The Game Plan.

11 days left. Well, I thought I had until the 23rd but apparently I have been living under the impression this entire semester that I have the power to change dates to when I wish they existed.

Example 1:

May 4, 2011, 2:15pm, NUIG Library: In the midst of studying for my marketing final which, in this moment, believed was May 5, I decided to check the time of my exam.

2:17 -> Realize my exam was May 3, 9:30 am. At this time I was at the end of my Amsterdam/Brussels trip landing safely (and surprisingly) back in Dublin. 

{no need to go into how, but the aforementioned exam debacle has been handled}

Example 2: 

Written in my calendar, phone, roommate calendar, icalendar, etc flight home MAY 23RD.

I remember this exactly because I spent most of my class time researching how to change my flight to June. So yesterday I went to check my flight time and realized it was 2 days earlier aka 2 days after I come home from Barcelona/Venice. Looking around my room I see an overdue library book to be returned, clothes to be washed in our broken laundry machine, and a shit ton of other random stuff to do. Like ride a pony. Er go, the need for a Game Plan.

To Do List:

1. Wash clothes and pack for Barcelona/Venice.

2. Get some gelato.

3. Survive and return from Barcelona/Venice.

4. Pack an obscene amount into 2 suitcases and/or ship.

5. Send postcards from January.

6. Ride a pony.

7. Throw Oliver a going away party, preferably without him there, on the roof of his apartment building that we rent.

8. Fish and Chips
9. Upload the 3 months worth of pictures just hanging out in my iphoto
10. Start/Finish the 3 months worth of blogging I will most likely never get around to.

11. Go punta cana on the Galway Bay.

12. Relive the first 2 weeks of Ireland in 4 nights.
13. Get to airport and NOT miss flight.

Spar time (which according to Samantha will be the most missed aspect of my Galwegian life.)
. to be continued.

Long time, no Blog

In case you couldn't have already guessed it based on previous blogs, there is academic work to be done and I have very little drive to do it. To conclude Birthday week, the kids and I partook in the International Students Society trip to Northern Ireland. The trip fell on Maire's birthday and considering her condition and lack of participation on Shannon Day, I decided it was only proper that I return the favor. In addition to Maire's birthday, February 25th was also the day our science essay was do. Science essay? Is that a fkckaosfhing joke? It was not. However, the content of my essay was. As per usual, I procrastinated and only finished at 6:39am (we were supposed to leave at 6:30). I also still had to pack.  My timely friends/jerks decided they were going to put an end to tolerating my habitual tardiness and left without me. This became a re-occuring theme of  the weekend.

The bus to the black sheep turf of Ireland was rather uneventful. We were all tired as shit. Anyone who likes to nap in a moving vehicle knows, the window is the ideal place for such activities. Unfortunately, Emmet stole Maire from me and I was stuck sitting on the bus with Kevin who will UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES surrender the window seat. However, he was down to snuggle. Somehow, despite my aisle seat, Kev's boney shoulder, and the long bumpy bus ride, the exhaustion overcame all obstacles and we managed to pass out. Little did everyone on the bus know that these long, peaceful moments, when all of us were sleeping like angels, would be the last enjoyable moments for them on the PaddyWagon Destination: Belfast.

4 Hours Later:
"Goood Morning eveeeeryone. Is eveerryy bodyyy haaapppayy? Welcome to Belfast." This voice coming over the loud speaker belonged to our PaddyWagon drive. Seany. Not Sean. Pronounced: Shawnay. You would think he was having a competition with himself to sound out every vowel as long as he could. But what a sweet baby angel. If I was given 5 minutes of magical powers I would have utilized them to turn him into a pocket size leprechaun forever in my pocket.

This was a big day for me in other ways as well. Tonight in Belfast would be my first experience in a hostel. Yes, I have seen the movie. We crammed into the greeting area and began to be divided up into rooms. The eight of us found ourselves in a 24 person room. I literally had to walk sideways through the aisles of bunk beds. I figured at least this way if I was going to get kidnapped and sold away to be tortured until death, I have some form of strength-in-numbers. Then I realized that a large portion of the group I was surrounded by (Kelsey, Lydia, Christine, Jen etc) would not only be useless in a life or death situation, but also slow me down. Moreover, be the cause for people wanting to murder us. Within an hour of arrival I am confident everyone outside our eight in that hostel room had just such thoughts.

The fear of my potential upcoming kidnapping/torture/murder had to be put on the backburner as I was reminded of my true mission that night - return the Birthday Disaster favor to Maire. I GOT OUT DONE ON MY 21ST BIRTHDAY. No way would I let her win this one. I decided vodka was the best route. While the Spanish group next to us enjoyed a home-cooked group meal, we turned into this:

Before we could leave the hostel, we felt the need to disturb the 16 other people in our room. Kevin's shoes were lost and we had to find them. Please note the faces of all the innocent bystanders safe in their beds: 

This still wasn't enough for Kelsey who decided to pick the most random argument ever with another temporary roommate. Finally, we headed out into Belfast. Kelsey left her ability to walk at the hostel.

Aside from falling down, it wouldn't be a night with Princess Peach unless someone, or something was told to "S*** the D***" that she eludes to having. Belfast in general was tonight's victim. I soon realized, stealing the disaster award on Maire's birthday was a team effort - a team where Kelsey and Kevin were co-captains. This is the part in the night where the blog looses detail, for obvious reasons. We made our way to a club so I could meet Meeghan, Viana's friend from school. I think she also got the memo of the required state of mind for that evening. Within an unknown amount of time, Kevin was approached by a bouncer regarding his "apple juice" bottle. Always the gentleman, he escorted himself out. This is where I got lost. As per usual. I think it's a birthday thing. I felt like I was back in NYC for Herb's B-Day 2010. Since I had Meeghan, my inability to locate anyone I came with, or was supposed to leave with, was not a top-priority concern. When 2:30 came, reality kicked in. I knew I had to be up at 8am and foresaw missing the bus by accepting Meeghan's offer to sleep over. Then I had to accept the truth that I had no idea how to get back. Perfect opportunity to combine my two favorite late night activities of walking around aimlessly and exploring. Challenge accepted universe. After wandering Northern Ireland for a solid amount of time and cursing the name of all my friends, an angel was sent to me in the form of a very nice Irish girl around 25. All I recall of this saint was that she was wearing flats. Anyone kosher enough to wear flats out on a Friday night was considered wholesome in my book. "Sweety, are you lost?" I gave her the name of my hostel and she took flagged a cab. Two blocks! Despite the fact that if there was ever to be a situation where my Hostel (the movie) nightmare came true it was them, I was so proud of myself for almost finding my way back I didn't even factor the threat of the circumstances in. My bunk-buddy Kevin was safe in bed with his pants on so we "could not rape him" which apparently was a major concern of his. Clearly the 6:1 girl to guy ratio had effected his psychi more than we thought. 

7am: Samantha woke up made at everyone, even though it was completely her fault I got lost. This unnecessary anger lasted until she had breakfast, and I got off the bus. Kevin approached me in the kitchen and promised he would not leave me anywhere again. I waited for Team Espana to toast 100 pieces of bread, until I finally got mine and went back to find that they left me AGAIN. My magnetic draw to Shaaawnayyy led me to the bus where I chose not to sit with said jerks. Thank god I did not. Next came Part 2 of being Internationally hated on the PaddyWagon.

Instead of "on a dude" Kelsey ralphed on the PaddyWagon. Yup. No shot we were making any friends this trip.

The next night we went to Derry where President Emmet finagled us into being a part of the fortunate 12 that were taken out of the overbooked hostel and placed in a B&B. As if the hostel, the bus rides, and undeserved accommodations weren't enough, Emmet lead us away from the group to our luxurious B&B with a departing "Happy Queing!" comment.

Dinner was rather uneventful as we all decided, or rather our livers decided, our night would be better spent watching the British "Take me Out." This show was a close second favorite of mine after My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding." Thirty desperate women partake in the show as contestants until they find a date. If you ask me, this is a way more considerate way to help such lonely singles find love, they stay until they do. It's like one of those Play until Prize claw games at the arcade. Even better the greatest characters I have seen on any American show were regulars on Take Me Out. We were lucky enough to encounter Zsa Zsa

I really have no words to explain this woman. If you took a Paris Hilton drag-queen, who had a sex change to be a woman, at age 50, with botox, all over, and the voice of Wendy Williams on a helium balloon...you would have Zsa Zsa.

Somehow we made it home without being left behind or murdered. All in all, successful family vacation. 

Since this event took over a month to blog, the best details of the weekend are probably lost in my memory. I apologize for the B Team level effort on this one. I still have a lot to catch up on so upon completion of a group brainstorm session, the next blog should be more relevant and eventful.

Cheers to Legal Drinking

Again, my apologies for being the world's worst blogger. Consistency has never been a strong suit of mine and while we are being honest, the only reason I am blogging right now is because I am procrastinating from my Coastal Environment paper. The simplicity and lack of required work that has composed my Irish student career has caused me to fall into a slacker slump that I am now being forced out of - and am NOT happy about. But in case anyone is wondering (which based on the concerned wall posts I received on my Birthday they are) I have in fact survived my 21st. Maire however, did not.

I would mock her for not making it out to the club with us, but that would be hypocritical considering none of us were allowed into the club. According to President Emmet, "in the 5 years I have lived in Galway City I have never seen a drunker group of girls." While Maire and Lydia were embarrassed at this accusation, I am personally honored. In lieu of my Irish themed 21st, I chose to combine Buckfast and Red Bull Vodkas. Poor/Great decision. I knew Ronald Bass would be proud. The next bulk of this blog will be complete hearsay, as Samantha took total control of the night before we departed from the Niland House:

After successfully taking a roommate picture, it was all down hill. Literally, we all went down. Hard. Tangled up in each other and unable to gracefully stand.

Kelsey grew to anxious to leave to wait for everyone so kidnapped the birthday girl and took me to Shop Street. Fortunately it is not hard to find a girl in a crown and tu-tu wandering the streets, so the rest of Team Birthday found us shortly.

A promoter on the street spotted us and offered to get us into Carbon for free because it was my birthday. (Note: I did not get in there last Saturday for similar reasons)

Fail. The bouncer's flagged us away before we reached the door and then called me out for "faking" my birthday. Apparently I told them it was last week as well. Woops.

Angry Samantha yelled some mean and irrational comments. Needless to say 302 will not be welcome in Carbon, ever.

The Front Door was the obvious solution. Thank god Jack was working that night. When I asked him Tuesday night if he saw us on my birthday he rolled his eyes, laughed, and said he saw "something that looked like us, but was not entirely convinced we were real people" His use of "real people"when describing my life confirmed my previous hypothesis that he utterly and completely understood me as a person, or lack there of.

Within an hour we arrived at McDonald's, even though apparently all I wanted to do was walk around Shop Street so people would wish me a happy birthday. Samantha can be so vain.

The rest is a mystery to us all, but we survived it (excluding Maire from that statement of course)

I would like to personally thank Jack the Bouncer, Kevin, Andrew, Patrick, and Emmet for not only tolerating our state of mind, assisting in our survival, but also for remaining our friends the next day.

Singles Appreciation Day

There are a lot of things in life that I miss out on for whatever reason. One such occurrence would have to be witnessing Kelsey Princess Peach Kalberer light her hair on fire when attempting to light a cigarette post-Valentine's Day shannonigans. The night began pretty standard with a few twists in honor of the holiday. Rugby, semi-hot shower, and Kelsey yelling at me for not being ready able to get ready in .5 seconds. To commemorate our single lives we chose to add a bottle of cheap champagne each to our four Druid warm up. While Jen and Christine were being wined and dined by their various Irish suitors, the A team went to Central Park to celebrate with all the other singles. Apparently there was some sort of key/lock hand out that we were too late to participate in due to my lethargic preparation methods- can't say I'm too upset we missed that. I obtained this knowledge when a guy held his key out and dangled it in my face. Bewildered, my immediate reaction was that I dropped mine so I checked my clutch. Still there, legit. In that time Princess Peach came out of Kelsey, clearly informed on whatever this gesture meant, and with the up most force slapped his arm out of the way and proceeded to shout that I was hers tonight. This is living proof that last night was truly an evening of Singles Appreciation and in NO way an attempt to get obliterated and meet other people who failed to get a Valentine. Thank god I didn't have a Valentine because I was in no condition to be sharing the left over Pizza Hut we obtained when we got the wrong order and then kept both. Still not sure why I was so desperate for pizza that I woke up to a small bite missing in a still frozen piece...

Superbowl Monday

I have learned in my first month here that despite popular belief, Europeans (or at least the Irish) do in fact like Americans. Our accents are like magnets that aside from having a lighter on hand at all times on the Front Door smoking deck, our speech is the best ice-breaker I have found here. This fascination spills over into other areas of American culture, not all, but some. Considering it was Superbowl Sunday/Monday Kelsey and I ventured over to Garvey's in Eyre Square. Fail. The doors were locked and I can't lie, a sense of relief came over me as I had just spent the past few hours mentally preparing my exhausted self to go out for the game. All I wanted to do was watch GLEE with Maire in my bed. It was ignorant or me to believe such a minimal bump in the road was going to keep Kelsey from finding an open pub. Who was I kidding? As the Druids Maire had donated to the cause of my going out kicked in and we battled with the idea of going home or continuing to stumble through the pouring rain in search of something open and playing the game, we saw a sign. Literally. Right across the street there was a big sign that said "Watch the Superbowl Here!!!" Slightly embarassed with how long it took us to see that obvious promotion accompanied with a television blantantly playing the game in the window, we complied. As we all know, the Steelers took it like a high schooler with her first boyfriend. First the Packers ran all over them, then they got defensive and took back some control, only to loose it in the end. Even though I am not a die hard Steelers fan, I am a fan of winning and was not happy that I chose to support the loosing team. I am also a fan of chants. Especially when they are in the form of "black and yellow" being screamed by a dozen drunken men with heavy Irish accents clueless as to what is actually going on in the foreign sport.While all this was going on, the Eyre Square Hotel Bar was also hosting what Kelsey and I could only believe to be a swingers convention downstairs. In addition to that madness, the management team seemed to throw out all its typical rules and regulations for the American event. Open until 5am, smoking permitted IN the bar, 3 euro beers, and most importantly FREE FOOD! Best superbowl ever. I hadn't drank an American beer since my arrival and decided it was time. As the game intensified, our drinking did as well. I don't know if it was the Budweiser's taste reminding me of  rugby drink ups, or my desire to win something ANYTHING that night, but by 3am I found myself challenging an Irish man to a Guiness chug off. Nothing about that idea was sound. This was not our first time instituting this form of hustling. Kevin, Kelsey, Lydia, Jen and I had tested this idea out originally at Karma one night. I won. Boo-ya free Jagear Bomb. My luck took a turn for the worst - another loss. In my defense I was literally half a second behind. Totally worth the fascinated looks from all bystanders. The night went on from there as you could imagine. Needless to say, Samantha is sooooo grounded until Wednesday.

and we're off

Buckfasting Part II

The Buckfast epidemic is spreading like herpes during Spring Break in Daytona Beach. New to the team is Miss. Jennifer Van Kuren, and Officer Emmet. If I spent the time to fill you in on Emmet and his unique form of advise as the NUI Galway Education Officer, but more importantly as my international life coach, I would miss out on all the fun. To cliffnote the man based on the text Maire just received:

"Buckfast gets you ****ed fast"

Feeling the hangover already.

Buckfasting

Similar to my relationship with SAT Prep, piano lessons, and MMA, I came dangerously close to ending things with this blog. I could blame the bull shit internet in our apartment or my "hectic" schedule, but really I've just been lazy. In the time since I last blogged I am pleased to report that there has been a new element in my Irish life - rugby. Unlike the dollar, the absolute joy of peanut butter and jelly, and FCC regulations (stand by for details) that fail to translate here the same way it does at home, somethings never change even when the time zone does. That is the fact that no matter what I do I get my ass handed to me in rugby - on the field and at the pub. After a few months of having (almost) the beach worthy legs of any other twenty year old girl, I can once again relate my current physical condition to Hillary Swank in Million Dollar Baby (which is frustrating since I came here aiming to be her in P.S. I Love You).

On that note, despite my extensive pre-departure research on how to find an Irish husband via multiple views of P.S. I Love You and Leap Year, it took one month of failure, field study, and an abroad viewing of Gerard at his finest for us to realize we were going about this all wrong.

(J.Gelson's Comcast Bill)

 We decided to learn from Ms. Swank and put away our heels, Druid Celtic Ciders, and clubbing ways then replacing them with new rules:
1. Get lost in a park, or other forms of Irish culture
2. Wear bright clothing
3. Be Sober.
I'll keep you posted.


I wrote all of the above about 45 minutes ago. In that time Kelsey reported to 302 in order to go on our standard procedure journey to Spars for our pre-pub Druids. As I stared down at the 6% Celtic goodness I held in my hands, I had an epiphany. All the conversation points of the day began to flood into my head simultaneously:
"It's our 1 month anniversary in Ireland" "What happened to when we went hard every night 10 on and 1 off?" "We need to get back to our old ways" "Princess Peach misses Samantha"


Me: Kelsey...put back the Druids
Kelsey: Wait, you mean...Buckfast?
Me: Absofuckinlutely


From the look in my eye, the Princess Peach inside of her knew exactly what I wanted. As we rode the Niland House elevator back to my room with the Irish Four Loko hidden in our coats, I was overtaken by a combination of anxiety and excitement like it was the first day of college. Another attribute of this fear could be credited to the potentially schizophrenic homeless man drinking what appeared to be a Buckfast outside of the Galway Tours office today (where we booked a Cliffs of Moher trip for tomorrow which is obviously being pushed back to Sunday). In order for this excitement and fear to be fully understood, it should be known that Buckfast is a Red Tonic Wine made by monks (therefore clearly a trustworthy beverage in the eyes of God) which is 15% alcohol and has 55 mg of Caffeine. It is these facts combined with the many other reports we have heard from experienced Buckfasters, and our naturally reckless personalities, that can be blamed for why it took us so long to experience the drink that is commonly found lining Shop Street either empty or broken. Needless to say, the plan proposed in the first portion of this blog has been officially vetoed. Like any responsible, well-educated young lady, I confronted a credible source to act as a critic of the bottled black-out before taking the journey. UrbanDictionary.com states:


1.) Also known as 'Tonic Wine'. The word 'tonic', however, "does not imply health giving or medicinal properties. In fact, the high caffiene & mineral content generally gives the consumer an unparalleled ability to start fights" 
2.) The best alcoholic drink ever invented.a rich red,almost black wine, made by the wonderful benedictine monks.has many added chemicals such as sodium glycerophosphate and the ever more lovely vanillin.
3.) An energy drink mixed with fortified wine, sold only in the most budget of newsagents. gets you another kind of drunk, like an animal. {my favorite so far}
4.) Heavy consumption of this sweet wine was linked to the poor success of the team in the post World Cup era, however as the teams star is in the ascendency again, so too is the level of buckie being bought to fuel the sensless hedonism and optimism
5.) Cat piss and battery acid mixed together and called an alcoholic beverage.

On that note, bottoms up. Pray for us.

Kelsey Kalberer

i don't know whether to be really amped or really petrified about the events to come tonight.

6 minutes ago 

Enter: Samantha

Current View Point: The seven foot high sign Kelsey and I stole from god knows what pub/tea room. Status? D8. Not going to lie, my life here has been rather Kosher. I can't help but enjoy the sentimental aspects of Galway life so much that nothing I do is remotely worth reading. I could write about the beauty of the Galway Bay or of how much I love my classes, but I finally realize that those are elements in my foreign life that few would want to follow up on. Alas, in the midst of my belief that my blog is doomed to failure, I met a girl tonight who has permitted me to dedicate my otherwise boring blog to her. Samantha. She clearly has no shame and upon hearing of my otherwise failing blogspot due to my lack of entertaining anecdotes told me that I could use her as a protagonist in future blogging ventures. From here on out, I determine my autobiography as a biography of her and her antics. Considering most of my readers are most curious in my Galway life as well as the life of the ambiguous and unpredictable Irish women I encounter, I will continue Memoirs of a Blackout: Irish Edition as a combination of both. My love of the benevolent Irish lifestyle, as well as the stories of my new Irish friend, Samantha. Finally, stories that feed me the fuel I need to continue. To Samantha. Cheers.

Getting My Church On

Blackberry Messenger
Shann (6:21pm): Hi Daddy! Remind me to take you to the market on Saturday when you visit. Love you miss you!
Daddy (10:38pm): Okay! We will do it. Be safe and be a lady! xx daddy

It's not a good sign when even your father has to remind you to act like a lady via BBM over an ocean. As is typical in my life I chose to diverge from the plan my loving republican father laid out for me. Needless to say being a lady... epic fail. I woke up feeling extremely guilty for not living up to the very reasonable standards of the man who has done nothing but emotionally and financially support my Irish endeavors. It was 11 am, 3 hours earlier than my usual wake up time in Galway. The doorbell/obnoxious buzzer was going off as the girls down the hall followed through with their promise to wake Maire up for church.  Note this was her facebook status as of 4 am this morning:

Maire Welling

i love my jersey shore roommate. the end.


I love you too. As she stumbled about the room getting dressed for the occasion something in my head went off. Church! Yes! Ladies go to church! Papa John would be so proud. At this revelation I fell out of bed, which was obviously not my original intention but it happened, and scrambled for some classy church clothes. I was never more pumped up for church in my life.

Me: Maire, something is telling me I should go to church.
Maire: Yeah Shan, it's called shame.
Me: Fair enough. I'm coming. Let's do the damn thing. (Probably not the best church reference, but I had good intentions)

Appropriate dress? Check. Pearls? Check. Dignity? Hense church people. By 11:30 am, aka the time we believed church began, the two of us headed down to Kevin's room. Kevin is another Canicius (note: learn to spell name of roommates college) student who we have yet to find something wrong with. Most importantly he is an ideal wingman and heart-to-heart partner. He was still in bed. After informing us that "the time to leave for church is after it begins, just as long as we're there for the snacks" and freaking out about having pulp in his oj because food and drinks shouldn't be combined, we finally headed to church.

11:43am  Arrive at church.
11:44am  Realize church began at 11:15am.

We stand in the back awkwardly after Maire accidentally slammed the gazillion pound Cathedral door behind us. Next to us was a guy, late 20s, and a 2 year old boy. This caught my attention instantly since I recently decided that child-snatching an Irish nugget was very high on my to-do this. Little did I know that inside the Galway Cathedral was Satan's son. The little bugger was kicking this man's ass, and he was brilliant in his strategic abuse. He pulled the man's neck, slapped him in the face, and had a better punch than 99% of my friends. I would definitely want him on my side of a fight. He would wave his left first in the air and once the man looked at it - BAM right hook. This went on for a while until the pint-sized demon snuggled up like an angel as lovingly as a child could be. I was so relieved. Although creepy, I felt like this gesture was something I could stare at without making the man embarrassed. He then sat up in the man's arms and looked at him lovingly as if he was going in for a kiss and BOOM! Right hook so hard it made a sound the priest could have heard. We lost it. Right then and there. No control. I always thought the funniest thing little kids could do is fall down ( Awful, I know. But you can't judge me because I guarantee you didn't go to church today). At this point everyone was staring at us as we fought to contain ourselves. I suck at church. We quickly had our snacks and bolted. Church Round 1...epic fail.

Maire!?!?!

MAIRE WHERE ARE YOU!!?! Haha its your roomies Shann and Jen and we miss you but are proud of you. I promise to make you good-morning-eggs

Epic Fail

I guess 1 of 11 nights not being amazing is not too bad of a ratio. However, we still managed to have fun. Even though Sonny's Front Door didn't treat us with the same grace that it usually does we came home adn jammed hard on the apartment table to Lil Jon and Wu Tang. mahah videos to come. Still, we have to save up for our hard core night tomorrow. I can not wait. Here we come Keywest.

Welcome to the Universe Ophiuchus

In the midst of my compliance with Rule #6, it was brought to my attention that the people possessing the credentials to define astrology have added a new sign to the mix, Ophiuchus. This new friend to all the other signs is not only a nuisance by being near impossible to pronounce, but also because this little shit had the audacity to move around all the other signs. I went from being a proud Pisces to a confused Aquarius. This totally explains why none of my relationships have worked out considering dailyhoroscopes.com and birthday posting on facebook have been the central mechanisms of advice.  I can only wonder if some form of hypocondriatic neurological disorder will form for those who lost their sense of identity due to this drastic change in mystical and potentially bull shit belief system. A system I have been a huge fan of since Gabby and I had a book of astrology to use as a form of distraction from creepy Mr. Fitz in 7th grade gym class. "Squats everyone!" yeah you would want that wouldn't you ya perv. Any who, with this new information I can't help but laugh at all the morons who got their sign tattooed on them. That's what you get for lacking originality brainiacks. Okay this has officially kept me away from two games and as much as I enjoy employing Christine as my "assistant" in kings by having her manage my cards and instruct me on what actions to take, I fear I must get back to living this Irish life and not just being a blog nerd. PEACEEEEE

The 10 Commandments

As wreckless and boundary-free as we have been thus far, we have come to realize that a set of guidelines may be in order. Not in the sense that consequences will result if someone fails to comply, but definitely endless ridicule. While some are more valued than others, they are all none-the-less the laws of the Niland house. Here they are (note this is a rough draft and susceptible to amendments)

*Rule #1: Finish your Drink.
We're in Ireland people. There are sober kids in India. Don't be that a-hole.

*Rule #2: ** ***** ** ****

*Rule #3: No Americanos.
Not the drink that is more popular here than at home, ironically, the fellow Yanks that we encounter. We have had our fair share of them at home. Failure to comply with this rule is an opportunity cost to the grand scheme (finding a nice Irish husband and never coming home.) <- Someone should have told Kelsey that this rule is not appropriate pillow talk sooner.

Rule #4: Never deny a friend in need of a bathroom buddy.
Some crazy stuff goes down in there, and going in alone has no guarantees of survival.

Rule #5: Every man for themselves in the morning.
Yes Christine, I get it. The Irish are great snugglers. But if given the opportunity to escape from an awkward AM encounter...TAKE IT. P.S. This should be done before noon or wifed-up jokes will presume.

Rule #6: Always Pregame.
Never play a sport until you stretch, never go out unless you pre-game. It will save you a ton of money not to mention it will warm you up before walking outside in the cold.

Rule #7: Say "yes" to fun.
This is actually Rule #7 in the NUI Galway student handbook.

Rule #8: No Whining.
There is nothing like a negative attitude to ruin the night. This rule was instituted after the wahmbulance ran over Kelsey and Christine who can't handle a short walk to College Bar. Amateurs.

Rule #9: Share your Smokes.
A friend in need is a friend indeed.

Rule #10: CANADA! CANADA! CANADA!
aka Code Red get me away from him.

Mama Gelson?

After many humorous events occurred this week I found myself as Mama Gelson. How in God's name did SJU's hot mess become this person to a random group in a foreign country? Who knows. But yes indeed I am mom here. I do what I can to keep my kids from making poor decisions or at least from dying in the land of beer. So with that I choose to live my title proudly as if all these little angels were my human Zoeys.   So maybe I find dead baby jokes hilarious and okay maybe today at the mall in Eyre Square a man was walking through a door way with his kid on his shoulders and at the last millisecond ducked before the kid got wiped out and I died of laughter for 20 minutes at the thought that he missed that opportunity. I do what I can people. And if you ask Zoey Cooney or Tigger Gelson, I am hands down the best babysitter ever. I hope one day I get promoted to humans. But I'm not counting my days.

Ravaging the Riverside

Despite our love for pregaming in the infamous Niland House before venturing out to a pub then club, we decided to mix it up a bit tonight and take our Irish Ciders on the road. How could we possibly complain when our walk to school is on a river? With that, we gathered all our materials and ventured to College Bar for the evening. I mean shit, we have a bar on campus. If we failed to utilize this we may as well have just stayed home and watched E!. So once this plan to attend the College Bar was intact i promptly loved the Earth by recycling and filling my Pennies bag with Devil's Cider and headed off. Little did I know that Pennies chose the lesser quality brown bags and within five minutes my cans fell out across the path. My eco loving nature quickly responded and saved the man-over-board beverages only to find that we had a man down. Yes, one of them was leaking from the side. So what is a girl to do when one of her pregame cans is leaking and every ounce of alcohol may a well be gold? Simple. Shotgun. And shotgun I did. I refuse to describe the remainder of this night for fear or my followers but needless to say Princess Peach pulled a gun of her own and I got Adam Levine's autograph. This is a trend to be familiar with. Peace love and Guinness my friends.

M.I.A. Melissa

Captain Useless Student Handbook Information Provider aka Christine has just informed us that approximately 1 NUI Galway student dies a year in the shallow rivers and therefore we are all advised to stay AWAY from the many bodies of water surrounding Galway after nights of drinking. Advice that we have failed epically at following. Upon hearing this as I finished overly bedazzling my eyes with glitter (an addiction I can't break since NYE) I began to respond to this potentially useless information with the belief that "Well none of us get THAT drunk and unable to hold our liqu..shit...wait...where is Melissa?!" After factoring this new piece of information in with our observations of our lovable lightweights drinking habits thus far in our journey we all began to worry that Mel may become a part of this statistic. In addition, none of us have made contact with her since we left Pennies (Irish Target) early this afternoon. Panic. Currently googling leashes and life vests.

Mozel Tov M.Herb

Despite her plagiarism for stealing MY life novel's title "memoirs of a blackout" in her recent facebook album, I would like to wish a Miss Meghan Herb a happy 21st birthday. I am so sorry I won't be there to steal the thunder as drunkest party attendant and after failing to get into Webster Hall in NYC, promptly run away and take a train home at 1am...again. Bottoms up whore.

Week 1 Recap

So since my roomie and I are sitting here stalking Hannah's blog I figured I would make one as well. That and because a few people at home requested one (not sure for entertainment or confirmation of my survival.) To summarize how I feel about Ireland so far here is a blurb from my e-mail's with Kelly Horning our study abroad advisor:

sjgelson90: Hey Kelly! A few of the girls were wondering if you could send us the approved courses. However I was wondering if you could also send the transfer forms. Coming home is no longer an option.

khorning: Hi Shannon! Here is the course forms. I'm glad you're enjoying it!

sjgelson90: Kelly, the forms for transferring must have not attached on accident. Could you send it again?

khorning: Lol. I knew you would love Galway! (no attachment)

sjgelson90: Kelly...the forms...

The reasoning behind this is not only that NUI Galway makes Hawk Hill look like Summer Heights High, but also that the Guinness here makes America's taste like Nati Ice after we leave it in Deb's bushes for several months. Oh...and the boys are the sweetest baby angels Kelsey and I have ever seen. We're currently working harder on being groupies to a band we saw on the street, Keywest (keywestoffical.com) than we are on choosing classes. After putting in a significant effort in our web and facebook stalking, we finally found success when the drummer/bongo expert Eammon accepted my friend request. I would like to thank iPhoto editing and enhancement tools for what came next - the facebook chat invite to Friday's concert at Monroe's. Yes. I am finally one step closer to fulfilling my life calling of being the Penny Lane of Generation Y. Thank god I have a few days to prepare Kelsey (and myself) to not sound like an ESL student when the beyond-words-attractive basist Sam speaks to us. That and maybe get her a little more accustomed to Irish accents since she fails to understand them what so ever. This was proven in today's B-Line encounter with Senator Paddy. I'm entirely too far in need of a nap before tonight to expand on those details.

Team Samantha- Princess Peach

 Anyway, the shit head who I speak of is Kelsey a fellow former Borgia Floor 2 resident who along with several other partners in crime I have had the absolute delight of befriending since I've been here. There is also Christine to keep us in check, Melissa to remind us the importance of pacing ourselves, and Lydia who defines sweet baby angels. I also have 3 roommates Maire, Hannah, and Jen from Canisus. I totally spelt that wrong. I'm boring myself I'll continue this rant later. I really should have started this when I got here because there is no way I can catch up on the past few days before tonight. Off to Spanish Arch (pub not pile of rocks that are fun to saunter around at 4am).