Introduction: My Sister

"What's the good of news if you haven't a sister to share it?"  ~Jenny DeVries

Bachelorette of Engineering

Christmas Dinner with You

Hey poo head!

So, as you (but not any other internet readers) already know, you've been accepted to do your Masters degree in Durban, South Africa. Which is pretty awesome, I have to say. Did I ever mention how proud we are of you?

I have no idea when this was taken

But fifteen months is a long time, right? And you're excited I'm sure, but nervous as hell, as you should be. It's a big step for you, saying goodbye to regular college life and jumping into a whirl of research and odd hours and hands-on poo patrolling. (At least that's what I presume it's going to be like.) After a degree in Environmental Engineering, working on a landfill all summer and coping with all the idiot bosses and annoying customers of Reads (of Nassau Street!), I'm positively sure you'll be well able for whatever comes your way.


As for us, the ones left behind, well I have to say the house is gonna be pretty quiet without you. This is the biggest step to independence that any of us have taken yet. Sure we've done the generic three weeks in Gaeltachts, and Matthew moved out for a while at some point, and I had my Wexford working weekdays last summer, but this is obviously a much bigger deal: moving away from home, long term, to an entirely new continent, to be entirely self-sufficient. I dunno, I always just presumed all of us kids would stay in the nest forever and ever amen.

Oh the embarrassing pictures...

But that's not a very 'in the now' way of thinking. It's great that you get to do this. Do you even know how amazing it is to actually know what it is that you like, and to get the opportunity to study it even further? I mean, you picked the poo project as your thesis when nobody could understand why you would want to be studying shit like that. Literally. And now, poo seems to be where it's at!

That time you experimented on my hair.
(I still haven't decided if I like it or not.)

This really seems like the perfect thing for you right now. And I'm glad you get to go but Jesus Christ I am going to miss you. All the clothes and nail polishes I won't be able to borrow, all the outfits I won't be able to ask your opinion on, all the advice I won't be able to ask of you. I started this entry with a quote that seems to define the idea behind this blog perfectly: for what is the good of news if I can't come home and run upstairs to find you watching your shows in bed to tell you it, or drop in on you randomly for the chats? And we haven't watched Gossip Girl in AGES.


Which is why I'm going to blog to you. I mean, I've been trying to find a reason to blog for a while now, and I seriously can't keep it up without a motive. And you moving away seems to be the perfect opportunity. You know I'm bad at keeping in contact, and I basically have a phobia of talking on the phone. But hopefully, this way I can at least keep you updated on what I'm up to.

For now, all I can say is that I miss you already. Love you big sis, and good luck in Durban.

Obsessions

When my fad of watching Canadian adolescent cartoons ended, I found myself sitting in front of Netflix wondering what I was supposed to do with my life now. Just then, How I Met Your Mother popped up in the 'Recommended For You' section. I think I had watched about two and a half episodes of this show in my entire life, and there were eight seasons, almost two hundred episodes and counting. This, I knew, would be a taking on a big commitment, especially with the end of the college year approaching.


So, I told myself I'd just have to watch them really quickly. So three weeks and sixty hours of HIMYM later, I was once again left empty-handed, abandoned, and show-less. I didn't even have the courage to take up another obsession, with exams approaching so fast. So instead I cleaned my room. I started doing yoga again. I organised my iTunes library. I even made a study playlist - heck I even studied to test it out.

And so I found myself sitting in front of the tv last Sunday, scavenging a few old episodes of Friends and Scrubs to make myself believe there was still something there to cling on to.


That's when I flicked on to MTV, and found Catfish.

Now, I'll just say that I have never in my life watched any of those MTV shows like 16 and Pregnant, or Made, or Punk'd. I never watched reality tv of any kind. But my friend Lauren was into all of that, so I already knew the general gist of this Catfish thing. It's all about people in online relationships who have never met in real life. The problem is, if these people were honest or half-normal, they wouldn't need a camera crew to bring them together. The point of Catfish is that one or other of the people in this relationship has something to hide, and the extent of their lies varies dramatically.

In the first episode, Sunny has no doubt that the male model she is taking to online is exactly who he says it is - as it turns out, it's a girl who may or may not be a lesbian, using fake profiles online because she's been bullied her whole life. A sweet all-American lad found out that the girl he had sent dirty messages and pictures to was actually a gay guy. And one girl was surprised to find that her internet boyfriend was really a transgender girl who was currently undergoing hormone replacement treatment to become male. The beautiful thing about that one was that it actually worked out despite the ... complications. If I've never believed in true love, then that's it right there.

So I watched all the episodes and the movie within a couple of days, and what really fuels my obsession with this is the presenters, Nev and Max. Nev was just a regular New York photographer, until he fell in love with a girl online - who turned out to be someone else, leaving him broken hearted, while his brother and friend made a documentary of the entire thing.  So when people in online relationships started getting in contact with him and asking for his help, he and his film-maker buddy Max turned it into a tv show. Here are Nev and Max's video biographies:

Nev:

Max:

Now, as you can see, these are two very beautiful men. And I don't care if Max has a girlfriend, or if Nev is definitely at least a little bit straight. They are my OTP. I just know that Nev looks up to Max, and that Max secretly finds Nev's optimism and gullible romantic nature quite admirable. 

Lauren and I originally planned to catfish them. Our idea was for one of us to pretend to catfish the other, and have loads of fake conversations to make it seem legit. Then, when we do our J1 in New York, we get on the show and seduce them one night while pretending to be at a particularly vulnerable stage in the 'I've been lied to by my online love' act. And of course, they would fall in love with us and we'd all live happily ever after. 



When we realised this was never going to happen (we're terrible liars), we decided to settle with setting up the Catfish fandom, which seems strangely non-existent other than a couple blogs and, oh, so many gifs. We call it, CATSHIPFISH, and the pairing is Nax. Or Mev. Or Yanax/Yamax or even Maniv. Establishing a fandom is hard work, but I think we can do it.

I'll leave you with some pictures of the beauts, and some stuff courtesy of the other fans that make me think, well, thank God I'm not alone in my obsessive personality disorder.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/louispeitzman/the-gayest-nev-and-max-moments-on-catfish

http://fuckyeahnev.tumblr.com/

Max's website: http://maxjoseph.com/

Nev's website http://yanivschulman.com/

Afternoon Tea

As you finally received your Visa (and when I say finally I mean after various complications arising for weeks on end, then suddenly picking up in double time so you could potentially be leaving the country by the end of the month), we went for afternoon tea with our mammy as a nice little pre-emigration treat. I mean, you both kept calling it afternoon tea which I presumed was just a posho way of saying lunch. But then I also thought the Westin was called the West Inn, so I really can't be trusted on these things.

I did think it was probably a stretch for me, as fancy food from fancy places doesn't really suit my style. New, adventurous flavours, miniature portions? I'm really more of an eating the same thing and lots of it kinda gal. And afternoon tea, it seems, is even more abstract than plain old lunch.

So I saw the menu, and what was in store for my poor, plain, unadulterated taste buds:  

• Sandwiches: I guessed I could handle. Egg is grand, though I wouldn't eat it by any preference. Cucumber and cream cheese; well I didn't know exactly what cream cheese was, but only slightly disapproved when I found out. Then there was the beef and horseradish ... Well, I didn't mind trying it out.
• Scones: I think I've had smoked salmon like once ever. I've never had anything against it, really, and I probably do like it, I just wouldn't ever want to eat it. And butter and jam, well I don't eat jam, so just had to pray they let us serve ourselves on that one.
• Cakes: Fruitcake; no. Red velvet cupcake; ah, sure I could always give it a go. Irish whiskey cream, chocolate and praline cup; absolutely not. Pistachio macaroon; what even? Lemon and poppy seed sponge loaf; um, only if I'm feeling daring. Apple and cinnamon crunch pot ... no. Just. No.

So this was going to be interesting.

We got tea first. It was afternoon tea after all, so technically the tea was the most important part and all this other junk just weaning us away from the point. You had Earl Grey, I had green, and Grainne actually had a coffee, RUINING THE ENTIRE THING. My tea was actually in leaves, which I don't think I've ever tried before, but it tasted like regular Java City green tea. And that's not a good thing. Like, maybe not as bad as Starbucks green tea, but still not so fantastic.

I suddenly feel like I'm writing a restaurant review, which isn't the point at all. The food was fine in the end. I almost spat out the fruit and lemon cakes after one bite each, and I ate white bread by accident, and the macaroon scared me too much to even consider, and the whiskey thing actually turned out to be delish, but OH GOD the horseradish ... But even still, I wasn't paying for the food so I didn't really care (like, sheesh, 25 euro for that? I don't think I'll be pushed to develop expensive taste anytime soon ...)

I guess I'm talking about food to distract myself from the point. I could be talking about anything, really; like the atrium lounge which was crazy beautiful, or the little personal towels in the toilets, or the awesome new coat I managed to get Grainne to buy me afterwards. But the point of this blog wasn't supposed to be the food or the fanciness or the expenses. We were having tea for you, as you would be leaving us for fifteen months to do your Masters in South Africa. Somehow, I just can't seem to make myself realise that this is actually happening. I mean, I was just having some good food, chatting about college and Frank and Trinity Ball and all this regular, everyday stuff I can't seem to NOT talk about, while you were probably there thinking: Shopping. Packing. Goodbyes. Moving.

Grainne said about the afternoon tea that it was one of things we always have big ideas about but never end up doing, so I'm glad we got to do it before you leave, even if the food wasn't for me. So, Aoife, I hoped you enjoyed your tea. I never ate my pistachio macaroon at the Westin, but they have a Macaron Cafe in Durban, and if you're ever missing your mammy and baby sister I think you should find this place and look at all the pretty things and think of us. And cheesy as it sounds, we'll think of you every day!