The ramblings of Mrs. Hoolihan

My rants on life and everything in between. Desperately trying to remind myself that it's just not worth the jail time.


Being a bitch

Mate, I’ve bigger balls than you. Dickhead.

I’ve said it before, I don’t class myself as a ‘Feminist’ in the true sense of the word, rather, I seek equality for the sexes (I dunno what you call that, but that’s my crusade).

However, there’s a kind of a caveat to that; when a bloke puffs his chest out, re-arranges his balls (small though they are I noted), I’m inclined to yell “Mate, I’ve bigger balls than yours. Dickhead.” Seriously, what’s the deal? Are you asserting the neanderthal in you? Are you showing me your dick? What? What’re you doing? I’m happily married thanks and don’t need a ‘hit on,’ if that’s what it is. Really dickhead, if you wanna go down that route, I’ve bigger (metaphorical) balls than you mate and don’t feel the need to assert my equal ‘womanliness’.

All I can think (seriously), is that you’re threatened by me. So you try to intimidate me. Uh er dickhead, you messed with the wrong vagina wearing gal here dude. I’m not intimidated, I’m humoured! Humoured that you think that by rearranging your cock and ball sack, I’m going to be put somewhat out in my place – seriously dude, I’m wetting myself.

I hope your Mother’s pleased with how you’ve turned out, cos if you were my son, I’d be kicking you to timbuckbloodytoo and back, you rude, fucktard, cock womble, ball grabbing, probably have a small penis, dick face. How dare you think you can intimidate another human being with your sex? Arrogance that’s what you are personified.

Mate you’re a tosser is what you are. And I’m stood here, laughing my head off at your ignorance, arrogance and sheer stupidity and I’m not alone, along with my female and male compatriots.

Female, male or somewhere in-between, (I don’t care what you label yourself as frankly), you ain’t bullying this gal. So like I say, I’ll continue to wet myself laughing at you and remind myself of the cockwomble that you are.

Not giving give a fuck.

I can’t remember the last time that I truly gave a fuck. I wish I could, but I can’t recall it.

Sometimes I wonder if I have ever given a fuck, or if I’m truly emotionless, in every sense of the word.

I’ve sailed through life never seeking anyone’s approval; my own is sufficient, for if I can’t trust my own judgement, how can I trust anyone else’s? Rhetorical question that I don’t seek an answer on to be honest.

Some people spend their whole life seeking the approval of others, why? I sometimes, fleetingly for a moment, wish I gave more of a fuck, but as much as I try to, I simply don’t.

I’m like Marmite; you either love me or you don’t. And that’s how I approach people in my life too. I either love you or I don’t give two flying fucks about you.

You hate me? Water off a duck’s back – it may hurt those around me, but me? I couldn’t give a fuck. My skin is as thick as a rhinos; I know I should feel some type of emotion, but I just don’t.

You don’t like what I say? Your problem, not mine. I’m as real as they come; so what I may dye my hair, shove every cream on my face to hold back the years and plaster myself in makeup, but underneath all that, when you strip back the layers, what you see is what you get.

Someone recently remarked that I must give a shit sometimes. No is the answer; you see it’s not my fault that someone doesn’t like me, the problem isn’t me, it’s them or you if you’re reading this and hating on me. You see I see you as reading this as a fan, so if you’re reading and hating, then what does that make you? Anyway, my point is that if you’re reading and hating, then it’s not my problem; it’s yours – go figure out why you’re hating on me but still reading.

I’m not a Philosopher, Counsellor or Psychiatrist so I can’t pretend to understand when I just don’t give a fuck. The only thing I do give a fuck over, is when someone close to me takes something to heart, but me? Nah, life’s too short to mull shit over from the mud slingers. Trust your own judgement.  I always have and only on a very few occasions have I been wrong in my 35 years.

I saw something last night that made me laugh out loud on Instagram so much that I nearly wet myself laughing as it’s so apt.

“You can be the ripest, juiciest peace in the world, and there’s still going to be somebody who hates peaches.”

How goddamn true is that? I say fuck em.  Don’t be a people pleaser. Don’t lick that arse. Just be you and if they don’t like you, then that’s there issue. There’s usually reason for it, jealousy is the number one factor – pathetic but again, their problem, not yours.

So on that note, lovers and haters, I’m off to enjoy the rest of what’s left of my day and hyep you guessed it, I’ll not be giving a flying fuck!


I’m feeling sorry for myself. 

I’m ill and I’m feeling sorry for myself.

Whilst I have a cold, my husband has man-flu. Whilst I’m coping, he’s ‘dying.’

We went out to celebrate one of our BFFs birthday last night and ended up home and in bed for 10.30pm whilst our mates partied on.

This am, I’ve played my snapchats back my mates sent downing shots and generally being fucked and I’m laid in bed feeling for myself that my ears are blocked and I can’t hear my own voice (probs no bad think you haters are thinking) and my voice sounds like Estelle in ‘Friends.’

However, for the moaning I’m undertaking, my friends have woken rougher than I have, so I’m ever so slightly smug that I’m not the worst one laid in bed this am.

On that note, I’m off to stuff my face with  Lemsip before our little man arrives back  from his sleep over at his Uncle Ric and Aunty Alex’s – I dare say they’re feeling worse than me anyway! 

Yeah, yeah I know. I’m a bitch, I stood up for myself.

I get angry. A lot.

I’ve felt this way for as far back as I can remember. I’m my Dad’s mini me; I look like him, I possess the same drama queen personality, I can’t hold my tongue (or hide my facial expressions) and I sure as hell, like my Dad, have the shortest fuse ever known to man.

I can argue with the best, and more often than not, I win. It’s not that I’m always right, I can totally admit when I’m wrong, I just get dead angry, really quickly over things that wind me up. Like bad manners, or other people’s driving (or breathing in some select cases), or people’s self obsession with all things about them. I can’t help but get angry and say my bit.

Yeah, yeah, I know I’m a bitch, I stood up for myself.

You see I can’t tolerate a lack of respect; that’s what all this boils down to and that’s why I become angry as fuck. With a lack of respect, tags along it’s best mate – a lack of feelings for the other poor human being. And this is why I’ll always stand up for myself and say my bit as I can’t stand people who think they can walk all over other people with their thoughts and opinions and not a give a flying fuck how it affects other people.

Take bad manners. And shoes on carpets. I absolutely freak out when anyone walks onto my carpets wearing their shoes. Everyone who knows me, knows this. The moment someone wears their shoes on my carpets, I break into hives and start shaking. Why, why would you wear outdoor shoes when you could’ve potentially walked through shit, spit and  god knows what other crap and then embed this into my carpet? I don’t know is the answer. But whenever I ask people to take shoes off, i’m shot with a look of disapproval – yeah, yeah I know, I’m a bitch blah blah blah.

“It’s my fucking carpet” I feel like screaming, but of course I don’t, but only because I’m almost hyperventilating. Anyway the look on my face is enough to say it all. Knock yourself out on my wooden and tiled  floors, because, guess what? I can bloody well mop the crap up from your shoes.

Anyway, my point is, when I stand up for myself, I’m accused of being a bitch. I know, pathetic isn’t it? I can almost hear you laughing at the absurdity of it! Which is why, I’ll never stop being me.

If you don’t respect me, fine. You’ll feel the full wrath of my short fuse and guess what? You’ll accuse me of being a bitch and I’ll simply tell you I’m standing up for myself.

Don’t like it? Jog on love.

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