(no subject)

[kittydesade]

Donall: Dia dhuit, a Aoife. Tar isteach. Bain díot do chóta.
Dónall: Greetings, Aoife. Come in. (Please,) take off your coat.

Aoife: Go raibh maith agat. Is maith liom an seomra seo. Tá sé go hálainn.
Aoife: Thank you. I like your (house/room). It is beautiful.

Dónall: Is breá liomsa é freisin, mar tá solas breá ann.
Dónall: I like it, too, because there is good light here. (?)

Aoife: Cé leis na dioscaí agus na téipeanna go léir?
Aoife: Who owns these discs and these tapes [something].

Dónall: Liomsa agus le mo dheirfiúr an chuid is mó díobh. Is léi sin na cinn chlasaiceacha. Is le m'athair cuid díobh freisin - na cinn jazz. Tá tuilleadh i seomra eile.
Me and my sister own the greater part of them. We own the classical ones. My father owns some of them - the jazz ones. They're in the next room.

Aoife: Éisteann sibh le mórán ceoil, mar sin.
You listen to plenty of music, then (lit. because that).

Dónall: Déanaimid. Is mac léinn ceoil í mo dheirfiúr.
We do. My sister is a music student. [Is something student of music? she my sister]

Aoife: Ó, an ea? Ní raibh a fhios agam é sin. Cén uirlis a sheinneann sí?
Oh, is she/is that so? (Not sure which) I did not know that. What instrument does she play?

Dónall: Seinneann sí an veidhlín go maith, agus an pianó, ar ndóigh.
She plays the violin very well, and the piano, of course.

And the rest to be done throughout the day, I think.

Eibhlín: Tá mé ag lorg bronntanas do chara dom.
Freastalaí: Cad tá ar aigne agat?
Eibhlín: Bhí mé ag smaoineamh ar bhlús.
Freastalaí: Cén uimhir agus cén dath?
Eibhlín: Uimhir a hocht, agus aon rud ach amháin uaine, mac ní maith léi éadaí uaine.
Freastalaí: Cén dath atá ar a cuid gruaige?
Eibhlín: Gruaig fhionn atá uirthi.
Freastalaí: Ceann gorm mar sin, nó liath.
Eibhlín: Oireann rudaí gorma di, is dóigh liom.
Freastalaí: Cad a cheapann tú de seo?
Eibhlín: Is maith liom é sin.

Caitríona: Tá buachaill nua ag Áine.
Máiréad: An bhfuil? Cén sórt é?
Caitríona: Fear breá ard. Tá gruaigh dhubh air agus féasóg.
Máiréad: An bhfuil sé go deas?
Caitríona: Tá sé ciúin, agus an chúirtéiseach, ach tá sé taitneamhach.
Máiréad: Cén t-ainm atá air?
Caitríona: Niall Ó Ceallaigh is ainm dó.
Máiréad: Cén tslí bheatha atá aige?
Caitríona: Is státsheirbhíseach é. Tá sé ag obair sa Roinn Oideachais.

Bean Uí Chonaill: Is maith liom do chuid criostail.
Bean Uí Mhathúna: Go raibh maith agat. Taitníonn gloine go mór liom agus ceannaím píosa anois is arís, ach is le m'iníon cuid díobh.
Bean Uí Chonaill: Conas sin?
Bean Uí Mhathúna: Imríonn sí mórán spóirt, go háirithe leadóg. Is breá léi leadóg agus buann sí duaiseanna criostail ó am go ham.


You know, on the one hand I'm amused that certain conservatives/Republicans are so scared of Obama winning they think he's going to circumvent the actual fucking law saying that the Presidency is only two terms per person? It's in the US Constitution, guys. I am, however, not at all pleased that they're forcing independent agencies to withdraw proof that says their ideas are bullshit. We've known trickle-down theory doesn't work for thirty years. I knew it when I was a little girl. If a five year old can understand why trickle down theory doesn't work, you should be able to. It was a joke when I was little. It's not funny anymore.

(Yes, I had a different childhood.)

I need more Nameless icons, clearly. Also it deeply amuses me to be studying Irish right before tackling my daft Irish half-fae bastard story for Nanowrimo. Seriously, all I need now is to finish moving in to the house so I can set up the spinning wheel and then I can Nano and spin when I'm not Nanoing. And wear lots of flannel and take up drinking beer and being generally uncouth at everyone in my vicinity. NOTHING CAN POSSIBLY GO WRONG WITH THIS PLAN. Except I hate most of the beers he likes. Cider, I'll drink cider. Actually now I kind of do want to get a six pack of cider.

It's Friday. Yay. Tonight, TV and cleaning and packing, tomorrow, profiling and profiling and packing. Sunday! Packing and packing and moving stuff. I really love moving. Not. On the plus side, once we finish hopefully we won't have to move ever again. Or at least not for a really really damn long time. Maybe in between profiling I'll try to push this weekend and see how much packing we can get done, now that the house is, mm. 2/3 to 3/4 of the way done. Bathroom ceiling, heat pipes and their enclosing boxes need to be done. But I think that's mostly it. Couple weeks worth of work. WOO. HOO.

Right. How the fuck have I already spent my clothing allowance for the fortnight? (Answer: Because it's not a big allowance, silly.) How the fuck did I become the sort of person who can do that? (Answer: Because you bought leather bracelets with bullets and skulls on them.) I need to figure out how to tell if I can wear camisoles under things, preferably with several things to try on under them. Possibly this will involve getting out some of those shirts I bought for Faye Valentine. Ooh. I'll do that tonight, then. Along with packing and watching TV. Yesh. And fuck you, PMS weasels, I am not fucking tubby and saggy. I am in goddamn good shape and if I am feeling a little bloated and squishy right now it is because water retention because fucking PMS, so fuck you.

Yes, I still say 'fuck' a lot.