that time i went to europe and {sorta} lived to tell the tale, dublin;

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{somewhere around st. stephen’s green. too jet-lagged to remember exactly, since i had just had at least four cups of aer-lingus coffee and eight aer-lingus cookies by this point, tbh}

i’m about to be that twat. i’m about to talk about my post-grad trip europe without being annoying, except totally being annoying.

you know the one; the one who expects people to really find their short trip abroad to be the *~mooooost inteeeeeresting*~ {insert robin leach voice here}  thing in the world. and posts like 8 different times about the same city, or blurry shots of their ratty toms shoes on some sort of ornate ancient cobblestone, which are probably just bobs anyways.

your eyes, bleeding uncontrollably over them making you look at endless slideshows of castles that look pretty much how you expected them to look {soooo pointy! and snowy! and ooh is that hogwarts?!}

those same eyes are darting from their pictures of their 8 millionth instagram of austrian sachertorte+ latte combo {just EAT it! JUST FRACKING EAT IT! says the little danny devito that lives in my spleen} to the nearest knife to stab this person uncontrollably in the throat.

…or kindly slice them a piece of cake. but mostly knife-stabby and throat-grabby feelings.

you really just want to scream “it looks just like the castle at disneyworld, you moldy wet turd!”, but you don’t.

i’ve droned on and on about this before, but traveling/vacations do not make you a special snowflake.

traveling gives you some tits stories to tell to your closest friends and stalkers for like, a week, and then you.must.stop.talking.about.that.shit. if that person has not seen the coliseum, their ability to hear you talk about how tiny it actually is, greeeeatly decreases with each retelling.


although that doesn’t stop me from telling the story about how i got a hardcore UTI while at a josh ritter concert in montreal and walked out of the bathroom {all seven times} with my skirt tucked into my underpants AND sweater tights:

“am i drinking all the right juice,

am i sure this isn’t bad news,
is there a chance that i could go poo
without my pee parts completely burning.”

-my personal UTI-inspired version of “right moves” by josh ritter

**UTI stories are absolutely, positively universal and should be retold well and often so as to ward off evil UTI spirits and banshees that haunt your poor urethra. i totally read this in seventeen magazine once, which means it’s completely 100% true and shut up.**

luckily for my throat, i’m chronicling this adventure of mine over the interwebs and i’m currently exiled in malta a la napoleon, ya’ll. so suck on it.

except don’t, because i’m mostly writing this for my own personal uses, because i am afraid of alzheimers and don’t want james garner reminding me of my life in a nursing home the notebook-style, ya know?

also, the traveling abroad gods had some forethought and this twat over here totally got like six varietals of the flu at once, didn’t sleep for close to 4 days, almost got dumped, almost got fined by the berlin/munich/prague metro polizei, almost got kidnapped, and there was that whole time i pick-pocketed myself in prague?

yeah. mhm. post-grad euro-trip 2013, baby!

just think of it like this: same sense of embarrassment and shame in my daily life, but just in a prettier place. can we all just give me that? okay, thank you.


being as i am a cheap turd, i sneakily planned my trip to have an 8-hour layover in dublin before trudging on to germany and the czech republic. ach, ja!

this was mostly as a means so that i could finally try to attempt to understand irish accents as i was accustomed to listening to episodes of moone boy with top-secret subtitles {meaning i scrunch my shoulders up to my ears so no one can peek at my english language subtitles to an english language show}.

i am not ashamed of this. except i totally am a little bit ashamed. i was not at all successful in this goal, btw. still had absolutely no idea what was going on. also could have been the early onset of diabetic coma due to aer-lingus cookies.

{dublin} itinerary:

*boarded a delightfully barren aer-lingus flight to see it be bedazzled in christmas tinsel and sassy gay air stewards wearing reindeer ears. it was like absolutely fabulous and aer-lingus decided to collaborate this year on their in-flight decor. i was all kinds of amused. i also had like 12 seats to myself so i formed a “mega-seat”, where i hummed “loca the pug” and worked on developing modern gout for the next 8 hours.

*one microwaved lasagna, three cups of coffee, and 8,000 aer-lingus cookies later….i am in *~DUBLIN*~ and also the human version of garfield the cat. i am also full obsessed with “father ted” at this point.

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{st. stephen’s green, a much appreciated sign by st. patrick’s cathedral and ummm… seat cozies!!!!}

*tromped around trinity college with my hiking backpack/ turtle shell to the amusement of absolutely no one in the cath kidston store that i shoulder-checked. no one should compromise my right to look at floral notebooks with cowgirls on them. no one.

*totally went to the trinity college library to see a library look so closed, i realized i had never seen a library look so closed in my life. even the library of alexandria didn’t look as closed as this. after fertilizing the college greens with my tears, i tromped on to find more aer-lingus cookies.

*i was not successful. apparently aer-lingus cookies are not as wide-spread in their distribution as i had hoped. what gives with the cookie blue balls, dublin?

*then i went to st. patrick’s cathedral where i became obsessed with all their decorative seat cozies. i’m telling you, this church has a freaking monopoly on cute seat cozy charm. forget the dead bodies underneath the floor and 8 trillion year old flags, i am ALL kinds of about seat cozies now. get me stock in seat cozies.

*also realized at this point that growing up in orlando, florida has completely ruined me and my sense of the historical. thoughts upon walking around dublin and seeing old stuff because i was all “whoa, disney and universal did a damn good job on recreating these bad boys! “ 800 years of history, right down the pooper.


*then i totally remembered the time my friends and i were walking around downtown orlando one night, and a drunk guy stopped me and said “are you from ireland? ’cause my dick is dublin” which then made me cackle to myself in a jet-lag-induced haze for a solid five minutes and then go “ugh.”

*dublin all day was all “lol i’m raining” to which i responded with a “I’M WALKIN’ HERE!” and walked until i reached my goal of travel-induced shin splints. i’ll let you figure out for yourself who won. {uhhhh, me}.

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*and then i went to bar where i had guinness lamb stew. with a pint of guinness. with guinness bread. and then i became an irish citizen because that’s just how it works there, ya know?

*onward i trotted back to the airport where my flight was subsequently CANCELED SO HARD. i say “so hard” as to mean “canceled with no clue as to when i would be leaving with nowhere to stay and not enough money to deal with this shizz right now”. i made buddies with an irish girl who greeted this whole debacle with “well, i guess i won’t be going to berlin now! ladies, this is how ireland works. have a good one!” and then she just.went.home.

*i fortuitously buddied up with an awesome irish couple and an american girl traveling to berlin, and we then waited in the line that never ended. and then when it ended {2 hours later} , it became clear the line was for nothing in particular, and we were directed to another line/ slowly growing mob of three canceled flights {for another hour or five}.

*julie, the american girl, and i then decided to form an amazing race- style alliance and shimmied our way to another line where the aer-lingus people finally caved and gave all of us free hotel rooms, dinner, and breakfast. angry mobs TOTALLY work and are super efficient, guys. american charm works for the first and only time during this trip, just in case you are keeping track.

….and seeing as i did not budget correctly at all, i ate enough to last me that winter and the following winter. julie and i shared a room, watched some shawshank redemption, and i passed the eff out after covering my whole travel-grimed body in deodorant to prepare for a full day of only travel to berlin.

*at breakfast the next morning, i also distinctly remember writing in my journal “OMG THIS PORRIDGE!” which i’m realizing sums up dublin quite nicely.

omg this porridge, indeed


{around st. stephen’s green}

**next stop, berlin!**

…did ya’ll miss all the ways i could possibly form run-on sentences? ’cause i sure as hell did.


2 thoughts on “that time i went to europe and {sorta} lived to tell the tale, dublin;

  1. You write funny words and you take nice pictures. Your blog is the kind of blog I wish I would have, if I could keep up with a blog ever. Which I cannot.


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