When in Ireland

Some of you might be thinking, "I'd like to be an awesome world traveler like you! You're so awesome."

And, yes, I am awesome.

But you're probably also thinking, "Man, I am too American to travel to non-English speaking countries. Learning languages takes too much work, and I'd like to pretend that I can't do it because I'm a grown up. I think I'll meander to Ireland!"

Well, American, you're in luck. The primary spoken language in Ireland is good ol' English.

But if you choose to meander to Ireland, there are some critical differences in the language.

Imagine for a moment that you are wandering the streets of Dublin/Cork/Limerick/Ireland. You meet a stranger and begin to talk. Your conversation goes like this:

• You: "Words words words, ramble ramble ramble, words words words, I'm American!"
• Irish person: "Words in an Irish accent!"
• You: "I'm looking for something to do, good sir. What can you recommend?"
• Irish person: "You can go to the place over yonder for some good crack."

PAUSE.

At this point, you're probably thinking, "Did this Irish man-woman just suggest that I go get some crack-cocaine?"

The answer is no. Well, probably not, anyway.

The Irish man-woman-child was most likely just letting you know that the place over yonder is good craic. Craic, while pronounced "crack," is the Irish word for "fun." So, in Ireland, the craic is safe. Though you might still want to avoid the crack.

PLAY.

• You: "Oh, that's just awesome. I am always looking for some good craic."
• Irish person: "I saw a film the other day that was good craic. It had your man, what's his name, in it."

PAUSE.

You might be confused about who your man is. Don't worry; the Irish man-woman-child-cat was not suggesting that you are in a homosexual/heterosexual/bisexual/multisexual/velociraptorsexual relationship with "your man."

"Your man" is simply the equivalent of the American phrase, "that guy."

Another thing that you might notice during your sojourn to Ireland is the use of the word "like."

"Like" is a word that is frequently abused in all varieties of the English language as far as I can tell. Americans, like, use, like, the word "like" as, like, a filler, and like, um, an adjective, and like, they just like to, like, abuse the word "like."

The Irish use the word "like" at the end of sentences like. And it might confuse Americans into thinking that there's more to the sentence than there is. BUT THERE'S NOT.

Because your man is good craic like.

The Day the Pumpkin Died

Let me tell you.

I am not one for homesickness. In fact, I don't think I've ever been homesick in my life. Peace out; I'm off adventuring.

But there are some things that just make me shed a little tear. (Figuratively, not literally. I've cried while I was here, but that was only because I was reading Deathly Hallows, and if you can get through that book without crying, then you're probably Voldemort. In which case stop reading my blog. No evil wizards allowed.)

Sure, the stores close ridiculously early. The pharmacies that are advertised as "late night" close at 9 on weekdays and 6 on weekends. They clearly missed the memo defining the term "late." But, whatever, I tend to peace out of town by 6 p.m. anyway since 6 is when my dinner is served. And I'm not going out after I eat. Because I stare at the internet for hours upon end after I eat. That's just how the world works.

(For the record, I do more than just stare at the internet while I'm in Ireland. Sometimes I go sit by the seafront and read. Sometimes I sit on the pier and read. Sometimes I sit in People's Park and read. Sometimes it rains and I choose to take pictures of pigeons because that's what normal people do when it rains. Don't judge me. You don't know me.)

(For the other record, I also do things other than read in various locations. On the weekends, I go frolicking about the country. I've been to the National Museum of Archaeology, the National Museum of Natural History, the Sea Life aquarium place, Dublinia which is a museum about Viking and medieval Dublin, the Listowel horse races, Cork, and Kinsale. And maybe other places. It's not my job to remember things.)

And, yeah, all my frands are at home. But they're part of the internet, and since I neglect them while I'm at home in favor of the internet, whatever. And at any rate, the large amount of time I spend alone helps me to not hate people for being people.

And my Big Black Dog is not in Ireland. And he is a handsome man. But, srsly, for the past x number of years, I haven't lived with him. So. Yeah. And sometimes when I'm chilling at the park, dogs walk up to me. They're like, "Hey bro, I'm a dog. Just chillin'. You wanna pet me?" And I'm like, "Totally." Then we pet. It's good times.

The one thing that could force one into homesickness is the lamentable lack of pumpkin products that plagues Ireland.

Has no one thought to can pumpkin here?

This is October. In 'MERICA, one should eat nothing but pumpkin product starting in September and going until at least mid-November.

It's a sad day, really. You say "pumpkin pie," and people are like, "Wait wait wait. You put pumpkin in a pie? That sounds ridiculous."

No, Irish people. Pumpkin belongs in everything.

The only salvation is Starbucks, which, bless its American heart, has that delightful beverage known as the Pumpkin Spice Latte. Pure bliss in a cup.

Oh, and I did find a street vendor selling "pumpkin bread," but I don't think there was any pumpkin in it.

Expectations vs. Reality

So, before you travel abroad, everybody and everybody's mom are like, "THIS IS HOW YOUR LIFE WILL BE BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT EVERYONE EXPERIENCES."

And I'm like, "lol, you forgot to take into consideration how I tend to be the exception to your silly rules of society."

And that's how it went down.

Everybody says that you'll cry at the airport when you leave your family. Not my style, bro. Peace out, I'll be back in four months. This trip has a set limit of time. I have no reservations about being here. I, quite frankly, do not care that I've left my family and friends. (Not that I don't love you all. I do. Here, I got you a less than three: <3.) It would be a different situation if I had come here with no defined end date. Then I might be a bit upset about saying goodbye to everyone. But I have very clear plans of returning home in December. So, excepting the end of the world or death, I'll see everyone next year.

Then everyone says that you'll experience culture shock, even if your host culture is similar to that of your home culture. And I'm like, "lol, culture shock?" Seriously, did I even leave the USA? The most shocking thing thus far has been determining where the road signs are. Really, where are they? Half the time I still can't find them. They're always posted on a fence or a wall or not at all. I suppose I kind of had the honeymooning phase of culture shock, but that was really more of, "DUDE THERE'S A SEA RIGHT HERE I CAN GO LOOK AT THE SEA LOOK IT'S A SEA LET'S LOOK AT IT WATER." Because, you know how I roll: I really like water. It's kind of my jam. But, really, I kind of feel like I've lived here forever. There is no adjustment to this.

The biggest adjustment is my lack of car. And I figured out how to work public transportation after about three seconds. But, still, my car. Public transportation means that I have to plan in advance. That is just far too much work. I don't like having to think ahead. I am impulsive. I like to do things whenever I think of them. But with these buses and trains and what have you, I have to actually think about how I'm going to get to my intended destination. Then I have to follow the public transportation schedule which is a giant bummer.

Oh, and they neglect to tell you that a child will bite your bum while you're teaching. What?

Things I Miss, Part 2

I also miss Nashleton the Lion who is a very handsome man.

Happy, Margaret?