Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday to my favorite brother-in-law, Jason!

It's never easy to forget your birthday, since it's a holiday. Like mine.

I hope you have a great day and an even better year. I look forward to crushing your beers in the near future.

A Short History of Halloween

Or as my Mom insists on spelling it: Hallowe'en.

It started with pumpkins. Made out of an orange pillowcase (because in the 70s/80s, that was pretty chic) AND THAT'S IT. Then it moved on to Raggedy Ann, and when my brother came along, Raggedy Andy. I don't think kids these days would know what the hell I'm talking about.

And it escalated from there. Someone was always either a fairy or a princess, using the same costume, which was basically a lacy dress over street clothes, because in my day, it was always cold on Halloween.


Behold: Raggedy Ann, a princess, and a couple of pumpkins.

When we could make our own costumes, things started to change for the best. In the mid-80s, my older sister decided to make her own monster mask. I believe it was the only time she was allowed to wear black as a child. Several years later, the nerd in me popped out and one year I was Kate Monday from Mathnet (for those not in the know - I went as a mathematician. I even had a calculator around my neck.) The next year, my last year of trick or treating before I was TC (too cool), I went as a mime.

Yeah. Way to go out with a bang, right? Be a mime for Halloween. Of course, for later years (when I was 25ish), one of my friends and I took her sister trick or treating and we all went dressed as pirates. We got our inspiration from a movie about pirates which was out at the time.

I'm going to go out on a limb and say I had probably the greatest childhood of all time.

Happy Halloween!

Marathon Monday

This weekend the SJC's sister was with us because she ran the Dublin Marathon, which was yesterday. Saturday and Sunday were spent doing light activities, such as walks and movie watching, and, of course, carbo-loading.

Since this weekend was a Bank Holiday weekend, all of Ireland had Monday off. So that's when the Marathon was. Another Marathon Monday! And since I have an unnatural love for Marathons since I grew up in a town that the Boston Marathon goes through, I was very excited to go cheer people on.

Alas, I got to my cheering spot about 5 minutes too late to cheer on Kim's husband, whom I cheered for at the Boston Marathon and wanted to make it a tradition. I was going to shout 'You're winning!' but he was too fast for me. I also looked for my friend's cousin Brian, who lives in Dublin, but he was probably too fast for me too.

I was to meet the SJC at Grand Canal Street since he was being a good brother and went to see Sarah off at the start, and then again at Dolphin's Barn. As I was standing there waiting for him, I started listening to people around us cheering. It was a lot of, 'Keep up, keep up.' and 'Keep going.' But, even more inappropriate was, 'Hey, at least you're not dead!' That's the spirit.

I must come from the school of cheers where you're supposed to be supportive, not a tyrant-like coach. 'You can do it!!' 'You're doing great!' 'Almost there!' and my favorite, 'You're winning!' You have to be a positive influence, I think people respond better to positive cheering rather than being coached on the sidelines by people they don't know. Luckily, this negativity was limited to one Negative Nancy who was standing behind us. And she was quickly replaced by a group of girls who would do the Wellesley College girls proud. They were much better at cheering than Nancy and really got the crowd going.

I think I love marathons so much because I love yelling.

Some other highlights included: Some guy walking past the SJC and me and shouted 'GO RED SOX' (we were both in hats) with an Irish accent. I like it when people outside the US know about a great team. And keeping on the Red Sox front, there was a runner named Larry who was wearing a Red Sox hat (it was not a Larry I know) so, of course, I shouted, 'GO LARRY! WELL DONE LARRY!' And finally, a woman ran past the SJC and me and with what sounded like her last dying breath said, 'Red Sox!' See, baseball!? You make friends everywhere!


In hindsight, I should have brought a boom box that played this song on repeat:



Congratulations to the runners who ran the marathon - a job well done! You're all winners this week!

The Weekend

We have a nice little weekend planned here at ibl, HQ. The SJC's sister is coming to town and staying with us because she's running the Dublin marathon on Monday. Marathon Monday!

In the meantime we'll be cleaning like crazy people, seeing as though I haven't managed to unpack since I got back from being at home. In September. That's okay though, it's not like I've needed to wear anything but pajamas since then!

Luckily the sheets are clean and the floor will be vacuumed. And hopefully that weird smell of rotting garlic will dissipate between now and tomorrow morning, though at this point I'm convinced one of the neighbors choked on garlic and died, and that smell is their rotting corpse.

Morbid? Maybe, but we do live in a hallway full of older single people. I hear one of them used to have an affair with a sailor that parked his boat outside. Scandal!

The Weekend

This weekend away in Belgium was a bust. I blame myself for being too sick to travel. Saturday morning was not pretty. Instead of heading to Belgium, the SJC and I lay low in Dublin. Yesterday we took in a double header in Dundrum and saw The Other Guys and The Town. (Sidenote: I'm really not into the new IMDb layout.)

We took in The Other Guys first. While it wasn't a laugh riot and didn't make much sense, I thought it was pretty funny. My favorite part was when Marky Mark shot Derek Jeter. My second favorite part was when some of the other cops were making fun of him for it and said, 'You should have shot A.Rod!' Because I agree. And my third favorite part was Michael Keaton's many many references to TLC. (Another sidenote: Last night I watched some old school TLC videos on Youtube, particularly 'Ain't Too Proud to Beg' and 'Baby Baby Baby.' You should check them out, if only for the outfits. Cross Colors, baggy clothes - nowadays people dress like whores. TLC was the business in 1992. I then moved on to some Shai and a little bit of Tony! Toni! Toné! for nostalgia's sake and was not disappointed.)

The Town was as good as it was the first time around, maybe a little bit better because I'm pretty sure I was the only one in the audience who could understand everything that Ben Affleck and crew were saying. Because that's how my people talk. Except for me, and that's because my mother the English teacher made sure we remembered the 18th letter of the alphabet. It might have made me a little bit homesick though. And I still think a tattoo of the outline of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts with your zip code in the middle (01760!) is the best tattoo of all time.

I would highly recommend seeing both, one for hilarity's sake and one just to witness a cinematic masterpiece that you could maybe see twice. And I know not everyone approves of seeing a movie in the theaters twice (ahem, Kate), but sometimes it's worth it.

A final sidenote: I've caught up with 'Glee.' I'm a little bit sick of this show. Mostly because I think Lea Michele's contract should never have included the terminology, 'Lea is to have at least two songs in each episode, and one always has to be at the end.' She is the worst. Give someone else a chance!

First Second Wedding Anniversary

Happy Anniversary to the Love of my Life.

Two and a half years ago we got married in a tiny ceremony that didn't do our awesomeness justice. One year ago we got married again in a ceremony that definitely did us justice.

Sure, Tom Cruise made me late and you were sweating it out at the church for 15 minutes wondering if I'd show. And, in typical wedding fashion, everyone had their cell phones off. Well, we finally made it. And since it's been a year, allow me to gripe about the dress for a little bit. Wrong style, 8 sizes too big and a half-assed job tailoring it. This is why we should have a 3rd wedding, maybe in 5 years or so?

Even though we were already married, right before my Dad and I were going to walk down the aisle, I started to cry a little bit. I had no last minute nerves because I knew I was doing the best thing I'd ever do. And I was right.



SJC, I love you with all my heart and I am proud to be your old lady. 2009/2010 has been one hell of a year, but I'm guessing 2010/2011 is going to be even crazier.

Happy Anniversary. I love you.

Nations of the World Night

When I was in 7th grade everyone had to pick a country, write a report on it, and then present it at Nations of the World Night in the cafeteria of my middle school.

I picked Belgium.

Yes, an odd choice. But at the time, I had family living there. Also, nobody else had ever heard of it.

I did all my research like a good kid using the Encyclopedia Britannica, because when I was in 7th grade THE INTERNET DIDN'T EXIST! Did I just blow your mind??

I learned that Belgium was famous for the following: Lace, chocolate, and waffles. And did you know that French Fries were actually invented in Belgium? Called pommes frites. All of that is true, because unlike Wikipedia, the Encyclopedia of my youth did not lie.

As part of Nations of the World Night, we had to bring in a food item that our particular country was famous for. Obviously the person doing Italy brought in meatballs. And the person doing Ireland brought in potatoes. And the person doing Mexico brought in Mexican Jumping Beans as you do. I thought bringing in waffles was a sure thing.

Turns out you were hard pressed to find a cheap waffle iron during those days - the pre-internet days. And then there was the problem of electrical outlets. To solve this obvious crisis, I brought in Eggo Waffles and served them up, Belgian style. With powdered sugar.

I don't think Nations of the World Night was a contest, but if it was, I think Belgium, the capital of the European Union, would have won.

Why am I bringing all of this up now? Because tomorrow morning, at approximately 6:45am GMT, The SJC and I will be en route to Belgium for a weekend of pommes frites, waffles, chocolate, beer, and all the lace we can carry. It'll be my triumphant return to Belgium, having last visited in 1993, shortly after the infamous Nations of the World Night.

Happy Anniversary of our second wedding, SJC!

Patrons of the Arts

Last night for Date Night, the SJC took me to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Grand Canal Theatre in Dublin. The theatre is about 4 minutes away from our apartment so I wore nice shoes (not my sandals!) for once. You're welcome.

The show itself was very good. I didn't buy a program, so I don't know who the actors were, but the guy playing Frank N. Furter was delightful. And he wore the most wonderful lipstick and had the most wonderful shoes. This is when I realize I should start dressing like a drag queen. Everybody wins.

I think the cast was a mix of Brits and Irish. And some of their American accents made me wince at times, but we can't all be perfect, can we? (Har-dee-har-har.) The set was clever and innovative. I would highly recommend seeing it.

And to add some fuel to your fire, you should feel free to go, knowing that the asshats who laugh too long and too loudly were already at last night's show, sitting behind me. You know the type - the mega theater-geek who knows everything about the show's run and the cast, who's seen it 1 million times but still thinks it's the most hilarious thing in the world. The type of person that laughs at Man Getting Kicked In Crotch videos on Youtube. A real jerkoff. So don't worry - she was there last night, you'll probably be in the clear.

Go see it, if you can make it. It's only around until the 16th.

Dublin Airport Terminal 2

Or: What kind of fuckery is this?

On Saturday, the SJC and I participated in the Dublin Airport Terminal 2 Trials. No photography was allowed so I shall paint thee a vivid picture using only words.

We got to the airport around 10:15 to check in and get our scripts. I was really hoping they were going to turn it into a Murder Mystery but, sadly, they did not. I was passenger named Abu D (I think short for Dhabi, you know, where Garfield sends Nermal via the USPS.) The SJC was passenger T. Amphitryon. A Greek God. Lucky him. Our fake trip was taking us to Foggy London Town. I did my vocal warm ups, and we were ready to go.

The terminal is set up like this: Check-in desks are located on the ground level. Arrivals on the second level. Departures on the third level. This goes pretty much against any other airport I've ever been to, but whatevs, maybe the DAA was going maverick.

We get to security and I waltz through with a bottle of Sprite in my bag. I was told that, had this been normal circumstances, the bottle wouldn't have gone through. I also told them that Abu D. wasn't my real name. They didn't bat an eye, but did ask me to please remove my sandals. We then head to our gate. Since security is on the third level and the gates are on the first level, we were fortunate enough to take an incredibly steep escalator down to the gates. I mean Dupot Circle steep. Google image that shit - it's vertigo-inducing.

There we are, at our gate, eating lunch they thoughtfully provided for us when our flight gets canceled. Stuck in line behind passengers named P. Chen, Darkwing and Esmeralda, Doormouse, Jellyfish, and Gazelle, we get put on the next flight to Heathrow. There I was, muttering to myself that everyone else got the good names and I just wanted to go to Boston! Comic relief was in the form of an old man who asked everyone if smoking was still allowed in the airplane. It was so funny, even after the 1000th time he said it. Keep up the hilarity, old man!

To make a long story short, we make it through the fake boarding area, got through passport control (the only time in my life I had an EU passport, even if it was just a piece of paper), baggage claim, out the door to the bus stop, then back inside for debriefing and cocktails.

My issue with the new terminal is as follows:

When you spent €600 million to build a new terminal, don't you think you'd want to win some awards for design? Or at least make it wicked awesome? Dublin Airport's Terminal 2 seems to be an ode to mediocrity. I think the whole place was summed up perfectly by our "gift bags."

They gave us a reusable tote advertising the airport which contained a cheap plastic luggage tag and some chocolate. Not wishing to add insult to injury, they also handed out caramel slices and orange juice before sending us on our way.

You stay classy, DAA.

The Cat Bathrobe

I hate surprises. For this reason, I dread Christmas. I used to make specific lists and then threaten penalties of death if people went off the list (ahem, Mom), which inevitably happened and ruined Christmas.

Sidenote: Mom, nobody wants a VHS copy of 'Prince Edward Island's Natural Beauty.' Especially not in 2006.

One of the main reasons I hate surprises is because I pretty much show my emotions on my face. It's written all across there. I can't fake liking something, like you're supposed to do when you open gifts. This is why I refuse to open presents in front of anyone. Oh sure, I can be gracious and thank people for their lovely gift after I know what it is, but in that moment where you're shaking a box and thinking, 'Please don't be a jigsaw puzzle, please don't be a jigsaw puzzle,' it's hard to fake delight when you open the box and it's a 1001 piece jigsaw puzzle of Mount St. Helens.

I don't have those kind of acting chops! I'm not Julia Roberts!!

However, my hatred of surprises usually spills over into other people's lives. Like one Christmas, I was doing my usual pre-Christmas investigating in my Mom's room, opening up wrapped gifts for me and resealing them (I'm pretty good at it, Mom!) and I came across an unwrapped gift for my sister Kate. It was a bathrobe with cats on it.

You've never met Kate. One time she had a cat. That cat was the greatest cat that ever lived. But she is not 'a cat lady.' She would be at a loss with a cat bathrobe. She likes things from Anne Taylor and Banana Republic. Also, Nordstrom. I had to think fast. I did what any person in their right mind would do.

I called Kate.

"Kate." I said, "I have some disturbing news."
"Go on." she said.
"It's in regards to a Christmas present you're going to get from Mom. Do you want me to tell you what it is?"
"No." said Kate.
Apparently she doesn't mind surprises, even when they suck.
"It's a cat bathrobe." I said.
She was quiet for a moment.
"Thank you for telling me." she said. We said our goodbyes.

Mom found out I told her. Kate didn't end up getting the cat bathrobe that Christmas. And I think she had a better Christmas because of it.

One of my friends is with child (Another sidenote: I have an unnatural hate for the term 'pregnant.' I like to say 'knocked up' or the aforementioned 'with child.') She is going in for an ultrasound on Monday and I think she should find out the sex of the baby. Her husband doesn't want to know.

They didn't find out for their previous two children, he told me, and he doesn't want to find out for this one. My friend kind of wants to find out. I'm on her side. I think she should find out, even if her husband doesn't want to. I hate surprises, but I love peer pressure.

In my most soothing voice (however soothing your voice can be over email), I tell her, "It's okay. You can just tell me and I won't tell anyone." She is still not convinced.

Whatever.

It's not like she's having a cat bathrobe.

Some Thoughts

Tonight, the SJC and I watched a little bit of the film 2012, which, for those of you who don't know, is a disaster film. And it got me thinking.

If I found myself in the middle of an epic disaster, one where the Earth somehow melts into the ocean, I'd probably be like, 'Okay, peace out.' No sense getting worked up about it, right?

I mean, it would suck to not be with family and to not have time to say a last farewell to friends, but if that's the way Earth is going to bow out, so be it. It's not like I can put my hand over Yosemite to stop it from erupting.

In other, more disturbing news, it looks like the owners of the Red Sox have put in a bid to buy Liverpool Football Club. Attention John, Larry, and Tom, WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? You should focus instead on resigning Jason Varitek so he retires a Red Sox and, oh I don't know, getting some decent pitchers. Maybe next year you'll make it to the playoffs. I'm just saying.

And finally tonight, it has dawned on me that October 5th is far too late in the game to continue to wear flip flops. Since I am running short on jeans (i.e. - have no current pair of jeans because finding a pair of jeans that are long enough is like finding a needle in a haystack,) I shall continue to wear my usual leggings get up, but this time I'll include either my bitching gray and magenta Pumas or my Jazz O'Shamrocks and show some Irish pride strutting the streets of Dublin.

Oh, you don't have the 'my jeans are never long enough problem?' Nobody has ever said to you, 'Hey your legs are the same length as your 6'5 husband's!' and thought it was funny? You can wear regular length jeans and they don't look like clam diggers? Lucky you.

Happy Birthday, Kate!

Happy Birthday to my older sister Kate!


On our way to the Kentucky Derby.




Proof there was a time you were taller than me.



Kate, I grew up pretty much idolizing you. Sure we had our rough patches, as all sisters do, but living together for a year really solidified our sisterhood. You are my best friend, my sister, and I love you always.

You are a wonderful mother to a beautiful daughter. If I am half the mother you are when it comes to be my time, I will know my life has been a success.



I love you Kate! Have a wonderful birthday!

Finally Friday

Well this week has been nothing short of interesting. I have a stomach bug I can't seem to shake which has, unfortunately, prevented me from going to Sligo this weekend with The SJC. I didn't feel like feeling iffy on a 3 hour train ride and then having to run to the bathroom at any given moment while enjoying a lovely dinner with the in-laws. Chances are it'll be gone by tomorrow and, since hindsight is 20/20, I should have gone anyway.

Not my best week. I'd like a do-over starting on Monday. Be gone, stomach bug. And don't let the door hit you on the way out.