Thursday, December 8, 2011

Red-headed Sluts

So, it was about four months after I was dumped that Slaw and I headed to Ireland to celebrate the New Year. I was very excited because not only did I know an amazing trip overseas was ahead of me but I was also going to be able to post pictures on Facebook. I knew Ex would look at them and say "OMG Bexxx is so gorgeous and worldly and what have I done?!" I mean, I was over him but I still wanted him to fawn over me from a distance.

Anyway, we met up in JFK and sadly realized that our seats were directly behind each other. Somehow, we managed to convince a COUPLE to break up their adjacent seats so we could sit next to each other, leaving the girl half in our row. She definitely regretted this later as we spent most of the trip giggling and practicing Irish accents and she spent hers frowning and listening to music.

We landed safely, exchanged money (huge mistake - totally should've done this in America) and attempted to take buses to our hostel in Dublin. With our luggage in tow, we took about 5 different buses, walked 20 blocks, purchased multiple maps, asked various strangers for directions and took about 3 hours to find our hostel. Exhausted, we dragged our extremely heavy bags in and checked them while we went to explore the town.

Using our nerdy, yet handy, tourist guide, we guided ourselves up to Trinity College and then figured out what bus took us over to the Guinness factory. We did all of this with little help from the Irish as they are all tricksters! Seriously, they will say "Sure, this is the B52" and then you get on and realize that it's not! Upon confrontation, it's all just laughs as you've been had. These devils refer to this practice as "taking the piss outta you."

Anyway, we managed to finally make it to the Guinness factory where we learned a lot about Guinness, had a great view of Dublin and enjoyed a complimentary Guinness fresh out of the tap! We even got to pour it ourselves and earn an official Guinness certificate. All very touristy and awesome!

Sidebar: I should probably mention that this entire time I was wearing my "flying gear." At the time, this consisted of clothing that was extra repulsive as to discourage strangers from talking to me. I later learned that this encouraged people to ask questions as opposed to when you are dressed high-formal. High formal is my new "flying gear. My first day in Ireland and I was wearing a multi-colored purple ski jacket and sweatpants with BUFFALO written down one leg. I could easily have been mistaken for a homeless person in NYC.

Anyway, after that we decided to get burgers in a Real Irish Pub (RIP) because we seemed to be determined to keep this trip as corny as possible. The burgers were delicious but, another hot tourist tip, their pepper smells like a cow farm - not necessarily manure but definitely a cow farm.

After settling in to our hostel room (bunk beds with 8 others), we decided to go out and check the local scene. Here we learned that you cannot just open a tab in Ireland... you buy some drinks, pay and then are returned your card. This leads to drinking much more responsibly but only if you're the one buying drinks, the responsibility of which we quickly deferred to others.

At one bar, I was chatting up a classic European guy - skinny, ghostly pale - and basically lying about my entire life because I could! It was so easy and addicting that I don't even blame people for constantly lying in bars. Anyway, one shot lead to another lead to us making out in the bar. During this time in my life, bar make-outs were a pretty common thing so this was no big deal to me, sadly and trashily.

You may be wondering, "Where was Slaw while you were lip dancing with this pasty mick?!" Well, she was right behind me reluctantly talking to his friend. Apparently, when he saw that we were mackin, he turned to her, shrugged his shoulders and made a, "Hey, why the heck not?" face and attacked her lips with the ferocity of a million tongued locusts. Just tongue, everywhere.

We eventually broke our respective kisses off and dashed to another bar where we skanked more drinks - this time from an older crowd. Eventually, we started to call it a night, mostly because Slaw was just beyond functioning, and joined up with a group of Americans to go get some pizza nearby. Once in the pizza joint, I sat a sleepy Slaw down at a table and chatted America shit with a guy while waiting for some (America-style) massive slices.

I turned around to bring the 'za back and what do I see? Why, just Slaw making out with a redhead with a massive flame-fro. I'm talking glorious (pre-jacked and spray tanned) Carrot Top style. The kind of red-head where you're like "Holy shit, this guy could make someone cringe in terror at will." The whole scene looked roughly like this, complete with bad lighting:


Repulsed, I handed her slice over and tried to break up the lovebirds. This was not happening and they continued to sneak kisses in between bites, making it somehow grosser. When we started walking back to the hostel, Slaw and her Red-headed King refused to separate, saying sweet-nothings like "Please, he can't go!" and "I'll come back to the hostel with you!" "Let him just walk us back!" "I won't do anything I promise, I love her!"

That was the last straw. As the formidable mom of the group (the fact that I was the responsible one in the group should show you the level of sheer ridiculousness Slaw operates), I knew I had to put my foot down, if only to save her from having to wake up next to this disaster. This should show you what a kind and caring person I am, as I put my own desires to see his firebush aside.

"Goodbye!" Slaw slurred, wistfully. "Goodbye, my little bird!" he replied, as he walked into the distance, each never taking their eyes off the other, both imagining what could have been.

In the morning, Slaw remembered nothing and puked straight liquid into a garbage bag. That was the last time she drank Guinness all trip.

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