Preparing for home

As we are 2-weeks away from our trip to the states, I felt it would be beneficial to practice the language of my native peoples... (Julyer! Julyer!)

SPANISH WORD OF THE DAY: BRIEF
My friend smells so bad, I couldn't brief.

SPANISH WORD OF THE DAY: MUSHROOM
Yo, when all my familia gets in the car, there's not mushroom.

SPANISH WORD OF THE DAY: CHICKEN
My girlfriend wanted me to go to the store, but chicken go by herself.

SPANISH WORD OF THE DAY: LIVER & CHEESE Some guy tried to sweet talk my woman. I told him, yo loco, liver alone, cheese mine.

SPANISH WORD OF THE DAY: WAFER
I wanted to go with my mom to the flea market pero she didn't wafer me!

SPANISH WORD OF THE DAY: HERPES
I had some cake to share with my wife. This is my piece, this is herpes .

SPANISH WORD OF THE DAY: TISSUE
I told you if you didn't know how to do it, I could tissue.

SPANISH WORD OF THE DAY: CASHEW
I was running after you but I couldn't cashew!

SPANISH WORD OF THE DAY: JUICY
Hey man, Im looking for Paco, tell me if juicy him!

SPANISH WORD OF THE DAY: JULY
Ju tol me ju were goin to the store and July to me! Julyer!

SPANISH WORD OF THE DAY: HARASSMENT
My old lady caught me in bed wit my lover so I said harassment nothing to me!

Hot Fun in the Summertime

As you should know by now, a typical Irish day looks something like this:

Actual elapsed time, 0.8 seconds.

Well, luckily for us, yesterday saw a change.

And at the same time as the Irish sun was bursting forth from the cloud's familiar hold, another Irish son was bursting forth from a womb's familial hold. Ah, Sweet poetry...

Mary and Tom Marry had another boy! Conor Brendan Marry was born at 3:45pm on August 7th and weighed in at 8 lbs even.
While I've yet to procure any actual photos of the young lad, just for your reference, I'm pretty sure he looked just like this:
I do have pictures of another babe from yesterday...

Tell me the shorts aren't fantastic! And it was great to have a warm and sunny day in which to wear them. Katie has really turned a corner in her walking attempts. While she still walks half like Frankenstein and half like someone with a stick up their butt, she walks everywhere. Only if we are in a serious hurry does she get down to crawl. Or if she sees a puddle.

Speaking of puddles, Katie got her first pair of wellies today.

And speaking of turning a corner... if you turn the corner from Manus' parent's house out in Cuffesgrange, you will find yourself at the very birthplace of James Hoban! Yes, it's true!! Shocking and hard to believe, isn't it??!! Now, I wouldn't want to insult anybody as I know you all know who J. Hoban is, but since I decided to make this an educational site, I will provide links so you can learn more about the Irishman who became an architect and designed the White House (where the President of the United States lives.) That's right, the one and only. And just in case you think you will forget his name, you can use a little mnemonic that I find helpful; Just think of the regulatory action that could put yo Momma out of work.

Well, architecture students from Wash. D.C.'s Catholic University designed and erected (tee,hee) a monument to the great man (some may remember the original monument in the ditch on the side of the road that looked more like a misplaced headstone) and last night was the unveiling.

It is a beautiful monument and all the local papers say it is sure to put Cuffesgrange, Co. Kilkenny on the map. Which is good, because I looked, and it isn't on any of them at the moment.

We were blessed to have Father Funky Dee and the Holy Rollers there to get down and get freaky.

I just still don't understand why they had their backs to the crowd...

My fellow countrymen.... (Take me with you!!!!)

Here is an article about the events from the Kilkenny newspaper: http://www.kilkennypeople.ie/news/James-Hoban-memorial-now-set.4362987.jp

It is almost exactly a month 'til we are in the good ole U. S. of A again and celebrating the life of a man made famous in America did little to lessen my homesickness. And neither did this:

I feel like I'm in the middle of one of those old coffee commercials, "We've secretly switched the restaurant's fresh brewed coffee with Folger's crystals... let's see if they notice the difference." Well, I DID notice the difference, albeit not til AFTER I got home from the grocery. Canadian maple syrup and banana nut? Helllllloooo? Where is Cinnamon and my reason-for-buying, Peanut Butter? I'm sorry, you just can't trust a country that doesn't eat peanut butter.

And I think the weeds are mocking me.

Funny Friday Supplement

Remind yourselves of how lucky you were today, getting two posts in one day, the next time you don't see anything new for a while..

Just another good joke that was sent on to me from my friend Caroline Thomes.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

BARACK OBAMA: The chicken crossed the road because it was time for a change! The chicken wanted change!

JOHN MC CAIN: My friends that chicken crossed the road because he recognized the need to engage in cooperation and dialogue with all the chickens on the other side of the road.

HILLARY CLINTON: When I was First Lady, I personally helped that little chicken to cross the road. This experience makes me uniquely qualified to ensure right from Day One! that every chicken in this country gets the chance it deserves to cross the road. But then, this really isn't about me.

GEORGE W. BUSH: We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.

DICK CHENEY: Where's my gun?

COLIN POWELL: Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road.

BILL CLINTON: I did not cross the road with that chicken. What is your definition of chicken?

AL GORE: I invented the chicken.

JOHN KERRY: Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken's intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.

AL SHARPTON: Why are all the chickens white? We need some black chickens.

DR. PHIL: The problem we have here is that this chicken won't realize that he must first deal with the problem on this side of the road before it goes after the problem on the other side of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he's acting by not taking on his current problems before adding new problems.

OPRAH: Well, I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I'm going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.

ANDERSON COOPER, CNN: We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed to have access to the other side of the road.

NANCY GRACE: That chicken crossed the road because he's guilty! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.

PAT BUCHANAN: To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.

MARTHA STEWART: No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer's Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information.

DR SEUSS: Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I've not been told.

ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die in the rain, alone.

JERRY FALWELL: Because the chicken was gay! Can't you people see the plain truth? That's why they call it the 'other side.' Yes, my friends, that chicken is gay. And if you eat that chicken, you will become gay, too. I say we boycott all chickens until we sort out this abomination that the liberal media whitewashes with seemingly harmless phrases like 'the other side.' That chicken should not be crossing the road. It's as plain and as simple as that.

GRANDPA: In my day we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.

BARBARA WALTERS: Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart warming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its lifelong dream of crossing the road.

ARISTOTLE: It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.

JOHN LENNON: Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together, in peace.

BILL GATES: I have just released eChicken2008, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your checkbook. Internet Explorer is an integral part of eChicken2008. This new platform is much more stable and will never crash........reboot.

ALBERT EINSTEIN: Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?

COLONEL SANDERS: Did I miss one?

Now we had a link to this on our old Katie website, so you may have already seen it, but if you didn't, it is fantastic!



As we approach a new presidency, lets look back on some of the good times...

Knock, Knock

Who's There?
Irish-American.
Irish-American Who?

I 'rish' Ameri can tell a better joke than Malinda

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

(Who the hell is Ameri?)

No, really, I just made that one up. I swear. I've thought up a few humdingers in my day, not that I like to brag or anything. The saddest thing is that I made up a real doozy of a joke one night while I was laying in bed (not sleeping) and I can't for the life of me think of what it was...
The people of earth suffer for my forgetfulness.

But, in talking about American stereotypes the other day, I got to thinking of all the Irish stereotypes we see in the jokes told by Americans. How many jokes do you know with "Father Murphy" or "Old Paddy Joe" or "An Irishman, a German, and a whatever..." or "That Irishman who loves Whiskey" - (oh wait, that one's Manus..) But my point is, there are a lot of "Irish Jokes".

Well, I set out to see what jokes the Irish tell about Americans.

And there aren't any. There are redneck jokes and well, George Bush jokes... But those are jokes we tell ourselves. And, apparently, they are Jokes we elect President. Twice. Who is laughing now?

There just doesnt seem to be an American Joke genre here in Ireland. Or Europe. I think they feel we do and say enough IN REAL LIFE that they find really hysterical. No need to make up shit. I dunno.

But I did find some few jokes that I think have an air of truth about them, and I share them with you now...

After the Irish Beer Festival in Dublin, all the brewery
presidents decided to go out for a beer. The guy from Corona sits down and says, "Hey Senor, I would like the world's best beer, a Corona." The bartender dusts off a bottle from the shelf and gives it to him. The guy from Budweiser says, "I'd like the best beer in the world, give me 'The King Of Beers', a Budweiser." The bartender gives him one. The guy from Coors says, "I'd like the only beer made with Rocky Mountain spring water, give me a Coors." He gets it. The guy from Guinness sits down and says, "Give me a Coke." The bartender is a little taken aback, but gives him what he ordered. The other brewery presidents look over at him and ask "Why aren't you drinking a Guinness?" and the Guinness president replies, "Well, I figured if you guys aren't drinking beer, neither would I."

And remember the story I told about the singer... what's his name? He played with Donovan... And he didn't want a whiskey cause he was a recovering alcoholic, he'd just have a glass of Guinness?

An Irish man walks into a pub. The bartender asks him, "What'll
you have?" The man says, "Give me three pints of Guinness please." So the bartender brings him three pints and the man proceeds to alternately sip one, then the other, then the third until they're gone. He then orders three more. The bartender says, "Sir, I know you like them cold. You don't have to order three at a time. I can keep an eye on it and when you get low, I'll bring you a fresh cold one." The man says, "You don't understand. I have two brothers, one in Australia and one in the States. We made a vow to each other that every Saturday night we'd still drink together. So right now, my brothers have three Guinness Stouts too, and we're drinking together. The bartender thought that was
a wonderful tradition. Every week the man came in and ordered three beers. Then one week he came in and ordered only two. He drank them and then ordered two more. The bartender said to him, "I know what your tradition is, and I'd just like to say that I'm sorry that one of your brothers died." The man said, "Oh, me brothers are fine----I just quit drinking."

North Dubliners don’t like the South Dubliners because they think they are
righteous snobs. South Dubliners don’t like the North ‘cause they don’t get out
of the shower to pee.

These are a few I found on a website posted BY Irishmen so they can't get offended, and there must be a bit of truth in them too.

An Englishman, a Scotsman and an Irishman went into a pub for a pint of Guinness one day. After being served a fly landed in each of their pints and stuck in the creamy heads. The Englishman pushed his pint away from him in disgust and proceeded to order another pint. The Scotsman simply fished the offending fly out with his finger and proceeded to drink his pint as if nothing had happened. The Irishman, eyes wide with anger grabbed the fly and held it over his pint shouting "SPIT IT OUT!!! SPIT IT OUT YOU BASTARD!!!"

A new priest at his first mass was so nervous he couldn't stand still. He asked Father Murphy for some advice. Father Murphy replied, "When I'm worried about gettin' nervous on the pulpit, I take a wee bit o'whiskey. Just to calm my nerves” So the next Sunday he took the older priest's advice. Before the mass, he got nervous and took a drink. He then proceeded to talk up a storm. Upon return to his office after mass, he found the following note on his door:

1. A few sips of whiskey. Not the whole bottle.

2. There are 10 commandments, not 12.

3. There are 12 disciples, not 10.

4. Jesus was consecrated, not constipated.

5. Jacob wagered his donkey, he did not bet his ass.

6. We do not refer to Jesus Christ as the late J.C.

7. The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are not referred to as Senior,
Junior, and the Spook.

8. David slew Goliath, he did not kick the shit out of him.

9. When David was hit by a rock and knocked off his donkey, don't say "He was
stoned off his ass."

10. We do not refer to the cross as the Big T!

11. Jesus broke the bread at the Last Supper he said, "Take this and eat it, for it
is my body"; he did not say, "Eat me."

12. The Virgin Mary is not referred to as the, "Mary with the Cherry".

13. The recommended grace before a meal is not: "Rub-A-dub-dub, thanks for the grub, yea God"

14. Next Sunday there will be a taffy-pulling contest at St. Patrick's, not a patrick-pulling contest at St. Taffy's.

A ventriloquist visiting Wicklow, walks into a small village and sees a local sitting on his porch patting his dog. He figures he'll have a little fun, so he says to the Wicklowman "Can I talk to your dog?"
Villager:"The dog doesn't talk, you stupid git."
Ventriloquist:"Hello dog, how's it going mate?"
Dog: "Doin' all right."
Villager: (look of extreme shock)
Ventriloquist: "Is this villager your owner?" (pointing at the villager)
Dog: "Yep"
Ventriloquist: "How does he treat you?"
Dog: "Real good. He walks me twice a day, feeds me great food and
takes me to the lake once a week to play."
Villager: (look of utter disbelief)
Ventriloquist: "Mind if I talk to your horse?"
Villager: "Uh, the horse doesn't talk either....I think."
Ventriloquist: "Hey horse, how's it going?"
Horse: "Cool"
Villager: (absolutely dumbfounded)
Ventriloquist: "Is this your owner?" (pointing at the villager)
Horse: "Yep"
Ventriloquist: "How does he treat you?"
Horse: "Pretty good, thanks for asking. He rides me regularly, brushes me down often and keeps me in the barn to protect me from the elements."
Villager: (total look of amazement)
Ventriloquist: "Mind if I talk to your sheep?"
Villager: (in a panic) "The sheep's a liar!"

Now this last one isn't Irish, but it pretty much explains how I feel when I'm in town shopping (pretend that I am the one asking for the sausages.)

Everyone is in a hurry to scream 'racism' these days!

'In what aisle could I find the Polish sausage?'
The clerk looks at him and says, 'Are you Polish?'
The guy (clearly offended) says, 'Well, yes I am. But let me ask you something.
If I had asked for Italian sausage would you ask me if I were Italian?
Or if I had asked for feta cheese, would you ask me if I were Greek ?
Or if I had asked for German bratwurst, would you ask me if I wereGerman?
Or if I asked for a kosher hot dog would you ask me if I were Jewish?
Or if I had asked for a Taco would you ask if I were Mexican? Wouldyou? Would you?'
The clerk says, 'Well, no!'
'If I asked for some Irish whiskey, would you ask if I were Irish?'
'Well, I probably wouldn't!'
With deep self-righteous indignation, the
guy says, 'Well then, whydid you ask me if I'm Polish because I asked
for Polish sausage?'

The clerk replies, 'Because you're at Home Depot.'

Proud to be an American

ABROAD, adj. At war with savages and idiots. To be a Frenchman abroad is to be miserable; to be an American abroad is to make others miserable.

- Ambrose Bierce, The Enlarged Devil's Dictionary


Oh really, France?


Lookie what I found in Time magazine...

Most Obnoxious Tourists? The French
Friday, Jul. 04, 2008 By BRUCE CRUMLEY / PARIS
A poll reveals that the French are now considered the most obnoxious tourists among Europeans.

Remember the tightwad tourist whose baggy shorts, frequent complaining
and shouted questions about why none of the locals spoke any English made the
ugly American the world's Visitor from Hell? Well, it's time for Archie Bunker to move over and make way for Petulant Pierre.
According to a recent international survey, the French are now considered the
most obnoxious tourists from European nations, behind only Indians and the
last-place Chinese as the worst among countries worldwide.

I dunno... there are a lot or American tourists here in these glorious days of summer and I've gotten quite good at picking them out even before I hear them speak (clearly and from across a crowded room)

The Encarta dictionary defines "Ugly American" as: stereotypical offensive American: a loud, boorish, nationalistic American, especially one traveling abroad, who is regarded as conforming to a stereotype that gives Americans a bad reputation. In contrast, Dictionary.com defines "the Ugly American" as: Pejorative term for Americans traveling or living abroad who remain ignorant of local culture and judge everything by American standards.

Wikipedia has some interesting tidbits of information

http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Ugly_American&oldid=224504443

How many American tourists does it take to change a light bulb?

Fifteen. Five to figure out how much the bulb costs in the local currency, four to comment on "how funny-looking" local lightbulbs are, three to hire a local person to change the bulb, two to take pictures, and one to buy postcards in case the pictures don't come out.

Sorry Im so boring today. That third vodka last night was a bad idea.

You may think it's funny, but it's snot

A big hearty congratulations to my cousin Sarah on her nuptials this past Saturday in Johnstown, Pennyslvania. She married her long-time boyfriend Tommy Riffle. I've only received limited recounts of the party, but as my dad said, "the beer was cold and a good music DJ." I'm not sure if he was aware that his sentence didn't make sense, but that in and of itself is a sign that it was a pretty great party.

This union brings me to today's topic because their wedding announcement will read "Priest-Riffle" wedding. (Sarah's last name was Priest). Bear with me today if things don't make sense as I am all hocked up on cold medicine and can't think straight enough to deliver another installment of Laura's Ireland visit. So, Priest Riffle. That to me is a sniglet. I think the definition would be 'the sound a priest's robes make when he walks down the aisle' or, now that they are all outfitted with portable microphones, it could be 'the sound a priest makes (accidentally) during silent prayers which he then tries to blame on the scuffing of his shoes'.

My friend once dated a man and she said with humorous dismay that theirs would be the "Huge-Fruit" wedding. Fortunately, she is marrying a great guy named Denny Nelson. The two of us (Frum and Fruit) feel that we definitely "married up" (if only in last name).

I know this funny name union is a bit from Leno, but my head is doing swirlies and curly-Qs so I cannot be relied upon for original material today.

Also, if you look at the picture of Tommy above, besides him having 4 arms like the Hindu god Shiva, he looks as though he is channeling Johnny Carson's The Great Karnak.

For these reasons, I think Mr. Leno will let me steal his thunder.










All good stuff.

On a very serious note, my brother-in-law Brian is in hospital in Dublin right now with an acute case of appendicitis. I think he is in the operating room (theatre) as I type. Please keep him in your thoughts and prayers. Think of him 5 times and you will receive great fortune. If you don't pray for him within the next 10 minutes, you will have very bad luck. Send this blog on to 14 fabulous, funny, smart women to make their day. Don't break this chain or gremlins will eat your brains while you sleep! This wish has gone around the world 13,456 times! Don't let it stop with you! or poor little Brian won't get his appendix took out.

Truth be told, his treatment could have been dangerously delayed, for when Brian first went to the doctor, the MD examined him and said, "Well, Brian, I think you have acute appendicitis." Brian, blushing, said, "Doctor, I came here for medical advice, not for some stupid come-on!"... (but thanks, and your's ain't so bad either.)




I cannot take credit for the above joke. But I did insert the "Brian" where it used to say "Dumb Blonde". That took some work. Donations will be accepted.

Special Delivery!

My dear, dear friend Georgie sent me a package and it arrived today. It was my Irish Survival Kit. She had been reading my blog and listening to me drone on about things I couldn't find here and she went out and shipped over some of the things I've been complaining about not having. How nice is that? But before I get into that, and completely unrelated, I sure do miss big piles of money, the tight, round buttocks of my youth, and Johnny Depp....

So anyway, I just wanted to tell Georgie and the world how touched I am - and seriously this is not a play for sympathy or care packages* - I am just really blessed. And I am absolutely swimming in the baking goods now (the kind I can't mess up).

I think I'll save the vanilla instant pudding and the yellow cake mix and make up a proper rum cake. That is just one thing, when done right that can melt in your mouth and put a smile on your face for days.

There is also chocolate cake mix and chocolate pudding. Yum! Fortunately for me, the box cover indicates that it has "instruciones en espanol" Aye! Que Rico Suave!

And she sent a Dark Chocolate Brownie Mix "for PMS fix" - seriously, how did she know? No, really, the brownies will be gone by tomorrow. Sadly, I'll still be a moody bitch for another 4-5 days.

What I really love too is she sent along pictures from our last evening out...

(l-r) The Irish Anne, Jan, Georgie and Joy

I left that extra chin in Miami, if anyone is in need of one.

Belles of the Ball

I also know, courtesy of Georgie that 6 oz is exactly 185 gms and half a cup is 110 ml. Such indispensable information should be housed in a prime location. Georgie knows this too, that is why she put the information on a magnet. What she doesn't know is that my refrigerator is not a Trekkie and therefore does not attract Klingons.

That means I'll have to be creative with my house hunting for the Miami Beach magnets she sent too... But just one look was all I needed to get a true pain in the pit of my stomach with homesickness.

The magnets, and this:

Flan, arroz con pollo, cafe con leche.... I can't even get Sazon or Adobo. How can they expect me to prepare my palomilla steak? At first when I saw the box of flan I was thinking I would save it and make it one night as a special treat when we have my in-laws out for dinner. Then I thought. Dumb... that means less for me. So Im going to hide it and wait for Manus to go out of town. Then it can just be me and f-lalalalalala-an alone, all night. Ouch.. Stick-y!!

Georgie also packed my entire educational record from Baptist. So that means that I have to go through it now and see if it can supply evidence as to my nurse's training. I refuse to let this go. I'm not even sure that I would work as a nurse here if given the opportunity (don't tell Manus) but so help me if they don't acknowledge me as capable.

She bragged about how all the stuff I was lacking was stuff that she could find for $1.50 or less.... that may have been true until she hit the post office... Then all of a sudden, boxes of cake mix and a 5 inch stack of paper doesn't seem like such a great idea. Oh Georgie, god bless you sending all that to me...(especially since for the shipping cost you could have hand delivered it...)

I think the best part of the package was the cartoons sprinkled about the cooking implements.

A few of my favorites...

And the absolute best one.... Just imagine the little old lady voice

Hysterical!

*Dear Mom, PLEASE don't think that because there has not (yet) been a whole post dedicated to the care packages that you have sent that I don't appreciate them and watch with bated breath for the postman to deliver them. They are truly the highlight of my day. And Katie's too... We love you!

Things Are Different Here (part III)

A while back I told you about Manus' uncle Ger coming from England for a weekend visit. Before he left, he gave Katie a few books for her birthday. One of them is a collection of stories that seem to have included many of the classics like Little Jack Horner, Yankee Doodle, Roses are Red...

Then there was this one.

And I thought to myself... Boy. Things are really different here.
And its not only that word that is totally socially acceptable here. It is customary, in fact perhaps even compulsory to incorporate the F-word into every statement. Form doesn't matter; it can be used as an exclamation, verb, noun or adjective. Apparently you get bonus points for multiple uses in a single sentence. Get Manus and his brother talking about the hurling team and you will hear some permutation of "That F-all so-in-so couldn't hit the F-en ball with 2 F-en hurls so he can just F-off for F's sake" every time.

Cunt.

Cunt is not a bad word here. I don't even like typing the word, though by Irish ordinances I am well within my legal right to do so. I believe it is still a slightly derogatory term, but for example, if you were addressed as "ya stupid 'C', ya" for a minor driving faux pas, you shouldn't be offended.

Now, oddly enough, the word "fanny" as in the children's story "My Sister Fanny" as read aloud by Billy Madison in 1995, is very vulgar. You would make old women blush if they heard you say it on the street.

Like I said, things are different here..... Or so I thought...

My cousin Elissa gave me this book before we left called "Games to Play with Baby".

I don't think "listening skills" are all baby will learn if I teach her how to ride...

We need a little inspiration from Whitney at a time like this. She knows how to teach our children and let them lead the way. Is she out of rehab yet?

P.S. I passed my driver theory test. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

I'm passing

You know when a transexual is doing such a good job at impersonating a woman they say she is "passing"? That' s how I feel about thinking that I am a local. Guess that makes me a successful transeurol or something. And thank God there is no big operation at the end to look forward to like my "passing' compatriots.

The other day I was walking into town with Katie and an elderly gentleman complete in woolen cardigan and kangol cap, stops me and with a thick Irish brogue, asks "How do I get to da parade?" - He thought I was a local! And what is even more amazing; I knew the answer. But I was so self-conscious when I spoke to direct him. Like I thought he would be pissed if he realized that I was american. Like I duped him or something. I dont know what it is but I feel that way with all the old men. Old men seem to be the only people who will say "good day" or "lovely weather, isn't it?" as you walk past. Im practicing my Irish accent, but til then I try to keep my answers real short so they wont hear my accent. If they just say good day, I'll just tip my head forward in a slight nod and smile that thousand watt smile of mine. But if they comment about the weather (which most do as the Irish are obsessed with the weather) I've learned a quick "Tis" or "luv-lee" will suffice.

When I walk into town I automatically look right now before crossing the street. Sure, I'll be killed the second I step off the curb the next time I'm in the states, but I know which direction the traffic is coming from here!

Over the last couple of days I've seen 3 different women that I know from Katie's playgroup. Not that I know them well enough to know their names, but enough for a nod and smile or a "luv-lee day". Manus says I know more people in this town now than he does. And it might be true. I seem to go to the same cashier in SuperValu every time. Renata Plonka. (If she wants to pass, she'd better do something about that name. Maybe O'Plonka....Did I mention there are like a gazillion eastern europeans living here in Kilkenny? SuperValu has a dedicated 'Polski Schelpi" section. I find myself walking around saying, "ugh! these damn foreigners!" (please don't let the irony pass you by on that one.)

Then, the other day, this big group of American tourists were standing around and blocking the footpath (even using the lingo with ease) and when they saw me coming they said, "Oh, excuse us" and moved out of the way. So you KNOW they thought I was Irish. I mean, if they thought I was just another american, they would have said "screw you" and kept standing there.

And finally, as I was browsing the aisles of Euro 2 the other day (otherwise known as the $3 store) I saw something to buy and said, "wait! I know where I can get this cheaper" And I did too.

I'm just your average comparison shopping-right hand side looking-direction giving orange/white/and green fool! I hope you'll be able to understand what I'm saying the next time we talk...you know, the accent might be too thick ('tick' as they say here)

Now, tell me this isn't the cutest little Irish kid you've ever seen:

Happy Memorial Day

You don't expect me to blog on one of our nation's most important holidays, do you? A day for solemn reflection. A day for remembering and showing our appreciation for all the memorials and stuff.

Puleeze, I am an American still, after all.

I'll see you heathens tomorrow.

Oh, and in case I forget to mention it later, don't look for a blog entry next Monday as it is a very important Bank Holiday in Ireland. A day for... (you know the rest)

I mean, I am living in Ireland after all...

Things Are Different Here (part II)

First, I would like to apologize for the broadcast interruption yesterday. But you were forewarned; This computer is as old as the hills and like old things, it tires quickly, forgets what its supposed to be doing, and every now and again becomes incontinent. So, yesterday it pooped out. Manus fixed it up real nice so we are back online today.

I must type quickly as I only have 20 minutes until the first layer of Katie's birthday cake is done baking. Then I have to cool it down, pop it out of the pan, re-grease, re-flour and refill the pan and get layer two underway. Yes, I know they could both be done at the same time, but I could only afford one cake pan (and it's only a 7-incher - yes gentlemen, that is a small one...) But that brings me to today's topic. Things are freaking expensive here. And Im not just talking about the going exchange rate. That cake pan was 6.99 euros. So think, 10 bucks. shite muslim!

It seems that milk and fuel are often what people use to price compare, so I will too. Milk here comes in liter (litre) cartons and at SuperValu (they leave the e off for savings) it cost 1.19 euro. Now I dont have to tell you that there are 3.7 liters in a gallon, so we are talking about approx 4.50 for a gallon of milk. Not bad you say? hrmph ( I love to hrmph, but I dont think I am spelling it properly) But hrmph, 4.50 is in euro. In dollars we are talking about $7.00 for MILK.
And this comparison is continued quite easily by the fact that petrol is sold by the litre as well and is too about 1.20 euro per. So, real quick math - $7 for a gallon of unleaded. Makes the 3.50 of Miami Beach I used to complain about look damn good.

Now, don't even get me started on what these you-rope-eeans are pulling! Too late! I've started...They have a store called euro 2 only they superscript the 2 so it looks like euro squared. Real fancy, real cute. Well, this is their version of the dollar store (or they still call it the pound shop). Everything in the store is, you guessed it, 2 euro. But, my man, that is $3 and it is THE SAME EXACT SHIT that you get in the dollar stores. You look at the back of the stuff and it's stamped "euro general" same font and everything as the dollar general. What did they think there would be no americans in the know shopping there? I am on to their racket. I dont even know why they keep dollar stores in the states. They are losing money there! We'll buy the same crap here for 3 times the price! And you know what, I do too, because its still a hell of a lot cheaper than buying the stuff in the other stores.

Well, my time is up. Cross your fingers on the cake. Sorry no pictures today cause like I said the computer crashed, all was lost and I haven't had time to re-whatever the digital pics from the camera.

Now tomorrow is Katie Anne's very first birthday so I dont expect to have the time to blog. But I promise that I will on Saturday with lots of pictures and maybe even my cake recipe!

United We Stand

There are Americans here! yay. When I lived there, couldn't stand the folks, now I walk around town with my ear tuned in waiting to hear any Yankee Doodle Dandy. Our landlord's wife works in a men's shop and she said that she had a customer that was getting married and it turns out the bride-to-be is American and somehow in the conversation she found out that this gal works for the Kilkenny Advertiser. That's all she knew, but I know where the Advertiser is so now all I have to do is hatch up an advertisement that needs posting. Im such a stalker too, anytime I walk past the store front I walk real slow and look in to see if I can just tell by looking which one she is. Or I talk real loud to Katie just at that time. So far, haven't hit the jackpot there.


But there is a website for Irish mums and dads and on that site is a discussion forums for expatriate moms and dads and actually one post is about this which I so sneakily suggested; that we American women want our children to call us MOM and not mum. But I digress.


I posted the question of Americans in Kilkenny and while apparently there aren't at least who are subscribing to 'Rollercoaster.ie', 2 American girls responded that they were from the States and get this, BOTH went to UF... How bizarre is that? And what is in that Gainesville Green that made us fall for Irish lads? (yes, LADS and get used to it. Its used a lot. My dad still remembers a conversation with Niall (father-in-law) and when he refered to Manus and Brian he called them "me own two lads". okay, at least that's what he thought he heard. Niall's is an accent strong for even the Irish. Sometimes the only right thing to do is nod and smile, nod and smile. So anyway, digression again. So we three gators are chatting it up and one lives in the neighboring county so we said oh, we should meet up and have a coffee sometime after she gets back from her own holiday in the States and this is all on the open forum so I send her a PM "private message" (ooooooh) with my email address and to let me know when she gets back cause we really should meet and I could drive there etc etc etc and she's never replied.

She left me hanging. High and dry.

So then I start thinking, was I too forward? Should I have waited 2-3 days from her last post to send the message? Should I have played hard to get and ignored her for a bit? Now do I send another PM just in case her computer broke and she never got the first? Its a good thing I dont have her phone number cause this could become one of those scenes from a movie, leaving message after message on the answering machine that make you just cringe (Jon Favreau in Swingers) or Monica in Friends: "I'm Breezy!" I want to just ask her.. tell me what I did wrong?


But that's really how it feels. Go back to when you had to TRY to make friends.. It's like you are asking someone out. You have a nice conversation with someone and then what? at the end you say, gee, I like you. Will you be my friend? Wanna see a movie or something sometime? Its awkward.


I went to a Mommy and Me group for the first time today. It was a success I'd say. It was 1.5 hours of kids running and screaming and this one hitting that one and dear quiet Katie in the middle of it not knowing WHAT to do. But, there was an American there too! Well, she was born in Ireland to Italian parents who moved her to the states at age 12 where she lived until 6 years ago when she and her Italian American husband moved back, but I'll take it! And, they own the great pizza place down the street from our house. That alone could be the makings of a beautiful friendship...

She is going to be there again tomorrow and she said there is another American mom who goes to the Wednesday group too so cross your fingers and wish me luck. Its time for me to dust off some of my old pick-up lines...

"Hiya, How YOU doin?"... "Come her often?"... "Can I buy you a juice?"... "Is that a turd in your nappy or are you just happy to see me?"

Weekend Update with Malinda Walsh

Just a little old SNL reference for yous guys.

First off, Happy Mother's Day to all you moms out there. And to all those mothers-to-be. And all those muthas too (you know who you are).

We had a very nice weekend, but I did get a bit homesick from time to time.

Friday night we went out to Desart (my in-law's house). That could be a "things are different here" topic all together. You refer to a person's house by the name. Or the area. Hell, my mother in law refers to people by their area. There is "Mary Ballykeefe" and "Huntstown Mary". Of course, she may just know too many Marys.

So we went to Desart because Manus' uncle (his mom's brother) was visiting from London for the weekend so we had a big meal out there with some of the family. Good friends Mr. Jameson and Mr. Smirnov were there too and they insisted we stay the night. So we did and Saturday morning we left Katie with Nana and took a few hours to clean our house.

There are pros and cons to being the first people to live in a house. For example, you don't get totally grossed out when you are fishing hair from the shower drain cause you know you put it there. And I'm using an extra toilet bowl brush holder that I found lying around as a toothbrush holder. (now that one does require a leap of faith, I'll admit). But, because we are the first to live in a brand new house we get to deal with the dreaded BD. Builder Dust. You know this stuff... it's got magical properties. Its white when its coating something black and black when it's covering something white. It creates a mortar-like paste when mixed with water, but is light enough to float on the breeze (or sneeze) and manages to lodge itself into EVERY nook and cranny. If we die suddenly, autopsy us and you will find black lung. Or will it be white lung?...

But now that the house is clean, I can show you the upper two levels.
When you walk up the main staircase, you stand on the second floor landing. If you turn right, through double doors is our family room (photo above and below) you can see the orange couch that matches the chairs we moved downstairs and you see the laptop. I am sitting right there in front of that laptop RIGHT NOW. crazy shit, huh?
Above is what you see if you are sitting on the couch. If you couldn't tell, this is Katie's playroom too.
This is the bedroom on the 2nd level if you were to turn left at the top of the stairs. Its supposed to be the master as it has the en suite (bathroom attached) but we use it as the guest room/nap room. Now on to the 3rd floor.
This is where all the magic happens... the master, baby! yeah. anyway. All the beds are full size beds so you can see that all the rooms are quite small. I always leave a suitcase packed and out just to keep Manus on his toes.
These bureaus are in each room in the place of a closet. They hold exactly 4 tee-shirts, 2 pair of pants and 3 pair of socks (2 if they're knee-highs). Fortunately there are 4 of them. I've taped clues to the inside of the doors to help us find our underoos. Ive got a little mneumonic going to help with some like, vests and things for your chest (bras) are in the GUEST room, but what about tighty whities? I guess if we had any, the 'wife beaters' would go in the MASTER...

Bathroom. Self-explanatory, I hope. Note jacuzzi tub. Righteous.
Katie's room. I shipped over the bumper from mia only to find out that the "cots" here are smaller. too bad, we are using it anyway. S much for tight, fitted bedclothes. Even the sheets that were bought here don't fit properly. The mattress protector is literally a sheet of plastic. No way to secure it. Katie sounds like a puppy on newsprint in the middle of the night.
Last stop on our tour is really where the magic is made. The control tower. Ground zero for any and all things brenock. When Brenock Technology takes over the world, you can say you knew it when.
Here is Katie on the moooove. I'm thinking in a few weeks she should be able to get out there and cut our grass. Earn her keep, so to speak.

This girl ROCKS when she rolls!