This blog is late and comes in parts
*also, i'm too sleepy to spellcheck or seek out any grammatical or other errors, so, fingers crossed and all
1. The GRE
I can’t believe I paid $140 to sit in a cubicle feeling inferior for three hours. The good news is my test scores didn’t make me cry. The bad news, I don’t know, is there bad news? It was fine, actually. Which surprised me. I kinda imagined myself either skipping out of the test center singing songs of glee, or being carted away after collapsing into an inconsolable heap of misery and regret. I actually wound up getting almost exactly (it might actually be exactly) the same score on the GRE as I did on the SAT, which is tragically comedic.
We managed to find a spot around the block from the hotel to park while we checked in and dropped our bags in the swanky-swank room Jax swindled for us with her insane amount of points. I stepped out of the car and read the marquee for the theatre across the street: “Morrissey 3/14” Yeah, Morrissey had a show AROUND THE BLOCK FROM MY HOTEL on the same night that I was in town to see Flogging Molly. Mmm hmm, that’s my life.
4. Death by Music
Would it really have been an Irish festival if everything had gone smoothly?
We didn’t bring coats because we knew we’d be rocking out later. So, of course, it rained. It wasn’t a downpour but a consistent, permeating drizzle that didn’t let up for the entire time we were there. The free beer helped. The music helped more. It’s a handy thing to have a cousin with good taste in music. I now heart the Aggrolites and heart Flogging Molly more than I did before. I need to gear up and psychologically prepare before the next FM show though. We were up front, part of the unstoppable ocean of awesomeness and bruising they call their fans, and I was holding my own (by which I mean, holding onto whatever or whomever I could hold on to so as not to fall down and be trampled to death) and wanting to be there, for about a song and a half when suddenly I flashed on a time in the not so near future when I was no longer holding my own and not so much wanting to be there as I was bleeding and broken and crying for me mum. Also, I almost lost my glasses when a crowd surfer made contact with my face. Which is not cool. I really like my glasses.
Flogging Molly fled the stage too quickly and we were left, cold, wet, tired, stumbling through the festival grounds back to the metro. A sea of green (and me in my little red writing hoodie) sleepily slid onto the orange towards Vienna and Jackie played her penny whistle as we headed back to the hotel. This is something I could never do. All too often I care far too much about what people are going to think. My cousin has balls. She dives into mosh pits and chats up boys and plays her penny whistle on crowded subways. A lot of times I wish I was more like her.
has cheap gas. Everything else blows.
7. St. Paddy’s Day
Back to Long Island, back to work. I thought that perhaps, St. P’s Day being a Tuesday and all, I could let this one slide after our weekend of debauchery but my DNA threatened to unhelix itself (it’s a very ugly and painful process, there are pictures on webmd but I wouldn’t recommend looking it up. you’ll be scarred for life) if I didn’t go to a bar and have a Guinness. Plus, it gave me an excuse to txt a boy. Jax and I went to chilis for dinner while trying to figure out where to go. Two twofers later and we still had no idea. We wound up driving around aimlessly listening to Jason Mraz (because aimlessness is what happens when you leave decision making up to me) before eventually making our way to a supposed pub. Here’s a little tip for you; if you walk into a bar and you are the only people not carded, turn around, this ain’t your scene. We had two beers and got the hell out of dodge. Dodge, in this case, being a bar that serves beer in red solo cups to yuppie 22 year olds. This may sound like a bust, but, well, what’s more Irish than drinking beer and going home disappointed?