It's not jokes
FINALLY. You all get to hear about Ireland! I know you were on the edges of your seats. So. What I failed to mention in my last post was that upon our arrival at our hostel in Dublin, we found that we had apparently been upgraded from a 12 bed mixed dorm to a 4 bed female dorm. Not only that, but the other two beds were empty! Nice. Also, the shower had great water pressure. And our beds were a couple of the most inviting beds you've ever seen. Crisp white linens with a fluffy down comforter. What I'm trying to say here is, we lived like kings. Yes, kings.
After I posted last, we went to a pub called, I believe, Bachelor's? I actually have no idea. I should have asked Jessie while I had the chance. We were starving so I grabbed a Guinness and Jessie grabbed a cydrrr. Then, we were still starving, so we purchased food. Such delicious, heavy, heart-warming food. We were feeling pretty good about ourselves, at our corner booth, listening to live music and being all Irish. We were saying to each other, "we belong here, yes, our Irish roots have served us well".
Now, I feel at this point I should back up a bit and share a little tale. A few days before Ireland, Jessie had been explaining to me a theory, conceived by a friend of hers. The theory was that attractive women lead entirely different lives than less attractive people because they don't have to take "no" for an answer. This changes the dynamic of our lives drastically and we become complacent about the ease with which we live. He told Jessie to appreciate her influence. She told me to do the same.
Deep, right? Fast forward to the pub (or poob, as Dubliners call it. Even though they might take issue with that translation). Jessie and I are thinking to ourselves, this buttered bread is DELICIOUS. Yes, we must have more. So we request another order of the bread that came with our stews. The bartender brings it. We request another order. He suggests crisps. Okaaaay, fine. Crisps. We request another order of the bread. He refuses. Cool, thanks. Wait, what? But we'll pay for the bread. It's not about the money, apparently. It's too time consuming to butter bread. Well, what if you just butter a bunch at once and then we won't ask again? No.
Theory debunked. Feeling incredibly awkward and much more ourselves, we decided to go back to our hostel and sleep in our deliciously comfortable beds. 15 hours later, we woke up, ready to tackle the day! We went on the internet for a bit in our hostel and then headed next door to grab lunch at the pub. Two steps later, a couple of Irish guys have stopped us and asked us if we want to grab drinks. Ummm, yeah, okay, I guess, sure, whatever, I don't know, yeah, okay, fine.
So we wind up in the bar with the Irish guys, drinking beer and eating sandwiches. We talk for a few hours and then they offer to walk us to the Guinness factory. Cool, Irish tour guides who buy us beer. Not complaining. The Guinness factory was great. We romped in barley. There was romping. Also, we drank Guinness in the gravity bar. No thanks to the Irish guys, who couldn't seem to locate the gravity bar without my assistance. Not surprised.
After the Guinness factory, they took us to Temple Bar which is this super tall bar with a million stories and an underground dance club. So we sat, we drank, we laughed. Particularly at this crazed Hungarian former-male stripper who was wasted and intent upon giving us our own personal show. High-larious. He kept repeating, "I am speak little English". Me too dude, me too.
Then we went downstairs drank some more, until Jessie and I realized that there was an EMPTY dance floor downstairs with a DJ. How did we not realize this before? Our own personal DJ? Don't mind if we do. So we started dancing with our eyes closed, as we are wont to do, and got lost in the music for a while. When we finally opened our eyes, we realized that the club was packed. On a Monday night. There is no other logical explanation. Jessie and I made the club cool. Dammit.
So we bailed because the club was way too cool for us. We went to sleep and dreamt of the Blarney Stone. We woke up the next morning, ready to hop on a bus and kiss that stone like it's never been kissed before. Except... Cork (where the stone is located) is 4 hours away. And the last bus to come home leaves in 4 hours. Meaning we'd have to take a bus there and then take a bus back, without ever seeing the stone, or not go to Cork at all. Those were our options. Okay, so no Blarney Stone then. We needed a plan B. What was it? If you didn't answer food, then you really haven't been paying any attention to this blog.
So we walked, on a search for afternoon tea that would first take us to a restaurant serving traditional Irish breakfast. It was exactly what we needed. Even the waitress was adorable. However, Jessie ruined everything when she asked her for scoins. Yes, scoins. Not scones. So offensive.
Speaking of offensive, that was exactly how we decided to walk from the breakfast place to the tea place. We marched awkwardly the entire way, in a very offensive manner. I choose not to describe it on the blog but if you request a demonstration in person, Jessie or I will be happy to oblige.
We finally arrived at afternoon tea after glaring at a number of locals, and proceeded to get comfortable. Because we were going to be there for a while. At one point, they closed the restaurant. We didn't leave. We didn't leave until Jessie had ordered more tea than she could possibly drink. Yep, one steaming pot of tea on the table and we were ready to skedaddle.
Then we went souvenir shopping. I almost had a nervous breakdown. The choices were innumerable! But I made it out alive. Then we went back to our hostel to have one last relaxing shower before our last night in Europe. Ah yes, everything was going according to plan. Except, we get back to the hostel and the front desk girl stops us. "Um, didn't you guys leave?" No. We're still here. "Oh well, we thought you left and so we took all of your things out of your room and put them in the storage room". Nope, still as present as before. What exactly did you do?
So she called around and pretended not to know what she had done (she was the one who had checked us in). Turns out she had put us in the wrong room and we had not actually been upgraded. Although, I choose to believe that she noticed that the 4 person female dorm was going to be empty for two days so she made a "mistake" that resulted in us having two wonderful nights in our own room. So we grabbed our stuff out of the luggage room and moved it into our real room. Met some nice Canadian girls and took a slightly less-savory shower. But eventually we were clean and settled in. No harm, no fowl.
We then went to the poob and had a few brrs and cydrrs. I still have dreams about the Guinness in Dublin. Man was it good. Then we were hungry and it was super late and please don't judge us we went to McDonald's. Yes, that happened. Speaking of fowl, Jessie got 7 chicken nuggets in her 6 piece meal! The luck of the Irish. We hung out for a bit, went back to our hostel, hung out some more and then slept for a couple hours. Woke up super early to go to the airport and parted ways, as we were taking separate flights home.
Now, for the heavy stuff. Our trip to Europe was life-changing in so many ways. It reminded me of my love for the continent. I've always known Europe is a part of me, and this trip awakened that ardor within. I learned a few things that were lost on me during my last trip. I'm less enamored with french men. Frankly, I'd even go so far as to say that I'm completely disenchanted with the whole group. Perhaps this is for the best. I'm still madly in love with the language. I've also learned that I don't have to be nice to every man that tries to start up a conversation with me. I used to fear being "that girl", the bitchy one who wouldn't give a less attractive man the time of day. But at this point, if a guy is giving me a creepy vibe, I don't feel any obligation to give him an opportunity to insinuate himself into my evening.
But even more important than the personal growth I experienced during the trip, was the growth of my friendship with Jessie. We didn't really know that this crazy social experiment would work. 25 days with someone? After having experienced that length of time, I can tell you that with almost anyone else, that would have ended in a fiery inferno within a week. For that experience to work, two people have to be completely comfortable living inside each other's heads for the entire trip. Thankfully, we both realized that we like being inside each other's heads. We dug around and poked and prodded and learned things about one another and ourselves. I feel like I understand Jessie and myself more than ever. Sometimes you just get lucky.
And now, a celebrity post from Jessie herself:
For some reason, Patty decided to jeopardize the popularity of her blog and asked me to write about my experience upon returning to LA. I’ll start by saying that everything went well checking into my flight from Ireland to Chicago. There was a perfect amount of time during my layover to go through customs, to have a nice sit-down lunch, and then check into my flight from Chicago to LA. I had also been thinking about how all I wanted to do when I got home was sit down and watch good movies all day. So, who was sitting next to me on my last flight? A film student who was more than willing to give me a list of no less than 23 movies that I must see once I get back. All in all, everything was going smoothly… suspiciously smoothly. When I saw Sarahi waiting for me outside my terminal, I told her “I wouldn’t be surprised if they lost my luggage. Everything has been going way too swimmingly today.” So we waited patiently by my baggage carousel and saw person after person reach for their bag and go off on their merry way. Then, there were two bags left on that conveyor belt and neither of them were mine. Was I surprised? Of course not.
After I posted last, we went to a pub called, I believe, Bachelor's? I actually have no idea. I should have asked Jessie while I had the chance. We were starving so I grabbed a Guinness and Jessie grabbed a cydrrr. Then, we were still starving, so we purchased food. Such delicious, heavy, heart-warming food. We were feeling pretty good about ourselves, at our corner booth, listening to live music and being all Irish. We were saying to each other, "we belong here, yes, our Irish roots have served us well".
Now, I feel at this point I should back up a bit and share a little tale. A few days before Ireland, Jessie had been explaining to me a theory, conceived by a friend of hers. The theory was that attractive women lead entirely different lives than less attractive people because they don't have to take "no" for an answer. This changes the dynamic of our lives drastically and we become complacent about the ease with which we live. He told Jessie to appreciate her influence. She told me to do the same.
Deep, right? Fast forward to the pub (or poob, as Dubliners call it. Even though they might take issue with that translation). Jessie and I are thinking to ourselves, this buttered bread is DELICIOUS. Yes, we must have more. So we request another order of the bread that came with our stews. The bartender brings it. We request another order. He suggests crisps. Okaaaay, fine. Crisps. We request another order of the bread. He refuses. Cool, thanks. Wait, what? But we'll pay for the bread. It's not about the money, apparently. It's too time consuming to butter bread. Well, what if you just butter a bunch at once and then we won't ask again? No.
Theory debunked. Feeling incredibly awkward and much more ourselves, we decided to go back to our hostel and sleep in our deliciously comfortable beds. 15 hours later, we woke up, ready to tackle the day! We went on the internet for a bit in our hostel and then headed next door to grab lunch at the pub. Two steps later, a couple of Irish guys have stopped us and asked us if we want to grab drinks. Ummm, yeah, okay, I guess, sure, whatever, I don't know, yeah, okay, fine.
So we wind up in the bar with the Irish guys, drinking beer and eating sandwiches. We talk for a few hours and then they offer to walk us to the Guinness factory. Cool, Irish tour guides who buy us beer. Not complaining. The Guinness factory was great. We romped in barley. There was romping. Also, we drank Guinness in the gravity bar. No thanks to the Irish guys, who couldn't seem to locate the gravity bar without my assistance. Not surprised.
After the Guinness factory, they took us to Temple Bar which is this super tall bar with a million stories and an underground dance club. So we sat, we drank, we laughed. Particularly at this crazed Hungarian former-male stripper who was wasted and intent upon giving us our own personal show. High-larious. He kept repeating, "I am speak little English". Me too dude, me too.
Then we went downstairs drank some more, until Jessie and I realized that there was an EMPTY dance floor downstairs with a DJ. How did we not realize this before? Our own personal DJ? Don't mind if we do. So we started dancing with our eyes closed, as we are wont to do, and got lost in the music for a while. When we finally opened our eyes, we realized that the club was packed. On a Monday night. There is no other logical explanation. Jessie and I made the club cool. Dammit.
So we bailed because the club was way too cool for us. We went to sleep and dreamt of the Blarney Stone. We woke up the next morning, ready to hop on a bus and kiss that stone like it's never been kissed before. Except... Cork (where the stone is located) is 4 hours away. And the last bus to come home leaves in 4 hours. Meaning we'd have to take a bus there and then take a bus back, without ever seeing the stone, or not go to Cork at all. Those were our options. Okay, so no Blarney Stone then. We needed a plan B. What was it? If you didn't answer food, then you really haven't been paying any attention to this blog.
So we walked, on a search for afternoon tea that would first take us to a restaurant serving traditional Irish breakfast. It was exactly what we needed. Even the waitress was adorable. However, Jessie ruined everything when she asked her for scoins. Yes, scoins. Not scones. So offensive.
Speaking of offensive, that was exactly how we decided to walk from the breakfast place to the tea place. We marched awkwardly the entire way, in a very offensive manner. I choose not to describe it on the blog but if you request a demonstration in person, Jessie or I will be happy to oblige.
We finally arrived at afternoon tea after glaring at a number of locals, and proceeded to get comfortable. Because we were going to be there for a while. At one point, they closed the restaurant. We didn't leave. We didn't leave until Jessie had ordered more tea than she could possibly drink. Yep, one steaming pot of tea on the table and we were ready to skedaddle.
Then we went souvenir shopping. I almost had a nervous breakdown. The choices were innumerable! But I made it out alive. Then we went back to our hostel to have one last relaxing shower before our last night in Europe. Ah yes, everything was going according to plan. Except, we get back to the hostel and the front desk girl stops us. "Um, didn't you guys leave?" No. We're still here. "Oh well, we thought you left and so we took all of your things out of your room and put them in the storage room". Nope, still as present as before. What exactly did you do?
So she called around and pretended not to know what she had done (she was the one who had checked us in). Turns out she had put us in the wrong room and we had not actually been upgraded. Although, I choose to believe that she noticed that the 4 person female dorm was going to be empty for two days so she made a "mistake" that resulted in us having two wonderful nights in our own room. So we grabbed our stuff out of the luggage room and moved it into our real room. Met some nice Canadian girls and took a slightly less-savory shower. But eventually we were clean and settled in. No harm, no fowl.
We then went to the poob and had a few brrs and cydrrs. I still have dreams about the Guinness in Dublin. Man was it good. Then we were hungry and it was super late and please don't judge us we went to McDonald's. Yes, that happened. Speaking of fowl, Jessie got 7 chicken nuggets in her 6 piece meal! The luck of the Irish. We hung out for a bit, went back to our hostel, hung out some more and then slept for a couple hours. Woke up super early to go to the airport and parted ways, as we were taking separate flights home.
Now, for the heavy stuff. Our trip to Europe was life-changing in so many ways. It reminded me of my love for the continent. I've always known Europe is a part of me, and this trip awakened that ardor within. I learned a few things that were lost on me during my last trip. I'm less enamored with french men. Frankly, I'd even go so far as to say that I'm completely disenchanted with the whole group. Perhaps this is for the best. I'm still madly in love with the language. I've also learned that I don't have to be nice to every man that tries to start up a conversation with me. I used to fear being "that girl", the bitchy one who wouldn't give a less attractive man the time of day. But at this point, if a guy is giving me a creepy vibe, I don't feel any obligation to give him an opportunity to insinuate himself into my evening.
But even more important than the personal growth I experienced during the trip, was the growth of my friendship with Jessie. We didn't really know that this crazy social experiment would work. 25 days with someone? After having experienced that length of time, I can tell you that with almost anyone else, that would have ended in a fiery inferno within a week. For that experience to work, two people have to be completely comfortable living inside each other's heads for the entire trip. Thankfully, we both realized that we like being inside each other's heads. We dug around and poked and prodded and learned things about one another and ourselves. I feel like I understand Jessie and myself more than ever. Sometimes you just get lucky.
And now, a celebrity post from Jessie herself:
For some reason, Patty decided to jeopardize the popularity of her blog and asked me to write about my experience upon returning to LA. I’ll start by saying that everything went well checking into my flight from Ireland to Chicago. There was a perfect amount of time during my layover to go through customs, to have a nice sit-down lunch, and then check into my flight from Chicago to LA. I had also been thinking about how all I wanted to do when I got home was sit down and watch good movies all day. So, who was sitting next to me on my last flight? A film student who was more than willing to give me a list of no less than 23 movies that I must see once I get back. All in all, everything was going smoothly… suspiciously smoothly. When I saw Sarahi waiting for me outside my terminal, I told her “I wouldn’t be surprised if they lost my luggage. Everything has been going way too swimmingly today.” So we waited patiently by my baggage carousel and saw person after person reach for their bag and go off on their merry way. Then, there were two bags left on that conveyor belt and neither of them were mine. Was I surprised? Of course not.
So we went to the baggage claim office to report the situation. As we got in line, we noticed a plump, perhaps mentally challenged, older Asian man sitting on a bench inside the office. Since we were waiting in line anyway, Sarahi and I tried to do some catching up. All of the sudden, our conversation was interrupted by this extremely loud fart. We looked behind us and see the old Asian man grinning back at us. If you know anything about me, you know that I am not one to hide my emotions, so I burst into an obnoxiously loud fit of laughter. Sarahi doesn’t contain herself either. The guy in front of us tried to be polite and tried to ignore the hilarity of what was happening, but I’m pretty sure my giggling pushed him over the edge, so he started chuckling too. Every 30 seconds, Sarahi and I turned to look at the Asian guy and he was still sitting there with that giant grin plastered onto his face. We continued this process up until I was the next person in line. By the way, you are welcome guy-in-front-of-me-in-line. Lesson learned. Sometimes, it’s okay to laugh.
I filed the report on my bag, and then Sarahi took me home. I got a call on the way informing me that LAX was able to track down my bag and that they would deliver it to me as soon as possible. At approximately 11pm that night, I figured out why LAX purposely lost my bag. They were thinking “Jess, we know you’ve had a long day. We know you’ve been in and out of airports and airplanes for the last 24 hours. We know that you would prefer not to have to carry your bag home even though it was only 22 lbs. We would be delighted to take care of that for you. That way, we can lurk, we can find out where you live, and above all else, our creepy deliveryman can see you in your pj’s late at night.” And that’s exactly what happened. I’m not sorry about it. LAX, you know things.
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