Hello, Here Are Opinions No One Asked For

So, here I stand upon the proverbial internet roof and yell my presence to anyone who may listen. It’s difficult to write a sufficiently engaging introductory post without it feeling a lot like an AA meeting so I think I will follow that format, for now. Let’s get into an uncomfortably stare-y circle and make horrible eye contact as we get to know each other.

Hi, my name is Megan, and I am an Internet Narcissist with a chronic case of Word Vomit.

Hopefully your little reading voice chimed back a half enthusiastic, “Hey Megan!” – if it didn’t, you are clearly unversed in AA meeting etiquette and I invite you to reread my name introduction until your reading voice has gotten some manners.

Yes, I am an Internet Narcissist in many regards. I post often about everything and anything so thereby it is only right that I complete the transfiguration; from a lowly female with lots of internet opinions, to an Impressively Knowing and Intellectual Blogger. I didn’t choose this lifestyle – it chose me (after I sat and fiddled with buttons and menus until I made the ugliest home page possible, gave myself an @ name, and hurriedly told my friends to address me by said lifestyle title).

On this brand new, exciting, shiny (and only SLIGHTLY shite) blog, I’m going to talk about a multitude of topics: from my own personal experience as a student living on Rustler’s burgers, dirty looks from my disgusted peers and pints; to pop culture and politics; and other miscellaneous subject matters I just generally think I should spew word vomit on.

No: no one asked for my opinion, but when has that stopped me before? I hope it’s slightly amusing for anyone who peaks on it and I’m sorry in advance for being a grumpy guts.





Piece of Poop Poetry: Lost Boy

It’s been a long time since my last edition of self indulgent word vomiting, so what better way to make my comeback with some piece of poop poetry.

This poem in particular I wrote some time ago when I was feeling very mushy about attitudes to dating in modern society. Since we live in a time of tinder dates and ghosting, the understanding of romantic love has altered and changed. Modern love has became really tricky to capture. The lines between romantic feeling and lust have became increasingly blurred through advances in technology.

In other words: as a mopey water sign I had to have a go at romanticising fuckboy culture between bouts of imploring my girlfriends to explain just what that last text meant from that guy.

I hope everyone has been very well and treating themselves kindly! Without further verbosity, here is my wee poem.

Lost Boy

What to do when love is not lost or found?

It’s skirting around the corners of the bed frame

In reach and not exclusive to one.

I can’t express hurt when wounds haven’t been inflicted-

Breast bare and plateless and eager for the pain of yesterday.

But yesterday’s don’t happen

Because we are living in todays.

I want to feel the fires of catharsis because that’s the only thing I know

– so what do I do when you won’t burn me?

Instead: cups of pasta and glasses of wine.

It doesn’t hurt me

But the ghost palms of the past are forged into fists.

We exist in a state of now:

I breathe you now

I think you now

I laugh you now;

What to do when

I don’t know what’s in your chest

but I know what’s in your eyes?

Kindness without cruelty and a whisper of maybe.

I don’t know.

And I don’t need to know.

Found yet lost

and yet feet first in the middle of here.

Note to Self: My Two Decades Worth of Learns

Getting older is a total drag and a bit-slightly melty for all involved. And all are involved. It’s easy to get really down in the dumps about the whole ordeal when in reality, it doesn’t really matter that much.

Well, bar all the things about ageing that matter loads (see brains turning into old mush and skin sagging into folds and limbs turning into human spaghetti). What I mean is: at least it’s happening to all of us at the same time. That’s kind of reassuring.

Instead of panicking about becoming prune people, let’s try and put a positive spin on the whole macabre process. Life is a learning curve after all. So, what have I learned in my two decades worth of wandering around and having a breathe?

Here’s the list I’ve managed to compile, whilst eating quite a few Jaffa cakes. I hope it makes for a pleasant read for anyone having a quarterlife crisis and assures you that no, I don’t really know what I’m doing either. No one really does.

1. Kiwis aren’t meant to make your tongue feel itchy

Now this may seem like a weird one to start off on but this really shook me to my core when I found this out. I’ve always loved kiwi fruits and found them to be a tasty little snack. Zesty and fun, in many ways I aspired to be the kiwi fruit. One evening, when enjoying my itchy tongue inducing friend, I told my parents how fun the sensation in my mouth parts was and asked what made the kiwi so different and sensory.

That was the day I discovered that the things you love the most can hurt you the most.

Don’t eat things that make your mouth feel itchy.

2. Being Emo is a phase


Everyone I know either went down the path of being a big emo or being really into Hollister at some stage. If anyone tried to tell me that my angsty heavy fringe would not be with me into my late teens, I would have probably shouted “rawr” or played some Black Veil Brides lyrics loudly at them.

Identifying as alternative in your youth is so mainstream. It’s not that rebellious to backcomb your hair. It’s just a bit annoying and you will cringe loads at your old pictures when you’re older.

3. … but phases are good

I’m a strong believer that everyone has to go through a very awkward adolescent period to develop a personality, or a good sense of humour. It makes me sad that the younger generations seem less and less cringe than what we once were. A good girthy awkward period grows character and brings you down to Earth. It also gives your friends fantastic ammunition to butcher you with when you get too big for your boots.

You may live life as a professional now, but photoshopping lyrics from Fall Out Boy’s Thanks For the Memories into your cheek? That’s forever.

4. Pick your fights carefully (AKA don’t live life like a Mortal Kombat character)

This is something I’m still trying to get better at.

Sometimes it’s better to walk away from a situation than battle it out. Situations arise and yes, you definitely should fight it out -but you will know for certain when those moments come around. Otherwise, exercise self restraint and hop out of there. If there’s someone around you that makes you want to argue every time you have a cup of tea with them, just cut them out.

Being feisty doesn’t necessarily show strength in character; sometimes restraining yourself from verbally lashing out is the strongest of all.

On another note: the silent treatment is a really effective tool in pettiness so that’s something to bear in mind too.

5. When your hand is big and blue it is probably broken

Go to hospital and stop playing pool with it.

6. Make time for things you really like

As clichéd as it may sound, self care is very important. Set time aside to have some proper fun. That doesn’t always mean a social activity either: time to yourself isn’t selfish and will make you feel less drawn out.

7. Let your friends know you dig them

It’s weird how much this can change my mood. When you’re feeling a bit grey, message your best pal and ask how they are. Listen to how they’re doing and just let them know how much you appreciate them. Knowing that your friends know how much you love them is a fantastic thing and will probably please them loads, too (unless your friend hates friendship).

8. Stop telling people that story about Steve Coogan being such a crazy party animal that Courtney Love was shook

This is more of a personal note to myself but that story never ceases to amaze me. Amazes my friends less after the 78th retelling, though.

On further research they apparently slept together as well – need to tell the tale again with this new information.

9. People really don’t mind what you do, so stop worrying about it

No one criticises yourself as much as you do. As the saying goes, you’re your own worst enemy. Don’t waste your energy worrying about what other people think about your appearance, or overthink the things you say. Don’t over value the power of social media either because it doesn’t tangibly exist. Be nice about yourself and feel nice about being you.

Also don’t base your self worth off of other people – your relationships do not define you. Don’t fall into roles and let that become your personality. You are more than a girlfriend or boyfriend or fiancé or spouse. Your individual worth comes from you and you alone, it’s up to you to nourish yourself.

The general rule in life is to not be a dickhead. As long as you restrain from being horribly racist, sexist, xenophobic or just generally bellend-y, you’re sweet to go.

10. Be bad at things

Failure is the best way to learn. I can honestly say that 95% of bad things that have happened to me have led to happier things happening. Breakups are shite but force you from your usual routine and thrust you into redefining yourself. Failing interviews forces you to pick yourself up and try again, improving your technique. Dying your hair blonde and it looking really yellow tells you that maybe being blonde doesn’t work for you.


Failure is only a failure if you take on a period of stasis afterwards. Mistakes are opportunities to grow, and should definitely be treated as so! Don’t beat yourself up for imperfections and instead harness them as fuel to betterment.

Those are my own personal Ten Commandments to being twenty. If you have gotten to the end of the piece, I applaud you.

And please

eat a kiwi for me.

Piece of Poop Poetry: Carpe Diem

Today I was sat in my back garden drinking a copious amount of Sunny D and felt like being even more pretentious than ever before. I know, you didn’t think it was possible – but a girl like me is full of surprises*. Getting redder and sweatier and more porcine looking by the second, the realisation struck me.

Shitty poetry is the next wrung of my plight of pretension, duh! So here you have it, the first in a series no one asked for. Here’s a little thing I scribbled down when I was feeling slightly plop and in need of a delicious curry, a little mantra if you will.

It’s about an emo girl hoping for good weather so she can catch a big Latin fish to impress her mate which will make herself feel well chuffed. See image below.

(*Said surprises may not actually be surprises but instead further faux intellectual verbosity which will make your brains leak out of your ear holes.)

Carpe Diem 🐟

Hopefully tomorrow will be sunny,
And I’ll be there to see it beside you.
Perhaps it won’t, but I’ll still be trying.
Putting yesterday’s behind my left ear-
Your right-
I keep the other free for the
Season’s blooms – and I’ll wear them with a smile.
Cold creeps through open windows, remember.
Open up and let some air in, breathe out.
Make your bed, lay in it, but get up too
It doesn’t end here and doesn’t have to.
Now, brush your teeth, slip on shoes, time to go
Get out there. Catch the big one: Carpe Diem.

The Taboo Of Youthful Loneliness

Reaching your twenties means the beginning of, well, a lot of beginnings. Coming into your second decade, you find yourself ushered into different directions and assured all the while – “this is the time of your life”. The new trials and tribulations of becoming a freshly cultivated human person who no longer relies on parental figures or guardians are exciting and exhilarating. Social climbing and building relationships become a very integral part in this final push to ‘grow up’ and you are urged to love every moment of it.


What if you don’t?

What happens when your youthful years feel lonely? The peak of your adult years wasted upon feelings of inadequacy and lonesome hours?

The topic is one that is growing in discussion, yet has not yet fully scraped the surface. In an era of which individuals, especially young people, are more connected than ever with the integration of social media into our trouser pockets, how is loneliness still proceeding to creep into the lives of so many?

Typically, loneliness has been attributed as being an elderly affliction. If one was to ask a room full of people to describe a scene of lonesomeness and isolation, I would be willing to bet a considerable amount of money that the image concocted would be that of the sad old man, sat in an armchair with the one adjacent to him empty. Yes, we’re talking Up style elderly widower sad scenes.

It’s easy to attribute this image to the elderly because it’s understandable and more palatable to society. A lonely old person can be rationalised away: they’ve lived a life amidst their friends already, and though it’s sad, it’s a natural part of growing older. Being alone is a sad but realistic outcome in a long life. No fault of the little old man. Just, life.

A young adult, however, is a different story. The perceived ‘loner’ type has became glamourised in popular media as either a brooding, enigmatic type, or an ostracised nerd. To be alone typically suggests an introverted personality type or social awkwardness and thereby the loneliness is perceived as a by product of the person. There’s little to no excuse for being alone – it’s because the individual is weird and too difficult to be around.

Of course, that isn’t the reality at all. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that feelings of isolation and inadequacy may strike anyone at all. Yet it’s something we don’t discuss. Loneliness is treated is a weakness.

There’s so much pressure amidst young adults to partake in party lifestyle and emerge themselves fully in social activity now, in order to preserve memories for when we are too old and frail to do it later. Cultivating stories to tell in old folks homes motivates mad nights out and ridiculous behaviour – and I love that. Yet, we should also acknowledge the stress that places upon many individuals. The fear of ‘wasted years’ drags many out to partake in ritualistic partying – yet it can leave you feeling emptier than before.

Loneliness is more than being alone. It can feel like you can’t connect with people on a personal basis. It can feel like you bore others by your presence. It can feel like your house is far from a home. It can feel like a mask to pertain to being a socialite when in fact, you feel empty.

And loneliness effects everyone at some stage.

As a society, we need to break the stigma of openly talking about feeling lonely and isolated. Social media should be utilised to bring people together, rather than feed into insecurities. If stigma is slowly breaking around mental health topics, discussing feelings of isolation should be a natural progression.

There is no shame in feeling like this, regardless of how old you are. Or what gender you are. Or what gender you’re interested in. Or what skin colour you have. There’s no reason at all as to why it’s unheard of for people to place statuses upon their Facebooks asking for someone to have a conversation. There is no weakness in reaching out to others and communicating how you’re feeling.

It’s time to get talking! Here’s a list of helpful numbers for people from Zest for anyone who needs a little help to get the ball rolling.

Mamma Mia Is A Bad Film And I’m Not Sorry About It

Yes. I said it and before you all come to set me on fire – let me explain myself.

I am a purveyor in all things Guilty Pleasure. My music taste has been likened to the tunes played in Debenhams by my housemate, and she is not necessarily wrong. I love to gawk at trashy television shows where people get drunk and start facing/screaming about wanting to bash each others heads in. I will watch any film that Collin Firth is in because, by god, he is The One.

So to all extensive purposes, I am the prime type of gal to enjoy the tacktastic Mamma Mia. And I really wish I was, because all my female friends love it and look at me like I am covered in scales and have a slug for a tongue when I exclaim “this is SHITE” at the screen.

Here is a list of reasons I think it is a bad film and why I squirm in my seat when I’m told it is amongst the highest grossing films in history. I can almost hear the pantomime boos and hisses now*.

*Note, if you are pantomime booing and hissing at a screen on your computer/phone, you should stop watching Mamma Mia as it has harvested the last of your brain cells.


  1. Meryl Streep’s character is a total bitch


Yes. I said it and you know it. Donna is a total knob and attention grabber. We have all been in the situation where 3 of your boyfriends are in the same club, so cool it.

From the get go, Donna is obnoxious and has a knack of wearing dungarees in a really irritating way. Whether it’s screeching to her friends (who must find it very upsetting to forever be her sidekicks, even into middle age) or stealing her daughters ACTUAL WEDDING DAY, she is a jerk and I wouldn’t be surprised if Sophie is already planning what home to put her in as vengeance. A really rubbish one at that.


2. It’s so obvious which dad Donna is going to face

mama das

From the very start you know she’s going to fall in gross love with James Bond. Like, fair enough, but also why are we dragging this out so long? Just kiss him and be done with it.


3. Collin Firth is the only hot da

Ok, maybe I’m biased. But if you came to this film excited by the prospect of ogling some mighty fine fathers then you will be sorely disappointed.



4. Sophie’s boyfriend looks like a  shih tzu






5. Sophie should be raging at her mum for making her hen party shite

donna and dynamos

I adore my mum, and would do anything for her. However if my mum and her mates decided to make my hen party all about her regrouping her ABBA tribute girlband then I’m going to have to have a couple of choice words with her.

I also don’t understand why Sophie lets both of her dads get slightly felt up by her horny hen party congregation.


6. That scene where the guy on the beach who fancies Tanya confuses getting a nappy tied for getting a bj


This whole scene is really strange and oddly hypnotic. My eyes are torn between watching Christine Baranski perform what only can be described as a mating dance for Pepper, and the strange facial contortions he is making in response to the lusty boogie. Lots of self boob grabbing and waft legs. I don’t understand this scene, and it is what I see when I have sleep paralysis.


7. Sophie wastes everyone’s time and is a huge flake

Personally, I think it’s quite bad manners to have everyone get ready for a wedding then turn around and NOT get married. I would be less irritated if she dropped the bombshell in a stormy argument and ended up viciously dumping Sky, yet to not get married and resume being together? Boo.


8. Meryl Streep’s tiny friend walking over the tables to try and kiss one of the da’s

This scene is straight up unsanitary (feet shouldn’t be where the food lives) and again, I don’t understand why Sophie is allowing her dads to get prowled upon by horned up women. The tiny friend moves like Pinocchio before he became a real boy and she has to be rescued loads from falling off of things. What kind of wedding is this???


9. The worst bit: when the water explodes in the middle of the island and everyone gets soaked, Meryl Streep says “It’s Aphrodite” in slow motion


Seriously? Who thought this was a good idea?

Everyone starts rubbing their bellies together amidst a stream of water. I feel bad because this is almost certainly the clean water supply for the tiny island, so it means they will probably die from dehydration soon. Not to mention the cost of fixing up the gaping hole. But sure, everyone gets to awkwardly wiggle in the water for a bit – good times.

Cinematic GOLD. 


10.  Actually no – “Do you want another one? Do you… Want… Another one?”


The whole encore scene. All of it. Is a technicolor nightmare which everyone looks uncomfortable and scared in. Shout out to Collin Firth for making me go “Aw, bless him!” amidst the horror, as he genuinely seems confused as to how he came from being Mr Darcey (twice) to this.


So, those are but a few reasons why the film is bad and I am right in thinking it is garbage. I am not sorry. Hopefully a couple of you will see the light and join me in angry viewing of the film from now on (it is very fun to hate-watch).


No. I won’t be going to see the new film coming out.


*Thanks to my immediate family for also hating the film and pointing out moments of horror which I may have ultimately ignored or blocked from my memory.*

Why #IBelieveHer is more than just a hashtag

It is common knowledge across the region that Paddy Jackson, Stuart Olding, Blane McIlroy, and Rory Harrison were found not guilty of charges brought against them in Belfast.

The verdict reached by judge and jury in light of evidence presented has been met by extremely emotional responses – on both the side of the accused and the unnamed victim. It must be said that the response from aggravated rugby fans have been much more malicious and slanderous, rendering a young woman nothing more than a “slut” and a “whore”.

I am devastated at the ruling, alongside many of my peers, yet even more horrified by the exposure of the ugly reality of treatment of sexual abuse. Sexual abuse has been exposed as but the beginning of the cycle of slander, ostracism and pain ahead for the unlucky. The courts will facilitate this. Victims must prepare to be beaten verbally and have their private lives combed through for reasons why you DESERVED this, you wanted this. Your underwear will be passed around. It makes me sick and scared.

Victims of sexual assault and rape, regardless of gender, race or sexual orientation, deserve to be treated with COMPASSION. It’s hard to understand how lacking in empathy the loudest cheers of ‘celebration’ amongst rugby fans, as what many don’t realise that amongst their friends and family, a victim resides. Silenced.

In the face of such adversity it is easy to become defeated, yet this has not been the case. The only heartening thing to come from this case is the solidification of support amongst a largely female demographic in Ireland (though let it be said, a large amount of men are carrying the flag for #IBelieveHer too). In a time where being a woman in Ireland is uncertain and frightening, we are gathering together and raising our voices for the voiceless.

Like #MeToo, #IBelieveHer has become synonymous with more than just the case they were assigned to. The hashtag has became a symbol of victim legitimisation and validation. It is a beacon for those unfortunate enough to have been silenced following their abuse to gather around, to know that they too are believed.

In contrast to the “LADs” who are metaphorically baying for blood through horrific slurs and insults, the #IBelieveHer camp have been largely articulating a message of solidarity and utilising the evidence made public to fuel their argument. The hashtag, when surfed, holds many screenshots of evidential writings depicting the young woman’s actions and disposition. It has served as a means of educating others on the case.

The hashtag has also exposed the disgusting LAD culture running rampant in the country. Skimming through the #IBelieveHer posts, you will inevitably see a response to each tweet which will leave you disgusted. Threats, insults, and misogyny run rampant through social media – because sure, it’s a wee bit of “craic”.

A distinct misunderstanding and “fear” of feminism has also been seen amidst many posts. Feminism has gained a dirty name in result of individuals being unable to see past the first five letters – regardless of the message being to elevate women to the SAME LEVEL as men. To hate feminists is to hate equality. A need to educate individuals on feminist theory has became increasingly obvious.

In recognising the poisonous behaviour, we can crush it. Voicing destain in the face of adversity is the only way vindictive LAD culture will be crushed. Supporting the weak is the only way we can progress as a society, and spouting hatred will not lead to any benefit.

Status and fame can no longer be allowed to grant immunity from consequence, nor should being “one of the boys”.