How was my last night in Ireland? …problematic.
Yep. Back in the real world.
Whew. Was SO not ready to be home. I thought I’d be ready (e.g. done with living out of a suitcase, done with traveling and staying in new places all the time, etc etc etc) after seven weeks but… yeah. I think I just got used to it.
BUT. It’s good to be back, too.
Let’s jump right back in, shall we?
Well. When last I left you, there was a file bin being used to hold Instant Sangria. While I wish-I-could-blame-that-but-can’t, my last night in Dublin proved rather interesting.
You know, I checked into my room dreading the idea of sharing my personal space with three other people. I have not had to do that in a really. long. time. In addition, I assumed these girls were young (apx. 21) and acting… about as I would have if I were in Dublin and 21.
I was not looking forward to my evening.
Which I pictured to entail the following:
- Grabbing a few drinks, but going to bed at a reasonable hour.
- Being awoken at 3am by my new roommates, stumbling through the door and trying not to wake me up, shitfaced drunk and post-hookup. Unable to control their whispered re-telling of the night’s exploits with booze and 21-year-old boys. I could already hear the giggling.
However. I figured it wouldn’t matter as it was my last night and all I had to do was get on a plane.
SO I planned on doing the following:
- Nice glass of wine at reputedly excellent wine bar, along with some decadent dessert, to celebrate last night in Europe.
- Hit up another reputedly good bar nearby for a final Guinness.
- Head to Temple Bar, see if there is anything interesting going on (already been out there before, try something new).
- If not, hit up a recommended brewery to try another stout.
- Go home and go to bed.
- Be woken up in the wee hours blah blah blah.
My night did not, shall we say, go as planned.
First problem? I could not find the wine bar. Bummer. I really like dessert.
Second problem? Run into a group of English + Irish boys at the bar (which I was able to find).
Now, to be fair, it is not at all uncommon to have random people strike up conversations with you while in Irish pubs (perhaps you’ve heard this rumor – it’s true).
One of the guys (he owns a potato chip – oh sorry – crisp company. Why do I think that’s so funny?) found me particularly easy to talk to. And bought my first Guinness.
Third problem? I like Guinness.
Found out it was Thanksgiving in the states and I was in Dublin, alone. Bought my second Guinness (…perhaps you see why this was problem number two…)
Around this time, we start talking about how things are shit in the world and it doesn’t matter what you do, you need to just have less people. Period.
However. He says fuck everyone and drives an SUV (I didn’t know people in Europe even had those – I’d only seen… maybe two) and wants a shit-ton of kids.
I hadn’t ever found him attractive. Now he is also Proud to be a Hypocrite. And Part of the Problem. But, as is a fucking problem in bars when you allow people to buy you drinks, I felt like I had to keep talking to him. As long as I am still drinking his money.
Guinness #3 arrives out of nowhere. Problems 2 -3 proving more problematic than anticipated.
Somewhere during #3, Potato Crisp tells me he thinks I just need someone who is on my level. You know, intellectually. He doesn’t think that he is (ok then, am I off the hook? Can I go now?). He also thinks I will want kids when I meet the right person (…yikes buddy… that’s what happened to my mom… ) and that I will have four (yeah, no.)
Somewhere towards the bottom of #3, Potato Crisp tells me that, “you know all those… like, places in the US where all the people are doing drugs and stealing stuff and just killing each other? Well, we should just go in there and kill them all. I mean, they’re just killing each other any way so… it makes sense.”
I believe you talking about ghettos, yes? Hmmm… well I don’t believe that all the people just kill each other and do drugs there and um no.
“Why not? They’re just stealing things and doing drugs and killing anyway.”
At this point I drained #3. “Gentlemen, it’s been a lovely evening but I have a plane in the morning. Enjoy your night.”
Thus we come to problem four. Nikki decides she wants to check out that brewery now. Meh. What’s three Guinness pints in just over an hour? And why not pretend we’re a different person if we’re a little tipsy so we can talk about ourselves in the third person?
Needless to say, Nikki was not, actually, in bed at a reasonable hour.
Instead, Nikki was stumbling in at, um, after 4am. Shitfaced drunk and post-hookup. Trying not to wake the three Spanish girls in her room who had a 7:30am plane to catch (i.e. they had to wake up in, oh, an hour or so?).
Lucky for them, she didn’t have anyone to whisper to about the night’s exploits with booze and 21-year-old boys (let’s revisit college – oh boy).
The Spanish roommates were about 21 though. I got that part right.