"I haven't seen my roommate since I called her 'negative craic,' and I'm a little scared." -Herself. She was referring to an incident from the night before. They were teaching me the Irish word, "Craic" (pronounced like 'crack') loosely meaning fun. You can be "great craic," or on the opposite end, "negative craic." Herself showed me a text message from her roommate to explain "negative craic." Later Herself ran into said roommate (small town), and explained that she used her text message as a "negative craic" example. Then she realized her mistake. Oops.
Tl;dr: We woke up mighty late again, and kinda hungover (but not too too hungover), went into town to watch the Pride parade, swung by a pub for one last pint (hair of the dog, guys), packed my stuff up and headed for the airport. Flew to Heathrow, got the train into London, and made my way to Islington to meet Biscuit and Titi, just in time to sleep on the couch.
If you stay up until 6am, you should at least sleep until 11am.
That's one of the rules I live by. As you can tell, I have lots of arbitrary rules that I willingly share with you. Follow the ones you like, and ignore the others. This was my last day in Dublin, and I didn't want to follow any rules. We got up and scrounged for any food left in the house. I ate cold pizza and it really hit the spot, paired with fresh-brewed coffee.
We got our shit together, in a polite Irish kind of way, and headed out into town to see all the rainbow, merry, gay, one-loving festivities in the streets of Dublin.
What a fun day all over the world. It was also Pride in London and the following day in NYC (and I assume many other cities). This mostly consists of lots of people, dressed up however they fucking feel like, strutting their stuff through the streets. There's music, there's booze, and there's merry-making (of all kinds). We saw every genre of LGBT - vegans, trans, left-wing, right-wing (k maybe not), those with rubber and leather fetish's (really), and representatives from every tech company around. If your tech company doesn't show up to Pride, then you are a bunch of bigots, and you can get out of town.
We had fun. I remember my first Pride parade in NYC. It was just after NY had passed some important state legislation on gay marriage (I can't recall the details, but I know it was a big deal). I was an intern and actually living with Yer Man and Yer Wan at the time (2010?), and I was trying to get to Sunday matinee movie to meet a few of my friends. If you know anything about the subways in NYC during Pride, they are fucked, and good luck getting through the streets. I had no clue the parade was going on that day. I missed the movie and ended up watching the parade alone.
I teared up a few times, especially when I saw really old partners holding hands, like "Dude, we've been together for so long and now we can finally fucking get married. It's about god damn time." Then I'm the girl standing there crying on the street corner because it's so sad and so sweet all at the same time. Yep. Dublin Pride was a little less emotional, but also still pretty awesome and lively, because Ireland just legalized gay marriage last year.
Next we headed for one last pint together.
I was like, "Ugh I'm kinda hungover, but also just lacking good sleep, so maybe another cider will help my case." My friends were like, "Miz, why is everything you say so profound always?" I was like, "HOTD, guys (Hair Of The Dog)," then I slammed my empty pint on the table, and smashed the glass into my neighbors head to show how hardcore I was. K, not really.
We met back up with Herself (party friend from the previous night's escapades). She confirmed that, "No, fuck no, did that Trump-loving American guy go home with me." Phew. We weren't worried, but a little something inside you is always worried. She had walked in the parade with her established software company. Tech companies are just the coolest, huh. We sat around discussing potential names for Herself on this here blog, and we came up with 'Herself.' I liked it. It sounds very Irish.
Next I went home to pack my shite up. Shite also sounds Irish, and Yer Man says this word on the regular. I also like this.
Somehow my shite was all over the place. It happened magically in my sleep I suppose, so I gathered all my belongings, scattered all over their humble abode, and stuffed them into my little roller bag. Guys, I'm away for a month and I just have a little carry-on guy and a little backpack guy. This is something I'm proud of. I did not bring a suitable jacket, but I will make do. #packlight #blogaboutit.
Next I headed for the port. The air one. I was strolling along, nearly at my bus stop, when I heard heavy breathing behind me and felt a tap-tap on my shoulder. "Oof, uff, You walk fast, Miz. You left your towel." I see Yer Wan had been running after me. I was like, "Oh, that's not my towel. I took it out of your linen closet the other day." Oops. She didn't know it was her towel. What a dummy. I at least got to give her another big squeeze (a hug) and say another "THANK YOU, MATE." "We don't say 'mate' in Ireland." I mean, "Thank you, Yer Wan."
Love them. I'll be back before my flight out of Dublin in late July. Maybe just for a quick sleep and bus to the airport, but I will be sure to let them know that I am using one of their towels.
The Dublin Airport is so low stress that I think something is wrong.
I'm just like, "Wait, are you serious? Like your being nice to me just because? There's no line here? Wait, the security people are competent? Wait, the waiting area is clean, quiet, and relaxing? Woah, they have an organized way of telling you your gate and getting everyone onto their plane on time?" It's unbelievable how fucking ridiculous American airports are (note to TSA: please don't deny my TSA pre-check status because I said this).
I got a snack, obviously some chocolate, and waited for my flight. I found directions to the flat in London, that my great friends kindly let me crash. I screen-shotted the directions while on Wifi so I wouldn't have to use my data plan (Miz travel tip #1). Then I boarded my flight, and magically landed in London just over an hour later. This airport, Heathrow, is also easy and low stress. I got on the very clean express train to the city, hopped on the tube, then wheeled my wheely guy over the uneven cobblestone, loudly (and proudly) to Biscuit and Titi's flat.
Biscuit, you've heard of before from previous posts (see day x). Titi is her boyfriend and lover, a french man, who I happened to know through my best friend, Dr. BFF. Then those two lovers met through me in NYC over a year ago. Now they are moving to London. For the moment, they were just checking out the city and different neighborhoods before traveling for the next two months. I kindly invited myself to stay with them in London, since Titi's company was paying for the flat (so I thought). I was like, "That couch will do."
They greeted me at the flat around 11pm. I was like, "Hi guys!" They were like, "Hey, Miz!" Then we went to bed.
Day 1 London style. Sunday Funday.
- Go for a run with Titi and Biscuit
- Eat a gorgeous breakfast made by Titi
- Hang around the flat
- Park it at a bar where we invited all of our London friends to join
- Enjoy catching up with amazing people
- Keep drinking
- Eat Sunday roast and fish & chips
- Get ice cream
- Go to bed