Monday, January 31, 2011

Dublin Has the Best Random Statues

How can you not adore Oscar when he looks like this? He's just... lolling around on this random rock. And I don't know if real Oscar Wilde ever did opium (probably) but his statue definitely did. Still does.

Oh, so he's not actually a statue? Well, actually, he is. Under his trench coat and plastic manikin skin, he's all metal. The mustache's fake, too. He's, like, undercover. You know.

So, maybe most people wouldn't consider a poster to be a statue. And maybe I wouldn't, either. Because, you know, it's flat. And stuff. But this Santa's spirit, and his wicked sketchiness, is definitely not flat. Whatever that means. I mean, he is really, really sketchy. And it looks like he's pointing a laser beam at you. I guess that's what happens when you're not nice, then.

Sunday, January 30, 2011


I feel like I should be doing more than I am. I feel like I should be grabbing this country as tightly as I can, until its heart beats inside me and echos to me what it’s all about. I feel like I should be running everywhere, so that I can do everything, so that not a second passes me by. I should be constantly beaming, like everyone else. I should be planning trips and making bonds that will never fade. But I’m not. I’m not and I want to and I can’t. I mean, part of that has to do with my lack of money, which is understandable. The other part, though? I don’t know.

I feel like no one sees me, like I’m invisible. I can go out with my friends, and no one will look at me. That's not even an exaggeration. They’ll look at my friends. They’ll look at their friends. They’ll smile and order drinks for anyone, just not me. Because I’m that half person and half isn’t good enough. But I don’t know how to become whole.

I feel sometimes like I’m not supposed to be anything but happy. Because I’m in Ireland and that’s an amazing opportunity that most people never ever get to have, so I better be fucking jovial or I might as well go home. But, I don’t want to go home. I want to be here, and I want here to be real. I want to figure out how to make here real. I just haven’t, yet.


On a positive note, though, because I feel really bad writing this sort of post, I saw the cutest dog today. It was tiny, fluffy, and white, and it was literally skipping. And by literally, I mean literally. It even had a grin on its face. I hadn’t even known it was possible for dogs to grin until then.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Dear person who found my blog by searching for, "stds from hookers in dublin,"

Thank you!

I have been waiting for someone to find me with some creepy sexual google search since, well, the day I started this blog! So, I've been waiting for more than a year. That's a long time.

This feeling is so fun. You know, everyone should have the chance to have a dream or two of theirs realized. The world would just be so much happier.

Love, Me.

PS. Since you seemed to be wondering, you're probably better off not seeking prostitutes at all, from anywhere. Maybe get a girlfriend, yeah? Oh, and you're welcome. Have the best day ever.

The Mean Streets of Cape Cod

Us Cape Codders? We're tough. We have to be.

If we aren't, the turkeys will get us.

They smell fear, you know.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

What Life Can Be Like

I think I could spend my whole life exploring. Just wandering everywhere. Over hills, on top towering cliffs, by the sea. I want to breathe in the air of every different continent, and as many countries as I can get to. I want to go to the remote parts, especially. And I want to meet people. Those people who live everywhere I don't, and who have the stories I've never even thought to imagine. I want to turn my life into something it just isn't-- at least, not yet. The sort of life that only seems possible in day dreams.

A couple of my friends and I are planning on leaving Dublin sometime on Friday and not coming back until Saturday morning. Because we don't have too much money, we're not planning on staying a hostel or anything like that. We're not planning on sleeping-- we can sleep when we get back home the next day. We're just going to walk around in the pitch-blackness with food in our backpacks and flashlights, and explore. I'm stoked, because that's really what I want my life to be like. (Well, that and I want to live in a castle. A wicked old one that's partially in ruins. With lots of towers. And leprechauns. You know.)

Anyway, I don't really know how many other people usually go about traipsing around the Irish countryside past dark, but I'm guessing there can't be too many, even on Friday nights. Too bad, because I think that would be one of the most perfect ways to meet someone. Provided they're not some sort of ax murderer. Luckily, I don't think that's too likely. And even if it was, I'm totally, definitely big enough to kick anyone's ass, right? Seriously, though, if we met someone out there, and then actually got to know them, I think my life just might become complete.

But even if that doesn't happen I don't think I'll mind too much, anyway, because what could be more carefree? What could be more wonderful? I can't think of much.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Random Things About Dublin

They sell Cadbury mini eggs year round. I KNOW, RIGHT? Seriously, it's fantastic. Except that it's probably not the best idea to eat pounds and pounds of them a day. I'm pretty sure they're laced with craic. Oh, see what I did there?

People say, "cheers," a lot. It's kind of adorable.

The ocean's only a few kilometers from the city and you can walk there. I haven't tried this yet, mostly because I only found out about it today, but I'm definitely going to. I also want to try just following the Liffey for a few hours and see where I end up.

Irish cheddar cheese isn't the same as American cheddar cheese. It's not bad, but I miss my Cabot! Their parmesan is different, too. More bitter. Also, mature cheese means sharp. It took me a couple minutes to figure out that one.

The Irish like Judge Judy? I'm not totally sure on this one, but I've tried watching TV twice since I got here, and it's been on both times. And I only have about five channels.

There are approximately 893 different sorts of Irish accents. Or something. Anyway, there are a lot, and they're all fantastic. I can't come close to telling them all apart, though.

This one doesn't really go with the title, but that's okay. Tomorrow, a bunch of us are going to a crypt in the basement of a church. With mummies. Again, I KNOW, RIGHT? I'm wicked stoked. I actually wanted to be an archeologist back in the day, before I realized that archeology was more than just, "Oh, hey! I just found an ancient civilization!" and that actually it probably wouldn't be that at all.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

I Got Laughed at by a Group of Irish School Children

True story, actually.

I was walking back from class with a couple of my friends, talking. I don't remember about what, but I'm sure it was ridiculously interesting and stuff. Anyway, as this was all going on, we started to walk past a group of little seven year old girls. Who promptly burst out laughing. One even gleefully shouted, "her voice!"

I was sad. Except not, because I figured they were talking about my accent. That would be understandable, right? American accents are probably pretty weird. But, according to Amber and Ashley, the friends I was walking with, they were definitely talking about the pitch of my voice. Huh. My life.

Bright side? I can add that to my list of authentic Irish experiences. First Guinness- check. First visit to the rugged Irish seaside- check. First time being made fun of by toddlers- check.


Monday, January 17, 2011

Bits of Home in Ireland

Ireland is fantastic. What else could Ireland be? It's Ireland. And now that I've said the word Ireland three (four) times, I should probably stop. But, I can't get over how familiar and same parts of this country feel. I don't mean that in the boring way. I mean, everywhere I go, I see buildings, bits of scenery, and just things that seem like they're from somewhere else. A lot of the time, it's like they're from the homes I left behind me. The mountains make me think of Vermont. The graffiti reminds me of Burlington. The twistiness of the roads are kind of like Boston. There's this one tiny, tenement looking building that seems like it was shot out of Hey, Arnold! There's Ben and Jerry's.

And, when we went to Howth, a little sea side village north of Dublin, everything was different and the same all over again.

What's beyond this gate could be Cape Cod.

This rocky beach could be Little Compton, Rhode Island. And that old man? He'd be from some really sad, period piece about coastal New England.

Other parts looked like South America, or, at least, somewhere hot. There were palm trees. Lots of them. I didn't take any good pictures of them, though, so here are some flowers. Blooming in the middle of January.

But then, there were spots that couldn't be from anywhere else but Ireland. I loved those the best.

Really, I love it all. Even the weird palm trees.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

I Can Finally Have a Drinking Post

Because, in Ireland, I'm totally legal. My money doesn't like it so much, but it can be quiet for a little while. I figure that for the first week, I can spend a bit and not worry.

I actually meant to have my first pub experience on Tuesday, the day I got in, but I ended up accidentally falling asleep at 3PM. My excuse is that I had slept maybe two hours in the previous two nights combined, and I was (still am, actually. It's wicked annoying) getting over being really really sick. So, I didn't wake up until about one or two in the morning. Then, I couldn't fall back asleep, which was really just strange because although I sometimes have insomnia, I can always go back to sleep. It's how I've perfected sleeping over 16 hours some nights.

Anyhoo, my first pub was actually the Guinness Factory. I went with a bunch of my friends, and it was really fun. We all got a pint of guinness at the end of the tour, in the sky bar. The sky bar is on the seventh floor. The eighth floor in American. The ceilings are pretty high, too, so we were really high up. Oh, and I should mention that the tour bit of Guinness Factory is shaped like a pint glass-- the world's largest pint glass-- and we were on the top bit of it. Not only is that pretty fun to think about, but since the walls are all glass, the view is just amazing. It was perfect. It was dusk, and Dublin's lights were all on and glowing beautifully. The actual guinness ended up being my least favorite part of it all, but that's hardly surprising. I've never come across a beer that I actually like. But, it's something you just have to try in Ireland. And, it was my first legal drink ever. My first drink in public.

My second drink was much more delicious. I actually think it should be sort of counted as my first drink, since it was the first one I chose and the first one I paid for. Ordering it was kind of funny, since it was an orgasm. But it was amazing. Best drink I've ever, ever had. I can't remember everything that was in it, but there was Kahlua, amaretto liqueur, some other stuff, and ice cream. I got a strawberry daiquiri after that, which was perfectly lovely, but I don't think anything could top the orgasm.

That last sentence? Yeah. Whoever named that drink was really mean, and really smart.

We went to the Brazen Head after that. The Brazen Head is the oldest pub in Ireland. According to google, it was built in 1198. So, yeah. Old. And awesome. The first thing we noticed when we got there was the singing. We got our drinks (I got a gin and tonic, which was pretty good) and followed the sound of the music. It was traditional Irish music, sung amazingly by these, of course, Irish singers. The pub was just full enough that it was perfectly cozy without being crowded, and everyone was clapping to the music. It was all so cheery and amazing and Irish. That was the moment it really hit me that we were in Ireland, because that was how Ireland was supposed to be. It might have been the best moment of the night. I think it was. It was fantastic.

Oh, and guess what? I didn't get carded at any of the pubs, and I went to three. And people usually make fun of me for looking 15. Well, I'm proud. And stoked. And can't wait for tonight.

I promise my next post will have pictures! I haven't been taking as many as I planned yet, but it'll happen.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Lifetime Movies They Need To Make

I should be packing, but as it happens, procrastinating's one of my talents. Actually, I'm so good at procrastinating that I've almost forgotten how not to procrastinate. Yay me. Anyway, yesterday I decided that watching a bunch of Lifetime movies was infinitely preferable to being productive. Yay me again. It was fun. And it got me thinking about Lifetime movies that I don't think exist (but, I'm not double checking. If they do exist, that obviously just means that I have a very rich future ahead of me making fantastically shitty movies) but should.

Here's what I have so far.

STD School

There's this kid at this school who comes from a broken home. So, in an effort to push away the pain, he starts seeing a lot of prostitutes, and before long (like, after a week or something. Yup. A week sounds good) he's contracted every STD, ever. When he finds this out, he's all like, "I don't want anymore STDS!" and swears off all sex with prostitutes, and starts having sex with his classmates instead. All of them. So, all of the kids in school end up with with every STD ever, too. And the girls all end up pregnant, and some of the boys, too, and when the babies are born, they also all have STDs. And it's a big news story, too. And lessons are learned on every side.

She Was Only Seven-- Ye Olde Lifetimee Speciale

Harken back to the days of olde. The 1800s or something. Before the days of pollution (except for coal. And the tears of small children slaving away in the coal mines), loose women (well, they were killed by Jack the Ripper), and everything else bad, there was the man who started it all. (Ignore the fact that that statement doesn't make sense.) And his niece. Pretty, seven year old Sarah. Her parents are dead. Of Black Plague. Luckily, her uncle takes her in. Unluckily, however, he is also an opium dealer, and he shows her his wicked world. Before long, little Sarah becomes an addict, spending all of her time in opium dens. And drugs aren't her only vice. She also gambles with the Pokemon cards her uncles gets with the opium. And then she dies. Of an excessively sinful life at such a young age. But, her death is a turning point for her uncle, and he vows to never have anything to do with opium or weird little animated things ever again. But then he dies. Of Black Plague. And grief.

Do You Know The Ripper Man?-- Ye Olde Lifetime Speciale

There's this woman, and she actually isn't a prostitute-- I mean, Lifetime never starts out with those types of women-- but she is dressing in more revealing clothes then she would usually. You see, her husband just died-- he choked on his priest collar-- and this is the form her grief has taken. But, when Jack the Ripper sees her wandering the dark London alleyways, he doesn't doesn't know this. So he stabs her. She takes a while to die, but she's conscious throughout. She whispers to Jack the Ripper that she wasn't really a prostitute and, overcome with guilt, he stays with her till the end. As she dies in his arms, they whisper to each other all of their deepest secrets and heartaches. Also, I think Jack the Ripper should be a pirate. So he can thoughtfully mutter, "arrr," whenever the woman says anything particularly deep.

Tell My Mother I Loved Her-- A Lifetime Movie and Ghost Adventures Joint Production

There was once a little girl, but she was killed by some really awful person. Now, she haunts some house by the sea, crying all the time. Because of her, no one ever wants to move there. They hear her ghostly wailing as they check out the house, and then they flee. But now, Zak Bagans is moving in, and he won't rest until he finds out why this little ghost girl is so upset. He threatens other ghosts, takes his steroids, flexes his muscles, gasps over scratches, and calls every female he comes across, "sweetie." And the ghost stops crying, because, really, this is all she ever wanted.

Ian Somerhalder Is Pretty.

The plot of this? Doesn't matter. Ian Somerhalder just needs to be in it. All of it. Because he's pretty.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Not Real

I kind of wonder when it's going to hit me. When I'm going to realize that I'm actually actually going to a foreign country, and that I'm really really going to live there for four hopefully spectacular months. Because it hasn't yet, even though I leave in less than three days. I mean, rationally I know I'm going to Ireland. I know that mid-Monday, I'll be crossing Sagamore Bridge on my way to the airport. I know that by early Tuesday morning, I'll be in Ireland. But it doesn't feel like that. I feel like I'm still living my life as usual on Cape Cod, and that when I leave it, I'll just be on my way to Vermont, of course, because that's how it goes.

When I first started college, I didn't think I'd study abroad. I wanted to, but I didn't think I'd be able to because of the cost, so I didn't much think about it at all. But when I found out that my college had a teeny campus in Ireland, and that it costs exactly what it does to go to normal Champlain, that sounded doable. So, I applied. But even then, I didn't really think I'd get in. I figured that probably everyone was applying, and since there's technically limited spaces, there was no chance I'd get in, ever. I figured only really awesome people actually got to study abroad. People to whom life comes as easily as a smile. Not me. I was almost amazed when I actually did get in, even though, as far as I know, everyone who applied was accepted. All of that was ages ago, but it-- the fact that Ireland's actually happening-- still feels like a fairy tale. Like I'll wake up to find that all of this was just a dream. I mean, I know that's cliche, but I think some cliches are only cliches because they're true so often.

Anyway, before I bore all of you with my basically incoherent ramblings, here's what I'm leaving:

West Dennis Beach. Not the Cape's prettiest beach, but it has a little board walk that's perfect when you don't want to get your boots all sandy. Beaches are best without shoes, but it's not quite bare feet weather. You know, though, in May, when I get back, it will be.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

So Close So Close So Close So

A few days ago, my dad promised me a kitten if I don't come home from Ireland pregnant. Well, actually, he said, "if I don't come home with a baby," which, since I'm only going to be there for four months, would really be impossible unless I smuggled some random person's infant under my coat, and even then I don't think that would work. I'm pretty sure I would get stopped at security or something. So, I could technically come back from Ireland slightly pregnant and still be owed a kitten. Guess he didn't think that one through.

It's really funny, though. My parents honestly almost seem worried that I'll get pregnant. I'm not sure what it says about them (or me, though I'm pretty sure it has more to do with them) that they're so concerned, but I just find it ridiculously entertaining. And I can't complain about getting a kitten out of it. It'll be one thing to look forward to when I have to leave in May.

One time in high school, my dad asked me if I was pregnant. Really. I can't remember why-- I think I was being moody or something, so he looked me in the eyes and asked me if I was pregnant. I giggled. There was no other way to respond to that question.

I think if he ever asks me again whether or not I'm pregnant, I'll tell him that I am, just to see whether he believes me. Except not, because I'm the worst liar in the world when it comes to things like that. I'd just ruin it by laughing. But I might try, anyway. Liven things up a bit.

(PS.. only four and a half days to go. Yes, I still freak out about the plane ride when I think of it. Watching LOST last year was a very bad idea. And, I still need to pack. Even though I'm not bringing much, it's pretty daunting. I'm usually pretty good about remembering most everything, but I can just see myself forgetting something totally vital. I have my fingers crossed. Hopefully, that'll be enough, but just in case, I've also knocked on wood.)