Ahem.

Annemarie wouldn't let me photocopy her written record of my hours worked for the first three weeks at Newpark. Fishy? I think so.

Kilkenny - the early days

Finally! I am home. I am settled, I have stopped. No more living out of a suitcase (although I have yet to unpack everything), and no more shared rooms with strangers (although some of them turned out to be really awesome people). These are the things that I most abhorred about travelling without a set end point, but now that I have one, I can finally rest. Kilkenny is a nice little town with a river running through it, and some of the kindest people I've ever met. Never once in Canada have I experienced such wonderful...ness. Wonderfulness. The other day I got lost in the city centre, and I asked a woman where the nearest Dunnes was, as I was looking to go there to get the shirt that doesn't exist for my work uniform. Not only did she direct me, she invited me to walk with her into town, as she was going that way. We had a nice conversation as we both walked down the streets, and I made friends with a total stranger. There was no gruff brush off, no vague directions - take a left down that street, a right down the next one, then it should be there, no fake attempt at not knowing to avoid helping someone out. She exceeded my hopes by taking me with her to ensure I went the right way, even saying that she could have told me which way to go, but I might have gotten lost. I love it here.

My job is great. I never thought I'd find a job where I could work a nine hour shift, or even a double shift, and enjoy the entire thing. It's a far cry from Mark's, where the minute I got there, I wanted to leave. Here, the people are so friendly and helpful and not judgmental, and the work is actually rather enjoyable. I can wait tables on a busy night for six hours straight with no break, and have no complaints (except that my feet might hurt a little). It's a demanding job at times, but it's worth it. I've already made friends, and getting tips isn't too bad either. Mind you, it's not like Canada, where everyone tips all the time, it's fewer and further between, but hey, I'm getting paid more than minimum wage, so it's allllll good.

The bars here are really neat. There's three that I've been to so far, and they're all completely different concepts. There's one that's a mix between a pub and a club (we'll call it a plub) that's really popular on Monday nights (I know! Who goes out on a Monday?! Irish people, apparently.), then there's one that's more of just a pub, it's got a pool table, karaoke and a new-age jukebox! The last one is this reaaaally opulent place. It's a fancy bar at the front, when I walked in last night it was all old people, and I was wondering why my housemate and a guy from work had told me to go there, but if you went through to the back, there's this GIANT club part, where all the younger people were. There was a big screen showing something (I'll admit, I was reeeally drunk by that point, I don't really remember what was on it), and a huge dancefloor, plus a really nice patio thinger outside. I ran into my supervisor from work there (apparently he's quite the drunk when he's not wearing his fancy shmancy suit and driving his sportscar), and I don't remember how, but we got on the subject of age. I asked him to guess how old I was (again, don't remember why), and he said 23 or 24. I can't explain why, but it always makes me happy when people think I'm older than I am. Then it always brings me back down when I have to tell them that I'm not. Although, if that continues for my entire life, I'm gonna look like I'm sixty in my forties. Frig. Oh well, I'm sure white hair will be in style soon enough.

I'm gonna keep on keepin' on though. Got more work to do, more time to sleep, and more drinks to drink.

Landhos.

I hate crying babies. So much. In the last few days, I have been subjected to more crying babies in more small rooms than I have in my entire life. Apparently, babies don't take well to Ireland, and I happen to be there EVERY time they realise that. My ears are ringing.

On another unhappy note, my landlord is a skank bitch. First, she threatened to kick me out yesterday because I'm too messy (I have witnesses that she is crazy), and then she gave away the internet broadband thing she said I could have because the guy who left it there decided to reclaim it. Had she TOLD me I wasn't going to be able to keep it, I wouldn't have paid to use it in the first place. FUCK OFF.
So yes, my landlord, the little Asian lady of the night with her own vag-wash sitting openly in the medicine cabinet, is a whore. And to be honest, she may actually be a whore. She works odd hours, including starting at 4:00 in the morning, and needs to constantly 'bring her intimate parts to their natural balance' with vag-wash.

All in all, bad experience in Dublin. Buuuuuuuut, I did manage to get a job in Kilkenny! Whaaaat? Yeah! Somehow, I don't know how, I got a job waitressing at a four-star hotel. I've never waitressed before in my life. Ah well, adventures await.

End.

Things I've done in Ireland

Since I've been here I have:

- Mastered the art of jaywalking in the city centre (downtown) of Dublin.
- Learned not to drink the tap water (through several unfortunate experiences).
- Found the lovely little village I live beside.
- Made best friends with Bulmer's Cider. Soooo good.
- Found a room to live in, unfortunately with a landlord who is obsessed with oldschool Madonna.
- Not had one shower with hot water for more than fifteen minutes. Fucking electric water heater shit.
- Spent far too much money.
- Made more Canadian friends than Irish.
- Discovered the show Dexter, and because of this, become a hermit.
- Figured out who knackers are, and just how many of them I live near. Fuck my life.
- Seen every single ugly tribal tattoo you could imagine. They're all the rage here apparently.
- Been asked approximately fifteen times where I'm from in the states.
- Developed an Irish accent only when I say the word 'sorry', as I bump into people often.
- Successfully found my way from my house in Dublin 11 to city centre in Dublin 2 by foot. (They're postal codes, and it's far.)


Yet it still hasn't really hit me that I'm in Ireland, and not some random part of Ontario.

I've been gone for a week...

...and I've been drunk since I left.

Not really. I've only been drunk like twice since I've been here, but they've both been fabulous times.

So I'm in Ireland! I've been here for about a week, and it's been pretty cool. I'll admit, the first couple days I wasn't really feeling it, but that was probably because I lived in my six-person mini-room, and slept for most of both days. But now since I've been out and about (or, as anyone not from Canada thinks we pronounce it 'oot and aboot'), I've come to really like the place. Not only have I found TWO, count 'em, TWO vegan places to eat, but I've also met a shit ton of Canadians, and a crapload of Australians. That's pretty much the only people I've hung out with, but they're awesome, so it's ok.

So Ireland is suprisingly similar to Canada, in that Dublin looks a hell of a lot like Toronto, only the people drive a lot faster, and on the left side. There may or may not have been a couple incidences of me almost being hit by cars because I look for them on the wrong side of the road. Otherwise though, it's pretty normal. There's tons of stores (referred to as shops), restaurants, convenience stores (Spar and Centra) and a scant few homeless people. The other day I saw a street sweeper manoever around a homeless girl sitting on the bridge, and it was both slightly comical and really really sad at the same time.

So as for me and what I've done in the past little while, there's not much to say. I've been walking around a lot, just trying to get my bearings and find neat places to eat or shop. Dunnes/Penneys are my new best friends. I've been on a pub crawl in Temple Bar, that was tons of fun, especially a certain bar called....Finnigans? I think? Anyhow, it was a great load of fun with a great bunch of people. A nice change from Canada is that here, men will actually talk to you just to talk. They don't all have the agenda of getting in your pants, so here, when a guy comes up to talk to you, you don't have to politely tell him to fuck off. It's great! The girls however, are not so friendly. I don't think I've spoken to a single Irish girl or woman here if it wasn't to ask for directions. Whatever, they'll come around.

Another awesome bar we went to is called the Turk's Head, where I indulged in a bit of Russian/Irish crouch-dancing. Some guy at the bar wanted to dance, and decided that we were going to crouch down, hop around and kick our feet out, and when I couldn't do it, he called me a cripple. It was interesting to say the least!

Okay, so I realise that I'm being boring, but hey, whatever. Half of this is just so I remember all of what happened while I was here. (flashback to an Irish guy at the bar obsessed with Burt Reynolds and his mustache) Maybe my next post will be more interesting. I'm moving in tomorrow though, and have to get settled and find a job and such, plus I fail at posting regularly, so don't expect another one for a while.

'tanks a million,

Your vegan abroad.