unofficial Guiness count - 2
unofficial Guiness count - 2
Ahoy mateys from Ireland. We arrived with only a few small hiccups along the way. And by small, I mean that Anne cause a minor national Security scare at the airport. My in-laws, who still have family in Ireland, kindly packed a gift bag filled with wrapped presents for us to deliver to the homeland. Anne delicately placed the bag through the x-ray machine, which prompted the TSA agent to say, “uh, we need a bag check.”. No big deal, right? Well, here was Anne’s reaction - and this is a verbatim quote - “Oh No! It must be something in the present. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IS IN THERE. Somebody gave it to me to bring on the flight.” 20 minutes, an anal probe, and a few armed guards later, we were safely through security. Luckily, the in-laws had only packed an 8 ounce bottle of a mysterious bath-enhancing liquid.
Other than that minor breach of airport security, and a few moments of sheer panic when I temporarily forgot which side of the road I was supposed to drive on, everything has been great. We are checked in to our hotel in downtown Dublin and getting ready to attack the day.
A brief running total of where things stand:
Guiness pints - 1
Right turns - 4 (only one of which caused a panic attack)
Percent of clothing I packed that was appropriate for this weather - 15%
national security scares - 1
Heated towel racks in the hotel room - 1 (baller)
Well, we’re off to Ireland after a slight hiccup thanks to hurricane Irene. Speaking of which, did you know that you can’t spell Ireland without Irene? I read that somewhere.
In addition to packing everything I own that’s green, I’ve been practicing some of the colloquialisms of the country. Here are some of the things that I have been advised to say all the time when I’m in Ireland:
- Wow, the Guinness really does taste different over here.
- Hi, I’m looking for Rory McIlroy.
- OMG! There’s a flock of sheep crossing the road.
- Ahoy Matey
- Do you know Bono?
- Huh? I guess people don’t really wear kilts here.
If they have the internet over there, I’ll be live blogging everything we do. In all seriousness though, I’d really like to play a round of golf with Rory. Can anyone get that set up?
[The gang is rapidly walking towards the camera through a crowded bar. The patrons of the bar include me, the Entourage gang, naked women looking at Vince, Shauna, and Corbin Bernsen. The camera follows the gang through the bar as they walk. E’s legs move violently while the others walk at what appears to be a normal pace. Vince is smiling, because that is the only direction that he understands. I turn from the bar and hand a round of Budweisers to the gang. The labels face the camera.]
Turtle: What’s up fucker? I can’t believe you ripped your oblique when you were bowling. Was that 8 pound ball too heavy for you? [To Corbin Bernsen] Yo, whattup Corbin?
Corbin Bernsen: Hey Turtle.
Me: Fuck you, Turtle. It was a 12 pound ball.
Drama: I’ve got a couple of 14 pound balls you can use. Ya know what I mean, baby bro?
Vince: [smiling] Yes, Drama. I know what you mean.
E: [to me] Dude, you should get that checked out. The responsible thing for you to do in this situation would be to go to a doctor and determine if anything is actually wrong with you.
Me: I did go to the doctor. He said it didn’t look good and I would probably never be able to do [insert description of career that Vince gave me funding for] again.
Vince: It’s all good. [smiling at hot girl walking by]. Turtle, did I fuck her?
[Cut to gang sitting in living room of Vince’s house.]
E: Hey, did you ever hear from the doctor?
Me: Not yet, but I’m expecting his call soon. It’s probably going to be bad. Very bad.
[a cell phone rings. Everyone looks at one another eagerly awaiting the call.]
Me: It’s the doctor. Should I answer it?
Vince: Answer it.
E: Answer it.
Turtle: Answer it, come on, answer it.
Jeremy Piven [appearing out of nowhere]: Answer it, you fat fuck.
Me: Hello? [covering phone with hand.] It’s the doctor.
Vince: [trying to look concerned, but smiling] What’s he saying?
Drama: Yeah, what’s he saying? Did he ask about me?
E: Dudes, shut up. Let him listen. [beat, then urgently] Seriously, what’s he saying?
Me: [Looking at the camera forlornly] It’s not good. He says, I need surgery and won’t ever be able to [insert same description of career from above] again.
Me: Ahhhhh. Gotcha! Hahahaha. LOLOLOL. He said that it is actually a rare condition called meloniamoirians. It’s so rare, that it actually cures itself after 48 hours. He wants to study it further so that he can use it to cure cancer. He offered me 47 million dollars on the spot. Can you believe it? Vince, I couldn’t have done this without you. You’re the best.
Vince: Aww, Robbie. I knew you could do it all along.
[End scene. No one ever refers back to this story line again.]
Well, it has been a wild ride. I’m now on the backside of the hurricane and about to head back home. What follows is a brief summary of the highs and lows of this terrifying experience:
High Point: Living to see today.
Low Point: Bluffing my sister-in-law and having her fold the first hand she ever played in a poker game for play money.
High Point: Milking my brother-in-law for a shit load of his chips when I had a slightly worse hand than he did that turned massively better than his after 90% of the money went in.
Low Point: The oblique strain I suffered at the bowling alley, but not actually in the act of bowling.
High Point: Keeping all of my devices completely charged throughout the entirety of the storm.
Low Point: Getting yelled at for working on this blog post when we’re apparently all sitting down to dinner.
High Point: It smells awesome. Gotta go.
We are back from bowling. Other than Anne’s epic performance, the event was a great diversion from the devastation of Hurricane Irene. Also, I suffered the most painful injury of my lifetime. After the thirtieth straight roll where my ball found the heart of the pocket and did not result in a strike, I fell to the ground in mock agony. As I flopped around the floor to express my frustration with bowling, I either broke every one of my ribs or severely pulled a muscle. I now feel like my abdomen has winds gusting upwards of 110 miles an hour and I am in class 4 pain.
Thankfully, we are now back at the safe house and Anne’s parents spent the afternoon preparing typical hurricane snacks:
If this searing pain in my side does not go away, at least I’ll be in a food coma for the rest of the night.
Also, I bowled four games: 127; 144; 152; 72 (post injury.)
At the bowling alley. Anne’s amazing performance against me could be disastrous when we are locked in the house together for the next two days. I’ve bowled ten times with Anne before and her score today vastly exceeds her lifetime total. Ben has started calling her “the duke.”
What percentage of people in New York City have absolutely no idea that this is about to happen?
If I go bowling now, how many frames can we roll before getting home gets dicey?
Should the slip and slide go in the front or back yard?
For the areas that have already been hit and lost power, is 3G still in tact?
Shouldn’t one TV station buck the trend and run an awesome marathon of some show? No one’s going to win the day with the same generic hurricane coverage, but I bet Fox would kill if they aired a commercial-free Arrested Development marathon until the power went out.
Why doesn’t anyone else in this house seem to understand the urgency of bowling?
Some bad early signs about hurricane Irene:
I’m already really bored.
We may be out of cookies (my fault).
People seem to be catching on that I have monopolized all the power outlets to ensure maximum charges of my devices when the power goes down.
I said I’d be live blogging the storm, but already used my best material.
Anne’s using my iPad. This is worse than any natural disaster.
in order from most to least terrifying:
Drinking strawberry sparkling water
Delays in seamless web delivery
Melted ice cream
Walking through Whole Foods last night, I was surprised by the precautions people had taken. The store was out of bread, nuts, dried fruit, pasta, and water. Except for the strawberry sparkling water. That means that not one, but pretty much every person in New York, had walked down that aisle to stock up on water and made a value judgment. They would literally rather die than drink strawberry sparkling water. That water must taste awful because, although I have not tasted death before, I have always assumed it to be worse than strawberries. Does someone from the whole foods corporate office have to walk through each store before a natural disaster and take inventory on the things that didn’t sell out? And fire the person responsible for including it in the inventory in the first place?
For the record, I was in whole foods buying ice cream and chocolate sauce. If I’m going down, I’m doing it in style.
Original travel plans:
Newark > Dublin
Current updated travel plans:
NYC > In-laws house for foreseeable future.
Irene was approaching the city,
which everyone agreed was quite shitty.
Please pray for my flight.
It’s Saturday night.