Nostalgia Pt. 2: Ireland

***************************
*The 2 Nostalgia posts were written in 2008 and I briefly and uninterestedly tried to polish them up and add stories that are more up to date. But since they're good, clean stories inviting you to laugh at my life, I figured they were worth posting, even if they're a little rough to read. I hope they are able to serve their purpose.
***************************

Over the last 3 years, illness, injury and the worst kind of luck you can imagine have plagued me. Studying abroad gave me no reprieve, but I did learn one important thing while suffering without medical insurance: ibuprofen cures everything. Eventually.

And so...

I can't deny that I'm a clumsy person by nature, but this time I blame it on being terribly sick which affected my already questionable abilities to focus and balance. Luckily, the only people around to witness my appalling lack of coordination were the Members of Parliament...

Leaving the Irish Parliament building walking with my head down focused on my feet as I do, my senses alerted me to danger several seconds too late. My slightly inhibited peripheral vision caught something silver, but by the time I looked, my feet were several steps ahead of my forehead which was firmly embedded in a light pole. Yes, that's right folks, I ran right the fuck into a light pole. Smack on the forehead because I timed the impact to occur exactly at the moment I looked up. Talented, I am. Graceful, I am not. (I do not, however, have an excuse for the time in Camden last year that I tried to stop myself while swinging, caught my foot on the ground while somehow getting my arms pinned behind the chains of the swing and flipping off it with only my face to break the fall. I'm told it looked hilarious. I can only imagine. Big tree fall hard.)

Several other incidents like this occurred over the next week while I was still ill, which unfortunately coincided with my trip to Scotland. Turning too quickly and running into both a window and bed frame were the least of my worries though, as I spent half of my vacation huddled and shaking in my hostel bed with the cold sweats. Oddly, or perhaps as expected, I found the cure to my hacking cough to be cheap beer. Loved Scotland.

I did get to watch a movie. On a bed. In the back of a bar. While eating a muffin and drinking orange juice. It wasn't all landing head first into hard, immobile objects.


After my return to Ireland, my luck took an altogether different turn.
As you may expect, I have been taken to the Gardai (police) station. I was taken at 3 am to give a witness statement with my friend. I don't know if their intent was to make us feel like we were going to be arrested, but they put us in an interrogation room with the one really bright overhead light to wait. For 45 minutes. Well, hell. I can't sit through anything for very long without wanting to put my feet up. It was 4 am at this point and I was tired. Unlike the judge who made the bailiff reprimand me for removing my shoes and resting my feet atop the jury box during jury duty, the Gardai didn't seem to mind. Because, really, who's going to tell me to take my feet off the table? They're an unarmed police force. Ha!

During this encounter, I neglected to leave them my address for any follow-up. But being policemen, they somehow obtained the information. This led them to arrive at the door of the suite that I shared with 9 people not once, but three separate times asking for me. Nobody thought to inform me of their previous visits and I didn't find out about them until, confused and in my pajamas, I answered the door one day to be greeted by two detectives asking if I could spare some time to accompany them to the station. Awesome. Can I put a bra on first? Thanks.

In case of an emergency in a foreign country, this phrase should be employed: "No idea what you're talking about, wasn't there, didn't see a damn thing" It's my new go-to if ever again asked by police to give a witness statement. I just wish I wasn't such a terrible liar.

A few of the jerks that neglected to tell me about my visitors...

Nostalgia Pt. 1: Denmark

As I haven't made any questionable decisions lately I went delving into my memory to find further proof that ridiculous situations find me no matter where I am. Enter MySpace to provide me fodder for this blog via my old posts on there! Myspace, you are useful to me once again. Enjoy your short reprieve from obsolescence.
~~~~~~~~
New Richmond is a fairly small town. Even so, if we ever have a class reunion, I probably won't be able to recognize or name every single person there. But if 10 foreigners walked in like they owned the place, I will probably question it. Apparently that's not a universal sentiment. Maybe Danes are just more tolerant than I, but I'd like to think it's just because young, drunk, Americans are just more amusing to make fun of than to yell at. In any case, either their passivity or our ignorant brazenness led to this:

I got a chance to visit Ribe, the oldest town in Denmark, during my semester there. In pursuit of any kind of nightlife in this quaint, tiny, little, ancient town,

we happened upon a little white pavillion tent in the middle of the city. As there was only one other bar open we chose to be adventurous and try our luck with the tent. With our hastily purchased beers in hand, our group of 10 Americans headed to the front to dance. A few Danes here and there joined us but mostly it was...just us while maybe 50 people sat at tables talking and most likely laughing at us.

After a bit, a large group of men strolled in wearing ridiculous outfits reminiscent of the mid-90s (complete with floppy disks and VHS tapes slung around their necks) and we thought, whoa, someone just came from a theme party! weird. Add that to the 3 Danish songs in a row they then played we decided we'd overstayed our welcome and began our stumble back to the hostel.
As we exited we noticed the multiple flyers posted at the entrance that in our rush to get drinks we had somehow missed.

Some sketchy translating revealed to us that this was, in fact, the 1998 Ribe High School 10 year Class Reunion.

w.t.f.

I crashed. A class reunion.

In Denmark.
sweet.

At least we were right about the theme party?

~~~~~~~~
Oh! But it isn't just the ridiculous that follows me, but injury as well! After my first few trips to Urgent Care in Americorps I had a lot of questions as to whether I had always been accident-prone. I swore up and down I'd never been to the doctor as much as I had been in those 10 months. Which was true. I used to never go to the doctor. But examples such as the following remind me that maybe it was going a bit too far to say I never got injured. What can I say? I like to take my chances. And when none are presenting themselves....I go looking for trouble.

In this case I completely asked for it. No really, I literally asked for it. After challenging my Danish friend to a wrestling match, which his girlfriend judged, at the bar in the basement of my kollegium (dorm) and losing spectacularly on the concrete floor of the hallway, my pride demanded that I ask for a rematch. But screw wrestling, I'm terrible at it. I upped the stakes. I challenged him to a boxing match at a bar at the University of Copenhagen.


Despite my ferocity

I lost again.









~~~~~~~~~
Eventually I'll post examples from my time in Ireland of both the ridiculous and lack of coordination that seem to define my life.

Well, I 'spose, it's 'bout that time

16 days. 16 days until I leave Maryland behind. 16 days until I party all day at the airport from when they drop 200 corps members off in one fell swoop at BWI at noon until 6:30pm when my flight actually leaves. 16 days until I descend upon the (hopefully) snow-covered and welcoming Minnesota. 16 days until I relax in a bed that doesn't look as if it was found in an alley used to dump bodies. 16 days until I can sleep in late and wear whatever I want as long as it isn't gray and khaki. 17 days until I remember why I left in the first place and think longingly with a selective memory of the past 10 months.


But, for now, I'll think only of the next 16 days. Six.teen.days. 4 days trying to return Baltimore to its green, pre-colonized and pre-industrialized condition and the remaining 12 preparing for graduation and the mystical (and I assume fictional) "Life After AmeriCorps." A time which is rapidly bearing down on us screaming war cries and sending us into a blind panic. Despite the fear our impending unemployment brings to us all, we are running toward it with the exuberance of a dehydrated man stumbling through the desert who spots an oasis. We know the goal we're running for will most likely in no way bring us the satisfaction we are imagining, but we hurry toward it anyway with desperate optimism.




On Raven 5 we eat our feelings.














I know I'm going to miss this program and my team and the traveling and the projects, but right at this moment I'm over it and ready to be a capitalist for a little bit. With my massive student debt looming over me I feel pressure to begin to repay it and re-enter into a workforce that will give me monetary compensation as opposed to moral compensation. I've received an overwhelming number of heartfelt thanks for my work this year, but while my conscience is appeased, my wallet is not. Nor is my thirst for international travel which cannot be accomplished without an income. So, alas, I must regretfully leave this life behind and look eagerly towards the future and opportunities to come. I am ready for a change. I am (almost) ready to be a real person. 16 days!


While we've been in Baltimore doing good deeds we have, of course, been noticed by the media.

http://app.bronto.com/public/?q=preview_message&fn=Link&t=1&ssid=15161&id=5t0zjahzsfyh8d9n4df6e3ye2bqbz&id2=0ybjdu3cfa5ydguwcwbzyd0kajxkx&subscriber_id=atagihdctmpqopcflzgtaqkqvdfqbai&messageversion_id=auuwacajwfmhlbbgajxgdzbeerepbak&delivery_id=bxexlzumqcyzrigpytclckehegxabfp&tid=3.Ozk.KaXM.GTU.Wi0..qNQ.b..l.BRw.a.TM8cQA.TM8cQA.-9Xc-A
Click on Dirty Hands, Green Dreams. I wasn't interviewed because I was too busy planting trees, but my team is kind of a big deal. We're in an e-zine.


We're also must be a huge deal because we got our picture taken by strangers several times this past weekend. Okay, so maybe it was just my teammate and it was because he was dressed up as a gay Mexican grizzly bear for the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear in D.C., but I'd like to think it was because we're famous.
That's right, I was among the mob of 215,000 people at the National Mall on Oct. 30th for the rally. It was pretty wicked cool because luckily I'm tall enough that I could see the giant TV screens erected throughout the mall and even part of the actual stage though nothing that was going on upon it... As expected we had a hell of a time trying to get out of the mall and back to the metro and this is where the real adventure began. I had to bright idea to get out of the national mall and head towards Chinatown to eat. Yeah, me and 50,000 others thought the same thing. Bugger.

So we decide to brave the subway. We actually get on with no incident but we were unceremoniously booted out two stops early due to track maintenance or some such BS. We crossed to the other side of the track where we were told a train would be coming for us. As we paced another train did come. To dump off another massive load of post-rally participants just as confused and irritated as us. It was when the third of these mobbed the platform and no trains had come to relieve the crowd that we decided that 3 miles wasn't that far of a walk and headed out of the subway. Thinking of the hour ahead of us was none too comforting as we began our trek, until...we stumbled upon a city bike rental kiosk.

Oh yeah, we rented bikes.

It cost $5.00 and cutting out 40 minutes from our commute seemed entirely worth it. Except for the $101 hold they put on your bank account in case the bike is messed up. The hold that stays on your account for 5 days. The hold that is over 60% of one paycheck. The hold that may prevent some celebratory end-of-program bursts of spending. Actually, this may be a good thing...


And lastly, 5 months later and an article posted by Gretchen Anderson lifts the shroud covering the origin of the horror I endured in the south.
http://www.commondreams.org/view/2010/09/17
Compare this picture to the one I posted ages ago of my horrible mystery Louisiana rash. I should probably do the American thing and sue BP. Right?

"Wait, free TREES?? Hahahaha, no thanks."

Although it seems like all I do is get injured and make sarcastic comments occasionally I do actually work here in AmeriCorps. Recently we've been "canvassing" which means being the person I usually hide from when the doorbell rings. Since I myself loathe answering the door to hear some political or informational crap, I knew this would be a challenge and maybe make me wish I was back in Lake Charles, Louisiana building houses *gasp*. When I heard we were giving things way I was still skeptical about our potential success. Free trees are a lot harder to get rid of then one might think.

To add entertainment to this task and elevate it above the Louisiana "experience" Kate and I came up with several characteristics of houses in which a "tree-hater" would dwell and therefore be unworthy of our time. These became more and more arbitrary as the afternoons wore on, but I still stand by their accuracy at predicting laughter, anger or a simple "no".

The list includes, but is not limited to, the following:
*They have stumps of trees in their yard. They obviously hate trees.
*The house is for sale
*They have more than one newspaper in their yard. Must be on vacation.
*Duplex/apartments
*Power lines in the backyard
*Unkempt yard
*Too well kept/perfectly landscaped yard
*Too many trees already
*Fenced and gated yard
*Beware of Dog/No Trespassing/No Soliciting sign
*Front yard is on a hill
*Church. We thought churches would be perfect places to plant trees but after one horrible encounter where the pastor told us he would cut down anything we tried to plant and he'd already cut down every tree on the property, we were too shocked and wounded to try another.


When we aren't forcing trees on the residents of Baltimore, we fill our hours with endless and pointless bickering. Amidst that we indulge in massive snack breaks during which we binge on everything. We eat our feelings to forget the pointless bickering and the fact that although we're all jumping at the bit to get out of AmeriCorps, none of us have been successful as of yet in the real world job market.

And until I trip in one of our tree pits and break a leg I have nothing more exciting to report. Until that time I will continue making this world a better place, one hole at a time.

Are we there yet?

Captain's Log. October 8, 2010. Baltimore. I appear to be near our neighborhood. There's a New York Fried Chicken. And a CVS. And a guy selling flowers and extremist conspiracy theory newspapers on the corner. Yes. We've got to be close. Wait, isn't that the park where we set up that tent that one time? Right. We are, in fact, nowhere near home. Must reevaluate landmarks used to indicate proximity to house. Previous markers have failed me. Also, not sure how to proceed in order to find road house is actually on. Hmmm. Must think. Signing off.

Captain's Log. October 8, 2010. Baltimore. Aha! Have found answer in technology. GPS believes we are a mere 10 miles and 16 turns away from our destination. Hope restored. Off.

Captain's Log. 56 minutes later. Baltimore. 3 miles left. GPS appears to be tired. Turned several moments ago and screen shows vehicle floating across Druid Lake. Nowhere near Druid Lake. Oh wait, there it is. But definitely still not driving on it. Should pull over to give GPS time to think. Off.

Captain's Log. 4 minutes later. Reverted to basic navigation skills. Must drive roughly towards sun. Off.

Captain's Log. Right. Forgot Baltimore is not on grid system. Impossible to follow roads logically. Very frustrated. New thought, must get to I-95. Must get to logical city. Must get out of Baltimore. Off.

Captain's Log. 2 minutes later. Oh. Found the house. Bugger. Stuck in Baltimore. Off.

Oh good, the boys want to get the groceries! Wait...crap.

Lesson learned: When boys are given the arduous task of buying groceries for the 9 person team for the week this is what you get---Steak-ems, Kool-aid and 3 bags of Doritos.
Day 1- we run out of Deli meat for our pack lunches. (We didn't have work this day...)
Day 2- All the chips are gone and we realize all the apples they bought are rotten.
Day 3- All meat is gone as well as the tortillas, salsa and most of the cheese.
Day 4- today. I ate a banana for lunch and refried beans for supper. mmmm.
Day 5- We enforce a mandatory bread and water fast.
Day 6- Anorexia becomes a reality.
Day 7- We succumb to delirium.
Day 8- We eat the weakest member of the team.
Day 9- Bad idea: we all get dysentery and die before we realize that today was the day our budget is refreshed and groceries are once again available.

Never again...

---------------------------

Speaking of ridiculous boys I have another Rob story. I had heard from several team members about the infamous "String Incident" so I decided to follow up and get an explanation from Rob himself. So the basics of the incident are that one day Rob was in the kitchen with teammate Kendra when a pained look crossed his face and he retreated to the bathroom and shared the events of his adventure with Kendra.
Rob & Kendra are super close btw. Obviously as shown in this picture.

Apparently, among other things, a long string was a central component of that which was evacuated. Kendra was content to leave it at that and was sufficiently disturbed. I, however, am an ever-curious being. In the most innocent manner I could affect I asked Rob how he had accidentally swallowed a string of that length and in true Rob fashion he shrugged and replied "I was bored." ......

---------------------------



Before we came to Baltimore for our 4th and final project we were allowed a 4 day weekend which constituted our "Fall Break." For mine I decided to invite my mother out to meet me in DC and have a lovely weekend showing her the sights. Well, it was indeed quite lovely and there was much walking and museum viewing. However. The entire 4 days I was plagued again and again with the same annoyance.

Automatic flushing toilets.

I just reached over to grab my purse, why did you flush!?! Why is my entire undercarriage damp with toilet water? Why does it have to spit angrily at my behind?? Is this a bidet in disguise? Because if it is then let me tell you, I imagined the water to be a little less, well, ...infused with urine.
There were times when my toilet would flush 3 times before I was actually ready to exit the stall. I'm sorry, I don't practice perfect posture on the toilet! Now, my theory is that I cannot be the only person with this issue. Automatic toilets cause more harm than good. In fact, I find that I am perfectly capable of flushing my own toilet when I'm finished with my business.

My solution is this: Hire a person to check the stalls at fixed intervals to flush any toilets that have been soiled by the lazies and incompetents that can't manage to grasp the concept of turning around and depressing a lever to wash away the evidence of their visit. Not only would this save money (Minimum wage vs. water and energy costs of incessantly flushing toilets) it would be ecologically responsible to flush a toilet only when necessary and not wasting precious water every time someone reaches into their purse for a tampon.

-----------------------
P.S. First project in Baltimore? Digging rain gardens for 4 days! If reading Holes didn't convince you that digging large holes in the ground isn't as fun as kids seem to think, let me assure you, Louis Sachar wasn't exaggerating about the pain and the blisters and blood. But I can't imagine that it would be in any way possible for a kid to dig 5 feet deep and 5 feet wide everyday. 3 of us couldn't even dig 3 feet deep and 10 feet wide in a day...and then, oh and then, we had Physical Training after work. Once again in this program we ask Why, why, why??

Chinese Kosher Vegetarian Restaurant. In that order.

Best kept secret in Philly? Philly Cheesesteak...wait for it...eggrolls. I have eschewed the obligatory "Philly cheesesteak sub" in favor of the more obscure and surprisingly delightful deep-fried and flaky version. Who's shocked? Didn't think so. This discovery was made on my birthday while out on the town and I have since found an acceptable (but not quite as good) version in Chinatown. The only reason I have deigned to make do with a version less than perfect is the considerably lower price and the addition of drink specials too cheap to ignore. Although now it has been more than a week since we have been patrons of this establishment, I am determined to return to once more enjoy this unique Philly-style cultural fusion.

Since it has taken me a month to post this update I know I had several witty anecdotes but can only remember a few of them. But I assure you my life has been, as always, rife with one-liners and ridiculous situations though my short posts may be lacking as of late. Our access to wireless was abruptly taken away when our team leader realized our WiFi "restaurant" required an ID to enter...so internet has been scarce. Off the top of my head I have the following:

Situation-The team is doing what we do best, being completely awkward in our urban environment, and doing PT down by the waterfront. As we're lunging past the slutty Wednesday crowd that I'm guessing was gearing up for the Rihanna concert, one of the girls in a strapless dress runs up to our team leader "Are you guys like on a team? Do you always work out at this time? I'm in Cross Country and I run 7 or 8 miles a day," with the intent, it seemed, of joining us regularly on our workouts. Now my mind, of course, working slowly due to the stress of sweating, came up with several responses to "Are you guys like on a team?" but was too appalled at the ridiculousness of the situation to utter any of them. The best of these being:
*Yeah, we're in a bowling league in Cherry Hill, we're pretty intense about it.
*We're synchronized swimmers but a kid pooped in the pool so we're doing dry land training today.
*We do Chinese acrobatics. We're not very good.

But the slutmonster got away without the condescending comment she deserved. Sometimes I'm just too benevolent for my own good.

Situation-I leave for the weekend to visit a friend in Pittsburgh. Someone gets shot right in front of our house in Camden on Friday. No one informs me of this. Sunday, I decide it's okay to risk walking home the mile from the subway stop at midnight on Sunday. I make it with only one offer to sell me coke. Find out Monday morning about the shooting...wtf team?? Under the category of Things I Need To Know- deaths 5 feet from our front door. Thank you in advance for your future cooperation in this matter.

Situation-I hate the south. Next project Baltimore!! Huzzah! Point one for team itchy-fuck-the-south.

That is all.

Picture: "it comes in Pints?? I'm getting one!" Screw that, it comes in Liters! Damn Skippy.