Of Chicanery
This country is trying my patience.
I can tolerate the high prices and the rape by the exchange rate. I like the people, they're generally industrious and friendly (sidenote: my roommates discovered beer pong last night. Watching their attempt at playing was great. It was like finding chimps building a house). I'm even okay with most of the now-shattered preconceptions of this country. But technology here is rebelling against me. The network stopped giving me service in my room, and even the computers in the labs are now giving me crap. Added to the phone malfunction, this is crap. It's like Ireland is trying to cut me off from contacting home. I swear, this time next week the entire postal network is going to shut down or something ridiculous like that.
God...goddamnit. Even the mousewheel won't work right. That's just petty.
In all other respects, things have been fantastic. I went to a ceili the other night that they had on campus, which was a great laugh. Music, dancing, free drinks, and apparently the band playing was the premiere trad band in the world. According to my music teacher, it was the only time in our lives that we'd be able to see them for anything under $50.
...Oh, that's obnoxious. The keyboard has the euro symbol on it but it still types the dollar sign. Fantastic.
Anyway, the ceili was a lot of fun, followed up by my greatest defeat in months.
So there I was in the bar with a couple friends, having a little bit of a nightcap and chatting. One of my friends had brought her new acquaintance with her.
Enter Élodie, stage left.
Élodie was a smoking hot French girl. I impressed her using my sped-class second grader French skills and we hit it off. For a solid hour and a half we were talking and it all clicked. My friends were giving me knowing glances and encouragement from the sidelines. This was the kickoff return from the 10 yard line that was just passing the fifty with no time left on the clock and we're down by five. I felt invincible.
Kate, the girl who had brought Élodie, tells me that Élodie lives in the same housing village as me and suggests I walk her home. Élodie is delighted.
He's at the forty!
He could -
So we walk back after last call (at about midnight - another rant for another day) and we come to the point where we're supposed to part ways. She asks me if I want to come up for tea. I tell her I would be delighted.
The thirty!
- go -
So we have tea and we're still chatting and everything is going amicably. She's laughing and putting her hand on my arm. She gives me the sideways look, the one that says, "You're getting there but not quite yet." I begin thinking how funny a bastard French child would be.
The twenty!
- all -
She leads me into her room to show me a couple of books that she thought were great. I decide bastard French children are the funniest kinds.
The ten!
- the -
She starts talking about her laptop and how much it sucks. I'm feigning interest, but then, she says, "Oh well, my boyfriend is coming to visit next week and he's going to let me use his and take mine back."
Oh, and he's taken down just short of the endzone!
Where'd that linebacker even come from, John?
I don't know, but that's a crying shame.
Awful way to end a game.
I leave. Élodie gives me her number. I contemplate burning her apartment building down. I still haven't decided what her deal was. Gah. Oh well. Tonight is a vast birthday party at the Stables Bar for an American turning 21. Victory will be mine.
I can tolerate the high prices and the rape by the exchange rate. I like the people, they're generally industrious and friendly (sidenote: my roommates discovered beer pong last night. Watching their attempt at playing was great. It was like finding chimps building a house). I'm even okay with most of the now-shattered preconceptions of this country. But technology here is rebelling against me. The network stopped giving me service in my room, and even the computers in the labs are now giving me crap. Added to the phone malfunction, this is crap. It's like Ireland is trying to cut me off from contacting home. I swear, this time next week the entire postal network is going to shut down or something ridiculous like that.
God...goddamnit. Even the mousewheel won't work right. That's just petty.
In all other respects, things have been fantastic. I went to a ceili the other night that they had on campus, which was a great laugh. Music, dancing, free drinks, and apparently the band playing was the premiere trad band in the world. According to my music teacher, it was the only time in our lives that we'd be able to see them for anything under $50.
...Oh, that's obnoxious. The keyboard has the euro symbol on it but it still types the dollar sign. Fantastic.
Anyway, the ceili was a lot of fun, followed up by my greatest defeat in months.
So there I was in the bar with a couple friends, having a little bit of a nightcap and chatting. One of my friends had brought her new acquaintance with her.
Enter Élodie, stage left.
Élodie was a smoking hot French girl. I impressed her using my sped-class second grader French skills and we hit it off. For a solid hour and a half we were talking and it all clicked. My friends were giving me knowing glances and encouragement from the sidelines. This was the kickoff return from the 10 yard line that was just passing the fifty with no time left on the clock and we're down by five. I felt invincible.
Kate, the girl who had brought Élodie, tells me that Élodie lives in the same housing village as me and suggests I walk her home. Élodie is delighted.
He's at the forty!
He could -
So we walk back after last call (at about midnight - another rant for another day) and we come to the point where we're supposed to part ways. She asks me if I want to come up for tea. I tell her I would be delighted.
The thirty!
- go -
So we have tea and we're still chatting and everything is going amicably. She's laughing and putting her hand on my arm. She gives me the sideways look, the one that says, "You're getting there but not quite yet." I begin thinking how funny a bastard French child would be.
The twenty!
- all -
She leads me into her room to show me a couple of books that she thought were great. I decide bastard French children are the funniest kinds.
The ten!
- the -
She starts talking about her laptop and how much it sucks. I'm feigning interest, but then, she says, "Oh well, my boyfriend is coming to visit next week and he's going to let me use his and take mine back."
Oh, and he's taken down just short of the endzone!
Where'd that linebacker even come from, John?
I don't know, but that's a crying shame.
Awful way to end a game.
I leave. Élodie gives me her number. I contemplate burning her apartment building down. I still haven't decided what her deal was. Gah. Oh well. Tonight is a vast birthday party at the Stables Bar for an American turning 21. Victory will be mine.