No one likes looking at pictures of flowers

But that won't keep me from sending them anyway. We went to Kew Gardens yesterday due to a serious overdose of museums. My dad can't stop talking about how much he enjoyed it...I'm not sure what it says that he gets more excited about plants than statues of naked women, but I'll leave that as 'his problem.'

I'm not a fan of flowers, but it was great practice to get more acquainted with Camera. I have no idea what I'm going to do with 121 pictures of them.


My mom loves this statue. She says it reminds her of when I was little and used to climb all over her without even needing her to hold on to me. I'm pretty sure this happened last week, too...

Susan asked me if London was a lot 'greener' than America. I'm not sure why I was hesitant in responding because the correct answer to this question is an emphatic Yes! I'll elaborate a little later, but for now I shall entertain you with the cap of my juice.

Ever since he saw that Discovery Channel show on that South African family who adopted a hippo, my dad has been obsessed with them. This was part of my birthday gift to him.

This is probably my favorite picture I've taken with Camera.

My family has an unhealthy amount of nicknames for each other

Mom: “Tim the Toolman Taylor has kids.”
Lisa: “Yeah but he…”
Mom: (cutting her off) “Is a jerk.”

I think when my mother goes home, she will report back to friends and family that her least favorite part of London was when a 20-something girl on the Tube offered up her seat so my mom could sit down. She declined the nice offer but probably moreso because she wanted to keep SOME pride rather than rest her weary, ancient feet.

Here’s another funny thing about my mother…and please let me know if this is common to all moms out there or if it’s just Janet. She dictates options. Going to a restaurant? She’ll be sure to read the menu out loud for you even though you’re holding one in your very own hands. (“Peter! They have hamburgers! Oh and look, baked haddock!”) Browsing in a store? There’s no way you’ll leave without knowing their entire inventory. (“Lisa! Look at these toasters! Oooh, garden tools! Hairbrushes!”) Yes, all three of those things were in the same store.

I’ve realized what my favorite thing about London is. And while I think I knew it already, it just didn’t materialize into an actual thought until last night as I was riding the Tube home and saw a woman who was CLEARLY a man; I wouldn’t have given him a second glance since he was very convincing as a woman except for the well-groomed goatee. In London, you can be whoever the hell you want to be and people will accept you and not even THINK to question or judge. (This observation does not apply to the masses of tourists. Tourists will stare at anyone and everyone and judge like they’ve never judged before. But you will find this in any city.) The goth kids we saw on Saturday who had more skin showing with black make-up than not were just going about being themselves free from ridicule from the Brits. And I think that’s great. London is full of such different (read as ‘freakish’ to some) people, but they fit in and are appreciated for who they are. This is something you would never find in Boston, and thus, one thing I think makes it the worse for it.

*music – you’ll never know how slow the moments go, ‘til i’m near to you

How did I live before without a zoom lens?

I really love cellos.
I also love trumpety type things.

You know what they say about a man with big hands.

This is my mother looking at glass knick knacks and thinking they're beautiful.

I know what you're thinking, but he actually DID shave that morning. It's just a very fierce 5 o'clock shadow.

I have a new best friend and his name is Camera

Question proposed by my mother at lunch: “You know who’s a real bigot?”
(Unfortunately, due to the rules of pinky swearing, I am not at liberty to tell you who the answer is.)

My dad walks a lot slower than he used to. Every time I start walking somewhere he always says, “Slow down a little bit” or “Do you have to walk so fast?” He reasons that it’s okay to walk slowly and what’s my hurry anyway? Personally, I think it has to do with a little something called He’s 59 Years Old.

My parents are having a great time in London. They are going through what I went through my first month here and so I have a soft spot for them in these new and exciting times. For example, my mom is terrified of crossing the street because she never knows which way to look; therefore, they never cross unless the little green man is lit…just in case. My dad is commenting on how unattractive British people are (and yet, when I met him for dinner two nights ago, he proceeded to tell me I looked very British). They are both enthralled by the Tube - my dad with the wind it creates underground and my mom with the speed at which it zooms by (which, I agree, is enough to kill 1800 Andre the Giants). It’s fun to watch them explore the city and become just as frustrated with stupid tourists who stand in the middle of the sidewalk, drool at the smell of those damn Belgian waffles, and try to figure out if that’s a South African accent we’re hearing or a British one (sorry, Michelle). I told my mom she should write up something about her visit and then she could be my first guest blogger. She didn’t seem too excited about that, but maybe she was just still worried from when I told her I was going to quote her on the bigot comment.

As for my love affair with Camera, he is wonderful. I am taking good pictures not because I’m a good photographer, but because it’s pretty hard to take bad ones with him. We are in love and it’s getting serious.

Your Awesomeness Knows No Bounds

Overheard at work: (in a hushed whisper) “This system scares the living shit out of me.”
*And just for the record, none of our computer systems are THAT scary. Obsolete? Yes. Scary? No.

This morning on my run the coolest thing ever happened. The street cleaning go-cart dude that I pass by every day honked at me and waved. He knows me! Okay, maybe to you it won’t seem so cool, but I feel loved.

I tried making brownies using my microwave oven/oven. I’m not sure who the geniuses behind this contraption are, but they should seriously be shot in the groin. It worked about as well as you would think a microwave would work as an oven. I had no idea what temperature it was set at, nor how long to bake it. When the chocolate pretty much started boiling on top I decided maybe it was done. So I took it out, let it cool, and then tried to cut into it. Other than perhaps shrimp, chopped liver, and pork chops, I’ll eat anything…but my friends, I could NOT. Eat. THIS. It was deceivingly delicious looking, as the top remained the color of “normal looking brownies.” However, the inside was “none more black” and tasted like a pair of pants (the trouser kind, not the underpants kind). I tried so hard to get past the gagging, but alas, in the end I just had to do the right thing and throw them away. I’m writing a letter to management demanding a real oven and a tray of brownies.

Last night we had to take the Tube to get to the kosher restaurant in Marylebone. So we’re walking up Oxford Street around 5:45 (prime rush hour of both business people and heinous tourists), it’s raining, my parents are hungry, and we’re not ENTIRELY sure where we’re going (and by ‘we,’ I mean ‘I’). We finally make it to the Oxford Circus Tube, but there is a huge throng of people trying to get in. We’re at the front of the pack shuffling our way to the entrance when they close the doors and say that we have to wait awhile due to overcrowding. And so there we are squished in amongst everyone – a little girl holding a map in her hand, a tiny woman holding a duck umbrella clutching both her bags to her chest so that grabby hands don’t grab, and an Orthodox Jew who decides that NOW is the best time to make a joke, loudly saying for everyone to hear, “Lisa, tell them you have to get home to feed your cat.”

Here’s what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid that while I mock my dad’s sense of humor, that I have actually inherited it and am turning into the same person. (Minus the beard. So far.)

Paddy O'Furniture

This was our baby Nissan in Ireland. You can't even see the scratch. Susan only looks happy because I hadn't yet made her drive on the left side of the road.

It's not just a clever name.

The sheep were all spray painted. Susan and I came up with some good ideas as to why, but even WE weren't convinced of some of them. Does anyone know the real reason?

Winky Face ;)

This weekend I was told I remind people of Sarah Silverman, Ellen Degeneres, and a penguin (not in the same sentence). I don’t mind the first two (although I’m not fucking Matt Damon), but a penguin?! Ted has been telling me that I look like a penguin since the 7th grade. Have I really not changed so much that after 24 years I still resemble the same arctic creature? And why, for the love of God, do people say penguin? Is it the combination of white/gray and black hair? The small stature? The propensity to waddle instead of walk? Or perhaps it’s my habit of laying eggs and then finding men to sit on them? Well in any case, I suppose it’s better than when my “friends” told me I looked like Filbert, the turtle from Rocko’s Modern Life.

Jews are not people to pass up a sale. This includes my mother who will call London from the Houston airport to ask me, nay TELL me, that I need a Swatch watch because they are 40% off.

I went to a barbecue/barbie/braai on Sunday (you know, to celebrate Jesus H.) and HOLY FUCK was it cold. This weekend was crazy for London weather – I saw lightning/thunderstorms, snow, hail, and sunshine all in the same day. But Sunday was mainly just cold. So I chose to warm up by standing near the grill. The only problem with this strategy (other than when some goofs drunkenly threw a phonebook on the coals) is that my peacoat now smells like burnt sausages. I forgot to wash it last night and so today I’m sure my co-workers and the people on the Tube are wondering what that disgusting, yet savory, smell is.

(Speaking of co-workers, G loved his hug this morning. He lingered a bit too long, but he’s helping me run reports today so I let him.)

After the craziness of the barbecue had died down, about 5 of us were left sitting on beanbags watching awesome YouTube music videos like Travis’ cover of Britney’s “…Baby One More Time,” Tegan and Sara’s “Umbrella” rendition, and Damien Rice doing his version of Radiohead’s “Creep.” But, and here is where you need to get ready to run to your computer, I was introduced to two videos that give “Oh My God Shoes” and “What What in the Butt” a run for their money. The first (search for ‘woman punch’) is a 9 second clip of a woman getting sucker-punched right in the face (oh MAN is it hilarious), and the second is a series of this crazy cartoon called Happy Tree Friends. A word of warning about these so-called Happy Tree Friends…even though it’s a cartoon, it was disturbing enough that I almost ralphed. I still recommend you check them out for yourself, though. Just maybe refrain from showing your children. (And yes, I’m going to hell.)

Sidenote – has anyone ever watched, I mean REALLY watched, old Betty Boop cartoons? I’m pretty confident in saying that the people who made those cartoons were on some serious drugs.

Snippet of a conversation between my mom and dad at dinner last night:
Mom: You know that woman in our condo building who loves you?
Dad: Which one?

P.S. JK about G.
P.P.S. It’s funny to type JK and mock the rest of the world. LOL.

Where Bear?!

I'm not sure why, but I am always 8 years behind the rest of the world in appreciating television series starring Ricky Gervais (the guy who created and starred in the BBC version of The Office). Today I am here to recommend Extras, the show that stars Ricky and another woman as actors who try to make it big. For those of you who might not like Ricky Gervais because of his ability to make the viewer cringe with every racist, sexist, and homophobic remark he says, this show will be better. Granted, it won't be any less painful to watch seeing as how there are still horrifyingly embarrassing scenes, but at least it's not his character causing most of them. In any case, I highly HIGHLY recommend it, especially the episodes with Patrick Stewart and Kate Winslet.

For the first time ever, in person at least, I saw a pregnant woman smoking a cigarette. I didn't have the balls to smack the fag out of her hand, but boy oh boy did I want to.

Here is installment #2 of sculpture conversations...

No! No please! Don't make me cover up BOTH of my boobs with this simple cotton sheet! Can't I please just leave one hanging free? Why do you always have to tower over me like this and threaten me with modest clothing? Oh hey wait a minute, what's this reminder rope around my wrist? Shit, I remember. I was supposed to change the kitty litter this morning.

Ah yes, my golden shoe. I think it accentuates my bulging calf muscle, don't you? I polish it every morning for 4 and a half minutes. No more, no less. You may ask why I don't polish the left one as well. I shall tell you, my son. I just don't feel the magic in it the way I do with Right Golden Shoe.
A la peanut butter sandwiches! And poof! I am immediately topless holding four pepper and onion calzones! Umm, wait a minute…excuse me? Can I talk to the director for a second? Yeah, hi. I just have a couple issues here. First of all, I'm going to need a pair of good high heels because standing on my tippy toes just isn't cutting it anymore. And second of all, this angel-wing sash? Yeah, it keeps slipping down my waist…can one of the prop guys get me some Velcro or something?
Bitch, hold up. Did you just say Whitney and CLYDE? Oh no she didn't just say that. Tina, did you hear what this girl just said? She said Whitney and Clyde done up and went behind MY back. Bitch, you best talk to the hand because I can't even look at your face right now.

Oh thank you thank you angel of heaven! You came and saved me just in time before the lions attacked and tore my limbs off one by one! Not to sound ungrateful though, but you wanna watch where you're putting your left hand? Just because you saved my life doesn't entitle you to a cheap feel, you know. Thanks. Appreciate it.

$4000 million

Sometimes it’s impossible to tell when you have that thin peanut shell stuck in your teeth.

I saw two people hug at work yesterday. I was totally shocked, which only leads me to conclude that people don’t hug in the office nearly enough as they should. That’s it. From now on I’m starting each day by hugging a different co-worker. Obviously I’m going to start with G; he’s cozy looking. I will keep you posted on how this goes…Mom and Dad, please have bail money ready.

Joke of the day: What is the difference between a well-dressed man and a tired dog?
One wears a suit, and the other? Just pants.

Nothing big and different in London for Easter. There are still bunnies, Cadbury Crème Eggs, and cellophane everywhere. Not to mention a severe lack of hamantaschen. But what is glorious about this holiday, other than the pastel M&M’s, is that we not only get Good Friday off, we also get “Easter Monday” as a bank holiday. Sidenote – I think I’m going to start using ‘good Friday!’ as an exclamation the same way I’m trying to incorporate ‘sweet potatoes!’ into my daily vocabulary as a phrase of delight.

Did anyone else have an electric blue spandex unitard that they insisted on wearing in public at all times growing up? No? Just me? Okay…just checking.

Corduroys are awesome. But they would be a whole lot awesomer if they didn’t make that swish-swish sound every time I walk somewhere.

Yesterday my company threw a welcome lunch in honor of the London office consolidation. I thought it was going to be a sit-down event but it turned out to be a socializing, mosey-ing, walk around type of deal. But the best part, other than the cake, was the finger sandwiches. They even cut the crusts off! It was all very British. (I didn’t really socialize, either. Everyone looked too prim and proper in their suits and whatnot and I had too many sandwiches to eat.)

I think I need to start hanging out with terrorists more. It’s really hard to get a cell phone without some sort of proof of residency. So how do those terrorists do it? I’ll bet the shoe bomber never had to show a utility bill to get unlimited text messages…

Apparently, a dead giveaway for an American in London is a Nalgene bottle.

I’m pretty sure I was the only one at last night’s symphony concert who still had all their own teeth.

Am I too all over the place with my thoughts? I try to pick a good topic but then I get distracted and move on to other things. I mean, I guess I could elaborate on all the old people’s teeth but I’m guessing it wouldn’t be all that enthralling. Well, maybe to some it would be, but those aren’t the type of people I want to be friends with anyway. Sorry.

There's more where this came from

Compass on the Eiffel Tower.


The ginormous Notre Dame Cathedral.


This was some Paris street that I decided to stop in the middle of and capture. Luckily there were no cars coming.


I'm going to ask you one more time and then I'm going to get my stun gun. Who's naked picture of David Hasselhoff is this?!

Theresa and I had fun coming up with rude and inappropriate comments about Parisian statues. About this one Theresa said, "If he was Irish, I could totally tell you what was going to happen next."

Because inquiring minds want to know

*This is my blog. And so I get to write about whatever I want to write about. Today you are fortunate enough to read random stories from my childhood. Settle in, it’s gonna be a good time.

We had this yard worker who smoked cigarettes. He asked me if I wanted to see him blow smoke out of his ears. Like any kid prompted with this question, I eagerly said yes. So he took a drag, closed his mouth, concentrated real hard, and smoke came out his nose. I was still impressed.

My dad had a huge American flag that he hung on the wall of our basement gym. To this day, it is the scariest thing in any place I’ve ever lived. And that includes those freaky life-size child dolls that pretend like they’re hiding in a corner. (If you’ve been to Otis, you know what I’m talking about.)

My mom stood with me at my bus stop until I was in the 6th grade.

I was sent to my room once and I had such a temper tantrum about it that I threw my Lite Brite against my closet door. That certainly got my parents’ attention.

I used to put my chewed gum behind the lamp on my night table before I fell asleep at night. I would start chewing it again in the morning. I started doing this after I fell asleep with gum in my mouth and woke up with it tangled in my hair.

When our dog Max got to be real old, he could no longer make it outside to go to the bathroom. This one afternoon, my sister and I came home from school and started watching Santa Barbara, her soap opera of choice. Max decided that while we watched tv, he would crap in the middle of our living room. I looked at Stacey and told her to clean it up. She refused. I told her that I certainly wasn’t cleaning it up. So we sat there. And so did the poo. It was the world’s worst game of chicken, reeking more and more as each minute passed. But then. Someone knocked on our door. I got up to answer it and holy crap (no pun intended), it was my teacher, Mrs. Fallon. She was stopping by to thank me for giving her flowers (she had cancer - but that’s a different story). So I open the door but I can’t invite her in because there’s a steaming pile of shit on the rug not 15 feet from where we’re standing, and all I can do is pray that she doesn’t smell it. If she thought it rude that I didn’t invite her in, I’ll never know because she never said anything about it. But after she left, I remember screaming at Stacey and blaming her for putting me in that horribly awkward situation. I wish I could tell you who ended up cleaning the dog crap, but I honestly don’t remember.

Gay pareeeeee

Find the dog in this picture.

Someone should tell that man that the Mona Lisa is behind him. Idiot.

I had to lie down on the ground under the Eiffel Tower to get this picture. It was worth the humiliation.

Theresa made fun of me for looking out every window in the Louvre. But she's the silly one since she didn't get this picture.

I took this picture and then we broke out into an overly dramatic rendition of an Elton John song.

Muppets and handcuffs

Susan gave me her rash. She broke out in Ireland and I think it was because of faulty Irish laundry detergent. I was horrified every time I looked at her and thanked my lucky stars that my arms weren’t covered in hideous red bumps like hers. But then we got back to London and I started noticing those same red bumps on my hand, my arm, and, bizarrely, on the bottom of my foot. I hope you’re all still friends with me after reading this confession.

I bought a new camera. A fancy pants camera that I will keep under my pillow at night and whisper sweet-nothings to each morning when I wake up. It’s not here yet (my parents are bringing it next week), but I am already planning our lives together. There will be much canoodling and tears of joy. I can’t wait!

Blurb in today’s LondonPaper:
“Amy Winehouse isn’t going to be around long unless she sorts herself out quick.”
SAYS KEITH RICHARDS – AND, AMY, HE SHOULD KNOW

I watched the movie ‘Bobby’ tonight. What an eye-opener that was… I can’t even imagine how helpless people must have felt in those few years in the mid-60’s. Out of a country filled with hatred, oppression, and war, we were lucky to have such strong, true, and great leaders emerge. With each speech these amazing orators gave, people let themselves hope just a little bit more, and there was finally a light at the end of the tunnel. But one by one, those leaders were killed. I know that if I had been alive when Kennedy was shot, I would have thought it couldn’t get any worse. I would have already felt helpless and hopeless. But then Martin Luther King would be shot and I would once again feel like I was at the lowest point possible. And then Robert Kennedy. What were my parents feeling each time they heard about these assassinations? Were they afraid this country would never stand on two feet again? Was there a general fear that the country couldn’t move forward without sacrificing great men in the process? Did they stop letting themselves hope for the best? There were so many incredible things that happened in that decade of American history. But I can’t help but think that they will forever be overshadowed by the horror created by Oswald, Ray, and Sirhan, and all I can do is cry to think about it.

Why is it physically impossible for me to take a normal picture?

People have told me this in the past, but I think I'm taking it to a whole new level.

I think this is the most appropriate face to make at the Blarney Castle.

She was paying more attention to a computer game than to me, so I was forced to eat her head.

This was a cool setting on Theresa's camera. "My memory" will be about how I wish I didn't have that huge zit on my face.
The stairs at the Blarney Castle were treacherously insane. I don't know how fat American tourists travail them.

I made this face every time Theresa led me straight into traffic.

Not a bad time to work for my company

I had an overdue library fine today for the first time in about 8 years. I cannot even convey the enormity of my disappointment about this. I blame the British library system. It was even worse when I tried to pay and the woman was like, “I’m afraid you’re 5 pence short.” No lie – I had 1.58 GBP in my wallet and my fine was 1.12 GBP. I really need to go to the ATM…this book addiction is getting serious.

I love my mom. She’s probably the cutest woman on Earth right behind Kristin Chenowith, the woman who plays Eric’s mom on That 70’s Show, and Hillary Clinton. Having said that, she’s totally still a mom and is in the dark about many things, like many moms are. This comes in handy when I make inappropriate references in my blog that go unnoticed. But after I sent out the pictures of me at Stonehenge and the Eiffel Tower today, I got an email from my dear, dear mother that read:
“2 pictures so far ‘rocking out’ with a hand gesture. I am not familiar with this.”
I’m sorry mom, but I could win the lottery right now and this email will still have been the highlight of my day.

Every time I got in our little Irish Nissan, I reached over my left shoulder for the seat belt that was located over my right shoulder. You would think that after the first 4 times I would have learned. I didn’t. And then I hit a car. (I’m going to keep bringing this up until it’s not true anymore.)

I must have missed the brochure about the Roman baths in Bath being a romantic getaway because that place was just filled with touristy couples sneaking kisses around every corner. I mean, I guess I can see the appeal of togas, steamy water, and Ionic columns…if I try REAL hard.

The good news: I ordered a Guinness at our first pub in Ireland.
The bad news: I had about two sips before I made the ‘I hate beer why do I keep drinking this’ face and gave the rest to Susan.
The good news: Susan ordered a Guinness at another pub and proving rumor true, it tasted different than the last one we had ordered. This one was sweeter and didn’t taste like death, so I had another sip. That brings my total beer drinking on this side of the Atlantic to a quarter of a pint. Yahoo!

Kinda lame, kinda funny…Joke of the day:
What did the skeleton ask for at the bar?
A beer and a mop.

I just can't help myself I guess

Maybe driving on the left side of the road would have been more successful if I hadn't felt the need to pose like a superhero at all times. Nah, I still would have sucked. (And in my first email about Ireland I forgot to mention that I was indeed driving on the left side of the road. I hope no one out there thought I was THAT terrible a driver that it's par for the course to hit parked cars. The left side of the road, people. It's not for kids.)
(And this is me trying to figure out where the key goes. Or something.)

Bath, Stonehenge, and Susan

It's not just a clever name for a town in western England. No, I didn't swim in it. Gross.
This picture would be way more awesome if that girl weren't in it (not Susan, the girl on the right...although I could have done without Susan too) and if my hat weren't on straight in Nerd Fashion.
Rocking out to Stonehenge. (That's my new sheep bag I bought in Ireland. It is my new favorite possession.)
Susan and I went to see Avenue Q in London on her last night here and we got awesome side booth seat tickets. She has said, and I agree, that this picture sums up our friendship.

Ireland pictures

The view from Blarney Castle. I am not kidding when I tell you we saw almost as many castles as sheep.
Kissing the stone.
The sun shining on our faces was the only 5 minutes of sun the entire three days. I think it's just something about Susan that brings terrible weather.

Paris pictures

Despite how awkward it looks with me semi-putting my arm around Theresa, we had an awesome time in Paris. This picture was taken by the ditzy American girls.

This was us before we climbed the Eiffel tower.

This was us after we climbed the Eiffel tower.

This is me rocking out to the tower.

I should have looked happier in this picture since I had just eaten a delicious cheese sandwich on a baguette. I'm pretty sure I ate 5 pounds of butter that trip.

Tirty Tree

Yeah, yeah. Ireland’s green and beautiful and the people are incredibly friendly, blah blah blah. The most important thing Susan and I learned on our 3 day adventure to Erin is that the worst names for our unborn children are: Shannon Anna Anenberg and Egg Wolk.

I think this might be funnier if I just elaborate on all the notes I took instead of trying to form a coherent, flowing recap. (Plus, it’s less work for me.)

- First, a totally unrelated-to-Ireland Susan quote. (Not 30 seconds into our walk around Hyde Park on her first day in London) “I have a cramp.”
- Things not to shout at an airport to emphasize the smallness of the prop plane you’re about to board: “Shotgun!”
- So we’re on said prop plane and about to touch down at Galway airport. I couldn’t even finish asking Susan “We’re going awfully fast, aren’t we?” when the plane all but dropped onto the runway and lurched us from our seats. Susan thinks it was at this ‘last moment on Earth’ that I grabbed her hand. Truth be told, I was reaching for the damn armrest to hold on for dear life.
- By far the greatest thing I did on the trip was ask the Budget rental car man if he wanted to give us a free upgrade to an automatic. When he agreed to do it for an extra 5 Euros a day, we thanked him profusely and told him he was doing both us and himself a favor. I don’t think he understood.
- I almost hit a girl walking on the side of the road at night.
- I DID hit a parked car in broad daylight.
- Susan: “Aaaaaaaaand you’re on the curb.”
- I would report back on the number of times Susan yelled ‘Ohmygod’ and grabbed the Oh Shit bar or screamed ‘Too close! Too close!’ (referring to my proximity to the left side of the road) while I drove, but I stopped counting at 42.
- We drove 1400 kilometers in 3 days.
- I finally got to watch a hurling match on television. That is one dangerous sport.
- I have no shame. We stayed in a double bed at our first B+B. Susan was lying in bed looking at the map and trying to figure out our route for the next day when I decided now would be the best time to clip my fingernails. Despite her look of utter disgust and insistence that I do it in a more appropriate place like the bathroom, I figured she needed to be exposed to what married life will bring so I stood my ground and assured her I would keep track of all the nails. Halfway through clipping, I start giggling uncontrollably and she says, “I think we should drive up towards you lost one, didn’t you?” I just kept laughing because I couldn’t breathe enough to say yes.
- We had a hard time finding an open pub at 8:30 pm in Kenmare that also had good fare and reasonable prices. We walked into our last viable option and saw a man with the World’s Most Obvious Wig on his head sitting alone at the end of the bar looking at us expectedly. So I say, “Hi. Are you still serving food?” That’s when the bartender came out of the back room and the man gave us a judging look and returned his gaze to the newspaper in front of him. (I’ll send a picture of him soon…)
- When I asked our B+B host if she could make us potatoes instead of bacon and sausage for breakfast, she looked at us as though I had asked for barbecued children. Am I way off base in assuming potatoes are a common Irish food that might be served as a delicious breakfast dish? (Please note that Susan forced me to change ‘we’ to ‘I’ in this story saying, “Don’t make this about me.”)
- We told our second B+B host that we wanted scrambled eggs and when he brought us our toast first, he said, “We’ve caught the chicken, so we’re on target.” (This guy was both hilarious and amazing. He had a coffee table book called ‘World’s Best Mother-In-Law Jokes” and a framed picture of his dog sitting on an armchair.)
- So I’m driving on some scary-ass road bordering a cliff in Nowhere, Ireland when it starts to rain buckets. We’re fearing for our lives when I see a branch in the middle of the road and exclaim, “Oooh! Branch!” and run right over it. Susan says, “Hey, you know what we need right now?” “What?” “A flat tire.”
- The sheep in Ireland (all 5,000,000 of them) are so cute I could just eat them. So I did. And oh boy were they delicious!
- You remember that scene in Spinal Tap when Nigel and the band are expecting this huge, imposing Stonehenge model to come down from the ceiling and land on the stage but instead it’s this one-foot-tall rinky dink little monument? That’s EXACTLY what the Burren was like.
- Life advice #414: If you are in Ireland and you think there’s something wrong with the shower’s hot water, don’t complain to the inn owners. Just pull the string that’s hanging down from the ceiling; it’s the hot water pump, not one of those emergency showers from 9th grade chemistry lab like you thought it was.
- In my humble opinion, it is much better and more efficient to drive over rotaries instead of around them.
- Susan thinks it’s funny that I said “I can’t stand people who drive 80 kph in a 100 kph zone” because she claims that was me for the first two days of our trip. I don’t agree.
- Ireland must have gotten a really good bulk deal on ‘100 kph’ speed limit signs. The limit was 100 kph regardless of whether I was driving on an open highway or taking ridiculously tight turns around a cliff where it was physically impossible to go more than 40 kph. Seriously, Ireland. What’s the deal with this?
- Our trip, while amazing and fun and funny and memorable, included two of my life’s scariest moments so far. The first one happened as we were on our way to the Cliffs of Moher, a must-see sight recommended by everyone and their mothers (and also known as the Cliffs of Insanity in The Princess Bride). I had been warned by numerous people not to go too close to the edge because it’s windy and there aren’t guardrails or barriers to prevent unsuspecting American tourists from being blown off (which HAS happened). Thinking we were invincible, Susan and I chose to not heed the advice of the locals when they told us a storm was coming and today would NOT be a good day for the cliffs. I’m driving up yet another twisty-turvy road (whose width could barely fit one car let alone two) and the wind is blowing insanely hard and it’s raining. I’m nervous about proceeding but Susan is all smiles and singing Vanessa Williams without a care in the world. I tell her I think maybe we should turn back because it’s REALLY windy and we’re not even at the top yet. It’s then that I pull over to the side of the road and say, “I really don’t think we should go any further.” She replies, “It’s not that…” but she couldn’t finish her sentence because our car had just been blown onto 2 wheels instead of 4. That’s when I stopped caring what she thought and got the hell out of Dodge. (So in the end, we didn’t get to see the cliffs, but at least we’re still alive. I think it’s a fair trade-off.)
The second scary-ass incident also had to do with driving. Ireland, while full of curvy, narrow roads, is completely devoid of streetlights. On our way back from dinner in Killarney one night, we took the route that went through Killarney National Park. Things that added to the horror-film level of fright I experienced that night: pitch darkness, Mulholland Drive types of curves, huge, looming boulders, being in the middle of nowhere with no cars, no houses, no buildings, and no people, and last but not least, Susan trying to ease my fears by telling me Ouji Board stories. The only thing that would have made for a scarier experience would have been coming upon a sheep in the road and having his beady red eyes stare me down.

Ireland was fun!

I love Paris in the wintertime

“The blacks love me here.” That, my friends, was said by one Theresa Burton at the Church of the Sacred Heart in Paris after a man started talking to her from afar, probably in hopes of securing some kind of monetary compensation. But it wasn’t just “the blacks” who loved her – it was the whites, the sandwich sellers, the strange men looking for internet cafes, the families from St. Louis, and the ditzy American girls on holiday from studying in Rome. My mom has two rules in life that are repeated to me whenever I go out of the house: Don’t talk to strangers and Put paper down. I can’t say for sure about the latter, but Theresa loves disobeying the former.

Paris. Was. Awesome. I’d been there twice before, but apparently I was too immature and stupid to appreciate it for the beautifully amazing city it is. Sure, I still don’t know how to say ‘Can I have your ticket stub’ in French and continue to freak out when crossing the huge rotary that is the Concorde, but I think this trip was one of my favorites ever. I have a million stories naturally, but I’ll try to highlight the most fun ones…

- Theresa has a propensity for falling. We weren’t in Paris 10 minutes before she fell down and cracked her elbow. That’s when I started keeping track of near-falls for the rest of the week. At the time of writing this on the train home, the tally is at 8.
- Number of trips to Sephora in 2 days to put on lip gloss, eye shadow, and to spray perfume: 6
- Number of crepes eaten in 2 days: 5 (feta and spinach; egg, tomato, tuna; Nutella; Nutella and banana; chocolate sauce and vanilla ice cream)
- Number of steps we climbed on the Eiffel Tower: 600 something
- Number of steps it felt like we climbed on the Eiffel Tower: One bazillion
- Number of 12 year old French girls rapping and belly dancing on the Metro for money: 1
- I was shushed by Theresa at Notre Dame for being loud and obnoxious.
- Oh, and I almost walked into a plate glass door. Whatever.

(Theresa would like me to mention that she doesn’t mean to offend anyone with the “blacks love me here” comment.)

So that is a very brief overview of the last 2 days. Feel free to ask me about the man/woman in the shiny hat, silliness at the Eiffel Tower, inappropriate comments at the art museums, my 2 near-heart attacks, pet stores, and ticket adventures at the Louvre.

As for me, I’m off to Ireland now with Susan. (And because I know you’re wondering…No, I don’t actually do any work.) I’ll be back towards the end of the week with more shenanigans for you.

Here’s something to leave you with….
Said by Theresa on the Tube back from the London train station: “We did our top 5 moments of Paris before that lady walked into the wall, right?”

Residual Victoria and Albert Museum shots

This is a flattened brass installment. I took the first picture and Cass took the (better) second picture.


This is a picture of me trying to tie a scarf around my neck in 19th century style according to the instructions on the wall. You can tell by the look on my face how successful I was.