after having to cancel the other night.

This afternoon, I'm going to try and find this place my local greengrocer told me about. Apparently it's not far from here: a cemetery dedicated to or maybe the resting place of some fallen heroes or other. I am pretty hazy on the details of Irish history. The Irish sure do like their cemeteries. But I'm not complaining: as a student of 19th century lit., anything gloomy is right up my alley!