My Wild & Crazy St. Paddy's Day, 2011

(NOTE: this post went up on my other blog on March 17, 2011. I forgot to copy/paste it over here. Sorry! :) )

Made it to Dublin! The hotel isn’t quiiite what I’d hoped for—there’s no bathtub and the shower door doesn’t close. I have literally never spilled so much water during a shower in my life. And I can’t find the pool. I’m kind of worried about its existence.

There were so many half-drunk groups of Americans on the plane ride over. With giant hats from a Dr. Suess story and green, white and orange feather boas. These guys were dressed for a night out. Cue facepalm.

I pulled out a book and ignored them. Sometimes I think I might be better at that than is healthy.

Confession: I am sick again. So it’s definitely effecting my patience and endurance. This weekend by myself in a party city is going to be all about chilling out and recovering. The crunch-time stress will be there when I go home to Edinburgh.

Another confession: I didn’t actually make it into the city centre tonight. I know, shame on me. St. Paddy’s Day! In Dublin! Ireland! And I missed it! Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!

Not. The city’s official festival lasts until Sunday night, and since tomorrow’s Friday, I figure the chances for green beer and crazy-people watching will only increase. Instead, I went for a walk. Found the bus stop I’ll need tomorrow, and a grocery store where I can pop in and get a croissant, or something, for breakfast. (There’s a kettle in the room! I get my morning tea! :) Although it’s labeled “Irish Breakfast Tea.” Would it really kill them to just call it “English Breakfast Tea,” like the rest of the world does?)

I rather enjoyed myself today, anyway. The flight went smoother than I’d hoped for (despite the half hour delay) and I didn’t mind the wait for the shuttle to the hotel. The air was chilled and crisp, but not unbearable. The moon is almost full, and it was silhouetted by clouds in that way that shows up in movies like The Wolfman or basically any other movie that takes place in Scotland/England/Ireland but is more rare at home.

Oh, and I had a silly American girl moment. :) I couldn’t figure out which shuttle/bus to get on, so the second guy I asked called me “love” (“luv”?) as he corrected me. He was older than my parents and had a comb-over, but it made me think of a girl I used to ride the bus with in high school. She went to London one summer with her parents and went out walking by herself, and a couple of construction guys started razzing her a bit. “Hey, luv—d’you think he’s sexy?” She was too embarrassed to answer, so she just kind of blushed and shrugged. The guy cackled and turned to his friend. “She doesn’t think you’re sexy!”

She said it was a highlight of her life so far. Being called “luv” by an English guy. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t good looking—it was something to check off the bucket list!

That’s kind of what I’m banking on this weekend being. Something to check off the bucket list. St. Paddy’s Day in Dublin. I’m going to see the sights, have half a pint of green beer (I’m on antibiotics and not really a beer person, besides) and enjoy my exorbitantly priced and normally-outfitted hotel room.

Oh, dear.

I started packing yesterday. Technically, I was supposed to start packing on Saturday, but I couldn’t quite face it. I pulled out the vacuum-free bags that make everything airtight and stuffed all my coats and sweatshirts and fluffy shirts into them and then flopped down on top of them to push all the air out. It was an exercise in silliness.

My brother and I have been home alone since Saturday. Our parents went to go work on a house in Vegas, and they were supposed to be home last night. They got too tired, though, so at midnight the house phone rings. I dive for it, praying it didn’t wake my brother, and when I pick it up all I hear is the dial tone. Then my cell phone rings (loudly), and I race back across the room (across the tile, wearing socks and slipping and half-falling all over the place). It’s my mother, of course. They ended up spending the night at some awful-sounding motel called Pete’s Casino, or Pete’s something-or-other. She walks me through how to get my brother ready for school, and then we hang up and I realize I have to be up and out the door in, like, five and a half hours.

Bleh. That said, I don’t know how high schoolers do it. I know I did, once upon a time, but I also seem to remember falling asleep in just about every class except the ones where I had to sit in the front.

This is all an attempt to distract myself from… Saturday. When I leave. Say goodbye to my dad and little brother. Get on a plane and fly to New Jersey. Spend a week with my mother, her brother, and his family. Then get on another plane and fly across the Atlantic.

Oh, goodness. I think it might be time to turn the TV back on. TV’s a good distraction.