Saturday, 30 August 2014

I kissed the Blarney Stone, and I liked it.

Ok so after Dublin I went around and ended up in Cork. They don't make corks there. That's Portugal. Cork was a typical tourist town to be honest. Lots of shopping... and no starbucks. I spent 2 days there and saw pretty much everything. So I decided it was time to visit Blarney Castle.

A lot of the time people brag about kissing the Blarney Stone but no one really knows what that is.

Think about it. Do you know what it is?

I thought so.

But it's true. It's a stone. And it's attached to a castle. The word "blarney" means "clever, flattering, or coaxing talk" and let me tell you... it's all true. Just wait until you hear about the guy I met while kissing this famous stone.

I got on a tour bus in Cork to get to Blarney Castle and wouldn't you know it? The only empty seat on the bus wasn't next to a granny. It was next to a guy that lives 3 hours away from me in my real life. At first it was nice to chat about home and things but I started to feel like I had deja vu. I felt like this had happened to me before... same conversation, over and over. I couldn't shake what it was. It was really bothering me until I realised that I WAS ON A BAD BLIND DATE.

This guy bragged non-stop for like 2 hours on the bus about how he is mega rich, he gets tons of women in Calgary because he buys them all drinks at the club. He told the whole bus that Ireland was so different because when he offers to buy women drinks in Ireland, they say no. (I'm going to add a "Get lost creep" to that but he didn't say that part). From what people told me in Ireland, if you accept drinks from a guy he expects you to put out. Is that true in North America? I haven't been to a club since 1999 so what would I know? I personally wouldn't drink anything a greasy oilworker gave me no matter where I am, because I'm ALLERGIC TO ROHYPNOL. He actually said that he hasn't seen much of Ireland except the pubs. Why would you fly to a different country and not look at anything? Oh. Cause he's "rich" with oil money and Fort Mac got boring. Then he bragged about how he is the best at everything. He actually said that. He said that he could have gone pro as a skateboarder, he can write code and could work for google, that he thought about doing astro physics but that he didn't want a desk job. He even bragged about how curly his hair was. He mentioned that even though he spends all his money on women, he's "still looking for that special someone" and did I want to go to the pub tonight? A lot of the time I'm glad I used to be an addict and can say: "Sorry, I'm in A.A," as the best excuse EVER not to go to a bar.

Ugh. Let me say that my cheeks were sore from smiling and nodding and I couldn't wait to get off the bus. When it pulled up on the castle grounds I found the nearest Asian tourist and asked if they would take selfies with me. This took half an hour and by that time I figured that I lost him. But then my new Asian friends wanted to hang out so that was really cool actually, and we went to find the big bad blarney stone.

To get to the stone you have to climb up these teeny tiny claustrophobic spiral staircases (like much of Europe) and go out on the roof and find the old men. These old guys hold your legs while you go on your back, slide backwards, and dip down backwards upside down to kiss a stone covered with cold sore germs. My Calgary Gem was already there. Waiting for me. Or so he said... "I was waiting for our make-out session, what took you so long?" OMG. So I did the stone thing. And then I couldn't shake the guy! He just followed me around the grounds and it's hard for me not to be polite in person. It's way easier for me to be a jerk here, but my snappy comments don't always come out in person. I usually make a weird face and talk extra perky and tell people I have to go to the bathroom to get away from them.

So on the grounds there's a poison garden. And my thoughts turned dark. A little nightshade could really do the trick.

But alas... another bus ride home listening to him brag about how intelligent he is and how rich he is.

MEN do you really think that this is impressive? No matter what walk of life you come from bragging is super rude and it just shows how insecure you are. Isn't it better to be yourself and let people be impressed with things that last? Like your consideration. Your sense of humour. Your thoughtfulness. It might be old school of me but if I have a conversation with a guy and he doesn't ask me a single question about myself... he's not into you. He's into HIM. And I've got better things to do than validate egos. Like kiss a stone in the south of Ireland that a million of other tacky tourists kissed so they can brag to people that "I kissed the Blarney Stone."

Wednesday, 13 August 2014

Wee Little Spanish Man.

So from France I went to Ireland! I started in Dublin, at Issac's Hostel. This was an interesting one... let me tell you. It's a meat market. They have the Internet in the lobby only, and pump the music super loud so it's like an all day party! So because people are forced to be out in the open when they are checking emails and the facebooks it's the perfect opportunity for all the creepy men to skeeze on the girls.

I was downstairs for maybe 10 minutes, loathing the pop music and I noticed a guy. He started off on the other side of the room, and he slowly worked his way over to my table. Picture this: a teeny tiny Spanish guy with a Mohawk and soulful black eyes wearing a white wife beater. It gets better. He was drumming on the table with drumsticks. I think he was trying to impress me with his tapping skills, but he probably just wanted to tap the new girl.

Because I've been trained in Intercultural Studies... and with my job I have a "friendly" switch, I turned it on low and made some conversation. He said that he was in Dublin looking for a job and learning English. From what I understand the Irish men can't even find jobs in Ireland, so I think he's on the wrong island. After a while I got tired of the broken English (sue me) and the whole staring down my shirt thing and trying to grab my leg and I was like "Hey dude.. I'm just leaving now but where should I go in Dublin? Any good sights to see?" I don't know if that's considered a pick up line because I was trying to drop him... but his response was "Ok, tonight WE could go to this bridge at midnight, it's very beautiful. But not as beautiful as you."

Hold up. That's not what I asked. I think I made a face at him and said "I'm allergic to bridges" and he was like, "Ok, well I'm sure we can find something to do, I will call you tonight." Except that I didn't arrange an international phone for this backpacking trip. So I let him add me on Facebook so that the conversation could end... I could leave... and I didn't seem too rude.

So I went out by myself, because I like being by myself... and I hit up a Starbucks for the wifi and clicked on this guy's FB page. HOLY HELL HE WAS 22 YEARS OLD. For two minutes I was like, "Ok, great... the 40 year old guys haven't zoned in yet and guys in their 20's are still interested." Then I did the math. And wanted to throw up. I deleted that baby face and prayed I'd never run into him at the hostel! ACK!!! SICK.

I mean... sick. It's meant to be half your age plus 7. He didn't quite make it.

I soon realised that the Spanish guys in Ireland can't go more than 3 hours without having sex otherwise they might DIE as the legend goes. I did end up running into babyface in the hostel. He was shaving in the hallway at 11pm at night. So, I guess that's courteous to that nights S.T.D fest. He was like, "Hey you still owe me a date blondie!" My reply... (my favourite) "The only thing I owe you is a spanking, because I'm almost old enough to be your mother." He just stared at me. Didn't move. And then he backed away into his room.

After a week in Dublin I saw absolutely everything that exists... and went onto Kilkenny where my hostel had black mold in the bathroom, the floor was mushy, hairs in the bathtub and dirty towels hung up. The sheets had blood on the bottom, as well as on the pillow and wall. The room was generally grimy... and it was deserted. I was the only guest, and I slept with the lights on and the skeleton key in the lock so I would know if someone tried to break in.. (my key would have fallen out on the floor) and in the morning I was actually locked into the creepy hostel and I had to kick the door down to get out.

And THAT was still more preferable to skeezy Spanish guys trying to get in my pants.