On to Dublin...

I will admit, this place overwhelmed me at first, for various reasons. First, they speak English here, and yet, they don't. It is disguised by an accent that is unreasonably un-understandable. I mean, it is ENGLISH for God's sake. Seriously, I challenge you to do better. On the plane ride into Dublin from London, we experienced severe turbulence. I had, as I always do, paid attention to the emergency instructions prior to take-off, but upon getting my ass nearly thrown from my seat, all such instructions flew right out of my memory. The pilot did his due diligence, instructing us after each rocky encounter to... well, I don't know what he was saying to us because he was Irish. His tone was calming enough. I'm sure it was standard, but how was I to know? I couldn't understand a single word he said. So I kept staring at the place above you where those oxygen masks fall when you're basically about to die on an airplane. We landed, all was well, then I got on a bus to bring me into Dublin. Let me tell you something about Dublin buses: they do not announce the names of stops. At all. I had no clue where we were at any given time. We could have been headed back to England for all I know. And street names and maps here are useless. Every street in Dublin is like Lynn Rd/Spring Forest Rd/Kyle Dr. Meaning they change with no obvious reason. And it doesn't matter, because the buses won't tell you were you are anyway, so who cares what the name of the street is. No wonder they like to drink so much here. I find being a bit drunk is the easiest way to get around.

The next day, I wandered about, allowing myself to get lost. Let's be honest, I was going to get lost anyway. My natural radar brought me first to the center of Dublin's shopping district, St. Stephen's Green, where I wandered into a TopShop and left, begrudgingly, with nothing. Then I ended up at the Natural History Museum, where the best of the Irish taxidermists stuff any animal that ever existed, and it is AWESOME! I never realized what an affinity I have for dead animals that still look completely intact, but I do. I spent about an hour in there, being weird, and then I stumbled upon a traditional restored Georgian home. I don't necessarily know what a Georgian home is, per ce, but I have ascertained that is a quaint way of describing a house from long ago where really rich and spoiled people live. I gathered many interesting interior design tips which I WILL use in the future, mark my spoiled, bourgeois words. There was a tour in which I was invited to join, full of people who were very lovely and very old. Apparently, I am the only person under the age of 65 who loves touring historical houses. They liked me though, making sure that I moved to the front to get a good look at everything the Irish tour guide was saying. Of course, I understood none of it.