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.

Half

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.

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.

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.

Look how pretty this place is.

The blue one's my favorite.

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.