Good news: I'm back!
Bad news: But I'm not pregnant and I'm still painfully STD-free. LAAAAAAAAME.
Good news: But I did fall in love. Twice.
Bad news: The first time was with a 40-year-old tour boat captain and the other was with a Trinity student who told time by looking at the sun. Seems about right.
Good news: What are you doing this Thursday night? Trying to hang out with me and Tulane Chris? Awesome. Because we're both panelists at ihatemy9to5.com's "Behind the Blog" event at Affinity Lab on U Street, 7 - 9pm. If you're in the area, you should totally swing by and watch us drink ourselves into being socially outgoing enough to participate in a "candid conversation" about what it's like to live your life online. That's right guys. SHIT'S GONNA GET RULL CANDID, RULL FAST. Be there.
Bad news: Chris keeps asking me if we're supposed to have anything prepared for the panel and I keep telling him no, but between you and me—shit if I know. So if for nothing else, you should come watch us hand a microphone back and forth between us as we awkwardly shift our eyes around the room and play a few live rounds of Trapped in a Box for 29 Hours. And then we can all get drunk(er) together. K SEE YOU THEN!
Good news: My parents are staying in Ireland for the rest of the month, so I'll be house/catsitting (or "taking care of my little sister," as they call it) for them, which should provide plenty of Evie-based hinjinx.
Bad news: STAYING HERE ALONE AT NIGHT IS TERRIFYING. Absolutely terrifying. I'm more than aware that this is the house that I grew up in and I slept here every night for roughly 18 years, but it is a ghost of a different color when you're here alone. Because its big and there's windows and mirrors everywhere and I keep expecting to look up and see someone's face and things creak and OH, YOU KNOW, the guest room across from mine contains the ashes of 1 human being, 3 cats and a poodle. Plus I'm going to have to put an entire symphony's worth of sleigh bells on that damn cat because she keeps creeping around the house like a silent little spooker, jumping up on me when I least expect it. Christ.
Example: One of my (many) little quirks is that I can't sleep in a bed that faces a door. Why? Because if I do, I stare at it all night expecting someone to dramatically bust in and kill me at any second. It makes no sense, it's kind of crazy, Go see a therapist, I already am, Well it's clearly not working, blah blah blah, whatever. A few months ago, my parents turned my room into another guest room and guess where they relocated my bed? Directly across from the door. Ah Jeez...I could always sleep next door in Becca's old room but there are two twin beds in there and there's no way in hell I'm closing my eyes only to open them and see a ghost laying in the bed next to mine. I could sleep in my parent's room but not only is their bed located across from the door; it's a glass door at the top of a staircase. And FUCK. THAT. WHITE. NOISE. I would stay up all night, scared to close my eyes because if I opened them I would obviously see someone creeping up the stairs with a knife ready to kill me. (I'm completely aware of how insane and paranoid I sound right now, by the way. Just go with it.) I could sleep in the basement. If I had a death wish. Or there's always the guest room. You know, GHOST OF GRANDPA PAST AND POODLES, guest room. So, clearly, the Ikea-ed shell of my old room is going to have to do.
I legitimately had to psych myself up to go to sleep last night. I kept the hall light on and my door opened a crack because that way if someone were to creep down the hall to kill me, I'd be able to hear them coming more than if the door were shut. (And don't even suggest I close and lock my door. Because if there's someone hiding in my closet, trying to unlock that thing to run out of my room would take precious seconds that I may or may not have.) (Bat shit crazy; I'm aware.)
As I laid on my stomach in bed with my head turned towards the wall, I reassured myself that everything was OK, that I was being ridiculous and I should just go to sleep. Now, what I didn't know at the time was that all .4 micropounds of Yevette McBlogger had just crept in, jumped up on the side of the bed that I wasn't facing and was patiently waiting for me to lift up the blankets so she could climb under and hunker down for the night, as she likes to do in my parents bed. I didn't hear her jump up because my fan was on and I didn't feel her because she weighs as much as a moderately sized ear of corn and thus doesn't even make a dent in the mattress. So imagine my surprise when Evie, tired of waiting for me to notice her, decided to firmly place a paw on the small of my back to get my attention.
...I'm not saying that I wet my childhood bed last night at the age of 25-years-old, but I'm also not not saying that I wet my childhood bed last night at the age of 25-years-old.
Good news: FREE LAUNDRY UP IN THIS PIECE!
Bad news: Now I'm going to make you look at my vacation photos from Ireland.
Worse news: And they're not the good ones I took on my digital camera either; they're the random shitty ones I took with my iphone. YOU'RE WELCOME!
The McBlogger Family Vacation in Ireland: Sheepies, Bunnies, Ebony & Ivory.
I saw this shirt at Urban Outfitters the day before we left, took a picture, texted it to Becca, Alex and Geoff and threatened to wear it everyday in Ireland, only to find that they were oddly supportive. Damn them for calling my bluff.
Alex and I had a later flight to JFK than everyone else, so Geoff sent me a text at 11am bragging about how they were already drinking at the airport with this attached:
So, I reminded him it was 11am, perhaps accused him of having a drinking problem and attached a photo of what I was drinking at the time:
Then when Alex and I got to the airport, we sent this, thinking we'd won the war:
But then our flight to JFK was delayed two hours and Geoff sent this picture of everyone already there, drinking and having a good time:
Damn him. Remember when I wrote that Queer Abby answer about not trying to break up your sibling's relationship...?
During our delay I read in US Weekly that Ian Ziering got remarried. Sucks for Helena.
Then I accidentally took a screenshot of my phone.
That's Jafari, who's pretty much the best flight attendant in the history of flight attendants. When we were stuck on the runway for 900 years, he got on the mic and was like, "WELP, IT'S FIVE O'CLOCK SOMEWHERE!" and threw booze and granola bars at us.
Alex was Ghost Train Excited at being able to drink during take-off.
I realize that this is the most country thing to get excited about, but Becca and Geoff's rental car had like, an obscenely large sunroof. So I took a picture of it. WHATEVER, Alex has his ghost trains and take-off drinks, I have my novelty-sized sunroofs. We get our kicks where we can.
A pub in Kenmare.
Back at our house, view of the water.
Hangin' out on the dock. We saw otters and swans and fish and crabs and NATUUUUURE, Goulet.
Low tide. Which I asked my dad to explain and everyone scoffed all, "OH MEG, she's so simple," but nobody could explain beyond, "it has something to do with the moon." Well, thank you. Thank you for your abstract answer.
An ice cream shop called "Bia Bia." Which was endlessly funny to me and my sister. Why? It has something to do with the moon. And Lil Jon.
CAPTAIN ROSS' SEAFARI!!!!!1 The main attraction was supposed to be the seals but it ended up being Captain Ross.
That's a picture of Captain Ross from 10 years ago when he was on top of his Seafari game. Now he mostly just chain smokes, zones out and sings "On the Good Ship Lollipop." I, obviously, fell in love.
Alex taking a rum-coffee break on the Seafari. Note the courtesy poncho that he grew oddly attached to.
In a pub watching The World Cup. That guy was absurdly attractive.
Motion blur is such a cockblock...
IT GETS DARKER LATER THERE BECAUSE WE'RE SO FAR NORTH! WEIRD! Quote my sister, "9:30 at night and it's broad-ass daylight." That and big 'ole sunroofs. EUROPE SHO IS WACKY!!!!
Earlier that day, I had read Tulane Chris' post about his middle school experience and how he ate a lot of chicken hamburgers, and later when we were out a-pub-crawlin', I became obsessed with eating an old-school chicken hamburger. Like, I wouldn't shut up about it. Then at the last pub of the night, I was like, "OH MY GAWD, I WANT TO MAKE LOVE TO AN OLD-SCHOOL CHICKEN HAMBURGER! LIFE IS UNFAIR!" and Geoff was like, "Well it's on the menu, get it," and I lost my shit. Ordered it. Took a picture. And date raped it. (This is the most asinine story I've ever told. I apologize.)
Becca, Geoff, Alex and I spent a mini-cation in Dublin and that, my friends, is James, our student tour guide at Trinity.
By the end of the tour, we were all swooning over James. Geoff included, frankly. I mean, look at him. How could you not fall in love? What with his little Ray Ban Wayfarers and Harry Potter robe. Plus before the tour started, he sensibly put on a sun screen and when someone asked him how long it would be before the tour started, he looked up in the sky and said, "ummm, about six minutes." Which we all interpreted as him telling shockingly accurate time by the position of the sun until we realized he was looking at a clock on the building behind us. I'd like to think that he still tells time via sun position though. God bless him. God bless his charismatic heart.
View from the Gravity Bar at the Guinness factory.
Nom nom nom.
Alex wants you to mug him.
I caught my sister taking a picture of this sign and was like, "what's up?" "It's just too good," she said, "Balls. Beaver. Nutgrove." Touché, madam.
Proving that I took pictures of things besides dat dem der funny signs.
Facade of the church where Bram Stoker got married.
Victorian wing of former jail, Kilmainham Gaol.
Peeking inside at the mural in Grace Gifford Plunkett's cell.
Front balcony where a lot of public hangings took place. Maybe if I weren't such a morbid fuck I wouldn't stay up at night worried about murderers? Yes? No? Hangings? Yes.
In St. Stephen's Green.
This woman was 50. 50-years-old. And she likes to kick, stretch and wear absurdly short, red mini-skirts around the quaint village of Kenmare.
The boat that took us to Skelling Michael; a remote island an hour off of the coast of Kerry that's covered in puffins and has a monastery at the very top. This boat is my best friend because it didn't make me puke.
It was unseasonably dry, sunny and 65-degrees during our entire vacation. One might say it was the luck of the Irish. (SEE?! SEE WHAT I DID THERE?!?!?!)
Truckin' out to Skelling Michael.
Skelling Michael. Which my debilitating fear of heights cockblocked me from climbing to the top of. I opted to befriend the puffins and a landscaper named Patrick (who I understood 34% of what he was said and didn't smell "awesome") instead.
Puffins and other sea birds kickin' it on the ledges. Vomit.
I cropped myself out, but I took this picture of me holding Evie to email to my parents all, "Home from Dallas, gave Evie a hug for you," and I appreciate how after a week of only occasional visits from the neighbors she's like, "REGULAR HUMAN INTERACTION (even if it is with Meg...) YES AND PLEASE."
I miss traveling, but I'm glad to be back! Hope all is well with you guys!