The Eternal Question

Today's Eternal Question is:

How do you describe a vacuum cleaner that doesn't suck? As in, it no longer sucks up dust?
You can't say 'This vacuum cleaner sucks' because that's a compliment.

You could probably say 'If I don't get a new vacuum cleaner soon, you will find this one in pieces on the ground below our balcony.' That is a warning.

Travel, Et cetera

I have been in Metropolis for the past week and a half, returning to Dublin's fair city this morning, and subsequently, sleeping for the rest of the day.
I had a glorious time in Metropolis. I love my parents. I think they are the two greatest people on the face of this planet and I miss them every day I don't see them. I am also extraordinarily close to my siblings, which I often take for granted. I miss them already, but I will see them in a few months.

I flew Aer Lingus this time. The flight over was great - I had a row to myself and the woman in front didn't recline and I fell asleep for a bit. The flight back was equally as great - they said I could move from cramped quarters to a full row all to myself, and once again, the woman in front didn't recline. Take note, everyone - when you are flying and you DON'T recline, the karma payout is amazing.

We landed in Dublin early - our flight took about 15 minutes (okay 5 hours.) It was very fast and though 'Australia' was on, I finished up 'Duma Key' by Stephen King. I was one of the first people off the plane and zipped right through passport control, remembering the good old days when I would be in full panic mode the entire flight just expecting them to say 'Get lost, American.' But not anymore. I AM allowed to be here now!

Remember when I said I was one of the first people off the plane? Well my bag was one of the last coming off the plane so I waited. And waited. And waited. And threw dirty looks at everyone who was trying to encroach in on my allotted bag waiting territory (man I hate that.) Plus, it was 5:15am Dublin Time and I was having a hard time thinking up nicknames for people other than 'Short fat head' and 'Four-eyes.' I waited some more and finally, after the baggage claim hall really cleared out, my bags came zipping through. This should have been my first indication that something was off, but I remained blissfully unaware.

After gathering my things, including a checked in duffel bag full of books - sorry Aer Lingus bag throwers, I walked into the arrivals hall and was almost blinded by the handsomeness that awaited me. Yes, it was the SJC there, all smiles, waiting for me. The depth of what it meant to me that he was there cannot be adequately described in words, so I will leave it with this paltry attempt - if I live forever and a day, I will always remember the way my heart swelled with joy when I saw him.

And finally after a quick journey home on the Aircoach, it had stopped raining, and we were finally back in the apartment. I like to unpack immediately so it feels normal when I wake up from my nap. I opened my bag and lo and behold, I had a little note from the TSA. It read something like this:

Oh hey Liz.
It's us, the TSA. Just wanted you to know we randomly selected your bag, even though it wasn't very random because your bag has a 'Dubai Security Clearance' tag on it and we figured you were a terrorist and/or exporting gold and oil, but wanted to make sure.

Anyway, we randomly selected your bag to rifle through and see what you were bringing in to Ireland. Expecting gold bars, we were disappointed to see clean underwear and several pairs of shoes. Great use of the reusable Target bags though - those things are catching on like wildfire here. I'm sure I could have used a better analogy since wildfire is actually a very serious matter, but you get the jist. Anyway, now I'm just rambling.

Okay, to recap - your bag was picked, we pawed through it with our dirty hands, found nothing, put everything back in haphazardly (excellent job folding your jeans by the way - we couldn't recreate it so we just left it and had John jump on the case until it closed), and left you with this note. We didn't find anything, you're clean. Sorry if you feel violated we went through your personal belongings.


See you soon!

Love,
The TSA.

PS - You may want to do some laundry to clean your underwear since you'll notice they weren't in the spot you left them in, but in our defense, we all wore plastic gloves.

Interesting

This has been a very productive and interesting trip home. I leave tomorrow to return to Ireland and to the SJC, who I am looking forward to seeing after 2 weeks apart.

I've been to Target a few times, thus successfully putting an end to our one sided feud from December. I've even been to CVS and have become shocked at how much they've marked up their prices - let's just say it makes Dublin look cheap. I've spent time with each member of my family, which has been delightful. I traded in my old slippers for a new pair. I've had Sam White, but no Sam Summer (apparently I'll miss it by a week.) I reunited with an old friend and former roommate, learned what has happened with her over the past 4 years and re-christened our old stomping ground. I've purchased a white dress. I've also developed hell of a cold, which makes me think I am allergic to either progress, hope, or pollen. The jury is still out on that one.

I even got to watch history as Ireland won the Grand Slam after the win against Wales. Ah bliss.

And now the eternal question remains: Should I get 'Twilight' on Verizon FiOS tonight?

A very Bon Voyage

Sometimes things happen so rarely that you're halfway through the magic before you realize 'Holy cats, this is amazing.' And this despite modern technologies, such as TVs in the seat back in front of you, or an extra inch of leg room (every inch counts.)

I was fortunate enough to be on one such majestic flight recently, on, of all airlines Aer Lingus flight EI137. Now, I realize it was a one off, and that some karmic debt was owed to me after a two hour delay from Dublin to Oxford on Sunday night (I could have walked there faster.)

Our story begins the same way every story begins - a charming lady who is pushing 30 wakes up on a day that will bring her 3000 miles across the Atlantic. She drags her 4 wheel drive suitcase to the Aircoach which then brings her to Dublin airport. At the airport she bucks trends by heading towards the escalators by the Upper Crust side of things, rather than taking the poor man's route near the bar, and checks in for her flight.

She pauses when it comes to the seat changing option. 'Oh what the hell' she thinks, and changes her seat from 29H to 30H which appears to be the last seat in the row. She prints out her boarding pass, checks in her bag, and goes through security without a glitch. Eventually she boards the plane and after all the overhead bins are closed, notices that across the way, the two seats opposite are empty. So she watches like a hawk. Eventually the doors are closed and cabin crew is preparing for departure. She quickly asks one of the cabin crew if the seats are taken and ifsoomgcanIsitthere?? And dashes across the way.

What was so magical about the flight? In the absense of a personal TV in the seat back in front of me, especially considering there was no other option than Quantam of Solace is showing, our heroine had a two seater all to herself, in which to stretch out her 5'11 frame. She had a good book to read, and even took a nap. And the best part? The very very best part?

The woman in front did not recline her chair once.

A very bon voyage indeed.

Hilarity Personified

I'm back from a lovely weekend in Oxford, but not back for long enough to relax before heading out again (in about a half an hour) for Boston. But don't fret. While I make my way back home, I'll leave you with the funniest thing I've seen in quite a long time.

I'm sure you've seen this before, but it's definitely worth reposting. Every 2 years, our neighbors to the north and west, the United Kingdom, put on 'Red Nose Day' where you make people laugh for money. This clip from the Office (UK) explains it fully.

This year I was fortunate enough to witness this gem, a dance by a one Mr Robert Webb of Peep Show, whom I am fortunate enough to have seen once at Birmingham Airport, even if the SJC doesn't believe me, and it wasn't actually him.

I will just say this: The man can dance. And he's got some killer gams.



Slan.

Auf Wiedersehen

As you know in Dublin, one day you're in and the next day, you're out.

Out of the country, that is.

And with that, I bid you adieu. I'm heading to Oxford to tour the city and embark on another collegiate career. It'll probably take about, oh, 2 days, give or take. See you when I return, with my Masters in Awesome.

Setanta and Verizon = Yessssss

For the past week or two I've been panicking, suffering crippling anxiety attacks provoked at the mere sight or mention of these two gentlemen:

On the left, we have Brian O'Driscoll, who boats the honor of being my sister-in-law's future husband, and on the right we have Ronan O'Gara who boasts the honor of having a Grandmother from Sligo. Image courtesy of Google Images.

You may be wondering how these two seemingly handsome and athletic men (who sometimes double as watch models) have provoked such anxiety in a classy, sophisticated lady such as myself. I will tell you. Since moving to Dublin, I've become a fan of the Rugby. Can't quite wrap my head around the soccer, as I find it boring and trite, but the Rugby - it's everything American Football will never be. Fast (they don't stop the clock much), rough (they don't wear pads - do you hear me National Football League??) and, well, enthralling. But is it better than baseball? I couldn't say.

Since my new found love of the Rugby has started, I've been privy to two seasons of Six Nations. Talk about good times. This season, Ireland is doing quite well. I have to see the end of this. Get to the point, you're probably thinking. Will do.

This weekend I'll be in Oxford visiting the future Mrs O'Driscoll, so I will be able to watch the match there. A week from Saturday I'll be in America, where they seem to pretend that Rugby doesn't exist (it's a 'club' sport at most colleges), and I've been worried that I'll miss the final match - Ireland v Wales. This simply will not do.

So today, I waited until it was after 8am EST and rang my Dad. I still don't know why I waited until 8am since he wakes up when the sun rises, or if a leaf falls off a tree in the woods 300 miles away, but I waited. And then I asked the question that everyone in my situation would ask: 'DOES VERIZON HAVE SETANTA??' (Yes, we're 'that family' that doesn't have Comcast.)
'What?'
'DO YOU GET CHANNEL 1009??'
'Yes, we get channels into the thousands.'
'You have to check, Dad.' And he, being the wonderful man he is, checked.

Turns out we don't get 1009, but we CAN order it. And I will order it for Saturday the 21st. And that, my friends, is my small victory for the day. The reason my step will have an extra spring, and the reason I'll have a smile on my face while I wade through the sea of people on Grafton St on my way to buy wrapping paper.

I never thought I'd see the day when I would say this, but thank you Verizon!

Laminated Apron - Where Are You?

Do you realize how hard it is to find a nice laminated apron these days? Nearly impossible, but not completely out of the question.

What do I need with a laminated apron? Don't worry friends, it's not for me. I don't cook or bake, paint pictures and I'm not a pottery master, so I have no use for an apron. Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate the beauty of the apron. My particular favorite being one that my Mother owns with a picture of Shakespeare on it and several of his most famous quotes listed underneath. I swear, that should be in the Smithsonian or at least used for currency in some countries.

You'd think that in a place as mystical as Ireland, there'd be aprons aplenty since Ireland is old-timey and women bake soda bread every hour, on the hour, to go with their cups of tea, especially in the nation's capital. But, I am sorry to say, that is a myth. I mean, maybe it used to be like that, but this is the 2000s, friend, and the times have changed. Now people just have Jaffa Cakes which you can buy at Eurospar. Soda bread is so over. Live in the now and go to Starbucks (note: I do not condone this behavior, bring back soda bread and tea breaks!)

So the eternal quest for a laminated apron continues. Today I enlisted the help of my friend Beth to aid and abet me into finding the mythical laminated apron. We traveled to many a store together (one) and searched far and wide (I also went to Avoca and Kilkenny) but to no avail. I must admit, both Avoca and Killkenny actually have aprons, but not laminated ones, so what good is that! Actually, Kilkenny had laminated aprons, but they had roosters all over them, and a rooster apron does not cater to my demographic.

What's a gal to do? The answer is: Rethink the Mother's Day gift. OR regroup and try again later in the week.

The End.

It's a Marathon, not a sprint

In approximately one week, I will be waking up in the Fortress of Solitude in my very own bed that I bought with my very own money at Jordan's Furniture. This will be a bonus, as I usually wake up in a very uncomfortable bed that I didn't buy in Dublin. And the bed appears to be for people who prefer space saving to comfort. (No, I didn't have a good sleep last night.) There will also be a con, the lack of a certain SJC who acts as furnace when necessary, and is, coincidentally, the love of my life. To clear up any confusion, the Fortress of Solitude is my old bedroom at my parent's house, also called The Oak. No, the Fortress of Solitude isn't an ice cave, but it may as well be. It's a renovated garage that I maintain doesn't have heat, but my father maintains that it does indeed have heat, but it's connected to the rest of the house, so when the rest of the house gets cold, the Fortress gets heat, and oh would you please shut that door on your way out? You're letting the cold air from your bedroom into the rest of the house.

Anyway, in anticipation of this triumphant return to Metropolis, I've decided to start training for Eastern Time so I'm not such a wet blanket when I'm home. At Christmas I fell asleep every night around 8pm and woke up each morning around 4am, which was considered 'sleeping in' for me. For the record, 8pm EST = 1am GMT and 4am EST = 9am GMT. That's a solid 8 hours. Doctors everywhere will be proud. No training is without a goal. My goal is that I will be able to stay awake until at least 11pm EST (and just to throw you off, daylight savings hasn't happened in Europe yet, so we're only 4 hours ahead, which makes 11pm EST = 3am GMT) on Friday as I have an errand to run for Molly, and since I am the chosen one, I cannot fail.

'Training' started last night. I fell asleep around 1am GMT (9pm EST) and woke up this morning at 8:45 GMT (a paltry 4:45 EST.) This is good for Opening Day, I'm quite proud of myself. Tonight my goal is to up the ante by a half hour in either direction. No word yet on whether sheer exhaustion will ruin my chances, but stay tuned.

And for the record, yes I am going to be home in a week, for a week, and no, I won't have a car. And yes, much to the chagrin of a certain rebel, I am getting a ride from the airport. And finally, I will be making great strides to continue planning The Wedding Strikes Back.

Talk about a Great Friend

In one week, I will be leaving the relative comfort of Dublin and heading west to the east coast of the USA. I'm flying to Metropolis and landing at Logan Airport. Since my parent have an aversion to the airport (no matter how many times I tell them they don't have to drive through East Boston to get there anymore!!!) they suggested that I take the Logan Express aka the Loser Cruiser into the suburbs of Boston.

I resigned myself to this terrible fate, that is until in true UBF form, Pam graciously offered to pick me up. I accepted the terms and am OVERJOYED that the first face I'll see off the plane will be that of my best friend.

Pam you are a wonderful woman, a wonderful mother, and an even better friend. I am beyond excited to see you!

Damn you, Kevin

I see it's Monday again. This Monday feels different, though, since next Monday I'll be in Metropolis and the SJC will be in Las Vegas.

I read We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver over the weekend on KD's recommendation. I finished it last night and well. Wow. I couldn't sleep at all last night as I was consumed by trying to figure out what made Kevin, well, Kevin. I kept waking up thinking that eventually I was going to have a son that did the same thing that Kevin did. It was not a good night.

The final verdict? An excellent novel if you need birth control.

If you need me, I'll be napping. Good day to you.

Tidbits

On Billy Connolly:

EJR: I don't like that he wears sunglasses all the time.



SJC: *YOU* wear sunglasses all the time!



Touche, I guess.

Oh the Places I'll Go

2009 will be a big year for travel.

Here's what I have lined up so far:

March 13 - 15th - Oxford, UK
March 16th - 25th - Metropolis, USA
April 10th - 14th - Amsterdam, NL
May 22nd - 25th - Copenhagen, DK
Julyish - Metropolis, USA
October - Metropolis, USA followed by the Maldives

Who wants a postcard?

206 Bones in the Human Skeleton

This weekend the SJC and I ventured north west of Dublin to a county called Sligo, which you may remember as being the SJC's home turf. We make the trek about once every few months to visit his parents who live there, in between Knocknarnia and Ben Bulben (not a bad spot - you certainly can't argue with the view.) This weekend we went up for a different reason: The Table Quiz.

I'm starting to realize that normal people are competitive. I am not very competitive so the glory of victory is usually lost on me and I will just smile and say 'Yes, but didn't we all do so well?' I suppose that's a result of constantly winning 'Honorable Mention' at the Old Home Day Flower Show from 1989 - 1993 (though I still maintain that putting wildflowers in a baseball glove is beautiful art, even from a 9 year old.) This type of attitude does not fly in Ireland, especially not during the Table Quiz Season.

The first thing you should know is that the Table Quiz was a church function. The second thing you should know is that my in-laws seriously considered their team, not unlike a fantasy baseball draft and sat down, crunched the numbers, and lined everyone up for participation about a month and a half before the quiz itself. Together, the two of them make a fearsome team. My father-in-law is a member of Mensa and my mother-in-law may as well be the Soduku champion of Europe. They then chose a British Diplomat because British Diplomats are valued for their smarts. And his wife came along because he needed a date. They chose their son for his skills in geography and history. And his wife came along with a mind full of useless trivia about the US, Pop Culture, music, and movies. All corners were covered. The third thing you should know is that despite this being a church function, word must have gotten out to the Table Quiz Circuit, and a Table of Ringers joined the crowd. ("I don't recognize them from church" was on the lips of all the silver foxes present.)

The questions were diverse and plentiful. Coca-Cola's home is Atlanta, Georgia. Detroit is also called Motor City. There are 206 Bones in the Human Skeleton (even though our team put 306 - who am I to dispute such brain power?). The wingdings round was my favorite one (A Man for All Seasons? The Last Straw? Good ones.) We were doing so well! Then came the Sligo-centric round. That's where we lost our lead. (Note to self: Read the Sligo Champion more often.)

After a nail-biting final round and a tense tallying period, it turns out that our team lost by a half a point to the Ringers. They won with a score of 69.5 to 69. In the end, we came in second place out of 20 teams. But in my heart, we'll always be the winners.