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.



Why I blog.

Recently I was asked a really interesting question and one I was a little unprepared for.

“Why do you blog?” Bravo, good question.

I write because it’s carthatic.

I write because I love to rant and I write because I don’t give two fucks what anyone thinks.

Writing is a good way to empty one’s mind of all the shit we load into it each day. I was literally getting to a point where I thought it’d explode, so I started to dump a lot of it down into words – to get it off my chest or to simply reminisce.

I was telling someone about it and they suggested that I publish my ramblings, so I did.

I’m not looking for appreciation nor approval, I’m way too long in the tooth to a give a flying fuck about whether anyone is critical over my ramblings; for that’s exactly what they are.

Critique away if you like – a thumbs up is always a sign that I’ve made someone laugh with my innate bullshit ramblings and well, if you’re still reading this and critiquing me, then bitch, that just made you a fan.

Lovers will love, the haters will hate and I’ll still be here, spilling my mind.

Read and smile or read and mock – i couldn’t give a toss as the only opinion that’s really valid is my own!


The ‘Thunderbolt’ moment.

I’ve not really ever encountered many ‘thunderbolt’ moments in my life, but recently I had one and it hit me hard. Very hard.

Sadly I’ve come to the realisation, that the old clique of ‘A leopard never changes its spots’ is not only true, but absolutely and absurdly spot on too.

If someone doesn’t behave how you’d like them behave, then sadly, don’t waste your energy or time in trying to change them. There’s only you that will end up with a headache and a heavy heart.

I’m rather judgmental of people; I make my mind up immediately whether you’re an arsehole or not – it’s quite easy really – you’re either nice or you’re not. I’m usually right about people, but on this occasion, for once, I concede I was wrong and I’m fine that I was wrong – my pride doesn’t get in the way one bit, I’m human after-all and humans make mistakes.

The person / people in question aren’t arseholes as such before you go judging me; they are in fact,  good and decent human beings, they just lack thought and appreciation. I just thought that circumstance would change them but it hasn’t and I’m sad for them. Sad for them and sad for me. And sad for what could have been.

There’s only so much you can try before you throw the towel in and declare you can’t be arsed, but for me, there’s only this option – a leopard doesn’t change its spots. No amount of good will and positive thinking will change this, no amount of silent yelling in your head at that person and no amount of regret in your heart can either. So save yourself the headache and heartache and walk away.

So that’s what I’m doing. I’m walking away with my self respect and dignity in tact and I’ve learnt my lesson – no second, third, fourth or fifth chances; we’re done and I won’t ever make the same mistake again – in a parallel universe somewhere, all is calm, all is serene and everyone is happy…..


Are people born wankers?

Are people born wankers? Or is it a case of circumstance?

This very thought has been running around my head for some time now and I always seem to be drawn back to the one same conclusion; it’s a DNA defect and therefore, they’re born a wanker.

Wankers come in all sorts of shapes and sizes and at first encounters, they may not always exhibit wanker-like behaviour, although it always comes to light at some point and the big reveal that they’re a wanker, never comes as a surprise.

I know people who I deem to be wankers. Yes that’s a social taboo saying it about people you know, but I’ve said it, I mean it and I won’t take it back. I’m just brutally honest and well, frankly I’m past giving a proverbial shit on what anyone else has to say. At 35, having enough life experience under my belt, in my opinion, affords to be as honest as I want to be and well, if you don’t like it, don’t read my blog and huff and puff at the spillings of my mind.

I’ve just witnessed wankerish behaviour first hand and this is what’s driven me to rant and moan about wankers. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it’s not that I don’t really like people, I do. I just can’t see past their wankerish qualities and thinly veiled shit at times when it’s almost knocking me out and is all up in my grill.

So, what makes a wanker then?

It’s simple; you’re either a wanker or your not. I guess you can’t help being a wanker if it is indeed a genetic defect, but what you can do is lessen your wankerish behaviour. But then it leads to another question which is;

“Does one know that they’re a wanker? Or does one live in wankerish bliss?”

Quite frankly, I’m at an age where I don’t care. I can now see straight through people, I can glide through that bullshit like a knife through microwaved butter and I see people for the straight up mother fucking wankers that they are.

Word up. If you’re reading this and you’re a wanker, be less wankerish.

Better still, take a long hard look at yourself, your pathetic little existence and ask yourself one question; why be a wanker?

Everyone thought it. I just said it.

I’ve got into immense trouble over the years for saying what’s on my mind.

My comeback is always the same, “Everyone thought it, I just said it.” Which, if everyone is true to themselves, would agree whole heartedly on.

The thing I’ve learnt over the years is that, it’s ok for others to say what they like, but the minute I do, I’m cast as the uber bitch, Alexis Carrington eat your heart out. But you thought it, I always think, so what’s the big deal?

I think it’s often, not what I say, but how I say it that winds people up. I don’t go out of my way to upset people, far from it, but I will say I won’t put up with bullshit, from anyone. I think I could sniff bullshit from the moon if I was ever cast up there; it’s just so obvious and I can’t sit there nodding away like those little Churchill dogs in agreement.

My best friend Emma is exactly the same. They say if your friendship lasts longer than 7 years, you’ll be friends for life. I’ve known Emma since I was 11 so we’re basically soulmates. Anyway what makes our friendship work is our ability to sniff bullshit out. Now as adults, we’ve near on perfectionists at sniffing BS out.

At nearly 35, I’m done with appeasing people; if you piss me off, damn right I’ll tell you. A bit like the lions at the zoo, may be I should come with a warning “Keep away – says it how it is”.  Food for thought I guess.

Get a grip love. You skank.

So a serial shoplifter whose amassed a fortune in excess of £2 million, wants a job, but wait for it, won’t work for less than £36,000 – get a grip love. Or rather, do us a favour and fuck off and just die.

What is it with people today? They just want something for nothing. This ‘woman’ ( I personally prefer scrounging, thieving skank, but hey ho) has worked out that she can’t live, without earning a minimum of £36k. It should be noted that at this point, said skank is on benefits, sponging off the likes of you and me; nicking seems to be a hobby. Anyway, as always I begin to rant and divert. So she wants a job. But she doesn’t have any experience or qualifications so what I’d like to know is, just what job does she think she’s going to undertake that would pay her more than the national average in this country of £24,000??

At the moment, this skank, is sat on her backside, probably watching her 72 inch tv, decked out in Juicy Couture, eating a takeaway and all at the expense of the taxpayer – i.e me. This lazy cow won’t budge from her (and I quote) “rent free” accommodation until an employer pays her what she requests… WTF? If I were PM, i’d ensure that this skank didn’t receive one penny of her benefits until she’d proved why she actually needs them, because it seems to me that this free loader could easily get a job and stop bleeding the State dry. Which leads me to another question – who is thicker then in this case, David Cameron or this lazy skank??

Don’t get me started on David Cameron, the elitest, Eton educated, champagne swigging toff; in my eyes he’s just as bad as this low life with his inability to sort the benefits system out in this country.

I’m ranting now and I’m breathing heavily which can mean one thing only; I’m becoming agitated, so before I start writing to David personally to tell him how much more of an effective job I could carry out as PM, I’m going to put a lid on this blog.

As far the skank, listen up love, you’re seriously deluded. Go acquire some experience or gain your qualifications and then start demanding £36k. Until then, take a job – any will do frankly and stop bleeding our benefits system dry and let those who need benefits for a legitimate reason be awarded them. Lazying around in your skanky trackie isn’t a justifiable reason.

Get a grip love. Even better, get a job.

Fuck it. Fuck you. Fuck off.

“Fuck it. Fuck you. Fuck off”

Let’s be honest, we all think this. You? Maybe a couple of times a day. Me? At least 74 times a day. I’m unsure if I’m perfectly honest, but I know that I do mutter this, often under my breath, a lot.

I’m no hater; I’m not hating on anyone before you let your imagination run away with itself. Good god, no. I’m just a HUMAN BEING. A human being who is unable first and foremost and secondly, who quite frankly, is unwilling to be tolerant to other people’s BS, fuckery or general shittiness (in what ever form it may occur).

Whether it’s people generally fucking up in everyday life, on public transport (thank the good, sweet lord, I no longer have to use this, quitting my old job secured this), having to navigate around general fucktards in the supermarket, or even watching tv, I find myself muttering “Fuck it, fuck you” or “fuck off”.

Today has started off to be a shitter of a day. “Fuck it, fuck you, fuck off” springs to mind at it’s not even 9am, I woke up to an alarm this am, pitch black outside and my immediate thought was, “Why the fuck did I set my alarm for a Saturday am?” Well it’s not bastarding Saturday is it? No. It’s bloody Wednesday. “Fuck it” was my second thought of the day.

When you’ve already kicked the day off with a “fuck it” you just know it’s going to be one of those bloody days. Making the mistake of looking at Facebook a couple of minutes ago and all I could think was “fuck off”; dirty laundry once again being aired in public (so uncouth and frankly, unneeded but that’s neediness I guess for you) and so the hamster wheel cycle of everyday life continues I guess.

Before my day gets any shittier, I’m going to sit and breathe for a moment; gather my thoughts and think positively for the rest of the day – actually who am I kidding? Fuck it actually, I’m off for a chocolate bar – chocolate helps in times like these and well if you don’t like it, me or my blog or you’ve been offended in any way, you know what you can do don’t you? ( I make zero apologies for my language or directness this morning either) Fuck right off!

You’ll never like me. And I will never give a shit.

I’m like Marmite. You either love me or hate me.

A lot of people get upset when someone doesn’t like them. I don’t. In fact, I don’t give a flying shit either way – I’m not asking you to love me or hate me; you’re your own person, with your own opinion (hopefully).

There’s a lot of people I don’t like for a number of reasons. It maybe that I don’t like their attitude, or their approach to life, how they treat their husbands or wives or it may be just as simple as them being a complete and utter douche bag. There’s loads of those fuckers around. I’ve been told directly how someone doesn’t like me. Bothered, I think not. More often than not though, it’s people’s actions that give their opinion away of me. I think if you go to the effort of letting someone know that you don’t like them, you’ve got issues  as you’ve  way too much time on your hands.

Life’s too short to act like a dick. Yeah sure, think it in your head, but to carry an action out letting someone know how much you dislike them is borderline criminal. Like I said, I couldn’t give two shits if you like me or not, I’ve the skin of a rhino and a mouth of  the biggest hoe to match, combine these two and I can potentially destroy you with my words mofo. Acting like a dickhead lands you in hot water and people aren’t intelligent enough to realise this. Or maybe they’re just thick as chuff, I don’t know (nor care really).

I’ve family who don’t like me – bothered? I think not. You’re the one with the issue, not me. You’ll never like me. And I will never give a shit.

A family member rolls their eyes whenever they see me, which isn’t very often, thank god – bothered? I think not. Truthfully, I find it rather funny that a 50 plus year old can get so wound up by my sheer presence. Is it sad people don’t like me? No it’s not as I’d rather not waste my precious time and energy on people who mean so little to me. What is sad, is how it affects people who surround us.

This family member who detests me so much, was present at Mummy’s funeral and dislikes me so intensley that they couldn’t even offer a single word of condolence to me on losing her. I heard them offering their kind and sympathetic words to my Dad and brothers and sisters, but not me and I know my Dad noticed. Not that I gave a fuck, because I didn’t, I had my family to think about that day and saying good-bye to Mummy until the next time we see each other again, but the fact that my Dad picked up on it and was hurt; now that hurt like fuck.

This dumb fuck had no idea how their actions affected not me, but those closest to me and for that, I detest them.

Like I say, you’ll never like me. And I will never give a shit.

But remember one thing, once you’ve done or said something to me, there’s no going back, because once I don’t give a shit, I will never give a shit again.

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! 

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