I felt sheepish instead of sheep

I’ll go on any adventure that ends with ponies. This one ended in heartbreak.

Four of us voyaged to a pet farm yesterday. Our first order of business was to attain the cycles. Unfortunately, the seats were too high for our lady legs. We enlisted the help of our fellow American, Ryan.

                Ryan: You need an Alan wrench.

                Audrey: I don’t even know Alan.

                Ryan: You don’t know what an Alan wrench is?

Ohhh an Alan wrench. Yes, of course, I was just using that to patch up my submarine, right after I used a jackhammer to install some concrete.

We were clearly baffled, so Ryan adjusted our seats for us. If Jesus were a cycle repairman, he would look like Ryan. Ryan was the strength to our weakness, just like holding hands.

He probably has a license to steer a screwdriver too

                We began our journey to the farm. The directions to Glenroe were ‘follow the signs’, which is kind of like telling someone that all you need to do to skydive is jump out of a plane.  It was a perilous journey, filled with roundabouts and two casualties. The first hill claimed Hanna, and she turned back to do her homework’s bidding. About two minutes away from our destination (unbeknownst to us), Paige jumped ship.  It was down to the two of us. “You won’t leave me, will you Natalie?” There was silence. I feared that she had abandoned me as well. Luckily, she was just breathing, and soon yelled back an acceptable response.

                We wondered why our journey was taking so long. Then we realized we were biking uphill the entire time. I just thought I had poor posture. As we finally approached the farm, my worst fears were confirmed. It was closed. Hanna and Paige weren’t so silly for turning back after all. I had checked the website four times to make sure it was open, but I must have wanted it to be open so badly I didn’t really pay attention. The sheep were so close I could see the joy in their eyes at the prospect of being pet. The animals at Glenroe Open Farm are enclosed by a fence. First they’re closed, and then they lie. An old man saw us from the Glenroe building and stared us down. I wanted to befriend him.

                Audrey: I thought you were open today!

                Man: Nope.

                Friendship terminated.

Natalie and I made the most of the closed farm. We drank water, saw some ornery dogs, and took a picture of a sign with a horse painted on it. It wasn’t very cuddly.

Our disappointment poses look a lot like our awkward poses

                Undeterred by our failed farm experience, Natalie and I embarked on a new adventure with fanatical positivity. We ditched the bikes (after responsibly putting them away and locking them up) and ventured into town in search of frappes. We stopped into the coffee shop where I’ve been working on Saturdays. I must not be doing so badly, because they gave us free drinks. My favorite manager Alan was there, whom I’ve sadly never worked with because he doesn’t work on Saturdays if he can help it. I bet he knew how to use a wrench.

We were sad we missed out on sheep, but we sucked it up

                 Nat and I boarded the DART in search of adventure. I still had 3.5 slices of white bread meant for precious animals (.5 slices went to an ornery dog who, in retrospect, didn’t deserve it). Unfortunately, the bread was eventually returned to the cafeteria after failing to find even a measly pigeon. We also missed the DART on the way back by 30 seconds because it left early. It is faster than I realized. We built our own train instead. It was filled with massages and happiness. No tools were involved, because we don’t know how to use those manly contraptions.

Conducting a train is easy

I could have bright ideas if my head was a lamppost. My first idea would be to get my human head back.

           After reading about Saint Patrick, I thought his holiday would involve sharing the Gospel and loving people from all cultures. This message must have gotten lost in translation over the years since I only saw the sharing of Guinness and an Irishman and an Asian woman snogging.

We watched the Saint Patrick’s Day parade from our box office seats on a roof top. This was grand, because I would not want to see any of the “creative” things we witnessed that day up close. Don’t get me wrong, I love dancing potato chips, people with lampposts for heads, and a sinister wiener dog on wheels as much as the next lass, but I draw the line at creepy  twelve-foot tall walking dolls that blink. In theory, these all would belong at a trippy yet fun medieval festival. But, like the clown doll in my grandma’s guest bedroom that looks like it’s being strangled by the balloons it’s holding as it watches you sleep, it really isn’t that fun at all.  



Monster dog is ornery because his head is too big to wear a shamrock hat.

 

The potato chips couldn't reach us from here, even though they had arms.

                  We then attended a match of the fastest sport in the world-hurling. It involves chugging a gallon of milk and then seeing who can make it come back up the quickest. That’s how the Americans play it at least. The Irish pros play by using lacrosse sticks and a ball, and they run to and fro for an hour while scoring both in a net and through a football goal post. Gaelic football is played the same way, but without sticks. We didn’t really know what was going on or who was playing, so we picked the team with the prettiest jersey or the guy with the coolest hair and rooted to our hearts’ content. The Christmas Colors were slayed by the Yellow Zebras! The Colors’ spirits were broken and they resumed their usual life back in the north.   


Baby Jack is wonders why we're making faces at him
 when he's clearly too old for that nonsense.

                A few of us meandered over to Temple Bar area and dined at Quay’s. Emily Day and I walked across the street where we were meant to meet her friend. I started taking pictures of the crowd around us, when a young Brazilian man approached us.

Brazil: Would you like me to take your picture?

Audrey: Ohh, no thank you. [I don’t want you to steal my camera.]

He chatted us up a bit (probably because he was 5’5”), and before he left, said, “It was very nice to meet you.” He extended his hand, and I began to shake it. But then, my hand started moving upward, and it wasn’t just because of the shaking. He was going in for the kiss. My hand was being sucked upward toward his alien spaceship of a mouth. I wasn’t even wearing a “Kiss me I’m Irish” shirt.

                Emily and I returned to the pub. However, there was a bouncer the size of a full grown man blocking the door. I pretended not to see the giant and make my way in, but he stopped us. We were not to be allowed upstairs. “We have a table up there already,” I protested. He then let us in. Now I know what to say if I ever need to lie to a bouncer. 



If I told St Peter I already had a table, I don't think he'd believe me.

                 Back in the Temple Bar arena once again, an Irish lad approached us with his friends. I don’t think he told us one true statement. He was from Maryland, which was in Wisconsin. He also had Justin Bieber’s hair. Strike two. His friend, we shall call him Spike, then began a proposal.

                Spike: “Ladies, I know this is very strange, but my friend is turning 21 and we’re trying to get him 21 kisses. Would you be willing to help a fellow out?”
                Girls: “No.”

[In addition, the guy we believe he was addressing looked to be 28 and had the type of facial hair that would erupt in a full-blown beard in a matter of hours.]         

He persisted in asking for a few more minutes. Then, he made a monumental discovery, revealing why we would not say yes.

                Spike: “…You don’t drink, do you?”
                Still sober girls:“ Correct!”

                Spike: “Hey! Me neither. Look, I have viht-ah-min water!...So, will you kiss him?”
                Audrey: “I just ate, so my mouth has had enough action for one night.”

                We soon after made our way back to the DART. But before the night was over, one girl celebrated the holiday in true St Patrick’s Day fashion by hurling on the pavement. Even though she didn’t drink, the food poisoning, ear infection, and stress made sure she finished her Irish night properly.

Justin Beaver must have thought I was giving him a high five

I have so much sodium I could assault the devil

I would drink the Irish Sea if I could.

Lent is upon us. I traditionally give up sweets, but I knew exactly what else I had to give up: my beloved salt shaker. I have so much sodium in my body, people started picking me up and throwing me over their shoulder to ward off the devil. I talked to my mom on Facebook chat, and she was unsure about what to give up for Lent.

Audrey: I just ate a candy bar after realizing Lent is in three days.
Mom: OMG I better think of something to give up!
Audrey: How about teen acronyms?

Giving up sweets isn’t too difficult, but I do miss my salt. My food tastes so bland. Lasagna tastes like lasagna now instead of salt, and I can’t stand it.

Fat Tuesday was just that

I had fish and chips for the first time in Ireland in the legit fishing village of Howth. Not only did they have fish, they had seals! Not for eating, for admiring lovingly from a distance. They were just chilling out in the harbor waiting to be fed. Seals are lazy buggers. They howl, “AR AR AR” instead of properly articulating “Are you going to feed me, kind lass?” Or maybe they just have a worse stutter than Moses.

Sing "Kiss From a Rose"!

We hiked the Bray Head trail and came across a field of semi-wild horses. Their ropes were frayed, so I’m guessing they went rogue. I’ve learned to always carry food with me in case I come across wildlife, so I whipped out some white bread and started making equine acquaintances. Dan wanted to get on one, but was unsure if he should. I encouraged him to do so because it was a win-win situation. If the horse stays still, then I can get on him. If the horse runs wildly away with Dan on his back, I won’t ever have to see Dan again. The horse stood still, and so I was also able to take a turn on him. However, once I mounted him, he started moving away. The others started yelling at me to jump off. It looked like I might have been attempting to dismount, but I was trying to reach the rein and ride off into the mountains. But, I couldn’t reach it. I yelled, “Abort! Abort!” and let the steed gallivant off. I think he wanted to take me on a tour of the countryside as a token of gratitude for the delectable grains.

Mounting on a mountain

We’ve been watching The Story of Ireland for the past six weeks. It’s a show about Ireland’s history that plays at 10pm, a time where I’m ready for bed and can’t absorb any information said in a monotone. The only thing I’ll remember from the seven hours we’ve spent reliving Ireland’s history is the presenter, Fergal Keane. He looks like Bono from a distance, but unlike Bono, you don’t want to listen to what comes out of Fergal’s mouth.

Example:

Fergal Keane is holding a picture of a woman wearing a white dress and veil walking out of a church with a man in a tuxedo:

Is this a photo of you on your wedding day?

No, that’s from when she went to play Skeeball at Chuckee Cheez. Come on, Fergal!

Not too keen are we, Fergal?

Q: What color was the Red Sea? A: Jesus

We met Simon Harris last week. He’s a 24-year-old politician jockeying to be a TD (in American terms, it’s a government position located somewhere between Obama’s gig and student council treasurer.  I’m not very keen on politics).  He stayed for a group picture, and I was lucky enough to be situated at his left flank. I touched his arm. Twice. It was not an accidental elbow graze.

Simon Harris puts the TD in stud

               

                Last week, an 85-year-old woman from church named Joan took us to Avoca Handweavers, a garden/café/shop three-for-one deal. Joan is awesome.  While most women burn themselves by touching caramelized sugar, Joan once received third degree burns on her face from climbing in the Alps.  But, like most other women, she’s a pretty horrid driver. At least she can blame it on her age.

I’ve been going to my church’s Bible study held at Simon’s house (not Simon Harris). We have tea and coffee beforehand, and I’m guessing on Bible study nights, Hebrews it himself. I feel a bit out of my element because it seems those guys have as much knowledge about the Bible as Jesus had loaves and fish.

                Simon: Who was the first person Moses met in the desert?

                Ryan: Aaron.______________________________________________          

    Simon: How did God plan to implement His plan?

                Anthony: Jesu—

                Simon: No.

                Eoin: Moses.

                [Note to self: Jesus is not always the answer]____________________

    Simon: How many times does the word ‘love’ appear in the Bible?

    Ryan: 341 times in the King James Version [is how he would have correctly responded if

    this question had been asked.]

I'm planning to keep going to Bible study until I'm as good at Jesus knowledge as Moses was at stuttering, or until Simon's adorable white cockapoos run away.

Mel Gibson was here. Kind of.

     We visited Kilkenny, and I didn’t meet anyone named Kenny. I think it’s because they’re all dead.  

      In Kilkenny, we climbed up our first round tower. I’m still not sure what the purpose of round towers is yet.  Some say valuables would be stored there or it would serve as a hiding place when Vikings invaded. However, all the Vikings need is a ladder to get in or fire to smoke out those in hiding, and those are two things the Vikings always had in their knapsacks apparently. I think they just wanted to spit bomb the people below for kicks and giggles because they knew they’d get away with it. Is it raining? [It always rains in Ireland.] Oh, ok.

     Kilkenny Castle was a beast of a structure. It was intact and everything. You know the movie Braveheart? It was filmed there. Well, one part of it. When you see the drawbridge being lowered in the film, the audio is from Kilkenny’s Castle. This landmark was almost really cool.

Freeeeeeedom!

On our way out of Kilkenny, we stopped at the Rock of Cashel and Hore Abbey. St. Patrick’s cross is at the Rock of Cashel. Legend has it that if you hop on one foot nine times around the cross, you’ll get married. Our guide, somewhat bitterly, told us it didn’t work. That’s because the cross tourists are allowed to hop around is a replica and the real cross is inside with a fence around it covered in saran wrap or some other sort of preserving material. Or, perhaps it doesn’t work because you look a bit desperate and quite OCD repeatedly circling a rock on one foot.

                Hore Abbey (put your mind in the gutter and you’ll know how to pronounce it) was just down the lane from Rock of Cashel.  Now, here’s where I’m confused. The word “whore” came into being before 1100. Hore Abbey, a monastery, was erected in 1270. So, whoever named the abbey knew exactly what the name sounded like. The monks ranged in age from 12-35, so I think it must have been the result of a naming compromise between the elder monks and the younger monks.

                Harold: I think we should call it Pretty Abbey. What do you think?

                Cody: I’d like to call it the Saucy Hooker.

                Harold: That’s an abomination! How about Hore Abbey?

Is Hore Abbey in ruins because it's stripping itself down?

     I received a fine taste of Irish humor this week. Our bus driver, Brian Kinger, is 50ish and Irish. He’s the type to chase Guinness with Guinness.  At the pub, I overheard this conversation he was having with my roommate, Emily:

                Brian: So, do you have any kids?

                Emily: No, I’m 20.

                Brian: You’ve been menstruating since you were twelve.

Also, we saw a play in Dublin. I’m not much of a dramatic arts person. My parents took me to see the Nutcracker Ballet when I was about 9, and I didn’t smile for two hours. Those two instances were closely correlated. When Laura and Kyle (our program directors) told us we’d be seeing The Cripple of Inishmaan, I cringed a bit. I thought it was going to be a heavy drama about the cripple, or downfall, of the nation Inishmaan. Actually, it was a play featuring classic dark Irish humor about a guy with a limp and one hand who wants to be an actor in America. This was a huge relief since I’m always up for making fun of the disabled.

Waiting for the cripple to limp out.

     Swan Update:  I have bought both the swan’s and his mate’s allegiance with tasty wheat bread.

The student has beaten the master. So long, sensei.



I bought a rainbow neck sweatshirt. It's like a crew neck.

It was bound to happen. I just didn’t expect it would be so soon.

After having coffee with the group in Dublin, we all trekked downstairs to the loo. I was admiring the bathroom and dilly dallying as usual. As I exited the stall, I noticed I didn’t recognize anyone in the room.  They left me. At this point in my life, I no longer entertain thoughts like Oh, maybe I beat them all out or They’re probably just waiting close by.  One time, I was in a bathroom so long, some girls started crying because they thought I’d died. [Really, I just didn’t want to go to cross country practice.] I’ve lost my restroom naiveté.  If my dad can leave me in a Fazoli’s bathroom 200 miles from home, a group of acquaintances can easily do the same.  Don’t worry, I made it out ok.  I can’t say the same for the reopened wounds on my heart.

I saw the Book of Kells and a Beauty and the Beast library wannabe at Trinity College, and I visited the president of Ireland's house on Saturday. In all of these places, photography was prohibited “due to the nature of the building”. Apparently, Irish buildings are prone to seizures in more ways than one.

We didn’t have to go through security for the tour at the president's house. You could bring in machetes and throwing stars, but NO COFFEE!  Her Luckiness would much rather have a bomb planted in the piano than a drop of drink on her golden baby statues. I can’t really tell you what I learned on that tour because our guide was a liar. She said, “I’m not going to touch this photograph because I knocked it over last time.” Then, she touched it. I’m starting to think this wasn’t even the president’s house at all.

I chased some sheep over mounds of dead people at Tara Hill. I had a brown one cornered and we danced a little dance, but I let the little fellow escape. For now. I want a wool sweater, and I want it for free.  Really, I was mainly just gathering data on how to best capture a sheep.

Discovery: Some sheep have horns, but they point inward.

Note to self:  Avoid sheep running in reverse.

After seeing two sets of ruins I have come to the conclusion that all ruins look pretty much the same. The main difference comes down to which one makes a better playground based on the number of holes in the structure. This one has crypts? Cannonball!

I hear St. Patrick's favorite game was red rover.

There is some influence from the United States trickling in over here. We watched the Super Bowl, and the Lions won! This season, the Lions beat the Packers , and the Packers won the Super Bowl. By the transitive property, the Lions are the Super Bowl champions. I can’t wait until it’s actually them playing in there next year! Also, we had hot dogs and spaghetti o’s for dinner the other day. I felt American, and it felt strangely like obesity.

Walking off spaghetti o's with my ginger friend. Only 78 more miles until we break even!

Playing football with lads. I'm picking daisies on defense.

You Know Who's Good at Scavenger Hunts? Pigeons.

“It’s like there’s always a twist to make it more awesome.”- Jordan Shepherd, fellow classmate.

 You’ll have an exam… that’s open book

You must complete a 10 page term paper…about your feelings

Your assignment today is to go to two different towns and have coffee…and we’re buying.

School began this week, and I must have spent no more than four total hours in class after sleeping for nine hours each night. If you think I’m living the pampered life, you’re wrong. I have to pour my own cereal in the morning.

                Our first professor is Irish, and his name is Monty. He’s about a foot and a half taller than I expected, so he was at least 6 feet tall. He asked us, “What instruments do you play?” I told him I play piano, and sometimes I can sing so high it sounds like I’m screaming.

There’s a girl in my class who’s quite short. She puts her feet on a stack of books when she sits because she can’t touch the floor (and also fears varicose veins).  I haven’t found her gold yet, but I’ll keep you updated.

I. played. football. with. some. Irish. lads. the. other. day. [I wanted you to read that last sentence slowly so the awesomeness could sink in.]There was one other girl who played, and thus we were chosen as captains. I papered her rock and the bidding began. I knew nothing of the players’ skills so I had to judge based on looks. Should I go for the guy who looks like an American or the lad who has red hair and is named Cormac? “Your name’s Robert? And you don’t go by Bob? Yeah, I’ll take Cormac.”  I actually held my own against them, though. Those three-year-olds can be such pansies when you give ‘em a wee shove. Every time I got a goal I yelled, “FOR THE CATHOLICS!” But I never scored.  

On Saturday, we split into teams and embarked on a scavenger hunt in Dublin. Basically, it was just an excuse to talk to Irish people by asking them for directions. “Where can I find…oh, I can’t read this, it must be Gaelic…a Mac-Dawn-ahlds?”

We read English, not maps.

We found these guys last because hey, they weren't going anywhere.

 I did stumble upon the most awesome guy ever in Stephen’s Green. He was best friends with a swan.

Teach me your ways, sensei.

We almost missed the train on the way back. We darted in as the doors were closing. I am unsure if the doors will bounce open like an elevator’s if there’s a human in its midst, but I didn’t want to wait long enough to chance it. If I come back with one less arm (so just one), you’ll know curiosity got the best of me.