In Nightclubs

Nightclubs…god you gotta love them. A hot, sweaty building reeking of too much perfume and male desperation where the music is almost always awful, you have to wait an hour for a drink and the bouncers are pricks.

Then there’s the girls.

God we all love club girls.

Clubgirl Number 1: The Slut

Natural Habitat: The dancefloor

Length of Skirt: Isn’t that a belt?

Type of dancing: Stripperesque (usually grinding their ass into some lads crotch like their working for tips)

Level of Fake Tan: Did your dad have sex with a Cheeto?

Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a dig at sluts. Hell I love sluts, some of my best friends are sluts (use the term “friend” loosely here). All I’m saying is that the girl in the leopard print playsuit rolling her tongue around the straw in her drink is probably going to be easier to get into than Carlow IT.

Usually in a group of friends with equal or slightly less level of sluttiness these girls are the girls that you don’t have to approach, don’t have to talk to and all the communication you need (or want) with them can be narrowed down to a single gesture.

'Av some of that Love

Only in a club for one thing and one thing only (also happens to be the same reason every bloke ever goes to clubs).

Level of Easiness: 10/10

Clubgirl Number 2: The Tease

Natural Habitat: Your lap

Length of Skirt: Almost non-existant

Type of Dancing: Pole

Level of Fake Tan: Michael McIntyre (anyone else noticed much more orange and Chinese looking he’s been lately?)

The tease usually comes in two types.

The first is the tease that dances with other girls, maybe a cheeky snog with other girls and basically puts on a full lesbian display for the amusement of the lads. And God bless these girls. Aside from the fact that these girls are never going to go home with you they’re pretty much awesome…if you like getting chaffing because your jeans seem to have become several sizes too small.

They do all this while keeping a watchful eye on all men around them just to make sure that they have everyone’s full attention. And what do we do men? We watch the fuck out of them.

Attention seekers is all they are and as soon as we stop watching the lesbionic display stops.

The second type is far, far more sinister. We’ve all been there lads. This girl’s been giving you the eye for a while so you make your way over (you big studly tiger you) buy her a drink, maybe chat for a while, heavy flirting. Next thing you know she’s using her ass like a blackboard duster and your crotch is covered in all that dust that just needs to be rubbed off.

She takes you back to the seating area, sits on your lap, few cheeky kisses. All going well so far eh? Wait for it.

Oh what’s that? She suddenly remembers she can’t leave her friends alone (after half an hour of them being without her while she straddled you and gave your tonsils a good old inspection). She wanders off into the club only for you to see her later giving someone else the exact same treatment and you left alone to start the whole process all over again. You will never have sex with this girl. Just stop trying.

Like the professional massage parlour…definitely no happy ending.

Level of Easiness: 0/10

Clubgirl Number 3: The Shy Girl

Natural Habitat: Behind her friends

Length of Skirt: …is that a pair of jeans?

Type of Dancing: Awkward wedding dancer

Level of Fake Tan: Natural Irish

Also known as “the friend of the girl your mate is chatting to” the shy girl is an entirely different kettle of frogs to everything else we’ve encountered so far.

We’ve all been wingmen at some stage or another and our primary job as a wingman is to distract the friend that’s no fun while your mate(s) chat up the far more lively girls. Usually slowly sips one or two drinks for the while night while her mates neck shot after shot.

They're not ALWAYS fat

If plied with enough alcohol “the shy girl” can loosen up and you may even get her to hit the dancefloor…where the awkwardness really begins. While you do your best running man she awkwardly stands there sporadically dancing in short bursts in between saying “I don’t dance, I don’t dance.”

Usually if enough time is spent with them ie. more time than any man is willing to talk to any girl in a nightclub, these girls loosen up and are good fun to be around. Very, very occasionally resulting in a few kisses and exchanging of number (good work studly).

Very rarely sex.

Level of Easiness: 4/10

Clubgirl Number 4: The Alcoholic

Natural Habitat: Holding up the bar

Length of Skirt: Doesn’t matter, usually covered in vomit by the end of the night

Type of Dancing: Drunken stumbling

Level of Fake Tan: It’s all been washed off by spilled vodka, tears and puke

We all know them (most of them seem to live in Coppers) the girl that’s drunker when she arrives than you are when you leave. Barely able to talk, usually either crying, screaming or passed out in a corner covered in her own puke.

Up until they reach the point where horizontal is far easier than vertical these girls are usually great fun. Downing shots of anything and drinking anything that you put in front of them.

She was having soooo much fun

Easy takings if you have no morals or sense of decency at all (as I’m sure most of you don’t). These girls are renowned for shouting loudly, starting fights, peeing on the street, passing out in corners and getting date raped.

Level of Easiness: …totally depends on how your mother raised you

Clubgirl Number 5: The Woo Girls

Natural Habitat: In a giant group of fellow woo girls

Length of Skirt: Usually a hen night or birthday so all sorts

Type of Dancing: With each other/Male Stripper all while screaming (WOOO)

Woo Girls is a phrase I have stolen from the fantastic Mr. Barney Stinson. Woo girls are what happens when any of the above type of girls get together in a group for an event, hen party, birthday, divorce party…anything that women do together.

Like locusts

Woo girls can be a mixture of all the other types of clubgirl, and to keep the society of woo strong there will be at least one member of each group in a woo group.

Instantly recognised by pink cowboy hats and/or bunny ears these girls will destroy anything in their path. From far away they will all look gorgeous due to something known as the cheerleader effect. When you separate one from the herd you’ll discover why woo girls only hunt in packs. Alone they are vulnerable but together they are invincible. Kind of like a drunk, female, much louder version of the 300.

They will dance together, drink together, attack innocent men together and request terrible, terrible music together.

No group of woo girls has ever gone a night without at least one of them getting the baps out for the lads…It just happens.

Level of Easiness: If you can separate them from the herd then they’re usually drunk enough for you to be good looking 7/10

Please note that on any night one girl is capable of being any of the above different types of clubgirl. They can also be all types of clubgirl in one night. And if they are in a group they will all be woo girls.

Beware the WOO 

Says it all really

Why this is a shock?

Do you remember secondary school? Or even college? Basically you were always told (well I was) that when you make it to the “real world” that you’ll be whatever you want to be. And that life will be awesome.

Remember meetings with your guidance counsellor? “You can do anything you want” was their mantra. Yeah…thanks for that, because filing away invoices that nobody cares about is what I always wanted to do when we were playing “grown ups” as a kid.

The boring monotony of everybody pretending that this is really important is what always drove me to get up in the morning (this last sentence may or may not be dripping with sarcasm…hint: it is)

2.  What you studied in college (unless it’s a professional course) will mean nothing.

Unless you studied to be a doctor or a lawyer or something that people actually need to be qualified for then your degree is pretty much useless. I have a very nice degree in Journalism and a Masters in Radio and Television production. All in all four pretty expensive years in college.

Wanna know everything I learned aside from how to do jaegerbombs like a pro and learning which girls can be trusted to take contraception?

I will bomb all your Jaeger but I will be strapping up

Just click here to find out all you need to know.

That’s it. That three page PDF just taught you everything I learned from lectures apart from how to sleep until midday, wake up, get some food, then decide not to go to your lecture and go to the pub instead. Which, in all honesty, is a harder skill than I make it sound.

And then when I eventually got a job (in a field completely unrelated to anything I studied) I found out that the people that are getting paid significantly more than I was were people that had never been to college…something about that just doesn’t seem fair (in case you haven’t guessed I don’t do PR for any universities)

Why this is a shock?

When I was in college I was told that I was being trained to become a fully functioning member of society. A person that could exist within a working environment.

In reality what I was being taught was how to be awesome at being in college, which unless you plan on doing a PhD and becoming a lecturer, isn’t going to help you in a job. In a job there aren’t people constantly reminding you that that assignment is due tomorrow. You don’t get grades back on things, your bosses just call you an incompetent moron behind your back. Or in my case “my god that guy’s some sort of filing genius, an Einstein of the filing world.”

College helps you be good at being in college, working makes you good at work. Reference the jaegerbombs mentioned previously. And little did I know that being able to down a Captain America’s pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea would be of little to no use to me in an office. Also, that sleeping until Maury was on tv is perhaps the least helpful thing for my career I have ever done (shock horror: you are the baby daddy but she’s still a slut.)

3.  Algebra does not help you

Now I don’t mean to brag but when I was in school I was amazing at Maths. So I was sure that my place as “King of the Nerds” would help me achieve a similar standing in the workplace…boy was I wrong.

Ever had to solve a differential equation since you left school? Obviously if you’re a mathematician or physicist this doesn’t apply to you but if you are a mathematician or physicist why are you reading anything that I’m writing? Was it the Einstein reference in the previous section that lead you here?

Basically no matter how good you are at something in school, unless that something is directly related to what you’re working in it will be of no use to you.

Take me for example. Figuring out how the area of a circle expands as the circumference gets bigger isn’t going to help me write better boob jokes on the internet…

Why this is a shock?

Ever get told by your maths teacher that Algebra will help you? Well now’s the time to go postal and show up at their door to bludgeon them with “Texts and Tests 4.” Likewise I have yet to find myself in a social or professional situation in Ireland where being able to name all the presidents involved in the Vietnam War was able to help me.

Besides I don’t NEED to know any of this stuff…google exists for a reason. With smart phones there is literally no question that cannot be answered in minutes, rendering all education a farce.

...way to ruin Pink Floyd

Well there we have it. Why everything you have ever been told has been a God damn lie. Surely this ranks up there with finding out that Santa is really just your Uncle in a fake beard and discovering that unless you plan on cutting those boobs open, Boob inspector isn’t a real job…I had a lot of plans hanging on that one.

We’ve all been there at some stage or another (unfortunately some might say), 3 euro drinks, metal blaring from all the speakers, a smoking area reeking of weed and actually fuller than the inside of the club. Ah it could only be Fibber’s on a Thursday night.

Bustling through the crowd of hair, bandanas and eye make up (and that’s just the guys) I struggled to get to the bar. Placed my order politely and was met with an incredulous tone of facial expression “yes I did order six bottles of Desperados is that ok?” Jeez some people.

Shuffled my way back to the table to deliver my round to the lads, sweating profusely might I add, and at the table next to us is a gentleman wearing a long black overcoat and a top hat. Just why?

Meeting several people that I hadn’t seen in many years (I used to be a big metal head but realised I looked ridiculous in skinny jeans and chains so I definitely could pull that shit off any more) and realised that no one has changed.

Back to the bar. More bottles of Despie. Shots of sambuka. More shots of sambuka. Things were starting to blur at this stage, my t-shirt was so sweat soaked that it felt like I wore it in the shower. Sat down and top hat, long coat guy is still in full “mad hatter” attire not a bead of sweat on his freakishly pale face. Damn him and his ability to withstand horrendous heat. Downstairs for a bit of a mosh to Rage screaming “fuck you I won’t do what you tell me” like I was fifteen all over again…fantastic.

Why is it that when men are raging out to songs like that they feel compelled to take their t-shirts off no matter how godawful they look with their hair down to their arse and the potbelly on show?

Triple H spraying beer over the crowd of “dancers” was something I enjoyed watching, people were confused as to where it was coming from, I laughed.

More Despies. More shots. And a Kopparberg mixed berry that one of the lads coaxed a girl that we had never seen before into giving us for no apparent reason (just remembered that there, don’t you just love hangover flashbacks?).

Something’s ringing a bell about a bet involving and older lady, twenty euro and acts that I simply cannot post on here and then going outside twenty minutes later through the cloud of hairspray and skinny jeans to see her involved in some equally horrific, publicly indecent behaviour with a skin head. Only in Fibber’s I tell ya.

Then came the long walk down O’Connell street to Burger King. Harry limping (I still don’t know why, don’t think he does either). Ordering my food and sprite (what came out was actually fizzy water) and Harry refusing to leave until they gave us coke instead, I never did get that Coke by the way.

Vaguely recall someone, I’m not entirely sure who, running up and down the quays trying to find a taxi that would take 7 of us to Lucan and Celbridge. Next thing I know I wake up without opening my eyes and thinking “hey this isn’t as bad as I anticipated” then opening my eyes and feeling my retinas turn to ash inside my own head. Love hangovers….hate that sarcasm doesn’t translate well over text.

In bed, dying, listening to a bit o’ Lynrd Skynrd…much more my style.

It’s time for me to use this blog as a soap box for my own personal ranting I feel.

First up, star signs. Seriously? Star signs? Are you a medieval witch hunter? “Oh my god he was born under the seventh moon he must be a leader of great men”…bollox! In my (not so) humble opinion people who believe in this stuff are just looking for a deeper meaning in something that is purely coincidental.

Par example, I am a Leo and while I do have some of the characteristic (I tend to prefer leading to following and I’m quite proud of myself in all I do whether it’s justified or not) other traits that I’m supposed to posses because of the time of year I was born at I don’t have at all. Athena Starwoman (I doubt that’s her real name) says “Once a Lion is committed to a relationship, they are totally devoted and faithful. Should their heart or trust be broken they never forgive or forget. When a relationship breaks down (even a long standing one) they can disappear into the sunset without a backward look. Leos can cut ties, and leave others heartbroken, but usually there is a good reason why they have broken a tryst. For a Leo, when a relationship is over, really over, it is over for good.”

Now, I’m not entirely sure of this but I’m fairly confident in the fact that is very much not me. In fact I believe the opposite is true of men and anyone that knows me will tell you that I cling to relationships like the toilet paper clings to a drunk girl’s heel in a night club.

And I’m also stubborn, am prone to violent mood alterations (sometimes I just wanna cuddle ok??), sometimes I’m seriously motivated and other times I could go days without moving except for scratching myself. If these were accurate I think I should now be called a Aurusiminicanlevirrapioariusicorniussces.

But honestly, this is like people who believe in Tarot cards and the tooth fairy. Stop it, just stop you’re only embarrassing yourself now.

Ok rant over :) On a positive note I bought a new car today, let’s hope I have more luck with this one or by the power of Thor I will raise the Kraken and destroy this giant turtle we all live on called earth.

Hey if you can believe in star signs…

Forgive me readers for I have sinned, it’s been four days since I last blogged.

This isn’t easy for me to admit and I know that in many of your eyes I will be a far lesser man after I admit this. I, Ben Harrison, being of sound body and mind broke the bro code in a most heinous way.

I saw sex and the city 2.

Hang on a second before you stop reading. I was (due to my yes man status) obliged to go when asked. Afterwards I realised I should have said no due to the fact that it in fact caused my eyes and ears physical harm.

Now I’m not one to completely lambaste a film if it’s not good but this “film” (if you can even call it that) actually made me angry. There was no story line at all, the characters were ridiculous, the women in the cinema would not stop whooping and singing along. (for god’s sake it’s the cinema not a concert and since when does the cinema serve alcopops?) and it was TWO AND A HALF HOURS LONG.

In fact the only thing I laughed at in this film was how rubbery and snake like Liza Minelli was (that was more laughing at her trying to dance than anything though).

I’m all for female empowerment as long as there’s sandwiches involved. Just joking ladies*.

This film defies logic. In short I was phycially ill after watching it. My accomplice on that evening was sat in complete wonder at the moronic and stupidly prepubescent problems that these women were going through and the only time her gaze left the screen was to draw an extremely audible breath (bordering on moans of sexual pleasure) when the Australian rugby team showed up in their speedos. Or to quickly shout out “Oh my God I want Charlotte’s shoes.” 

I understand that this film has its place and I don’t expect women to enjoy the male equivelant of these type of films (the expendables is out August 13th) but at least these films will have men that the female viewers can fantasize about. Whats is there in SATC? Kim Catrall looked like some sort of dried up lizard alien and Sarah Jessica Parker was looking even more horselike than ever.

The four “girls” (I’m still not convinced) doing karaoke was so cringe worthy I gently rolled over and snored a little louder apparently.

The thing that summed up how awful this movie was for me is when Carrie admitted to Big (what a ridiclous name) that she smooched her ex on holidays…and he bought her a wedding ring!! Seriously? Not even a demand of extremely rough make up sex. Very unrealistic.

Despite the shaky start to my first weekend as a Yes Man the rest of it turned out pretty good. Friday night myself, my fellow Yes Man and a very good mutual friend went for a drive. The idea was to go find that place next to the view point where it looks as if your car is moving back up the hill when you take your foot off the clutch (first time I heard of it too.) However getting lost and ending up driving down a lane narrower than the car at 80 miles an hour with a horse jumping out at us made the evening slightly more entertaining to say the least. I actually thought it was the road from “Last house on the left” and I was genuinely terrified we would find the house from shrooms and get raped by some inbred mountain hick.

Out until 2 and then in work for 7…fun times. Saturday was a barbeque with the work crowd and me playing taxi for some lovely people.  And Sunday was a long lovely drive with the special woman, pretty good all in all.

Paintballing thursday, hurling training at some point and Bear Grylls camping with a case of Desperados is on the cards for the next few days…should be fun.   

*hey guys I’m not joking at all I just thought the little starry thing would confuse them and they won’t read this.

It’s called the Yes man, not the unconditionally yes man. As soon as I posted my “yes man” link on my facebook page I was getting requests from girls I know asking if they could kick me in the balls. Firstly, why does every girl in the world have a sick obsession with kicking men in the dangly bits and secondly, do you really think I’m just going to say “why yes, of course you can kick me in the baby maker, nothing would give me more pleasure”?

I don’t really think many of you got the point of why I’m doing this. And while I do appreciate that eating a placenta would be something I would watch one of my friends do with huge satisfaction, there is absolutely no way I will ever do that.

The whole point of this was for me to open my mind to do things that I’ve never tried before. Hurling training, kayaking and a Bear Grylls style camping trip are the sort of thing I was hoping for more of. Instead what I have been getting is essentially a list of dares eg. breast feed a baby. Is that even possible? Somehow I doubt it.

So while I agree that hunting down my old vice principal and making sweet sweet love to her would be an amusing (for you) thing for me to do, it’s just not the type of thing I’ll be doing. Neither is knocking on my neighbours door and pissing on the welcome mat when they answer…sicko. Although I have had a war with them over a parking space, but that’s an entirely seperate issue.

All of these “activities” that you’ve suggested I do has led me to believe that some more rules to this challenge are needed.

1) I’m not going to do anything that physically harms me or others.

2) I won’t do anything that will get me arrested.

And finally number 3) if you ask me to do something you have to do it with me.

Despite all this there have been a few things I am going to do. Road trip to Cork, hurling training (that actually terrifies me), camping Bear Grylls style and kayaking are all the things that I am genuinely excited about.

Oh and special mention has to go to Wayne who suggested that I “go to work in your mum’s underwear instead of your own,” …eh…no.

Can’t wait for someone to suggest sky diving.

The freedom of summer holidays, nothing to do, lounging around watching tv, eating crap, occasionally going to whatever part time job gives you enough money to supply you with alcohol, food and petrol…boring.

Thousands of us around the world are in the same situation. Nothing to do, all friends are on holidays in America or Thailand (I am going away in three weeks, but that’s 21 long, boring days away). So what do you do to fill those long lazy hours? Well I’ve decided that no longer will I sit at home all day eating crap and getting fatter.

Ever seen the film “Yes Man”? well that’s my plan. Say yes to everything, no opportunity is going to waste. And everything will be going in this blog although I expect this to be a huge disappointment. Maybe this is a bit farfetched but at least it’ll make an entertaining summer.

It was actually a friend of mine who turned me on to this idea. Being bored with nothing to do, he decided to do exactly what I’ve said…say yes to everything. First was a trip to a leprechaun museum (yes such a thing apparently exists) and then came a trip to an open casting of Camelot. Sounds fun.

Now obviously I’m not going to say yes to EVERYTHING. I do have my limits, if any of you have seen the film he has acts of fellatio performed upon him by a lovely old lady…I assure you this will not happen. There are a few rules.

1) No ridiculous sexual acts with disgusting women/men

2) No drugs or illegal things (I don’t want to get arrested for the sake of a blog)

3) No giving people money

4) And no cancelling plans I already have to do something else.

But apart from these four things anything goes. Goodbye dignity. Should be fun.

I’ve done a degree (admittedly a bit of a Mickey Mouse course in journalism) and I’m in the middle of doing a masters (less Mickey and more Danger) but am I any closer to actually doing something with my life? Do I know what I want to do any more than I did when I was sixteen?

Nope, not even a little. But unlike every single leaving cert student in the land who is currently stressing in a big way, I don’t really mind that I don’t know what I want. I’ve never been one to worry about my future. I have a part time job which gives me enough money to supply me with breakfast rolls and petrol, I have friends…sometimes. I’ve got a girlfriend/person/thing that I would do pretty much anything for and how could I forget my rugby?

Friends, rugby and a very special lady are making my life a wonderful place to be at the moment. So far 2010 has been a mixture of emotions, break ups, college and a few set-backs with the rugby have been counter balanced with nights out that I can’t remember, long days in the sun with people I love, parties with some awesome friends and a car named Kyle.  

Sure I don’t have a career plan or any real opportunities for a proper job but I’ve never been the type to let what I do define who I am. I enjoy my life, I really do. I know alot of people couldn’t handle not having a plan set in stone and my laid-backedness (yes I just made that up) has occasionally got me in trouble with girlfriends/parents but in all I just let things happen rather than stress when they don’t.

My advice for all the budding academics doing their leaving cert? Relax, take a break it’s important but not important enough to make your life miserable for a whole year (or a week as was the case with me). Maybe the gym and rugby helped me with that but whatever it was I just didn’t stress, never have about anything really.

But enough of the depressing talk about futures and exams and stress. On a more important note I’m going on holidays for the first time in two years in three weeks time. Three weeks trekking around Europe on trains with six friends sounds like just the thing I need to break from all “stress” I have in my life (if you’ve been paying attention there actually isn’t any). Starting in London, then heading to Paris, Amsterdam and then God knows where sounds like an adventure to anybody. I honestly am so excited about this holiday, I wasn’t for a while but now I can’t wait. Leaving a few very important people behind me for three weeks will be tough but with the wonders of the internet and modern talking thingamajigs staying in touch is easy.

Millions of photos and undoubtedly 22 severe hangovers later and I’ll be back just in time to finish my thesis. Sounds fun. But hey, who’s worrying?