Doing Dublin (Or, Why I'm Getting Excited About Spring Break)

 A very quick post with more field trips to report!

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My literature class had another excursion day this week. We went to Marsh's Library, the oldest public library in Ireland, and St. Patrick's Cathedral. Both had a lot of history and were beautiful to look at. In Marsh's library we saw the chains that used to be attached to the books so that patrons couldn't remove them, and the cages they used to lock people in so that they could read without taking the books! The library still functions as a working public library, and people still come in to read the books under supervision (not in the cages thankfully). Saint Patrick's was amazing inside, but lost appeal after about ten minutes. Still, it was cool to see these parts of Dublin's history.

Today Patrick, Ian, and I took our own field trip to the Old Jameson Distillery. The tour was a little silly but still a fun activity for a very windy Friday. Patrick even got to be an Official Irish Whiskey Taster; he compared Jameson, Jack Daniels, and Johnnie Walker Black Label. After, we went out to lunch at a little cafe near our apartment. It was a nice little excursion, but I'm starting to feel like I need to get out of the city a bit. It feels like we've almost seen all the major tourist attractions! Our weekend trips are nice, but I'm excited to start planning spring break, where we'll have an extended time to explore other parts of Europe.

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Spring is...Springing

I really wish the weather wouldn’t tease us like this. It’s been warm, sunny, and absolutely beautiful for the last few days, but there’s no way it can possibly last. Not that I’m complaining; I’ve been having a great time frolicking in the sunshine. It would just be nice if it really was officially spring and we didn’t have to worry about the thermometer dropping mockingly anymore.


Everyone sheds their layers and spends time outside on days like today. And since everyone is out enjoying the weather, you have the opportunity to witness many things. I’d just like to make a quick post to regale you with a few of the lovely sights I saw today.

• A little boy walking home from school picking berries, throwing them on the sidewalk, and then squishing them beneath his sneaker so that the juices smeared all over the concrete like the blood of an enemy
• Two old men playing tennis and emitting noises that sounded more like they were falling over than engaging in a tennis volley
• A little girl riding a scooter while her brother, harnessed with a jump rope, pulled her along behind him like a horse

It’s supposed to get warmer tomorrow, and several of us are planning on going to the beach. Any place where people walk around basically in their underwear or attempt to catch Frisbees and end up in Picasso-like shapes with free-flying limbs sounds like a good place to be to me.

Looking the Part

I have almost come to terms with the fact that I look way younger than I actually am. People always say, after misinterpreting my age and then getting embarrassed about it, that I’ll enjoy it when I’m 50. But it’s not something that’s very easy to enjoy right now while I’m a college student working hard on my career goals and trying to be taken seriously. Usually when people underestimate my age they guess that I’m in high school, something between 15 and 18. This is understandable; it wasn’t too long ago that I actually was a teenager and those in-between ages can be difficult to judge. But the other day I was so taken aback at a man’s guess that I could barely squeak out that I was, in fact, 20.


I was with my dad picking up a friend at the airport. We were parked along the curb of the terminal when my dad said he needed to run inside to pee. You’re not supposed to leave your car unattended at the airport (I don’t know, something about a security threat…) so he had me sit in the front seat. Do I even need to tell you that almost as soon as he disappeared inside the airport a cop started shooing people along? I panicked. If I didn’t move he would come over and see that the car was without driver, but if I did I risked not knowing where to go and possibly getting into an accident. The seat and mirrors were all set to my dad’s preferences, but, not knowing that else to do, I moved the cumbersome van a few more feet down the sidewalk attempting to get out of other peoples’ way.

At this point I was hyperventilating and called my dad to inform him that he should come back immediately. His obnoxiously yellow shirt immerged from the airport and I saw him jogging toward the car faster than I’ve ever actually seen him move before. Meanwhile, the cop was strolling to the car and it was a race to see who could get to me first.

Guess who won.

Me: “My dad’s on his way back right now, see that’s him in the yellow shirt” (impossible to miss unless the brightness blinded you).
Cop: “What’s he doing leaving you alone in the car?”
Me: “I can drive…just…not at airports…” (Please God do not let him ask me for my license because I forgot it at home)
Dad wheezes up at this point
Cop: What are you doing leaving her alone in the car? What is she, 13?

13. Thirteen. One three.

Alright, people. I can understand someone guessing that I’m 17, maybe, given the day, I would even accept 15. But 13? I mean, I know I'm adorable, but being mistaken for an age 7 years younger than what I actually am may be of use to me in the future, but not at this stage in life.

And yes, I was sporting pigtail braids on this particular day, but that’s beside the point.

                                      Now does this really look like the face of a thirteen year old?

It's All Wrong At Rite Aid

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I never understood how, no matter when I go to Rite Aid, it always feels like I’m part of some bizarre Guinness World Record attempt to cram as many people as possible into a single drugstore. Day or night, the store is constantly teeming with people. Normally when I go there I have a list:


• shampoo and conditioner
• deodorant
• body wash

That’s a pretty get-in-get-out plan of action of you ask me. But edging around people who apparently take their choice of shaving cream very seriously and feel the need to stand staring at the shelves for a minimum of ten minutes really makes the time stack up. Add to that the time it takes to find a parking space if I happened to catch a ride and wait in the serpentine line for one of the available, if miserable, cashiers, and my time spent in Rite Aid is way more than I would ever want it to be.

And why is it that everyone in there always looks like they want to die? I just roam through the aisles looking at all of the grimaces and sweatpants and thinking, “when did you all give up?”

Of course I’m thankful that there’s a drugstore within walking distance that I can always get to if I need something, but I’m pretty sure that as soon as you step inside that store all of the happiness is sucked out of you faster than a Dementor’s Kiss.

Neverland Via Snowstorm

There have been many times in college so far where I’ve felt like a real live adult. I’ve sat around in the mornings checking my email, attended meetings, bought laundry detergent; all things that made me feel like I was all grown up.


Yesterday was not one of those times.

When I looked out my window and saw the piles and piles of fluffy white snow with more floating down every minute, I felt the giddy leap in my heart that used to signal a snow day. Only this time instead of running downstairs and waiting for my school’s name to appear on the scrolling “cancellations” list, I opened my laptop and logged onto my college’s website to check for electronic notifications of cancelled classes. I had no luck and still had to trudge to class, which slightly dampened my attitude toward the whole situation.

But after class is when the real fun began. I forgot that I was 20 years old for the majority of last night and it was all because of the white stuff falling from the sky.

Things About the Snow That Made Me Feel Like A Kid:

• Getting bundled up to go outside. Specifically, putting on my gloves first so that no snow would go up my sleeves and then needing to ask “Can you zipper me?”
• Running unrestrainedly out into the snow only to realize that my socks were too short and that my ankles were about to freeze off (that is not an exaggeration, I promise)
• Building a fort for a snowball fight, taunting the other team that ours was better, and getting into arguments about stealing our snow and starting too early
• Going sledding, linking sleds with friends, getting pushes, and running back up the hill to do it again
• Getting tired and wishing someone would just carry me up the hill
• Coming inside, taking off my snow pants and jacket, and warming up with hot chocolate

I’m glad that I’m out on my own learning the skills of life and taking classes that will help me become a professional, but sometimes it’s nice to let my inner child come out and play.

Sailor as a Second Language

The thing about dating a sailor in the Navy is that you start to develop a whole new vocabulary. I have had phone conversations that have made my friends raise their eyebrows at the incomprehensibility. Sometimes I hang up and think about how nonsensical everything I just said must have sounded to an outside listener. It kinda reminds me of this Harry Potter quote:


“It just didn’t occur to me that we wouldn’t be able to get out at the other end. I had your fireplace connected to the Floo Network, you see—just for an afternoon, you know, so we could get Harry. Muggle fireplaces aren’t supposed to be connected, strictly speaking—but I’ve got a useful contact at the Floo Regulation Panel and he fixed it for me. I can put it right in a jiffy, though, don’t worry. I’ll light a fire to send the boys back, and then I can repair your fireplace before I Disapparate.” (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, pg. 45)

As Mr. Weasley is saying this, the Dursleys have absolutely no idea what he is talking about. That’s how it feels sometimes when I’m talking about the Navy—like it’s a different language.

Here’s a typical conversation that may take place between my boyfriend and me on any given night:

L: Hey, how was your day?
D: Not bad, kinda busy though. I had duty the night before and I didn’t get in my rack until about 0200.
L: Didn’t you say your berthing is all the way on the other side of the ship?
D: Yeah, from where I had watch, but not from the shop. Now I just have to go up a couple ladder wells and walk down one p way and I’m there.
L: Cool. How are you doing with your quals?
D: I just have a couple more things to do for the first part and PAO is helping me get it done.
L: Nice. Did you get a chance to go to the NEX yet?
D: Nah, but I’ll go tomorrow, my hair’s out of regs anyway.

And so on. Now let’s see that conversation again in English:

L: Hey, how was your day?
D: Not bad, kinda busy though. I had to stay on the ship and work the night before and I didn’t get to bed until about 2 in the morning.
L: Didn’t you say your sleeping compartment is all the way on the other side of the ship?
D: Yeah, from where I was standing watch, but not from the Mass Communication Specialists’ work station. Now I just have to go up a couple sets of steps and walk down one passageway and I’m there.
L: Cool. How are you doing on the preliminary qualifications that will allow you to become an officer?
D: I just have a couple more things to do for the first part and the Public Affairs Officer, a Lieutenant Commander, is helping me get it done.
L: Nice. Did you get a chance to go to the Navy Exchange, where sailors and their families can buy clothes, groceries, gas, and many other things for less?
D: Nah, but I’ll go tomorrow, I need a haircut to meet the standards of the Navy anyway.

See? It’s like a code. There are so many other things like that, and sometimes they don’t even refer to Navy-related things. It’s like they just decided to change the words of every common everyday thing. This is what the Navy does to a basic building:

Door=Hatch
Floor=Deck
Hallway=P Way
Bathroom=Head
Steps= Ladder Wells

I used to think I’d need a dictionary to be able to decipher some of what my boy was talking about, but now it’s as natural as English (well, most of it is. There are always more goddam acronyms to learn. The Navy LOVES acronyms. Anything they can shorten, they go for it).And, plus, it does feel kind of cool to be able to use the right terms when I talk to my boyfriend about his job. But they really should publish a Sailor to English dictionary.

Stuck in Purgatory

Haven’t you always wondered what goes through the mind of a person who is stuck in an airport and has 15 straight hours of travelling under their belt? BECAUSE I SURE DIDN’T!

But now that I know firsthand, I present to you a log of my thoughts during my stay in the Philadelphia International Airport, also known as Purgatory. Given the ample amount of time I had to ponder the mysteries of life, I assure you it is both insightful and brilliant.

9:00 pm:
Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap. What the hell am I going to do? This is horrible! Oh my God, I can’t believe this. No way can I afford a hotel. I am going to be in this airport for 12 hours. I cannot believe this is happening. Ok, stop crying. Control yourself, it’s not that bad. Just stop crying.

11:00 pm:
"Big Bang Theory" is getting really old and "Bride Wars" looks like it was taped right off the silver screen. At least my little area has an outlet and faces a giant window. I can watch the planes. Oh wait.

11:30 pm
I probably should have gotten something more to eat than Starbursts, Honey Nut Cheerios, and a liter of water. I shall ration the starbursts and make them last all night!

12:00 am
Those were good Starbursts. Wait…damn!

There is no point to these armrests. What is the goddam point? People get stuck here all the time, why would they make these chairs with arm rests? You can’t lie down! Maybe if I twist my head this way and my hips this way…Aha! There we go. This is semi-comfortable. Or at least, it might be if I keep telling myself it is. Gotta make sure I’m in physical contact with my stuff at all times so no creeps come by and steal it.

3:00 am:
What. the. hell. Why is there what appears to be a fire alarm going off right behind me? Someone shut it off! I know you don’t want to listen to it either! And why are there “Philadelphia International Airport” announcements going on? No one is here to listen to them! Except me, and I have them memorized. All I want to do is sleep, just to make the time go by.

4:00 am:
Maybe the floor is more comfortable.

4:02 am:
Nope.

5:00 am:
mmssgrrrgmsjftgtiyshrghiroisdb

6:00 am:
Hey! Other people! Other early morning airport-goers to share my misery! Hey guys! Wanna get some breakfast? Oh, the shuttle is finally running. Off to my correct terminal.

7:00 am:
Terminal B is much warmer than Terminal F.


8:00 am:
Maybe I’ll get an Express Spa massage. Pretty much every part of my body hurts from trying to sleep. Eh. It’s basically a dollar per minute to sit in a rumbling chair. Not worth it.

8:10 am:
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh, rumbly.

9:00 am:
Time to board the plane. I’m finally going home!

9:30 am:
We have to de-ice. But how long can that really take? I’ll be in Burlington by 10:30!

9:31 am:
Apparently it can take half an hour. Sleepy time. Person to my right, I apologize in advance if I drool on your shoulder.

12:00 pm:
Plane landed. Zombie got off. Walked through airport. Waiting for bus. Skipping class. Never flying again.

 
I think I tackled some pretty deep philosophical problems during that trip. Note to self: $70 is worth it to stay in a hotel for the night instead of contorting yourself into a tightly bound ball of limbs and stress while trying to catch some shut-eye in a terminal.