Xiobhan: All About the X

Written while sitting at a bar

Here I am in a cheesy faux Irish Boston pub eating clam chowder. Because that’s what you do in Boston. Eat clam chowder. Irish clam chowder. I’m tempted by the “boxty,’ “fry,” and “fish-n-chips” on the menu but having just been in Ireland I know that no matter how hard they’ve tried it won’t be as authentic as I want or need it to be. I might as well be at some Bennigan’s in a Midwestern strip mall eating “Tipperary o’ Tater Tots” or “Quesadilla a la Killarney” and counting down the days to the St. Patrick’s Day Blow Out.

I’ve been chatting with the guy next to me. He has a bull mastiff named Morris and a pit bull named Carolina Blue, although he prefers "Staffordshire Terrier." He is from Asheville, North Carolina, but has lived in Montana and Seattle and now Brighton, Mass. He’s an attorney married for more than a year to a woman he lived with for seven years. He proposed to her in a motel where they lived for two weeks between moves because it was the only place that would take a pit bull. He said that despite the hourly rates, it wasn’t so bad, what with the free porn and pop machine outside his door. He didn’t want to marry her but she gave him an ultimatum. They never have sex anymore and he doesn’t want kids because he’s not sure that it will last much longer. I suppose I should catch his name. His neck is killing him and he had a nightmare last night that he was paralyzed. He’s calling a massage service in Chinatown that a buddy recommended…a girl named “Kristen.” I just leaned over and said, “Honey. Her name ain’t Kristen.”

It's raining men

I was wondering what all that was about today. We haven't had this much excitement around here since the Rite-Aid was held up.

Man Dies After Fall From NW Building

By Petula Dvorak
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, November 22, 2005; 3:15 PM

Lunch hour took a bizarre and tragic turn in downtown Washington today, when a naked man darted from his car into a building on 15th Street, then fell eight stories to his death, officials said.

The man double-parked in the 1000 block of 15th Street NW about noon, bolted from his grey Jeep Cherokee and ran into the lobby of an office building, all the while wearing nothing, witnesses said.

"He didn't even have shoes on," said one employee in the building.

Minutes later, the man appeared from the elevator doors on the eighth floor of the building, where witnesses said he broke a window and fell onto a landing between the two buildings, eight floors below. Some downtown workers saw the man screaming during his fall.

D.C. Fire and EMS rescuers arrived at the scene, blocking that section of 15th Street. Hundreds of passersby watched as rescuers raced to the landing. The man was pronounced dead at the scene, said Alan Etter, D.C. Fire and EMS spokesman.

Police investigators this afternoon were still working to identify the man and to verify the initial report that he intentionally leapt to his death, D.C. Police said.

UPDATE:
WaPo has an updated story with more detail. In a dizzying display of efficiency, DC parking enforcement ticketed the guy's car as he threw himself out of the window.

"Before it became apparent what was taking place, the city's parking enforcers reacted to the abandoned SUV, which had leather seats, Maryland plates and no sign of clothing inside. They slapped a ticket on the windshield."

Almost as impressive as the ticket on the car with the baby inside.

I’m feeling oddly alliterative today

It’s freakin’ freezing here in DC. I’m wired from the grande peppermint mocha latte I just shotgunned like a Blatz King Kan. (It’s so nice that Starbucks now offers can openers on the Coffee Condiment Cart for punching that hole in the bottom, you know, for hardcore caffeine consumers. As a personal policy I eschew patronizing Starbucks and other chain coffee stores in favor of the Vietnamese immigrant downstairs that runs “The Roasting House.” His name is “Joe.” How can you not buy coffee from a guy named Joe? It’s not very good, but it’s cheap and hot and he knows what I want when I walk in the door. Say what you will about the blah blah industrial coffee complex blah blah but standing in line for 10 minutes for a $4.00 coffee, having some kid – sorry barista—yell ORDERING! at you only to end up with someone’s else’s drink, well, I’ll take Joe any day. Gosh, Xiobhan, so why did you go to Starbucks this morning? I’ll tell ya why. Because it’s freakin' freezing outside and they had this big festive sign in the window for peppermint mocha lattes and I was feeling all Christmasy and shit.

So we went to Ireland for Harry and Misha’s wedding. Harry, as you may have guessed is Jewish, and Misha is Catholic. They call themselves Cashews. Harry’s mother was a Shiksa as well, so I’m not sure what that is going to make Harry and Misha’s kids. Probably little nuts. HAHAHAHAHAHA. ..he..heh…ah…

I’m reserving judgment until Matt and Chris are married but this may be the coolest wedding I have ever been to.

First, the drama that was our departure.

I have a friend named Adair. I worked with her years ago at the National Trust and she was a spitfire. No, seriously, piss her off and she would spit fire. Flames of phlegm. We grew closer about four years ago when she was on holiday in Ireland with her mother and her Aunt and involved in a terrible car crash. Adair was injured badly and her mother and her aunt were killed. I had been meaning to call her for the past few weeks because I was heading over and staying at Adare, which I knew she would enjoy. It was one of those things you keep reminding yourself to do and never get around to. On Friday I was packing when I checked email. Adair was dead. She learned she had cancer two weeks ago and that was it. I hadn’t even heard about the cancer part. She was 52. She leaves a husband of four years and an Irish Water Spaniel named “Peat.”

There was too much to do, so I continued packing and sort of mumbled the news to myself. We got to the airport with about 2.5 hours to check in, which for United at Dulles wasn’t nearly enough. We spent most of the time standing in a fierce queue, not moving, with a melting child and a cart piled high with luggage, car seat all topped with a Pack-n-Play. As the minutes ticked by, and 6:00 – the time of our departure -- approached, we kept asking, are they going to pull us out? Will they hold the plane? How can any flight depart with hundreds of people standing in this line? We waited and waited making nervous eye contact with others, half-hearted smiles, listened to others vocally complaining – some to no one in particular – how they “would never fly United again.” They pulled out the Paris bound people with 10 minutes to spare. The folks bound for Frankfurt with 15 minutes. They were about to pull out London when we finally got to the desk, which was woefully understaffed with detached and unhelpful agents. We ran through security, to the shuttle, and then to the gate. Our plane was then delayed for more than an hour which was good news overall because it meant that all of our friends would make the flight as well.

I knew better than to complain to our friends Matt and Chris. That morning, Chris’s passport went missing. After a panicked and fruitless search, they decided to enact Plan B, which was to call someone they know, who works for someone important and powerful up on Capitol Hill, to make phone calls and pull strings to get Chris a new passport THE SAME DAY. Sometimes it’s good to be in DC. (Here we are at Heathrow. Note he is wearing same thing in the picture. I'm over to the left looking pretty beat.)

It wasn’t until we were on the plane and the lights had gone down, my child had stopped screaming for his Bobby and passengers had stopped staring at me, that I let down and cried from all the sadness and stress.

It was all wonderful from there, but that’s next time.

Clicky Clicky

I got this from my husband and I paused prior to clicking, hoping it wasn't some SIDs informational.

Oh, it's not.

Children Shouldn't Sleep with Parents

Hmmm

You are LaFawnduh. Why are you so sweaty?


Which Napoleon Dynamite character are you?
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Home again, home again jiggity jig

We’re home now and I have to say that it really was a great trip. The wedding was absolutely beautiful, and it was great to relax and see family. I’m happy with the Ireland that my friends’ experienced, and my kid was a traveling champ.

I have posted a few pics to flickr, but I need to go through the hundreds I took and put a gallery here as well. (Having been gone from work for a week I’m swamped, so I’ll try.) I also want to share lots and lots of funny stories. (Again with the promises.)

High Point,
While at dinner at Shanahan's – easily the nicest restaurant in Dublin, the following exchange:

M: “I just don’t even know about the whole 'first dance thing.' I mean, I feel funny about two men dancing together.”
S: “Um, you’re gay.”
M: “I’m a homophobic gay man.”
B: “Masturbating must be hell.”

Overhearing this, the waiter leaned in and offered the following advice:
“Joos spahnk yer moonkee, and then sphank yerself!”

Low Point,
After misreading my aunt’s hand written notes and getting turned around in Thurles:
Husband: “You know, you’re a great mother, a wonderful wife, but you are a SHITTY navigator.”

I’d just like to note how lost we got in Dublin a few days earlier with Bart navigating and the fellatio fest between the two of them:

H: So, would you say I take or right or a left?
B: Well, the sun looks low, that must be West, so let’s go left and see where that takes us.
H: Jolly good, ‘ol fellow! It’s a wonderful day for a city jaunt!
B: Ah look! The Liffey! It would seem that we erred! I do say we’ll need to turn around.
H: No worries!
B: Nothing ventured, nothing gained!
H: I feel like an explorer!
B: Well it is a wonderful day for an adventure..
H: ...and we are on holiday!
B: Well played, chap!

Other things to note, Harry's mom does have it goin' on, I need to upgrade my camera, I will never make fun of clogs ever again, and the dollar seemed weak and pathetic against the euro. After walking into (and rapidly walking out of) quaint and stylish boutique shops, I eventually purchased a sweater and a pair of shoes at Dunnes Stores*. Yes, Dunnes Stores*. It was the only place that didn't leave me clutching my wallet and exhausted from the mental conversion math.

*It's the equivalent of coming to the States, and shopping at JC Penney.

Update! Photo courtesy of Uncle Chris, Beck's Biggest Fan. (This photo was taken the day we landed. I think 4 hours of sleep made my kid giddy.)

How ahr yuz?

I'm in Ireland with the hoosbin and the bahbee. We're at our friend's wedding here.

It's brilliant! Really loovelee!

Lots of stories and pictures to share when we get bahk.
Tanks a millin!