Are you there Internet? It’s me, Niamh.

I have spent the past evening, and probably most of the last year, trying to think of a witty and entertaining topic for my first blog post. Y’see, I’m a bit of a social media soapbox junkie. I love to broadcast the funny and downright mortifying moments of my life on Facebook and Twitter. I find it therapeutic. If I can laugh at the situation, and allow others to join in, then the holy mortifying shame of whatever I have done is less likely to gnaw away at my consciousness and my inner train of narrative won’t spend the rest of eternity reminding me that I’m an idiot for doing whatever it is that I have done. But posting about something funny in the moment that it occurred and actually mining your mind for witty material to turn into a blog post are two very different animals. I had no idea and every idea of where to start.

I have toyed with the idea of a “Why Do Bad Managers Happen To Good People – Amirite Guys?” type entry. Easy, click baity material. C’mon, everyone can relate and I could use more cliché sayings than a group of girls trying to comfort a recently dumped friend. “He didn’t deserve you in the first place”. To be honest, I have the material – for the bad boss thing. Like, a dumper truckload of material. But I also like being employed and I do, kind of, need all future employers to believe that I am the charming and lovely person I present myself to be in interviews and/or other corporate social networking events. And they need to know that I never hold a grudge. Except silently, in my head of course. Replaying whatever dastardly thing you did to me, over and over, until I am slowly driven into a spiral of madness. So that was the “Bad Managers – Good People” blogpost off the table. (For now).

The old “I’m So Fat But Keep Avoiding The Gym – Why Do We Do It Ladies?” was another idea I thought about. And I have a lot of material there too. Like, the fact that last week, I split my gym pants in the ass. This is the sixth pair of pants I’ve split in a year and let me tell you folks, it’s not down to having buns of steel. Lads, when your gym pants – PANTS THAT ARE BUILT TO BE STRETCHY AND WITHSTAND A WEE BIT OF STRENUOUS EXERCISE – can’t take the strain of hearty brunch of a Sunday, you’re in fucking trouble. So maybe I will save that entry for another day. Who knows? Maybe I’ll split my next pair when I’m actually at the gym and my immortal shame can be shared with the good people of LA Fitness. And you guys, of course.

There was the “Types Of Tinder” idea. But to be honest, that is more overdone than rose wine at happy hour. Yes, the first few times people pointed out the “Tigers of Tinder”, it was funny. Granted. But, now, it’s a bit much. This is coming from someone who had a short-lived, but much loved, “Exotic Animals of Tinder” Instagram account. Also, fuck that. If people have the balls to put themselves out there, then who am I to judge? No-one! That’s who. Into the ideas bin it went. Sitting on top of a big pile of my other misguided notions, like when I thought that wearing leggings as pants was legit and that time I took six Imodium at a music festival and hoped for the best.

And then I decided to wait. My life is genuinely a comedy of errors. It’s a tad embarrassing (read: a lot) and sometimes, I’ll spend days (read: weeks) agonising over something stupid I’ve said or done. I once fell flat on my face on the linoleum in B&Q, so hard that it made a really loud twacking noise (why are those stores so huge and echoey anyway, FFS) and EEEEVERYONE in the checkout lines turned around and stared. No one helped me. For that would have interrupted their staring and silent judgement not to mention the sound of my face hitting the floor resonating through the aisles over and over. It must have been about 6 years ago now and there are still some nights, I wake up in a cold sweat thinking about it, cursing my adorable yet socially crippling awkwardness. So I will wait. For an organically orchestrated, naturally entertaining moment to arise. And when it does, I know the right place to broadcast it.

For now, let the tumbleweeds roll.