Survival of the Fittest

I knew this day would be epic, but wowza.

I was awoken around 8am to the sound of bagpipes. I didn't know why, how or who. After about 5 seconds of laying in my bed in confusion I knew it was real. We jumped up and ran to the window like kids looking for santa claus on Christmas Eve, and there he was... Kevin from Brooklyn. He made my day. Everyone was out on their respective balconies either a)drinking beer b)dancing or c)trying to convince themselves this was actually happening while still in their pjs (me and bri).

"My mom brought them from home when she visited last month"... if I was bringing home bagpipes I would have to throw away half of my wardrobe to check my bags. After we thanked Kevin for waking us up the most memorable way of our entire lives, we costumed up and american friends who looked like they puked green all over each other started arriving for the grand paddy's day french toast and apple cobbler feast. Both why we were taking this meal to celebrate the french and why meg decided to make peach cobbler for breakfast is a mystery, but hey, I didn't hate it (and obviously neither did alex- see below).

Once we made sure that we looked just ridiculous enough we set out on our journey to the parade. I met up with an old friend on the way just to say hello.

And like all the Irish say, the parade is lame. Apparently it's better in NYC and Chicago, but the people were priceless. And please don't ask about my Irish Indian headdress... I am very aware that it makes no sense at all. I am just embracing the randomness that is the day of paddy's.

The parade started an hour late, while we were on our way to meet our program director to go to Croke Park for the hurling and gaelic football finals. Good news though: amid the hectic crowds and racing against time, we did manage to slip into Ray's Pizza to grab a heavenly hawaiian slice. We were running along in our stupid outfits that screamed american tourists and realized we had to CROSS THE STREET of the parade. Impossible it seemed and timely it was. The group ended up waiting an hour for us to arrive but at least they were graced with our green orange and white presence. So basically we missed the parade, almost missed our tickets, then on the way to Croke Park an Irish man sees Ben... with my camera in hand he was amid capturing the beauty of a delicate swan in a small river (probably also screaming something random and blowing his paddy's day whistle that I was about to grab from his mouth and destroy any way that I possibly could)... and tries to push him in the river. NOT COOL, but surely funny. Got to the games, ben fell asleep in his chair while the rest of us watched irish men with huge legs beat each other up without any sort of mercy for a couple hours. It was fun, and plus I got an ice cream sandwich there. yum.

Quick power nap... time to go out. Every place is packed. We end up at a fine establishment called the hairy lemon soaking in the last few hours of paddy's. At this point in the day the crowd was outstanding: filled with highly intoxicated british women, people struggling for their own consciousness, men using the ladies room and one crazy hairy lemon.

Twas a marathon, not a sprint.

"Hi! My name's Barbara but you can just call me Babs." - 1st week in dublin Bri says this to alex and ben in the Brazen's Head. We still don't know where that came from, but I couldn't see her as anything else.

She's tiny, she's tan, she's feisty and she always knows the haps. Brianna DiTocco aka Babs is one of my roommates in Dublin. She's still mad that a nickname she gave herself less than a week after meeting me stuck and that I refuse to call her anything else. She once called me the "Beaminator," for an attempt at revenge but never continued. She loves shoes, animals, michael bolton, pb&js, italy and tequila. She packed a whole backpack full of shoes for a week long trip to Italy, and brought 8 pairs for a weekend in Belfast. Two weeks ago she woke up with gum in her hair and walked into my room to ask me to remove it. Yesterday she forgot her purse on top of a cliff on the Aran Islands and asked me to retrieve it. 3 days ago she said she saw two cows making love from the bus and she asked me to believe her. Every day she yells through the wall to ask me to make dinner with her. She is scared of bright colors, daddy long legs, a day without lotion and split ends (the other day I turned to the right and she was literally picking mine). If no one knows who did it, then Babs did. If you laugh, then Babs will laugh. If you feed Babs caffeine or sugar (do not, i repeat... do not feel her both at once) she will literally bounce off of the walls.

A couple weeks ago we were in a disagreement over something stupid (probably who will buy toilet paper next) and she said so seriously... "Katie, the honeymoon stage is over." It's true, it was over, and now we are ruthless. Over the weekend on our group trip to Galway, Ireland our friends started telling us out of the blue that we have some type of sister-like relationship that could potentially benefit from counseling. I think they were exaggerating, but we decided to take the weekend as a couples therapy vacation (it couldn't hurt, could it?):

She's my partner in crime, a really good arm rest, the butt of many undeserved jokes, the smallest one in every room and someone that is impossible to dislike. She's Babs.

Day in the Life of a Gypsy

Every first Sunday of the month the almost creepily silent square of Smithfield fills with gypsies, travelers, small farmers, horse buyers and curious outsiders (ME)... oh and HORSES... but not just any horses- unkept, ratty, poorly fed and aggressive Irish horses. This ridiculously random event in the middle of Dublin has been going on for almost 300 years and has become most expectedly controversial with government officials who support the modernization of the area. They've tried to end this trading tradition multiple times, but without fail the gypsies prevail. I decided to attend this "fair" last weekend in which I could not manage to find one cony dog, ferris wheel, funnel cake OR scrambler. This is what I found:

bob marley reincarnated

P.S. the whole town still smells like the horse fair today, 7 days later.

Mack Attack

Double fisting Guinness is never a good idea.

Mackenzie came over from Scotland for the weekend to enjoy an extra-touristy weekend with yours truly... drink guinness for breakfast lunch and dinner, stay in an apartment on electricity welfare, frolic through temple bar with the rest of the Americans, buy out the farmers market, hang out with my new friends and be a part of Alice in Wonderland in 3d at the Dublin Film Festival... all the while documenting every move we make similar to an Asian tourist at Disneyland. Welp... she basically spit out her first Guinness, enjoyed hanging out with 50 year olds at Legends more than me and my friends, fell asleep during Alice in Wonderland and in the end I really think that she came to Ireland not to see me, but to try mcdonalds fried apple pies....

quickly making a switch... we ware so typical searching for the nearest american beer

When in Rome... try everything you can from the farmer's market. The freshest smoothie you'll ever have, crepes that literally make you melt and fried dumplings (they're better than they sound)... dumplings for 2 please (if everyone from high school could see us now...)!

Legends... I didn't know they were hosting a field trip from the nursing home...but I don't hate it.

And of course she had to experience a typical night out on the town in Dubs at Fitzsimon's

(from left to right: the way to into it hippie sway, the next american idol, the "don't bother me I'm feelin the music," anddd americas next top model)

Still wearing our 3D glasses 10 minutes after the movie was over... what's more embarrassing: asking someone to take this picture or falling asleep during the best movie I've ever seen?

Sunday we made not one but two trips to mickie d's... strictly for the frapple pies... "hot, crispy and so delicious"... by the look on her face I'd say it's true.

Sunday night we all decided to go out to eat for one last hoo-ra. In blackhall there are two apartment buildings with a courtyard in between. Each building is set up so that you push a button to get out and swipe your key to get in to the next. In order to get to the street we leave our building, walk through the courtyard swipe our key to get into the next then open the door to the street. On our way out to dinner, we find ourselves standing in the courtyard, bri and I both casually looking through our purses for our keys. Casual soon turned frantic. This had never occurred before. We did not have our keys. How were we going to get out of the cold? How were we going to get back into our apartment (which we locked)? How was Mackenzie going to get her stuff from my room by 4AM the next morning to catch her 6:30AM flight? Was it the end of the world as we knew it? We were sooooo NIRVOUS. After what felt like 15 minutes of major freak outs by all 5 of us... I felt something in my jeans pockets... WHO puts keys in their jeans pockets? Needless to say we had a small celebration in my honor and enjoyed a delicious hot irish meal at Messrrs Maguire...

Woke up at 4am for Mack to catch her mini van to the airport... After taxi driver chatty mcgee finally let me go back to bed, the last image I have of mackenzie is a slightly frightened but hysterical face looking back at me from the back of a mini van... All in all, an A+ weekend. Cya back in the land of the free!

Photos courtesy of Mackenzie Rebecca Clark, emerging travel photographer.