Special Edition: "Am I right?"

Blogs by Tricia

Wednesday: Well, after a quick 47 hour trip...Including taco dip, crying babies, and our first crush...a flight attendant who will remain anonymous...we made it to GALWAY! Like the tinkers we are, Kelly and I walked through the bricked streets of Galway in search of our hotel, leopard print luggage in tow. Our hotel turned out to be a really nice place on the river, which I thought was Galway Bay. We were of course too early for check in, since our flight got in at 6 am, but we managed to spend all of Kelly's souvenir money in under two hours, and then proceed to sit and stare at the receptionist at the hotel until she gave us our room keys. After taking a 3 hour nap and learning how to use the tub/shower, we were ready to meet Mandy at Quay's for what else...fish and chips. (Kelly and I are on a very strict diet...fish and chips with a side of Bulmer's morning, noon, and night) We were a little late, but made our way through the Irish crowd and found Mandy and her roommie Katie. We ate and chatted about our flight and about the woman buying out the duty free on the plane...DUTY FREE...then Kelly and I returned to our room to watch reruns of my super sweet 16 and fall into our drug induced sleep.

Thursday: Today Mandy was going to the Aran Islands with her school, so Kelly and I booked our own bus/boat ride to the islands. We went to the largest of the islands...Inishmore. After docking, Kelly and I went shopping through the Aran sweater outlets. We bought ourselves some Irish trinkets and then noticed that we were the only ones left on the dock. After asking a store cashier how this island works...do we walk, bike, take a bus...we found a man wearing Oakley sunglasses in a beat up Toyota bus/van. He told us to come back in a half an hour and he would show us around the island...7 churches, the fort, last cottage, and some seals. Sure enough he saved us two seats right next to him for the ride. I tried my hardest to squeeze as close as I could to Kelly because every time Patrick, our tour guide and local connoisseur of all things Aran, shifted into a different gear he rubbed my knee...accident? There was also a family in the mini van with us which included a little girl wearing a crop topped sweatshirt...who Patrick affectionately called "Lil Madame". We started our ride and Patrick introduced himself to us and pointed out the sights. We saw his parents' house, the church, and his local hang out...Joe Watty's. He also told us some history of the island. Here is an excerpt of Patrick explaining homeownership on the island..."Only people born on the island can own a house here...am I right? A house on the island goes for about 300,000 euros...am I right? The only way someone other than an islander can own a home on the island is if they marry someone born on the island...and ladies I am single...am I right?" Every local who passed us on the road gave Patrick a wave and a smile...even the local guarda...who had eyes as blue as the Atlantic. (Yes, this is turning into an Irish Harlequinn) We finally made it around most of the island...am I right...and stopped at a fort with some crazy gaelic name. Kelly and I climed the great wall of china to see this fort and some cliffs. On our way up the mile walk through broken stones, it started to pour. By the time we made it up to the cliffs we were both drowned rats...am I right? We climbed back down and ate some purred soup and flavorless brown bread...no fish and chips on this part of the island. Kelly befriended some stray dogs, one that was very cheeky, and then Patrick picked us up to drive us back to the ferry dock. Here is another excerpt of Patrick reminiscing about his trip to Illinois..."Oh Chicago, the Windy City...am I right? Been there, done that...am I right? I was in Lake Geneva for a time...am I right?" We're really not sure if he was right or wrong about anything, but we had a great time! After coming back from the islands...where Kelly and I are going to move...I'm marrying Patrick and Kelly's marrying the guarda...and open a hair braiding spot (like the "islands")...we stopped and ate fish and chips at our hotel. Then we got ready to hit the Galway clubs with Mandy and Katie.

The rest of our adventures can be read in Mandy's blog today...am I right?

last Night in Town!

I woke up this morning at about 8 am, even though I went to bed at 4 am. So annoying! Oh well, so I continued packing and getting stuff together. Then Kelly and Tricia came with their bags and their Neil Diamond Loving Cab Driver to dump off their luggage. I took them with me to our farewell reception. It was actually quite nice. It was in the pretty, quadrangle building on campus and the wine was flowing. Boy Racer even opened up bottles of Old Style with his belt buckle. It would've been easier if he took the belt off instead of opening bottles with his crotch, but then his pants would've fallen down. The professors made a nice speech then gave us our papers. I got an A on my paper, which means I got an A in the class. Hot dog! So to celebrate we went shopping.

We shopped and I found the prettiest claddagh necklace. I am so excited. I was looking for one to buy the whole month I was here. For a break from shopping, we went to Richardson's for a pint and some funny pictures. Because god forbid we be normal for a half hour.

After a pint, we went to Nora Barnacle's home. I knocked but she wasn't home.

After some sight-seeing we got some yummy yummy ice cream. I loved it. I literally LOVED it.

And now I'm damaged goods...

At any rate, after wandering around the city, we met Katie for fish and chips for one last time at McDonagh's. Then went for a pint at King's Head... Again, for one last time.

Things are starting to get really sad. One of my professor's, Sandra Alcosser, started to say goodbye to me. And I started to get a little choked up. Then I said, "I'm in denial. I can't even think about leaving." And she said "Awe.... Then gave me a hug." HEEELOOOOO letter of recommendation.

Tonight we'll just be hanging out and packing. We have a long day tomorrow for our trip to Dublin! We leave on a 9:40 train and get in at noonish. Unfortunately, I will not be able to update you on my journeys daily until my return in the states. Try to carry on without me!

Singeing In The Rain

No, folks. That is no typo.

Today we went on a day trip with class to the Aran Islands. More specifically, we went to Innish Mein, the least touristy, and therefore the most boring. But I digress.

We took a two story, red bus and we were a bit too excited about doing so.


At the port an hour away, I of course saw Kelly in the distance smoking probably her third ciggie of the day and Tricia waving at me creepily. They'd planned their own day trip to The Aran Islands and all the boats leave from the same port. Their ferry was a two story floating mall with a bar and a shop. Ours was a tugboat.

At any rate, we made it and I reckon I got a kidney infection from holding in my pee for so long. Our tour guide was a native of the island named Maureen in English and Aadhnashnascdna in Gaelic. Her grandparents houses Singe, the famous Irish writer as he wrote on the island. We had some quintessental vegetable soup at a nice little restaurant run by Maureen's sister, Theresa. Then we toured an old fortress where Singe used to write.



After the fortress, we took a tour of Singe's cottage where Maureen's grandparents hosted Singe and where her OTHER sister gave us a tour. Everyone was so nice on the island, only 200 people live there and there are only about 10 children. Kind of sad. No one comes back, but Irish is the first language. I learn some new words: fader is party pooper and sciemeloughlo is a lolly-gagger? How about that?

There is someone in my group whom I despise. She is the antithesis of me. I almost punched her in the face today. I am so lucky to have the roommates I have because I can't imagine being with some of these people. What's great about the people I am with is that we're all different, but in ways we can appreciate. Katie and are are both pretty bitchy and we know it, at least, so that helps. And I am sure we annoy other people but at least we are being honest, which is alot more than most people can say.

Anyhoo, it rained on and off and on the return ferry we sat on the inside. When we got to the port, we were waiting on the bus for all the usual people who were late when there was a loud thud on the window, I turned in a panic only to see Kelly's mug pressed up against the bus window. I wet myself all over again. Everyone was like, "do you know that girl?" and I was like... no.

Tonight we went to a club called Cuba. It was pretty Euro and had a picture of Fidel Castro inside. The dance floor was like a b.o. bomb and the guys were so weird. I've never been so happy to have a boyfriend before. Ok, I have, but this just made me even more thankftul to have a normal guy as a boyfriend. There was one guy there, I swear, was walking like an egyptian.

Here is a recap of one interaction:
random guy: dancing like a nuthead, "hey, come here. Come here."
Me: "No!" "No!" And making a motion with my hands like i am pushing him a way without toughing him, "poo-pooing him" if you will.

But I did wear a new shirt I rationalized buying here, so that is exciting.

I love myself some Kelly!

I was nervous at first for my friends from college to be with my roommate, Katie from here because they're really different and I was worried things would be werd, but they weren't. Everything was great. Especially because nothing fixes the awkardness of a meeting of two different groups of friends like a random African man claiming to be Tupac. Unfortunately, my other roommates couldn't make it out. Diana is still sick, which is so sad :( and Carrie wasn't feeling up to it, but tomorrow we have our final reception and can hopefully have some "closure." lol. jk. Anyone who remembers my last two relationswhips will appreciate that comment.

Wow, there are some loud Italians outside yelling. WTF?

Let's DO THIS!

Ah, humpday.
It's killing me that I know that Tricia and Kelly are here, wandering around the streets of Ireland someplace and I can't see them yet. At least that's what I hope is happening. I hope they're not still stuck at Newark overnight, like I was.

Today was our last workshop. To top it all off, we started a half hour late, and blowbagged just for old times sake before having a proper reading. I read the three poemd I'd already workshopped because the printer wasn't working and I couldn't offer any new poems. Also because I am spent, done, and spent again with this school thing. Today the student assistant from the summer school office stopped me and said they had no receipt of my tuition payment. I had another panic attack (had one yesterday, too) Then I found the email confirmation I got after sending the check about three months ago from the office. Suck it, micks.

So, I've been thinking about how critical the Irish are of American foriegn affairs and how much they hate G Dub. (Except for one crazy guy we met that one night who supported the war and Dubya and spit on us). And it's funny... because Ireland doesn't even have an army really. And I think it's because they can't get their shit together. Don't get me wrong, I am not so much a fan of Bushie. But I mean, at least we plan things, and keep records of death tolls and tuition payments in the States. The Irish pretend to be on their high horses about the war in the middle east, or really their high stools, but really their stance is the result of not knowing what it's like to have your shit together. It must be pretty easy to critique another country from a bar stool and over a pint on your lunch break of your five hour work day. Ireland work schedule: 10-12, break from 12-2:30, 2:30-5... no joke. It's like when someone makes a joke about my little brother being mentally unbalanced and slightly tranvestite-ish. I mean, it's funny when I say it, or when my mom calls him a wendy, but it's not funny when anyone else says it. Ok, it is a little bit. Right, Nate?


Anyhoo, and I really don't think the Irish have much to talk about when it comes to conflict and funny business when most of them surrendered their language. SELL OUTS!

Well, that's my lunchtime soapbox. We're viewing a special screening of an interview with John McGahern, a popular and celebrated writer in Ireland who used to come to NUIG for the summer before he kicked it a couple months ago.

And now for the afternoon update: my tummy hurts. I'll get through.... somehow... some way. someday. SOMEDAY.

A scenerio that just occured:
Me: Is this illegal?
Katie: Yeah.
Me: Okay!

I'll let you guess what that's about.

Um, so it is the eve of humpday right now and I am currently waiting for the shower to, not be hot, but to be maybe tepid. I'd settle for tepid. I met up with Kelly and Tricia for dinner with Katie then out for trad and some drinks. It's so weird seeing people you know someplace foreign after a month of swearing you've seen people that you really haven't. You know whatI mean?

Then we walked around for a bit, showed them the sites.
Tomorrow we're going on a trip to the Arn Island for class... Kelly and Tricia are going to the same place on their own. Then we're meeting up later to go out for one last hoorah in Galway. So sad. We're going to suck it up after a long day 9am-7 pm and go out to a club. The only thing we really have on Friday though is a farewell reception. We can swing it.

Sadly, I didn't take any interesting pictures today.
So try to sleep tonight, everyone.

~Mandy

Coole High Harmony

Monday as a class we had to turn in our reaction papers to one of the visiting writers. I did Rita Ann Higgins b.c. she's a poet and I need to focus on poetry, but I wish I would've done Hugo Hamilton. I'd already written three pages before he came, so I just went with it.

We were supposed to hand in the paper before getting on the bus, so I went early at nine to campus... We were supposed to leave at 10:15, and had a problem printing my paper out, so I am glad that I went early. It was also drizzling as it does most mornings in Ireland. Right when I was getting onto the bus it began raining cats and dogs. We just made it and it was great to see people running around outside with no umbrellas and rain gear soaking like wet dogs then get into the bus and complain about being wet and how they didn't bring any rain gear. Um, jackass. It's Ireland. Always have an umbrella. It rains here a lot. Duh!

So we waited about 20 minutes for stupid people who have no concept of time then we actually went back to our apartments to find the stupidest girl who had begun walking home and I think didn't even want to come on the trip so she was pissed our professor came and got her... awesome. She was so soaking wet Katie and I had to disconnect eye contact for a half hour. I am just so sick of people who have no concept of time. I know I am anal retentive about being prompt but come on, when it's the same people late all the time, just leave them. How else will they learn to be on time? Someone else's mother who should be smacked, I think.

For the first leg of our excursion we went to Coole Park, pronounced "Cool" and it was the exact opposite. Warm and muggy... and buggy. Turns out the former estate of Lady Gregory, the woman who in essence created Irish Heritage and Literature for the modern ages is now just a forest preserve pretty much. Catholics and Protestants took turn burning her estates down, so there's nothing there. So the tour was a lot of us being shown where things used to be and not where they are now. "Here's where Lady Gregory's estate used to be" "Here's where they would've played cricket." "Here's where apple trees used to be." "Here's where a lake used to be..." That's right, where a LAKE used to be... Now gone. I'll spare you the pictures of where all these places used to be.

An interesting actual thing, however, was something called "The Autograph Tree." Lady Gregory was known as the patron of writers, artists, and poets in Ireland. So she invited many famous writers to scratch their initials into this copper birch tree in her garden including William Butler Yeats and George Bernard Shaw.

They wouldn't let me sign my name.... for some rude, Irish reason.

After Coole Park, we went to Thoorballylee. No joke. That's the name... Pronounced Thoor-bail-luh-lee. This is a tower that served as a home for Yeats and his family for a couple years. It was an old Normand fortress that he bought with the hopes of refurbishing, but of course didn't. So typical male, right? Anyhoo, the ground floor flooded every winter so the family kept having to move up floors ever so often. It's right on a river and is a lot bigger than it looks like from the outside.

It was very similar to Blarney castle, actually... A lot of twisting and turning staircases that got smaller as you went. I swear, Irish people WERE leprechauns at one point because they were SO small. Check it out: Keep in mind, I'm five foot one.

At night, as a class we went to see a play/musical as a part of the Arts Festival. It was called King Ubu, a modernization of an older play by the same name I guess. It was weird and crass and I didn't like it. They used the f bomb a lot which made me uncomfortable because there were nuns sitting behind us. The King was king of "Poo-land" and the Americans were the bad guys. What else is new?

After the play, Katie, Carrie, and I took a load off at Quay's and listened to some music. I guess after we left there was Irish dancing. We missed it. Oh well. Pub of the Year Award!

Tricia and Kelly are coming tomorrow. I am so excited. I can hardly stand it!

The Final COUUUNTDOOOOWN...

(bad 80's song)

This weekend was our final full weekend in Galway. Kind of sad and weird. Unfortunately, we were too spent from Friday night to do anything major on Saturday night. Katie and I attempted though. We walked downtown to get tickets for a show playing this week with the festival, but it was sold out. So we wandered around and stumbled upon a weird parade with no theme in mind at all. There were creepy people dressed up as big scary monkeys, kids in garbage bags, an Irish Elvis, and a six-year-old Irish boy in a soccer uniform holding two clumps of grass and yelling: "Grass up your ass!" There is supposed to be a bigger parade Sunday, but I think this one was an underground more weird one.

Actually it was funny because we found it once, then kept trying to avoid it because it was hard to get around... With all the people. So we kept making these detours and ending up at the parade again. The worst part was... We kept seeing the same part of the parade. Not even anything new... We were going at the same pace there were, so the Irish Elvis and monkeys was funny the first time, but the fourth and fifth time, well, it was just old.

Saturday night the guys from our group and living next door to us had a big party. I am pretty sure everyone from our program was there, but us. Somehow we've excluded ourselves from the twenty-year-olds from San Diego. I wonder how the ef that happened? Maybe being completely condescending yatches all month? Oh well, I slept and got some reading done instead.

Today, Sunday I went to mass at the cathedral since we've been on weekend trips and plus it's also my mom's birthday. WOO! Pour a little out for Carol. Then I checked out the farmer's market. There was a visiting choir from Austria in for the festival. The best part of the mass was at the end when the choir sang the Irish Blessing. It was so pretty and such a great gesture. It gave me the chills. The priest had already dismounted the pommel horse, I mean the altar, but he came back to say that's the first time a visiting country had come and sang "An Irish Blessing." And what a great gesture it was (that's what I had just thought inside my head, yeah?) So everyone was crying and gave them a standing ovation and the Austrians just stood there awkwardly not really understanding the power of what they'd just done... Plus, They're Austrians which is similar to Germans which means they pretty much have no emotions.

After church I came back and changed my garb. At this point it had rained and was windy, about 65 or so degrees, but seemingly cooler with the wind. But convinced it was going to get nicer, I didn't wear a coat to the parade today. I was glad later because it ended up being about 75 degrees and sunny for the remainder of the day. Katie and I met for the parade. Ok guys, there are these places here called "off license" dealers. Sometimes they are attached to licensed bars, sometimes they are not. But you walk in and can just buy a can of beer and then leave. They don't have licenses to serve only to sell. So you can walk around all you want with your booze. It's fantastic. So I did that... Then did that again with Katie.

The parade was really cool. The theme was "the Big River." I don't know what big river. Probably NOT the Mississippi. I can't type that word without spelling it out loud. Anyways, so everything and everyone in the parade was some kind of sea creature or type of water thingie. Whatever.

We kept calling these things crabs, but looking at these pics, I realize they are lobsters... with the extra legs and all. Stupid asses.

Mind you... these are children on stilts... children... dressed as dragonflies. So cute.

This was a lot more artsy than any parade I've been to in the states. hardly any floats, just a lot of dancing and "Get In shape Girl" dancing ribbons... You girls know what I am talking about. And the costumes were a lot more impressive than anything I've seen in the Wheaton parade. Katie and I had gotten to the route early so we would have a spot than stupid mom asses got in our way. Like they could just stand in front of us, as we sat on the curb, like we weren't there. So we spent time before the parade started saying passive aggressive comments like, "boy, I am sure glad I got here early to save a spot so that someone could stand in front of me" or "Wow, I hope this person stands in front of me the whole time" or "I like how these moms are pretending to be videotaping for their children but are really doing it for themselves." Not really original, no, but effective. It worked. They all moved. Except for this one older woman who didn't even have any kids... She came and stood right in front of us, shoving children out of the way so there was room for her front butt. I solved the situation though by standing directly in front of her for every picture I took. I'm classy.

After the parade, we went to a place called "La Salsa." I know. I don't usually go for Mexican food more than once a year, but I was starving... I know, Mexican food in Ireland. Who knew? And it wasn't bad, except I cut my burrito on tin foil and some of it got in my food so I bit down on it on my crown and it hurt so bad I thought I was going to die. It was like a chemistry experiment went array in my mouth. It still smarts hours later. To take the edge off, Katie and I got a pint to go and went and sat by the river and watched cute kids eat ice cream cones. Irish kids are so cute with their freckles and their orange hair, and their ginormous heads. Seriously... ginormously cute fat heads. So cute. Katie took some pics of them but I felt creepy doing that.

Anyhoo, tomorrow we have another all day trip for class. We're going to Coole Park, the land of Lady Gregory and James Joyce for you literary fans out there. We have a paper due tomorrow and it needs to be handed in before we get on the bus. This means we are going to be leaving late because stupid state school 19 year olds have no concept of time and how rude it is to be late. They'll show up to campus to print their stuff out at 10:15, the exact time we should be leaving. That being said, I'll be leaving for campus at 9 am to ensure that I have my crap together. What a novel concept. I'm SUCH an amazing person. Seriously. And modest. No seriously.

Tricia and Kelly get here Wednesday. I can't wait for them to show up at my doorstep at 8 am drunk from the in flight wine! WOO HOO!

The Twilight Zone

So, last night was one of the weirdest, most random nights of my life. I'll preface this blog by saying this: getting bit in the ass by a male stranger was the most normal thing that happened last night.

It started off normally enough, with Carrie, Katie, and I sharing the bulmers that Diana gave us for feeling bad for being sick. (She's still on the mend, folks. Pour a little out for her). Then we walked into town and went to Eyre Square. We figured they'd be less touristy with the Arts Festival that is on town this weekend. It's funny we feel as though it's our town now and we don't like intruders. Anyways, we went to a bar called Connelly's. It was a stereotypical old guy bar. Katie didn't want to go in and first because it was full of guys... The same reason I wanted to go in. Free drinks. Anyways, we stayed for a drink met some older guys who insisted on getting a picture with me. (Katie has it, I don't) Then when I had just scored us all a free round, Carrie and Katie wanted to leave. Katie didn't want to have to stay and talk to them for the rest of the night just because they bought us a round.

Anyways, so we headed down Shop street to King's Head. It was a different crowd then usual because of the festival, a lot of foreigners, etc. Plus it was later than when we usually went and there was some fun music playing. Carrie decided to be a dancing maniac. We first met a guy named Robin... Yes, a man named Robin. The reason I know this is his name is because he owns a bar in Dublin and gave me his card for when I come with Kelly and Tricia this coming weekend so we can drink for free. Anyways, the reason we noticed Robin was because he was failing miserably to strike up a conversation with a women who was Spanish and didn't understand him. "Is this a good band?" "Que?" "Is this a good band?" "Que?" "Ah, feck it."

So we got acquainted. He said he could tell we were American because Irish girls don't drink Guinness. I said it's probably because they're worried about getting bigger and even more attractive. Then he apologized in case he had offended us, which he didn't Because we didn't really care. He asked where a good club was in Galway, and since we're not the club types, we had no idea what to tell him. We've sworn we'll go this coming thursday, as our last hurrah. Anyways, so I asked him, "So you're know from Galway?" And he was really offended, "fuck no. I'm from Dublin." This all corresponds with what I've heard from Dubliners. They're snobby. So then we went around and said where we were all from then he goes to me, "So, you're from Indiana?" And I was like, "feck no. I'm from Chicago."

Then he went off to some club and we were soon surrounded by another group of girls. They were pretty harmless, again, not from Galway and had names like Bobby, Sean and Seamus. They were obviously pretty young. We asked them to take our picture and they took my camera and began taking pictures of each other, like this:

This is the chap who asked me to marry him. His friend told me he had a nice plot of land in the midlands of Ireland, and he was just looking for a wife. Which was funny also because he was about twenty one. This is the guy who bit my ass. Katie took a picture of it, and has that one, too. It hurt. They didn't care that we had boyfriends.

Then his friend bit Katie's ass, then mine. Then he suddenly apologized profusely like he was dared and suddenly felt awful about it.



The last one is great because of the story behind it. This guy told us he was a model then when he took the pic with us, he was like "now you owe me money." Then I looked at the picture on my camera and said. "No, I think YOU owe ME money." How cute would this pic have been without him?

Anyways, things got really weird when Carrie began walking home by herself and ignoring us. WTF Carrie? Don't hate. We were figuring out what to do when some guy came up and said that it was too early for us to go home and that we needed to come to a bar for one last drink. So we did, thinking that he'd buy drinks for us. But he didn't in fact he tried to make Carrie buy his drink. That's when it started getting weird. So then he started talking about how right G Dub was for, for going into war in Iraq, etc. Like he was a redneck American, but he was really from Ireland. Then Katie started talking about how G Dub just went to war to finish what his dad didn't do. Then the guy said she was making light of the thousands of people who were dying over there. So Katie started crying and we went to another table. When we left we could see the guy still talking to himself at the table, then disappeared for a while. Then was talking to the bouncers. It seems he knew them and the one bouncer came over and told us to hurry up and finish our drinks and leave. And Katie said we'd leave when everyone else did. So weird. So we met another nice group of Irish guys and Katie was explaining to them what happened when the weirdo from before came back, and asked, "can I just say one more thing." And we said no, but then he got right up in our business and started spewing all this pro Bush crap about the war and Saddam killing babies and how Bush was just the man to fix everything. Then he starts spitting on us. And the guys we were now with were trying to get him to leave. Finally after about another five minutes, another bouncer came and pushed him out. So weird, and the argument in itself was weird because this random Irish guy was the one defending the states and Katie was the one defying it. And plus, if back home some guy was in a girl's face like that he'd get kicked out in a millisecond. The guys we met though, were much nicer and reinstalled our faith in Irish people again. Which is good. It was my first negative experience here. I really wanted to go home last night.

And when I woke up at noon this morning, I really wanted to go back to bed. It's rainy on and off today, so I plan on staying inside and vegging. Katie fell down the stairs last night and sprained her ankle after I went to bed and refused to smoke with her. We're supposed to go into the city tonight to see a show and listen to some music, but I am not drinking tonight.

Kenmore Abbey and the Smelliest Man Alive

Yesterday during the day we went on a day trip to tour Connemara and Kylemore Abbey. Our tour guise was named Tom and he was awesome. The whole way he told us interesting information about each town we past and cracked some Irish jokes. OH TOM! For example, an interesting tidbit including how the farmers harvest peat/sod and how the farmers use it to fuel their homes during the winter.

Something else I learned, not from Tom, but a sad story nonetheless is that during the mass emigration from Ireland during and after the potato famine is that families would have American wakes for their sons leaving for America. Transportation was so hard to come by and so expensive that they know their sons would never return, that they would never visit them in America. So they would have wakes for their sons while they were still alive, and present, because they'd never see them again before they died. That's what the song "Danny Boy" is about.

Anyways, we stopped at a couple places, but the main stop was obviously Kylemore Abbey. It is a beautiful piece of architecture that a man made for his family and his wife. It took years to build and gave over 100 people jobs. The home even had it's own fire brigade. But the woman died on a visit to Cairo back in the day, and the guy went crazy and became poor without his wife and sold the house. Years later, the Irish Benedictine nuns made the house into their abbey. The abbey is huge, but on the tour you're only allowed to see three rooms. Kind of a rip off. As Katie said, "7 euro for only three rooms? What a rip off. There'd better be a bomb ass gift shop." And there was!

The rest of the abbey is cloistered and private for the Sisters and their school. Yes, there is a boarding and day school in the abbey. Isn't that crazy? My high school was built in the 70's and therefore much uglier than this place. I wish I would've worn my "everyone loves a catholic girl shirt" a) because it would be inappropriate and b) as Katie pointed out I could go up to the one nun we saw and get a picture with her and say "You know what I am talking about, right sista?" and then give her a high five. lol.

There is also a restored cathedral/church on the grounds as well as a mausoleum. I peed my pants walking over to it because I saw in the distance Katie ask Carrie, "when was Kylemore Abbey born?" And Carrie just look at her like, "Wtf are you talking about?" After that, you can take a shuttle to the kylemore abbey gardens. I won't bore you with all the pictures, but it was beautiful and we again lucked out with the weather. (I'll just bore you with some of the pictures)

So on our return trip we stopped at a couple picture points. This is where I took the pic of the smelliest man alive on our bus.


Seriously, it was disgusting. And he had a wife! He was from someplace in Eastern Europe and was all oily and smelly. It was the worst b.o I'd ever smelled and that's saying a lot... I taught 120 14 year old boys during the hot August months with no A.C. Katie explained that in some places in Europe the scent is considered masculine. If that's the case, this guy was the most masculine man on the planet. At one point he stood up to shut the windows on the roof of the bus and when he raised his armpits I nearly lost consciousness. I am not being sarcastic. I gagged in my mouth and vurped. Then smelly von smellerberg was cold so he asked the driver to turn off the ac, which was fine. Except it's Ireland, so ten minutes later it was burning up. I decided to be passive aggressive and just keep opening and closing the vent thing so it made a lot of noise and Tom would turn the AC back on..... And he did. Katie just shook her head at me.

On the way back we stopped at the connemara marble factory and store, which is where the bracelet of my gramma's that I wear is from. But things were pricey and not as pretty as my bracelet. We also stopped at the Quiet Man Cottage. We got off and took a pic and were pretty much the only ones. "We suffered through three hours of John Wayne of course we're getting a gd picture.

What do you want on your Roundstone?

A dead jelly fish.




Today, as class we went to a fishing village in Connemara called Roundstone. Next Sunday they have a regatta with a lot of hookers. Hookers are a distinct type of fishing boat found in Galway. There was a whole bay of hookers and I took a picture of it:

Have you ever seen so many hookers in one place?

http://www.roundstone.ie/index.php

In theory, it should have been a great trip. We went to this famous poet and writer's home at the end of the pier where we had poetry and prose read to us in the garden. Unfortunately, the poems were about birds and bees and other boring parts of nature. The prose was something not meant to be read aloud, so it was hard to pay attention. After the reading we went to a pub for lunch called "The Shamrock." I had packed my own sandwich as to cut down on money I spend on food here, only to realize that it was moldy. So I was forced to eat a basket of fries the size of my head. (cue Debbie Downer music)

Outside the pub, Katie saw a dog tied to a chair while it's owner dined. Then we all watched as the dog got loose and proceeded into traffic, dragging it's leash behind him. NOOOOOOO not again! Without missing a bit, Katie, with her hands in her pockets said, "welp, I guess I'm off to save another canine." Then she called, to the owner, "is this your dog?" and the owner said, "no." And Katie goes are you sure? And the owner lady looked down at her chair and was like "OH GOD!"And grabbed the dog's leash and brought it back to its owner who hadn't even noticed it was gone.

Here is Katie looking triumphant:

After lunch we went for a walk at a beach called Dog's Bay.

I have no idea why it's called this, but the sand is evidently very special and scientists study it because it's made completely of crushed up shells. It's illegal to take sand home with you from this beach. Our tour leader, who was also one of the authors, led us and gave us alot of information about how you can see the levels of dead societies and civilizations in the layers of rock. But we were distracted by all these cows who were just chilling out on a cliff.

Katie tried to make me get closer, but I was scared to.While he was talking about the fault lines that ran throughout Ireland, we weree watching the cows pee and were giggling because we're ten. "they're peeing out of their butts!" Now, the best part about things is that it was raining, and about 60 degrees today, so you couldn't even swim or whatever.

The best part was, this girl we call "make up" because she wears a lot of it and has fake boobs was in the post office mailing these 1000 dollar pieces of art she saw on the wall of the pub. She missed the announcement of our professor who said some people could go on the walk, taking the bus... The others can just shop and the bus would return for them. So she freaked out, and thought we'd left her and ended up hitching a ride from two Spanish girls. We didn't know this right away, so everyone was freaking out. Plus, this girl is notoriously late and it's not like she's one of my friends. It was kind of sad though that none of her friends told anyone she wasn't there.

At any rate, it was still better than being in class all day.

Hottest Day in July in 100 Years!

That's right, folks. Yesterday, Tuesday, was the hottest day in July in 100 years here in Ireland. I'm so glad to be a part of the magic... And my fading tan lines thank you. Today might supersede yesterday and knock it off its podium, but we'll see. Even though it's about 80 degrees, a cloud cover is messing up with my laying out opportunities later this afternoon :( The great thing is since it doesn't get dark till about midnight in Ireland, the optimum tanning time is much longer during the day (rather than 10-2 like in the States).

This morning we had a reading by Hugo Hamilton, renowned prose writer who recently wrote a very famous memoir called Speckled People. His follow up memoir is called The Sailor in The Wardrobe. And no, Danny, Hugo is not gay. He's married. He's also such an incredible writer and a great guy. I wanted to give him a hug. Definitely my favorite writer/speaker so far. Yesterday I saw his book Speckled People on shelves and almost bought it. Then I went home and kicked myself because I saw that he was coming today! I was bummed because I wanted him to sign my book after the reading. So the reading was great and I went into this little new and used bookstore with two of my roomies and found his book... Actually Carrie did. Anyways, as I am wandering around like a stupid American, who do I nearly literally stumble into? HUGO HAMILTON! Then I turned into a bumbling, stunned idiot worse than any deer in headlights I've ever seen (I've never seen any). Here's a manuscript of the meeting:

Him: recognizing me from the reading because I am what you would say... Unforgettable. "oh, hello."
Me: "Hi"
Him "this is such a great bookstore isn't it?"
Me: "Yes, it really is a hidden gem." What? Who am I? Hidden gem? I'm officially my mom.
Him: "finding some good books?"
Me: "yes, actually. I am buying yours!"
Him: "That's so nice. Such loyalty."
Me: "yes, I am a loyal person." I know.
Awkward pause with some sweaty brow wiping
Him: "Would you like me to sign it?"
Me: "Oh yes, please. I'd love it. Let me just find a pen." (fumbling around in bag for pen)
Him: "Take your time."
Me: (still fumbling) I decide to say "Can you believe how hot it is outside?" (I know, cliches about the weather with a renowned Irish writer) "It sure is hot." I continue to ramble. "It reminds me of Chicago."
Him: nothing
Me: "that's where I am from... Chicago." Like he couldn't make the connection himself, like as katie said later, I would just be remarking on the weather of some random American city I had been to once, many years ago.
Him: nothing
Me: realizing he's not listening to me, but just waiting for the pen. "still can't find a pen." calling to Katie who doesn't hear me, "Katie."
Him: "I bet the store has one..." goes to counter.
The woman behind the counter is almost as palsy as I am at the moment, but throws a pen at him.


Hugh (that's what I call him now because we're b.f.f.) asked for my name, then signed my book... Then I paid for it. Hot dog.

It's pretty humid out right now... The kind of humid that makes you think you've wet yourself. And in my case, sometimes that is the case. I'm attempting to do two loads of laundry, but the machine ate my one coin for the washer, so I'll have to do a second load tomorrow. What a pain in the a! Tonight, despite the humidity I am going to attempt to start a paper we have due on Monday. Since the weekend means this arts festival and outings, I am guessing I should get a head start. It's supposed to be about 1500 words, which I think means 6 double spaced pages? I dunno. I can handle it.

Cripies it's humid. I am wearing a skirt, crossing my legs, and my leg keeps slipping off my other leg. That's what I get for shaving!

There is an apt of dirty, sweaty rugby players and I was walking past to do my laundry and one of them yelled, "I LOVE YOU!" and on my way back, running this time, someone else yells, "HE REALLY DOES LOVE YOU!"

What's funny is I couldn't look worse right now, make up sweated off, wearing my only semi clean clothes. These guys must be really hard up. After all, they're just used to kicking their balls around and playing with each other.

Crazies are taking over Galway

Ugh, I just wrote a super long blog and it got deleted. how annoying. I don't know how it happened... in a nutshell....

dirty hippies are talking over Galway for the arts festival this week. I don't like dirty hippies because I like things that are clean and pretty and have bows on them. Hippies don't wear bows in their dredlocks... just birds and cat skeletons.

The Island of the White Cow

Well, after much research, tears, and paper cuts, we got down to the bottom of the island's meaning. Inish means island and the rest is actually Bo Finne, as two separate words. One of those words means white, the other cow. It's hard to tell with Gaelic though.

The weekend was fantastic. Very tiring, but very relaxing... like most vacations. I must say though I am happy to be holed up in my bedroom without contact from any outside classmates. This weekend also reminded me of how lucky I got with being assigned to my roommates.

We left for Inishbofin Saturday morning, met on campus and then took a bus to Cleggan. Cleggan is a small, port village. It's the only port that gets you to Inishbofin. The ferry ride was about 40 minutes, although it seemed faster. We were so very lucky that the weather was perfect... about 75 and sunny.

We got to the Bof at about 3 pm and as usual, chaos ensued in the form of dis-organization. We weren't told any information; any information we did learn, we found out for ourselves. We just followed a mass of people to one of the two island hotels. Our profs were already snug in their rooms. And the poor woman who owned the hotel just essentially threw room keys at us and we fought for them in a mud pit. No, not really. Diana and I were in one room, and Carrie and Katie were paired up one room away. The rooms were nice, nothing spectacular, but the views were amazing and the water pressure and temperature was divine.

Friday afternoon we went to a beach and mostly laid out, as the temp. outside was still warm, but the ocean water was a cold-hearted snake. This little hidden beach we found was incredible and well worth the trek through sheep poop to get there. By the way, sheep were everywhere on this island. Everywhere... Alive and dead... Some belonging to people and some free range.










Here's a sheep just chilling at the beach.

As you may have noticed in previous posts, I've liked to discuss how awful Irish food is. But this weekend made up for it. The dinner the first night was some kind of beef in Guinness and it was fantastic. The dessert was something called sticky toffee pudding and it was the best thing I've ever eaten in my life. The Irish breakfast came complete with white and black pudding... If you don't know black pudding, or blood pudding is the left over parts of sausage combined with oats and pig's blood. White pudding is the same, minus the blood and plus some milk. I know... Not even close to being pudding... And very disgusting.

Here's a pic:

Friday night I was dealing with some WI so I went to bed early.
Saturday afternoon we had a workshop, some lunch. Then me and maybe a quarter of the students went on a hike that was supposed to be an hour, but ended up being about four because we got lost. When we started stumbling across sheep skeletons, I started getting nervous. I am not going to lie. (see skeletons below)

It was awful and great at the same time... great because my three roommates weren't there... Carrie and Katie were having pseudo lesbian time and Diana was staring death in the face in our hotel room... So I was able to get to know the few normal people in our group. (The one kid that I hate... blowbag.. brought his mountain bike, fell down a hill and scraped up his ugly face... Karma is a bitch, huh?)

Anyways, we made it to the blowhole... so overrated and to these cliffs that took us two hours to get to. My feet were decomposing as we walked. I swear... We walked through a bog. One girl got her foot caught in the bog and thought she was going to go under. She pulled her foot out but the shoe got stuck, so she had to pull that out... It was like Rooney in Ferris Bueller! And we went to an old abbey and to a crusty old cemetery... My favorite.

Saturday dinner was magnificent, as well. Turkey and potatoes and veggies. It was like Christmas. Well, thanksgiving... And the dessert was something from another heavenly realm. It had strawberry and rhubarb and cheesecake and sponge cake and whip cream.. All mixed together. After dinner we had a reading and I read a poem about my dad and Katie cried, so I didn't need to :) After the reading, me, Katie and Carrie had a couple drinks at the hotel pub and tried to get into the pants... I mean the mind of our guest reader named Michael. We had to talk to a lot of the people we'd usually rather not. They bombarded us with their stupidity, but I think a lot of it is how much younger they are. Don't get me wrong... Some are still retarded.

I spent the night in Katie and Carrie's room worried to catch the syphilis that was breeding itself in the infirmary of my real hotel room. I'm sorry, I meant stomach flu. Poor Diana, I didn't want to keep going in and out and bothering her, now did I want to catch it. So it was good for both parties involved. But Carrie, Katie, and I had a good time entertaining ourselves with stories of Paddy. We have an idea for a music video for her... Instead of "Hard our here for a Pimp" it could be "hard out here for a gimp" and Paddy could be on Inishbofin singing it with gold chains and a gold hip. It all started with me saying I was going to read the lyrics to that song as my poem at the reading..

Today we caught the ferry back around lunchtime, then took the bus back. The bus was kind enough to drop us off at our apartments, rather than the school... On the way there we had to haul all our crap to campus for no reason.

Katie and I laid out when we returned and tried to even out our tans... It was over 80 here today! Then we walked into town, grabbed a bit... I got a vanilla waffle cone from McDonald's off the Euro menu and we shared a pint. All in all, a fantastic weekend.

I am so tired and not looking forward to class, not looking forward to looking at the same people I've been with all weekend. I'll have more pics up through webshots.

Have a good one!

Not a Cloud in The Sky

Today was a lover-ly day. Not a cloud in the sky, not a one. All day. So I guess the week of crap weather had to happen so we could have this. It's supposed to be 78 this weekend, which is great because we're going away as a class to an island for the weekend and there's beaches!

Despite a pretty killer headache, I went for a run. Maybe to punish myself, really. But I went for a run along the river and I discovered a castle! Well, I mean other people discovered it before me, but it was the first time I discovered it for myself. Here are some pics of it: I really wanted to get closer but there was a river involved. There were cows and horses milling about which was very cool, too. My roommates and I were talking about how we could get to the other side of the river. There's a path on the other side, but we're not sure when it stops... since this is a ways down the river. Diana says, "there may be some barriers." And I say, "so? I'm sure people won't mind us going through their property." and she responds, "no, I mean physical barriers. Like fences... and... and water." I was thinking all figuratively. All this poetry has me confused.

Click here for the legend of Menlo Castle, which has been rebaptized as Mandy Castle this afternoon. http://homepage.eircom.net/~rookery/castle2.html

This afternoon I went outside and laid out... one of my favorite things to do. I am so happy the weather's finally getting nice. And I also read for class. When we go away this weekend we're meeting for class a couple days, but the itinerary they gave us... surprise, surprise, is very vague and just basically tells us where to meet tomorrow. Evidently we're staying at a hotel, on the very small island. There's supposed to be some great trails and beaches and of course, a blowhole. It's called Inishbofin, which is just super. (Inish means island, I don't know what bofin means...) I love saying it. Sometimes I just refer to it as "the bof" because god forbid we refer to things by their REAL names.

http://www.inishbofin.com/

Tonight we watched the most depressing movie I've ever seen in my life. It's called The Field and right when you think it can't get any more depressing, it does. (hint cows commiting suicide off a cliff). There's a message in the movie someplace about not letting your greed for land confuse your judgment, but I was too sad for the cows to really follow it. If you're ever about to commit suicide, or if like, it's rainy outside, I suggest this movie. I don't know if it's easy to find it in the States, so good luck.

Time to pack! And I am not packing a raincoat. That's how sure I am of this fantastic weather. Have a good weekend, everyone. Try to carry on without me!

Thursdays are like Fridays here

The reason being because Fridays are allocated to "research and composition," which sounds like a bunch of b.s. but it's really not. Have a full free day since we meet 10:30-5 with a break in between not long enough to really do anything is really helpful for reflection, writing, editing, journaling, etc. Plus, we're encouraged to go on day trips and travel. We're actually going away as a class this weekend, so really it's a big like we're having classes on the weekend, anyways.

This morning we had a joint reading and presentation by a woman named Paula Meehan, a poet, and a man named Theo Dorgan, a prose writer and poet. Yesterday our Irish prof named Mickey, and I am not kidding, told us on his way out... popping his head in the door and speaking very rapidly as usual, then leaving abruptly. "the speakers tomorrow are what you'd call... partners." Everyone looked at each other awkwardly and my suitemates and I raced home to google Theo and see if it was a girl, but it wasn't. What Mickey meant by partners was that they are in a longstanding relationship, but have not married. I love how this is just as big of a faux-pas in Ireland as being a homesexual, to the point where they're given the same awkward labels. I guess what was he supposed to say? Lovers?

Anyways they're both writers who allude to past Irish lit and poetry in their works. They were all about the sonnets, villanelles, and the likes. Something my professor told me to start writing in because my poems are boring. But it entails a lot of counting, equations. No thanks. The discussion was nice and they were really cute together. Except towards the end, Lesbos, Side Pony, and Fannie we were Spanish Stupid Inquisition again. (see? Now you know who I am talking about, too. Isn't this great?) My favorite poem that Paula read was called "Quitting the Pub".

Check out their info if you so desire:

http://www.irishplayography.com/search/person.asp?PersonID=1460

http://www.irishwriters-online.com/theodorgan.html


This afternoon's workshop was frustrating because the usual blow bag was at it again explaining how "surreal" his poem was. I made eye contact with a girl I've never talked to before and we both begin giggling like the school girls that we are. I almost forgot the best part. Outside the window, across the river, there was an old man, naked, running in place and doing like jumping jacks or windmills or something. Seriously. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. Dianna kept hitting me on the arm and saying "look outside" and I did only to see the same ol stupid swans. I can't believe I missed what she was talking about at first. An old, naked man. He was wearing jogging shoes.... he was jogging in place. along the River Corribe. Only in Ireland.

Tonight we went to listen to some traditional Irish music. It was so fun. We just kept saying. "This is so fun. This is so fun." Like a bunch of idiots. We went to a pub called Taaltes? or something Gaelic and listened to some traditional irish music... Guitars, singing, bodhran (drum) and an accordion. It wasn't as cool as my mom's though. Her accordion is bigger and has her name in glitter on it. And No tin whistle I am holding out for a tin whistle. We were talking to a guy named Paddy last night (yes, that was his name) lol and we were like, "What the hell? We haven't seen any Irish dancers. They're everywhere in Chicago, but none in the actual country of Ireland. What a rip off." And he goes, "a couple more Guinness in me and I'll do a jig on the table for you." We all laughed and then I was like, "no, seriously. Do it." then everyone laughed. Then I scooted his beer closer to him and said. "no, seriously. DO IT." Then he ran away.

We accidentally got their earlier than we planned because it started at 9:30 rather than 9, but we're lucky we got there early because the place was soon infested by dirty French tourists and nice Irish people and corny American tourists like us. So to kill time we played with my deck of cute pink cards that my sweetie pie bought me. puke, puke. I know. I won all three games and I cheated a whole bunch. Playing cards is a good pub past time, I've decided because a) it kills time and b) it detracts guys from talking to you, if they seem shady. It especially helps if they are a stack of pink cards that your boyfriend bought you. American boyfriends are Irish guys' kryptonite. At the mention of a boyfriend, they scram. Sometimes they want the drink they bought you back under false pretenses. (ask Katie)


*In this picture, I was having much to much fun. Note the d bag in the background. He thought he was real funny and come to think of it, looks like my exboyfriend. Maybe that's why he was such a dbag. Kelly, you make the call. What midget did you see he looked like? Wee-man from Jackass. That's right. This picture is also funny because Diana thought she was sitting on my lap, but really she was sitting on some stranger's lap.

We bonded with two Irish guys over getting bombarded by rude french tourists who got kicked out because after ten, you can't be in a bar if you're not 18. And they weren't drinking, just coke because that's like water to them over there. But they were really rude. But I loved listening to them talk. Anyways, the guys' names were Tommy and Paddy. The latter name made us laugh because it's pretty stereotypical Irish and also because it made us think of our dog Paddy. So every once in awhile we'd say, "Poor Paddy" and would shake our heads. And the guy would be like, "what?" Then we'd all laugh. We'd decided we were done after three drinks then Tommy and Paddy bought us a round. And we couldn't be rude. Speaking of rude, have I mentioned that it's rude to tip bartenders here? And waitresses?

We also entertained ourselves by making Carrie drink and order a Guinness, even though she hates it. here is a picture of her looking pretty miserable.


Well, good night, world.

Nicknames

My suitemates and I, we've fairly deduced are the coolest most normal people in our courses (Disclaimer: there may be equally cool and normal people that we haven't had the opportunity to really get to know because we don't feel like it. There are some fun, nice girls that seem to live around us. These people are not included in our list of judgment)

We've come up with some codenames for people that drive us crazy in class, creep us out, or who are in general a waste of oxygen. This way we can complain, vent, or just make up stories about people in front of them without their knowledge. Isn't this fun? (for my roommates reading this, let me know if I've left anyone out)

Here is a list of their nicknames and their descriptions, if valid:

Mono: he's antisocial, speaks in monotone, has a receding hairline... And surprisingly, as the nickname would suggest, no monobrow. He's the one that asks all the pompous questions. And he wears the same shirt everyday, pretends it's a jacket. I'm on to you, pallie.

Barbie: she's blonde. She's ditzy, she's from Southern California. I don't think I need to go into detail here. (If you think I am exaggerating I just saw her ask Mono for help logging onto her computer... control, alt, delete, Barbie... control, alt. delete. Oh, and she's always coming in late. Always. And we all know how much I hate that.

Fanny: (i've used my least favorite color... purple to illustrate this point) An older woman who dons a variety of Fanny-packs, thus screaming to the world a) "I'm a tourist... mug me!" and b) "I'm a raging tool" She asks stupid questions in class. Today she asked a speaker where she could buy his book, then she asked for descriptions on how to get to the city's one bookstore. Hey, dumb ass. Don't make us look bad, and don't make yourself look bad... We've all been to the one bookstore in town and already bought books here. Hop on the clue pony. And speaking of ponies....

Side-Pony: Also one of the older, mom age women. She's super nice, but asks alot of personalized questions that only can pertain to her in front of the class, but rocks a side pony... with a claw clip or banana clip.... NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! One of my suitemates pointed out that it might not be an actual side pony. She might just walk kind of crooked and gravity takes its course.

Boy Racer: one of our speakers talked about how many teenage kids are dying from racing at night and they call them boy racers. Our Boy Racer doesn't speed at night, but he does have hair that we think might make him aerodynamic. It it's curly and looks like a tapered helmet like no-nuts Lance Armstrong wears. He also has an angular aerodynamic face to go along with it... and wears his pants below his butt. Um... 1999 called they want their dead fad back. We also notice how often he cruises past our large, picture window. His hands in his pockets... back and forth to no where in general.

Fattie: (this is the color of the New Orleans t shirt he wears everyday) He's fat. Need I say more? Ok, and annoying and rocks in his chair. And he has a wonky eye and uses it to stare at you creepily and hold uncomfortable eye contact. One day I came into the computer lab and he was scratching the large flabs of fat that hang over his jeans. Put a leash on it, buddy. I have to eat lunch after this.

L e s b o s: She looks, talks and checks girls out like a lezzie borden, but she talks about her husband all the time. All the time... Suspicious? Also, she asks a lot of questions... She specializes in asking questions that only pertain to the South right as everyone is getting their stuff together and racing to pee. So we all have to sit back down and wet ourselves.

These codenames, and many others allow us to discuss them, as mentioned. They can be combined to create stories as in: I wonder if Lesbos and Fattie will room together in Innisbofin, or if Lesbos and Side Pony will entertain themselves by asking each other, personalized, annoying Southern questions. It's fun.

*Note: I go to church and pray for my sins, including the slanderous things I saw about these strangers. But I feel that JC is in my corner. He didn't create the blow bag. The blow bag did.

O'Hump Day

Hello, everyone.


Here's a pic of me with my pretty new scarf and my same ugly face I make:

I look like I have a wonky eye here. That's an added bonus just for you folks at home.



Today was the epitome of Ireland weather at it's best. In the morning on the way to class it was about 50 degrees and rainy. Then by 4 or so it was 75 and sunny. I was all sweaty. Tomorrow it's supposed to be even nicer, which means i might need to break and shave my legs. I hope I have the right adapter for my weed-whacker. This weekend, as a course trip, we're going to 2 by 3 mile island in Connemara. The weather is supposed to be heavenly and I can't wait... and the island even has a blow hole. BLOWHOLE! I can't wait to take a picture next to it.

Today felt long. I can't even remember what happened this morning, so let me think............
........
Okay, got it. This morning we had a seminar over two poems by an Irish poet and writer named Seamus Healy. We then moved on to a short story, which I had never read of heard of before this class called "Guests of the Nation." I strongly recommend reading it because evidently alot of writers after it was written stole and copied ideas of war stories from it. It's written by a man named Frank O'Conner and after discussing it in class, I found myself understanding and appreciating it even more. Stupid guys weren't so stupid today. They must've eaten breakfast. (My mom always told me eating breakfast before school would make me smarter.)

In the afternoon, we had a lecture by a man who I will not name, but who was the most boring reader/lecturer I've ever encountered in all my days. He was a professor, playwright, and after asking those interested in writing plays and having two nerds raise their hands, I thought... "Oh good. This will be short and sweet. He'll talk mostly about his work of fiction that he wrote." But no. He talked for about 45 minutes about his play two plays he's written and where they've been performed. He gave a nice thirty minute synopsis of "the drama" then gave a synopisis of a play of his about the hidden life of mystic William Blake for another half hour. (yes, I know you are at the edge of your seats, as well.) I passed the time writing notes to my roommate on the wrapper from a chocolate bar. One said: "I like you. Do you like me? Check box yes or no." And she checked yes. But we're kinda gonna see how things go for right now. At one point in the lecture I looked over and looked at everyone and they were all doodling in their notebooks like we were in fifth grade. So I felt better that I wasn't the only person bored out of my gourd.

And the guy was so old, he could hardly be heard and I'm pretty sure I saw his flesh decaying off of his bones like the cryptkeeper from Tales from the Crypt. Needless to say, after that lecture, we were driven to drink and went to Quay's Pub, sat outside and enjoyed a cider. Here's a picture of my roommates not yet recovered from the boredom:






Featured Chocolate of the Day:
Kinder Chocolate.
It's heavenly, comes in different shapes and gimmicks, but mostly concentrates on milk chocolate with white chocolate inside it. And they come in little tiny bars so you don't feel bad eating them.

Some of us may remember the Kinder debacle of May of 2006 when Tricia played up the kinder for weeks, brought some to Amy's bachelorette party for me. I hid it but ended up not coming back for drunk eating later that night, so the fat, selfish arses that I call friends ate all of it. And Kelly spit hers out after discovering she didn't like white chocolate. What a sad, waste of Kinder.

Anyways, Kinder, if you couldn't guess, is German and has a sweet picture of an Aryan little boy on the packaging. You can't find it easily in the states, unless you live in a city like Lemont where there are alot of Pollocks and Germans.

Check our the aryan chocolate: http://www.chocolat.com/index.asp?PageAction=MFGSEARCH&ManfID=1098&Page=1

Paddy-Gate 2006

So, after another update from the ISPCA, we're beginning to question Paddy's well-being.
Today we were informed by our professor wanting to adopt Paddy that she called the vet and discovered that Paddy was indeed a girl, was 8 months old only, and had surgery because of a fractured neck.

The way we remembered things was that the two hind legs were broken, and nothing seemed to be wrong with her neck. So either the dog they are describing and saved is not Paddy, or someone was incorrect in describing her ailments.

I'd be pretty awful if our professor went through all this effort and it wasn't even the dog we thought it was. We're pretty sure it's a border collie. I mean, that just came into my head when they asked me, so I just said it. I hope I wasn't wrong.

Either way as Katie said, "I wonder if Sandra knows she's adopting the stupidest f'ing dog on the planet." in response to Paddy attempting to herd cars.

There's no fat people in Ireland

Nothing very exciting happened yesterday, so I apologize. We were all still recovering from the weekend. In the morning we had a reading and discussion with the famous writer and poet Dermot Healy. He's famous mostly in Ireland but some of his books have been made into film scripts. He was a great, cooky old guy who administered practical advice to writers... the kind of advice that seems obvious but that you'd never come up with. He looked a bit like Ernest Hemingway, without the drug problem, I am hoping. If you don't believe me, here is his link:

http://www.gallerypress.com/Authors/Dhealy/dhealy.html

In the afternoon we had workshop. Workshop is more productive when we are talking about my poetry rather than others because many of the other poems suck. I'm not being mean, but they're awful. Then I have to sit and take criticism from these people who write poems about their sneakers and pretend like I value it. If it wasn't for Dianna, I might stab my eyes out with my green pen. Workshop is led by one Irish poet, Moya Cannon, and Sandra Alcosser who lives in Montana but who began the MFA program at SDSU. The later being the one who is adopting Paddy.

http://www.gallerypress.com/Authors/Mcannon/mcannon.html
Moya writes mostly nature poetry but manages to not be cliche as she does it. I don't know how she does it. I suck at it.

http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/189. I have yet to read any of Sandra's poems, but I probably should.

We ordered pizza for dinner last night. The company was called "four star pizza" I guess because it was so good you'd rate it four stars. These advertising geniuses have never been to Chicago. That is for sure!

Then this morning we had a reading by a novelist named Gerard Donavan. He's from Galway, but has been teaching in the states for many years.

http://www.irishwriters-online.com/gerarddonovan.html

sweet leather jacket:

http://www.westcorkliteraryfestival.ie/Lit06/Gerard%20Donovan%20photo.jpg

So far, he's the most "popular" of the fiction writers... I mean his forms and his books are "popular fiction" and I would definitely recommend them to any guy that likes other contemporary fiction, but who might appreciate more literature rather than violence in their novels. He had some great soundbytes including: "Write your ass off everyday." He also informed us that there's no such thing as writer's block. It's just procrastination. So I guess I am a procrastinator.

There is one pompous a-hole in our class (well, there are more than one, but just one in particular for this story) who always likes to challenge the readers who come. I'm not sure if he means to be an a-hole, as some people like this are just socially stunted. (Like he creepily mumbles when he talks like a serial killer.) For example, yesterday he said to the famous, well-celebrated Dermot Healy, "give me an example of European prose that isn't a morality tale." Not "could you please" or "can I ask a question?" and when he says something like this he folds his arms. Like he's a big deal. Like he's an equal to these men/women who are coming to teach us. So today he asked the very sarcastic Gerard Donovan, "you took philosophy, didn't you." and you're right, it's not a question. Then he said, "undergrad, right?" then just nodded his head like a big blowbag. Like he'd just figured out the motivation of this guy's work because it was so textbook undergrad philosophy class. So I said outloud, not very creatively, but loud so he could here it, "WOW! YOU GENIUS!" But give me a break, why are you here if you don't think you need to be taught anything? As I've said before and I'll say it again, "it's not our fault your mother didn't hug you enough, so don't make us deal with the consequences."

And he just walked into the computer lab and is sitting next to me.

This afternoon we had another speaker who goes by the name of Kevin Whelan. He was funny and stereotypically Irish... swore alot, got all red in the face. The books he's written have gotten national acclaim here in Ireland, but he was saying that another American guy wrote the same book he did five years later and is now a millionare. That stinks.

This is a website of someone whose name is the same, but is not him:
http://www.nd.edu/~irishstu/faculty/whelan.html
GO IRISH!

I also met with one of the poetry professors to talk about my poetry. To describe some of them, she used the word "boring." I almost cried. me? boring? That's like the worst insult in the world for me. I strive to be obnoxious, maybe, but never boring. How rude!

The best friend of the week award ends in a tie: Tricia and AMA are tied for first place because Tricia sent me a care package, which I got today, and AMA sent the pink raincoat I forgot and realized when I was at the airport in Chicago.

Congratulations!

Paddy Update

Paddy had surgery on Friday on what we guess is her back legs. She's at the ISPCA and apparently one of our professors is going to adopt her.

HOORAY FOR PADDY! (if that is indeed her real name)

Put a Cork in It

Ugh, I knew I should've written the Friday part on Friday, before we left for the weekend, because I was going to forget. Oh well.

On Friday, we didn't have class, so I went for a nice long run along the River Corribe and for the most part it was beautiful and scenic. At other times, it was smelly.
Then I did some shopping for the first time since I've been here, pretty much. I bought some things for other people and rewarded myself by buying some things for myself :) I got caught in the rain for a random five minutes, but then it got sunny again.

Friday night my three roommates and I went out for some authentic Irish food and some traditional music. Little did we know what a bumble f that was going to be! In Ireland, most pubs don't serve food. And they get away with it. But finally we found Quay's Restaurant and had some awful service by a girl who looked like she was on the verge of tears all the time and who had a blackened tooth. Afterwards we went to a wine bar where one of our professors had a reading. She ended up being the last poet, and it was super crowded, but I am glad we stayed because I met some interesting people and listened to some fun poets. We deduced that everyone in the room besides us was smarter if not more drunk than we were and were therefore more intellectual. (LOTS OF LOW PONY TAILS AND SCARVES) It was cold Friday night... about 55 degrees.

Saturday morning we headed off to Cork and as Katie and I headed to the train station at Eyre Square, it began spit raining. The rain would follow us all the way to Cork, by-passing Stab City also known as Limerick... a cute name for a murder capital, huh? I cannot describe how miserable the rain was yesterday. It was like in Forrest Gump, as Dianna pointed out, rain coming from all directions. And it was so windy that your umbrellas were no match for it. We kept saying stuff like, "Cork, you bitch!" and then a big gust of wind would come and invert our umbrellas and we'd say, "OOOH, Cork. You like it when I call you names." And our poor jeans were soaked up to our knees. We got into Cork at a weird time... around four. So we did some shopping and tried to hold off on dinner for as long as possible. But first we stopped at our hostel.

I've never seen or stayed at a hostel before. This place came well recommended and looked cute in the picture. It was even in my awesome guidebook that Kelly Perry bought me and that we have dubbed "THE BIBLE." Here's a link to the hostel:
http://www.kinlayhousecork.ie/gpage.html2.html

and here is what our room looked like (up a dark, winding staircase):
no, I didn't cut a part of the room out of the picture, except maybe the sink... and it was a good thing we had a sink.


So after dropping off our bags, we AGAIN wandered around looking for beer, food, and music all in the same place. WTF? We wandered for about an hour and were now really hungry. Thanks to a tip for a local we finally found a cute italian place, but with no music or beer. Just irish coffee, which sufficed. We were so wet and cold we wanted to cry.

After dinner, we went to a pub called The Old Oak, which by the way gets voted "Ireland's Most Traditional Pub" every year. It was a really great place, with ornate woodwork and stained glass, but we were all miserable and pretending not to be. We nursed our ciders and laughed at eachother's lame jokes. Then, I decided to do this to boost morale:
I found the tanning glasses in my purse. So we rallied. Well, at least Katie and I did. Dianna went back to the hostel only to be woken up by our lame asses hours later.

Katie and I ended up at a pub called: An Spailpin Fanac. This translates to: It's still pouring rain outside, so get your ass inside. It was dark and dreary and damp and was everything you'd hope for in an Irish pub. After a couple pints there was finally live music! HOOORAY! And we even got a free drink from a man named Conner. Life doesn't get any better than that!

Katie and I decided to leave around 11:30 pm since we had an early rise and started off down the street. About a block away, we heard some guy calling us. We turned and it was the bartender at the bar. I thought maybe I'd forgotten my wallet or umbrella or something. But he'd only ran the block to ask for my phone number. When I told him we were leaving the next day, he hung his head and cried. Nah, not really. Here's the weird thing: It had stopped raining and it was lighter out than it had been all day since the sun doesn't set here until midnight. Cork was a totally different town and everyone was going out to clubs and out and about like it was totally a new day. I've decided that women/girls in Cork are nicer to American girls than Galway women are. I think it's because they're more fascinated with us, as it's less of a metrapolitan town. In Galway, the women see us more as threats. So the girls we met in Cork were nice and helped us with directions. It ended up being one of those fun, random nights you don't plan. On the way back, walking to the hostel we stopped at Supermacs and had some awful fries that Katie made me get and that Katie would be puking up in our hostel sink mere hours later.

The best part about the hostel wasn't the paper thin walls, but it was the bells on the famous Saint Anne's church bingbonging every quarter hour all night. WTF? Seriously. It was like camping, but being in doors. I have a new hobby and it's called having to get up at 4 am to use the bathroom. And it's not just out of habit, I wake up having to REALLY go. So I had to do that by myself in this dark scary hostel with alot of foreign language presentations coming out from every room. I almost went in the sink in our room. The girls in the rom next to us were so loud that if Katie hadn't started puking at 2 am, I would've gone over and told them I was going to send them back to Siberia.

The next morning we got up early, went down to the "continental breakfast" that just happened to be instant coffee and toast. Some eurotrash people we eating lunch meat with their fingers and were putting cole slaw on toast. Call me a snob, call me closeminded, but I need a Hampton Inn. I'd settle for Wyndam. Cork was very pretty and the weather was nice. In the morning we killed time walking around all the stores that were closed b.c. it was Sunday.

The bus trip to Blarney was short and sweet. The line to kiss the stone was not... about an hour... and sometimes stuck in narrow staircases ready to crumble in on you. It was well worth the wait, and I did kiss the stone. The guy working there said that I had a "cute kiss" because I made a smooching noise when I did it. (lucky, lucky stone) Blarney stone wanted to get to second base, but I told Stone it had to take me out to dinner and drinks first.


After kissing the stone, we did some tourist shopping and caught a bus back to Cork. We raced to the station only to realize we weren't late and that the bus clock was just fast. STUPID AMERICANS! Our bus ride back was pretty awful. The first leg wasn't bad, but when we got to Limerick, we took a 15 minute break. Then we had to switch buses... for I think so we could go directly to Galway without any stops, and without going to Shannon Airport, which is a pain in the arse. Our second bus smelled bad and was disgusting, which was a new thing. The buses in and around Ireland are so nice and clean and fantastic, so this was a disapointment.

Right now we're watching the world cup and I can't keep my eyes open. I'll download my pics tomorrow. GO ITALY?

Slugs, Not Drugs

We all know about the legend of Saint Patrick. That crazy mick chased all the snakes out of Ireland. But I have a bone to pick with Saint Patty...

He forgot about the slugs.

Case #1: 4th of July evening we went out after the BBQ. When we came back, we had a nice feast. Afterwards I went to the bathroom to pee and I slid on something on the tile floor.
Someone said, "oh, that's a slug." And I laughed because no way I just slid on a slug in my bare feet. Then it happened again and that same someone (I can't remember) said: "No, seriously. It's a slug." I turned on the light. And it was true. And I had slug loogie all over my heel and I couldn't get it off for hours. ewe ewe ewe.

Case #2: Walking to class today it was raining. (WHAT? RAINING? IN IRELAND? YOU DON'T SAY?) and there were all these fat little things that looked like grey tootsie rolls or dog poops slithering across the sidewalk. (In the States this same phenomenon occurs with worms)
These weren't poops or rolls. They were slugs.

Case #3: Walking from class back home for lunch, I saw a cute little dog wagging his tail at the end of his driveway. He sat and I went to say hi, but before I could, he trotted along the sidewalk. Put something in his mouth and went to town on it. He coughed up something mere seconds later that looked like snotty gray poop. And by the loogie mark on the sidewalk, I knew this cute little dog had just eaten a slug.

ewe. ewe. ewe.

There is talk of Elvis sightings, but if anyone sees Saint Patrick fueling up at a Texeco in Abilene, or buying Coronas for minors in Tijuana (because that's just soooo typical of him) please let me know. I'll pay his airfare to come here and de-slug this hole.

Today we had a poet who writes mostly of nature and Northern Ireland. Her name was Kerry Hardie and if you want to check out the funny picture of her and her dog, check out her website:
http://www.gallerypress.com/Authors/Khardie/khardie.html

Workshop was productive but we didn't get to my poem. We did get to a poem by a big weirdo. I might save my copy so I have it for when he's on America's Most Wanted for a shooting spree and I could say, "yeah, I knew him. He was quiet, kept to himself. Laughed randomly at nothing like a nut job."

We have tomorrow off for "research" which means we hope to take a row boat out to an abandoned castle and do some drugs. No, not do drugs. I put that only so a) my post title made sense more and b) because poets are evidently only good if they are sick or on drugs.

Peace out!

Independence Day-updated

So, as everyone knows... yesterday was the 4th of July. The reason you should know this is because today is the 5th of July.







We had lecture about the history of Irish poetry and prose and that was actually very interesting. Then, in the afternoon, a poet speak and recite poems in the morning. His Name was Louie Le Poer or something. And he wrote poems in Gaelic and Irish. He looked like the Irish equivalent of Fabio, and his poems were very impressive. I am going to need a separate suitcase for all the books I plan on buying.


In the evening there was a 4th of July BBQ for all the Writing people from America, but also for the San Diego State people studying Irish History and Anthropology. Those people are pretty much useless, are very immature undergrads, and support every negative stereotype of Americans and American tourist. Case #1: stupid blonde girls whose father didn't hug them enough in short denim skirts (blue) white tube tops (white) and red spangley garters on their arms, legs, and their heads. They had a cups tournament before they even got there. Case #2: Black guy who is more white than black, with a popped collar, 15 different colors of flip flops, but with an afro so he can still maintain his street cred. The reason we really hated him was because he was loud and drinking miller genuine draft and stealing people's drink tickets.


After the bbq, two of my roommates and I went to King's Head Pub to watch the word cup game. I of course have no interest in a specific game, or any real knowledge of the game. But I was happy to hop on the bandwagon. I guess many irish people hate italians so they were cheering for Germany. They dislike France even more though, by the way.

So one drink turned into more and we had a good time telling eachother stories that will make things awkard in the morning. On the way home, we decided to buy a pack of the cute, skinny cigarettes Irish people smoke... only to buy them and realize we bought the regular ones, and these were just boriing regular cigarettes. They cost me 7 euro which is like 13 dollars in American money. And not one of us smokes. Good idea, right?

This morning wasn't bad at all. Our classes don't start until 10:30 and I find myself getting up later and later everyday. By the way, right now I am watching two big irish guys wrestle eachother in the meadow with "Unchained melody" belting from somewhere in the background. So random. I wish I were kidding.

Our poet this morning was called Rita Ann Higgins. Her poetry was quirky and interesting and reminded me alot of myself, except her public speaking skills were sub-par. It's weird how someone so prolific in writing can be so inept in other mediums. But I'll buy her book, too.
This afternoon we have a lecture over some Yeats stories, which I am excited about because it's by the actual Irish professors and there will be less blowbagging. Speaking of blowbagging, in our class there are the two BIGGEST morons in the WORLD. SOOOO lame. One kid was asked his name and he took a pregnant pause. He had to think about it. What a freaking idiot. More on these d-bags later.

Tonight we'll be watching the world cup and asking continuously: "Wait, what just happened? Wait, what's that mean?" I also have to do my laundry which will be interesting with no laundry bags. Doing the wash here cost five euro. RIP OFF!

This weekend my roommates and I are planning a trip to Cork, so that should be fantabulous