The creep, the sketchball, the drunk (and the candlestick maker?)

So.

It intrigues me that I flew from New York to Rome and then Dublin and then hopped on a series of Bus Eireann buses (we decided neither of us could risk attempting the left hand side of the street drive, which, by the by, was the smartest decision we've ever made and I'm relatively certain I'm going to go back to the States and get hit by a bus (bam!) because I can't remember if it's left right left or right left right) just to get hit on by a creepy American man.

Blech. Thought I left those at home.

We show up at this AMAZING pub in this AMAZING town (more later more later) and we're drinking Smithwick's and we're listening to trad music and we're tapping our feet and checking out the cute Irish men when this guy approaches us and says, "you American?" in a trashy Southern accent.

Which is literally the worst way to pick me up. Ever.

I mean, I'm sorry but I came to Ireland to meet cute, funny, young Irish guys with amazing accents. Not to meet ugly, boring, 40 yr old American men from the Bible Belt who are on their R&R in the military. I TOTALLY respect (totally, and utterly) those in the army, but I'm not having sex with them just because they fought in Iraq.

Which he apparently thought I was ready to do.

Sister sat there silently laughing as I tried every tactful way to get him to go away, including telling him we wanted to listen to the music and that I wasn't feeling well and needed to go to the bathroom... 4 times. Finally I resorted to grabbing a young (lovely) man [from here on in, "Lifesaver"] when he stepped on my foot and being SUPER flirty and apologizing to HIM and then hanging on him. Which leads to the sketchy Italian man I did not need to fly from New York to Rome and then Dublin and then hop on a series of Bus Eireann buses to meet.

I could have just stopped a Roma.

Not Lifesaver, obviously. No no, after he saved us and gave us kisses and sauntered off, some Venetian dude who was like "I want to practice my English" when I tried to speak to him in Italian came over. And at first, that was cool. Until he started getting handsy. And then I was like... bathroom again. We thought we lost him, and then this AMAZING band came on and started doing punk versions of Bangles songs

Let me just stop here and say (MORE LATER) soooooo amazing

And then the sketchball found us and started getting REALLY handsy. And armsy and legsy. Like, took his hand, placed it on my left breast, took his other hand, placed it on my ass, and stuck his leg between mine.

So. Not. OK.

He was like "I awant to adance!" and I was like fuck no dude, so sister and I went back to the bathroom.

Again.

Where we met this drunk Irish guy, who, by the way, I did not need to fly from New York to Rome and then Dublin and then hop on a series of Bus Eireann buses to interact with. Drunk Irish guys are all OVER the city. Actually, eff that, they're all over HOBOKEN.

Harumph.

We're standing right outside the ladies trying to avoid sketchball and these two cute Irish dudes come over, and at first I was like yeah yeah yeah and then after getting a whiff of their Guiness laced breath I was alllllll Amy Winehouse (minus the drugs and the beehive and really anything except the three words in the verse of her Rehab song). We are talking SUPER trashed, which is totally fine, except that I had stopped drinking when sketchball started eyeing my drink in a suspcious manner.

In short, I was sober. They were not. And it wasn't going to happen.

Suddenly Lifesaver swoops in, of course knows the guy and pulls him off me (his friend was actually quite cordial to sister) and drags us back up to the party. As soon as he learned why we were protesting (sketchball made his way RIGHT over to me, hands legs and all) he was like dude, back off, and took us to a safe part of the bar.

I heart Lifesaver.

And so, though there were no candlestick makers, I just wanted to share with you one of the (many, and 99% fanfuckingtastic) experiences I've had here thus far. Look for the sum up on Monday. And look for something tomorrow (nothing exciting). And until then, know that I'm hopping on a series of Bus Eireann buses, flying from Dublin to Rome to New York to get back home to the creeps, sketches and drunks there. Until then, I'm trying to avoid those who somehow find their way to me here in Irlanda.

Well. The ugly ones, anyway.