(no subject)
FRIDAY, MAY 22
Class today, so no work. Had some barn braec and got down to business. Took a break for some really excellent macaroni and cheese (I don't even like macaroni and cheese and it was good), some rhubarb crumble, and apple pie. After class, the Americans all walked around Monaghan, and I got a pretty amazing dress at a boutique for only €10. Figures that the first clothes I got in Ireland are from France, though. But still. Good times.
Mary picked us up and we went home for dinner. We stayed up all night talking to Enda again. He talked about when he was younger, his mother wanted both him and his brother to be a priest. (For the record, I can't imagine Enda ever settling down enough to get married let alone to become a priest. He's a 80's kind of guy.) His mom's insistence for him to be a priest kind of turned him off to religion, but I've noticed that he still goes to church every Sunday and says part of the rosary with his kids every night. Back in the day, he had a massive pony tail (80's style), and his mom was always trying to cut it off while he was sleeping.
He also talked about when he was little and went to school, the teachers used to pretty much beat the hell out of kids. Apparently corporal punishment lasted a lot longer here than back home.
SATURDAY, MAY 23
Woke up slightly toshed from the night before. Enda took Matt and I along to pick up some furniture for the new garage for his business. We drove through Ballybay, the place I recognized from all the surveys I plug in as being one of the locations for the cattle markets.
We got back home, had some really tasty creamy soup, and went to the pub to catch the rest of the Heineken Cup Finals for rugby match before going to Enda's cousin's barbecue. Who won? Oh yes, I remember, Ireland won. Shit yes.
Rugby is like the man's version of American football. I propose that everyone who plays American football is a pussy. The main difference I could see (aside from the fiddly smaller rules) is that when you tackle someone who has the ball, the game doesn't stop and everyone gets off. No, you beat the living hell out of everyone in the pile until you get the ball from them, run for another three feet, then get jumped by a million dudes. Oh yeah, and they don't wear a million pounds of padding. A dude puked during the game because he got punched so hard. People who play American football are pussies compared to these dudes. Rugby players are real men.
Anyway, it was awesome to be in the pub for the match. Every time Ireland scored or the opposing team got the ball out of bounds, the entire pub screamed bloody murder. It was excellent. The whole time I thought about how much Ben and Emach would enjoy being in that pub at that time. I miss those guys.
Barry, the guy whose house we were an hour late arriving to, showed up at the pub to catch the end of the game. He had snuck away from his own party to sit in a pub with a bunch of slightly intoxicated (it was only like 5 pm) Irish men screaming at a TV. That's dedication. After the match ended and we won, we all went over to Barry's house for his kid's 4th birthday party/bbq celebration time.
When I got there I was walking (as best I could, as I was tipsy from the night before and had three drinks in me, which is enough to get me anyway) up to the table for foods when the littlest kid, Daniel, a little blonde thing who couldn't have been older than 2 staggered up to me and hugged my leg. I have no idea why.
After dinner and copious amounts of playing on the bouncy castle with Niamh, Aisling, Amy, Elsa, and another little tyke whose name I've forgotten, plus playing horsey, we retired into the house to listen to "How to Speak Monaghanese" on one of the cousin's iPhones. (There was Barry and his wife, Thomas who is 26 and single, and a third brother whose name I've forgotten as well as a sister whose name I've forgotten. I'm so bad with names.)
Some of my favorite phrases:
-I wouldn't ride that girl even if she came with peddles.
-It's as useless as tits on a bull.
-I'm so weighed with hunger that I'd lick the arse of a low-flying duck.
-Treat them like mushrooms: keep them in the dark and fill them with shite.
-Join the IRA and see the world. Join the British Army and see the next world.
One thing I've noticed in Ireland is that if you have a drink that is half empty and more, it will be refilled no matter how much you protest. Barry got up to go find something to make me drink after I had finished the bottle of Smirnoff Ice, despite my protests that I was really fine and all that, and Enda said, "Och, listen ta ya. Most girls would say thank you, and you fight it every step of the way. Just drink the damn drink, will yah?" He had a good point. So I did.
It was getting pretty late, and we were making motions to scoot off. Thomas, the 26 year old, said that he was going up to the Squealing Pig (the night club/bar) to meet some friends if wanted to come. We did, and hell was it fun. By some weird coincidence, all the Americans showed up as well. Thomas's friends were super nice (although not as good looking as Thomas, who looks almost exactly like Elijah Wood), and bought me a baby Guinness, an extremely girly drink that tasted like vanilla coffee.
We all decided to head over to the disco (dance club which definitely does not play disco music) at the Four Seasons Hotel, which you had to be 21 to get into, despite the drinking age being 18. As we were walking into the place, the bouncer grabbed my arm and asked how old I was. Not knowing about the age limit for the place, I said 19. He told me to step aside, and kind of shoved me out of line. Thank God for Thomas, who was the only one who saw me get shoved, and kind of tried arguing with the bouncer for a little bit to no avail.
After standing outside like losers for a few minutes, Thomas called his friend who was inside and asked him to kick open the side door. We ran like hell to catch it, and nonchalantly cruised in the place and went to find Matt and the other Americans and Thomas's friends (who had vanished after kicking the door open).
We found them and I finally won the battle for Thomas to ask Jamie, one of the American ladies, to dance. (A struggle that started at the Pig.) Audrey, the eternally socially awkward jerkoff that I am, actually busted a move or two.
At about half two as I was dancing with Matt, the bouncer who denied me entry earlier grabbed my arm and half-shoved and half-yelled at me to go, and another bouncer did the same to Thomas. Matt followed us, thank God, and we walked/stumbled back to Monaghan to get a cab. The joke's on them, though, because the entry fee or that disco is €12 and I was in there for like two hours for free.
We made plans to hang out with Thomas again soon (I love my Irish host second cousin), and got on the cab and crashed at home. And so ends my experience at the Pig and the Four Seasons disco.
More soon to follow. I have to finish writing about the week before tomorrow.