Planes, trains and automobiles…and Ireland

I’ve decided it’s rather ironic that I am a communications major because I so clearly suck at communicating with those I love…I’m no good at e-mailing, I never answer my phone (because it never rings…stupid phone), and I desert my xanga for weeks, months, years at a time.  Part of this can be blamed on the ever-crashing computer, but mainly it is my fault.  To my faithful readers (erm…Angi and apparently Heather): I do apologize.


Last weekend was crazy hectic.  I left my apartment at 4 a.m. to catch a bus to catch a train to catch a plane to catch a taxi to get myself to Ireland.  The entire time I was thinking of the movie Planes, Trains and Automobiles and all the crap that could potentially have gone wrong during this excursion, but it went remarkably well, except when we got off the plane but couldn’t go into the airport until another plane had turned around and taken off right in front of me, thereby blasting me in the face with hot air.  But I was in Ireland, so I didn’t care.  Ten of us – Kurt, Kristin, Keely, Katie, Ryan, Tim, George, Abby, Meg and myself – made the journey to Cork, and all but Abby stayed in one six-person shoebox in a hostel.


The first day we just wandered around Cork for a while, and then took a nap because 4 a.m. is really freaking early.  That evening we met up with some Bennies and Johnnies studying in Cork.  That was bizarre, to see familiar faces in Ireland.  If you have facebook and have glanced at the pictures of me tagged by others, you will see eight different shots of me sitting in a chair with a can of Foster’s.  This is because George was obsessed with the thought of getting me drunk, and decided he needed a “before” picture (there is no “after” picture and not really any “during” pictures either because George didn’t really succeed in his task), and suddenly everyone was snapping pictures from all angles.  You may also notice that Kurt labeled his version of this picture “Pre-Shimmy.”  Erm.  That’s not really fair, because I don’t think Kurt actually saw the shimmy that night (although it did happen…we went to a pub and a creepy old man told me I need to teach Keely how to do it), and besides, by the end of the night he had forgotten how to speak English.  And I got us home.


The next day, Meg, Katie, George and I took off for Blarney.  We also ran into a girl from George’s high school on the bus to Blarney, so that was strange.  Anyway, it was fantastic.  It was ridiculously gorgeous, and so much fun, and I couldn’t even believe it was February.  And now I have the gift of eloquence because I kissed the Blarney Stone!  Now I do not even need that degree in communications…Monday the whole lot of us went to Cobh, a small town on the coast, and had ourselves some Irish coffee before heading back to London.  I’ve been here since, trying to lay low and give myself (and my liver) a break before Sabrina comes to visit me tomorrow!  Yay spring break!  Yay Sabrina!  Yay the Chipotle she’s bringing me!

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