We got B’s…for Brilliant…obviously

Wednesday, the 21st

         Jay, rep the Devere’s. Someone has to watch over the place while we are in class, right? Thanks bud. Aaron is havin’ a no-Lucozade day, but somehow toughs it out in class. Must beThe Will Power. Anyways, new teacher, and he suck the diesel. What better way does a Devere Scholars pass time…he writes raps in class. Chubby- sweaty teacher man, this one goes out to you. Email me at walden810@cox.net for the full rap, it is much too explicit for public viewing. In class today, the cougar asked a world-record 16 questions in 1 hour…really ma'am, is that necessary? I don’t even care what is happening in class, but I know for sure you are wasting my time. As I sit in class, Mr. Chunky asks me to take notes on his lecture…sorry man, nothing worth noting, you are showing YouTube reenactments of Joyce…figure it out. After the lecture, did Gabe come shake your hand? No? That means you are awful…which you are. Despite finding Good Times by Roll Deep on the internet, we had to cancel golf. Luckily, the pro-shop believed me when I said the 3rd member of our party was having a medical emergency. Aaron’s menstrual cramps subsided by the end of the night. Jay and I decided to be mildly studious today, we got our papers back from Robert. We got B’s…for Brilliant…obviously. We then went to the library to check out books. All of the books I needed were in the reserve for the reserves…can’t get them…o darn. We did successfully book a trip to Galway, despite not being invited to the UCC facebook group for Galway…hate us all you want non-Devere’s, we can deal, wolf-pack “frat boys” got it covered on their own. Today was the first day we got internet at Broke-field village, it was nice. We cooked dinner and I burned my meat…not a sex joke. We watched Monsters and Aliens…this is a new high…Hotel for Dogs…take the back seat. We then all sat in Aaron’s room and read Joyce…I read Sparknotes.com and felt fifty times more enlightened than a Liam lecture…sorry hairy, you really just don’t cut the mustard. But yes, re-read it, we did our assigned work…must have been roofied. Aaron and I proceeded for an hour of man-talk…reader, we talked about you, and you know who you are as you read this…it wasn’t all bad. In other news, more heavenly music bellowed from room 2. I wish I could have heard more (thick sarcasm). Aaron and I followed man-chat with YouTube videos…appropriate ones…duh. Dad, I went to bed and it was 57 degrees in my room…boom.

Stories about French architecture or something like that

Tuesday, the 20^th

            O what’s up Devere Scholars, let’s sleep in until eleven.  Its ok, Aaron turned in his essay and took the test, so we’re all caught up on credits…not.  For some strange reason, we went to seminar at noon with Liam though.  He must be attracting us too.  As an anonymous group stated last night, “I would cook naked for him…bake him cookies…I am gonna wear my low-cut top and sit in the front row tomorrow.”  If all I had to do was get a PhD in mumbling, I would be taking Tripping Over My Words 101 starting tomorrow, and Rogaine-ing my chest on a daily basis.  But Liam, you failed to surprise me, I fell back to sleep within an hour of waking up…you are that boring, and your v-neck has to be straight out of the Brokeback Mountain catalogue.

            Moving on, the “frat boys” went to the gym today to continue in the spirit of our fraternational trip to Ireland, bro.  After 2 hours of 21 and sixteen protein bars, we called it quits.  Two beautiful dinner guests appeared at our door, and we ended up sharing a nice dinner.  Afterwards, the night got crazy.  Bingo in the states, sounds like a grandma thing.  Bingo at An Brog, that sh$t was poppin’ off.  Round 1, Dan the Man wins 15 Euros.  Round 2, Diane wins $15 Euros, Stephen watches.  Round 3, Jay wins 30 Euros.  135 Euros in prize money and team UCC wins 60 of it…not too shabby.

            After bingo, we decided to test our feet on the dance floor.  On my way out, I was clawed by a few Irish monsters…luckily I was saved…thanks.  But, as trend-setting Americans, we managed to turn an empty dance floor into a Mr. Johnson Special.  It’s 2:30AM now, Cecilia, we see you back there…Julian is a nice man…but sorry, we gotta roll.

            It’s around 2:45am, let’s sit peacefully on the couch and talk…o wait…boom…the door slams open and in comes the girlies, who stayed sober tonight, not.  Sorry Ali, but the story must live on.  Ali decides that in her most eloquent fashion, to run into the kitchen…Play at the plate…Ali slides into home…safe, and that’s the game.  If this were baseball, Ali, nice hustle play.  But it’s not, it’s the tile floor and Ali has just managed to clean it with her outfit…thanks gurl.

            Laura, this would be no fun if you weren’t singing Lady Gaga...Boys Boys Boys, well that was a give-away…and yes, it was raining, your hair is soaked.  Sorry your party had dudes with fire extinguishers, but I still would not go to an Irish house party, not even with Robert.  Mary, sittin' in the corner like, “WTF is happening.”  Its 4am, can we please go to bed…I am beautifully serenaded by the sounds of the girlies singing and recanting stories about French architecture or something like that…I dunno, girly stuff…peace.

BYOB stands for bring nothing and drink everyone else’s

Monday, the 19th

          Today is quite an exciting day, as the wolf-pack will be re-united. Aaron, while it was selfish of you to stray away as a lone-wolf, we hope you enjoyed your trip. Kate, I blame you for the essay, Aaron blames himself. I don’t know why I feel it’s even important to mention, but we got some new sleeping medicine today…Dr. Bracken no more, hello James Joyce. Ireland, you can’t be serious, but a guy who needs 900 pages to recount the one single day of a man’s life is not “the greatest author who ever lived” or “the literary hero” or any of that garbage. Sorry Joyce, you were one step from the crazy farm and you know it. Jay agrees. I peeked over at Jay’s notes and saw stick figures jumping off a building with an ambulance carrying them away…this sums it up. Lunch break…in the heat of the moment, we visited Fiona who graciously served up a couple paneeeneees and a cappacheeeennnoooo. Let’s just say I’m glad the sun is still up because a Panini after dark from Fiona, I would be running. But Fiona, we have you beat…Liam, the angel from above. I guess if you think Joyce is great you may think Liam is Brad Pitt. Apparently, every girl at the UCC thinks Joyce is a facial, pedicure, and massage all in one. To my readers, I only say this because I feel bad for the guy…as he stutters through 4 sentences in one hour and makes Ron Jeremy looked like a shaved man, the ladies of the UCC tremble in their chairs clinging to his every stuttered word. Liam, you could put Joyce to sleep, and could donate your chest hair to locks for love. Onward and upward… I napped. To the most important point of the day, Jay and I decided we would welcome Aaron at the airport. In style, we put on dress shirts and all the works and went to the airport…plane delayed…airport bar. In order to fully feel the cultural immersion, we figured sharing a drink in an airport bar would enhance our flavor for the Irish bar scene…not at all, but it served as good lubrication as I stood in the middle of the terminal with a welcome sign saying Dr. Faggot. (Folks, do not be offended, watch The Hangover and you will understand…a little bit). Anyway, we pick up Doctor F. and headed to Tesco to drop another 120 Euros on groceries, one item being a 50 pound sack of potatoes. Famine must be over, we got potatoes for days. Tonight, we cooked steaks and then hosted a BYOB house party. Since BYOB stands for bring nothing and drink everyone else’s (some was approved, you know who you are), this party was a success. While we have no hard feelings, it was ironic. Gabe was hammered; someone avoided the glass wall with their head, night complete. Except security was definitely listening to too much Ke$ha as “the police shut us down, po po shut us down, down.” Yep, I went there. Security tried to end the party, but Jay and his Britain hammocks made a final appearance. The reunited wolf-pack went for a sobering stroll, Jack and Diane went to McDonalds 3 miles away, I made some drunchies, and we went to bed. All in all, welcome back Aaron…let's try and get you 1 credit this month.

I hope today was terrible

Sunday, the 18^th

            To all of my followers, I need your help.  I have absolutely no recollection of what occurred on this day in my life.  On rare occasions, this occurs to the best of us.  We like to call it a black out, but I am completely sober.  For two reasons this makes no sense.  I am sober first off, and second, I went out with Dan the Man the night prior and have nothing to show for it on this day.  Dan, I truly apologize…Doug, this would be a good time for a question to spark my memory, and #2, just keep your mouth shut, we are all better for it.

            I don’t even have a story for you about Jack and Diane, who they are, I am sworn to secrecy.  Was tonight a night to bang our heads on the wall?  I do not believe so.  Did Gabriel yell at the couches…maybe, but in all honesty, I hope today was terrible, like Damien’s birthday or something, because I absolutely remember nothing of it.  Sorry world, deal with it.

            If you have any information on the happenings of this day, please comment below.

Damien says, "Guys, its only this big"

Sorry folks, should update tomorrow...for now, please imagine this man speaking in monotone for 8 hours and let me know if you stayed focused for the first 5 minutes.

I’ve got British Banana Hammocks and I’m Showin’ the World

 

Saturday, the 17th

Likely as a product of going to bed at 4am, I woke up at noon…made a big-ass breakfast burrito, and barely made the 3:10 to Yuma…err, the 1:30 to the busted up castle/fort/church place.  On the way there, some wounded soldiers needed to re-live their prior night’s consumables, but in reverse…bus stopped 3 times for vomit, 2 times for directions, and 1 time just for the poetic value of this story.  To make the situation even more beautiful, Robert was in attendance, spilling knowledge with every step he took.

            Damien, I am sorry, but the last 2 weeks have trained me to tune you out, so I have no idea what the historical background of these ruins are.  You did say it had the first Irish toilet, so who else but Zeke hopped up on the pot and made his best #2 pose…priceless.  Zeke, I gotta one-up you though…I’ve got British banana hammocks and I’m showin’ the world…so I proceeded to take a seat on the toilet as well, in true #2 fashion…boom Ireland, leavin’ my mark.

            Moments prior, I realized that Aaron was actually missing out on some pretty “sweet sh*t”.  So we documented the trip carefully, maybe or maybe not intentionally placing Zeke in every single photo we took, 30 if anyone was counting.  Zeke…stay beautiful.  After loading, driving to the Rock of Cashel, not vomiting, and then unloading the bus, Zeke informed me that my RED AND BLACK shirt was just a few gay-la-watts from pink…Zeke, that’s twice.  I teared up but was able to hold it back.

            Once the tour began, we learned that the Rock of Cashel is absolutely not a castle…seems like it would be…but not…it’s a Cathedral, duh.  Gabe wanted a ghost story; tour-guide-man had none.  Whatever.  The church itself was actually really cool…all jokes aside, seeing a service in this place in the whatever-hundreds would have been amazing.  There was an IHS symbol carved in the wall, Jesuits represent.

            Outside, Zeke tried to scale the not-castle walls…despite you telling me to fu*k off and that I wear gay clothes, I still offered to help you climb the wall…you remember that forever Zeke.  Anyway, we then walked to dinner, and I sat with Jay, Doug, and Amelia.  Doug, I give you a hard time, you do ask terrible questions, but you’re a good man.

            Post dinner bus-ride nap was nice.  Now that we’re all rested from the bus ride, let’s go out, right?  I forgot, you’re not Devere Scholars, drinking on back to back nights is taboo…whatever, Dan represented his city and rolled with Jay and I out on the town…have fun watching movies in a room of 40-people…not. (Ya, so you got more rest than us, and Josh, you have been Hangover de-virginized, but you’re only in Ireland with 40 American friends once folks, figure it out).

            On the town, Dan hit on cougars, Stephen (me) got the drunchies and ate the equivalent of a Circle-K hamburger, and Jay had some 4 (not 5) star pizza.  The bar scene was good, not great, but we did find a dance club…Senor Cox, the labial dental will make an appearance, I have been practicing in front of the mirror for 6 years now, I made sure not to peak freshman year.

            But, the substitute wolf-pack member proved his worth once again…Dan, you’re the man.  This is unofficial, because I have no recollection of it, but apparently, I went to bed around 1:00am.  Mary allegedly rolled in around 1:30am and banged on our doors, hoping the party would live on.  Also allegedly, I woke up, walked into the main room wearing only white jockeys, and berated the group with a kind “shut the f*ck up, and stumbled back to bed.  This is all news to me…probably never happened.  Mary, you are seated upon a throne of lies…go to bed.

Quick and Dirty…That’s How We Do It

Friday, the 16^th

Happy birthday, Chris (my brother)

            “Fu*k off,” is the first thing Zeke says to me today…wow man, rude!  All I said was, “Zeke, you’re fifteen seconds late (which, let’s be honest, the big-ass red clock said 9:00:15 and class started at 9:00:00…take it back Zeke).  Anyways Zeke…in un-Devere Scholar fashion, Jay and I showed up to the classroom at 8:4o. In Devere Scholar fashion…Aaron and Mary were not in attendance…way to keep the image alive!  Suck it test, I finished you in 30 minutes with super messy handwriting…quick and dirty…that’s how we do it (not a sex joke…I think).  Anyway, after class, Jay and I book a round of golf for the Blarney Golf Resort…Devere Scholars order of importance…golf > school.

            While it pains me to even waste text, blog space, and energy to write this, it must be mentioned that there is someone on this trip we dislike…he/she will remain unnamed…but if you read this, take a clue…TURN DOWN YOUR DAMN VOLUME, YOU YELL WHEN YOU TALK, ARE SUPER ANNOYING, AND WE CRINGE WHEN YOU SPEAK…sorry, I just has to blow off some steam.

            After booking golf, Jay and I walked to pick up my laundry, passing St. Fin Barre’s Cathedral, pretty cool, huge church with scary faces on it…I successfully convinced Jay it was t Jewish temple, sorry man, I was kidding.  Call me crazy but I don’t think the Jews have patron saints.  When we got back, we planned a trip to Kinsale…but it was more like a Kin…nap.  We fell asleep, deciding to make the trek Sunday.

            We woke up, put on some perfume, and went out on a man-date to Scoozi…an Irish Olive Garden…not too shabby.  Aaron, sorry, you were getting your wedding on, so we felt, to keep the love in the air, that we must go on a man-date.  After the man-date, we took a man-walk, which we strolled by the river and possibly grazed hands…whoa whoa just kidding.  In order to make sure we stayed true to our word, we both stopped by the bus station and bought our Kinsale tickets for Sunday… (Euro sign) 9.50 please.

            From here on out, we flirted with fights for the rest of the night.

            Fight 1…Stephen knocks into huge-ass dude, spills maybe an ounce of beer, said huge-dude stares at Stephen like he wants to kick seven-shades of shit out of him…phew, he left.

            Fight 2…drunk man hits on 5 (attractive, very) Spanish girls…as we approached, Superman stepped in and saved them…damnit, that was gonna be our lead in, and possibly real fight #1.  O well, Jay saved the night by asking “Angelina Jolie” for her autograph…too bad the girl didn’t speak English and her friend translated the joke…whatever, they were smokers, and Jay’s line was hilarious, took cajones.

            Fight 3…at the Bailey, creepy man hits on girls from our class on the dance floor.  In my meanest stare possible (with my 4-eyes on), told the guy to “piss-off” in kinder words.  At this point, Jay and I were hoping to brawl, too bad the punk-bi*ch didn’t want to fight…I sound like such a bro-fag here, but whatever.

            Fight 4…strange Indian man does a little too much with his eyes and hands to another female class-mate.  This time, we exchange words, he puts his arm on my shoulder, I kindly ask him to remove it, stand up, and the creeper leaves…damn, Jay was at my back though.

            Enough with the bro-talk douche-baggery, the night at The Bailey was a blast.  There was live music…girls spilling martinis on each other…I bought Dan a shot…no homo…and we danced for a few hours.  Shout out to Mr. Johnson of BCP…Americans dance a lot dirtier than most…I think we scared the Irish people out there…sorry for partying…Lacey, watch your head.

Whiskey + Beamish are not the essay writing elixirs they are believed to be

Thursday, the 15^th

            If I may recant the real ending to last night, please follow along.  Before going to bed (after the Devere Dog-pile) Aaron realizes that it is of utmost importance for him to finish his essay about St. Brigit (the miracle, but not really, lady).  So Jay and I leave him to work in peace…go sleep.

            Good morning Aaron, how late were you up writing the essay?  Well, it turns out Irish Whiskey + Beamish are not the essay writing elixirs they are believed to be…Aaron PTFO (passed the funk out [edited for you, Mom, sorry I swore in the previous post]).  His intro sentence was the same length it was on Wednesday…sorry Kate, but essay comes first…Aaron can sit in the back of the wedding with a laptop right? (For all of you fans out there, Aaron is leaving in thirty minutes to meet up with his girlfriend in Scotland to go to her cousin’s wedding…Aaron, you’re blowin’ it!!!)  Anyway, screw the essay, Aaron shaves his mustache and runs out the door.  Wolf-pack minus one; shed one manly tear and read on.

            Jay and I roll into class on time again, 5 minutes late, and sign in the entire wolf-pack…Aaron attended in spirit.  Today was really weird; I took notes on the entire lecture.  And no, it was not because the professor was a young PhD female in a skirt…although this was great motivation for Gabe.  In Irish talk, the lecture on the mistreatment of young children was grand (not the fact that children were mistreated, but the lecture on the children, Doug).  But of course, when push came to shove, Robert broke it down like a boss in the test review after the lecture…boy I aspire to be you Robert, you don’t even know.

            Post class, we hit up our new spot, the Kiwi Café, and the non-Fiona lady happily served us some “toasties” (Doug, it’s just a toasted sandwich, cool your jets).  Afterwards, Jay and I came back and began studying, weird, I know.  But it wouldn’t be a good night without some procrastination…so to compensate for taking my clothes to a full-service laundromat, I walked about 2 miles to get there…I think that evens out.

            Folks, the rest of the night blows, I had to write a 5-page essay on St. Patrick.  St. Patty, you’re the man and everyone gets shit-faced for your birthday/holiday/celebration, but essays on you do not bring the same joy to my heart…sorry.  I finished the essay, made some pasta…pasta for days…and studied a little more and went to sleep.  UCC…boner kill.

Sorry for Partying!

Wednesday, the 14th

It has been said that idiocracy is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a new result.  Maybe this is why the lectures are consistently boring, I have gone to class everyday and actually sort of listened, expecting to get something out of it.  Screw that, workin on my essay in class…shit, I still fell asleep.  St.Patrick, you are among the few things I have found interesting in this class, but lets get real, your confession could put Greg Trapp to sleep without having to smoke…its boring, sorry man.

Whatever, this is the least of our problems, as Doug has discovered the Panini machini, its ok though, we took this as a chance to say one more final farewell to Fiona and move on for good.  After the break, Robert broke it down…like a boss…wrote some notes…like a boss…looked studly…like a boss…gelled his hair…like a boss. You get the point, everyone is slowly realizing why we like Robert so much…he is a close second to Rick Ross, The Boss.

Mom, I changed my sheets today, you would be proud.  After that I went to the library, again, that’s for you Mom.  Mom, read no further.  I checked out 8 books, then the libarby closed, today is another wasted essay writing opportunity…F^$k the library, we’ve got a hurling match to be drunk for.  Aaron, sorry, but the essay has to wait…when in Rome…do as the Irish would do…that’s the saying, right?  Sorry for Partying.

Three supposed “frat boys”, one fifth of Irish Whiskey, and 20 minutes…its obvious ladies and gentleman, we crushed it…bro.  Sorry for the language, but fuck the essay, how many times do you get to go to an Irish hurling match…ya, once.  We took a cab to the game, I was quite un-sober.  The cab driver definitely thinks Americans suck.  But we sat second row, and I am now thoroughly convinced that JK Rowling got the idea of Quidditch from hurling, but she added broom sticks and spells and shit…crafty woman.  How could I have forgotten, Jay bought us all British flag banana hammocks which we ran around the room with, of course, donning high white socks…sexual healing in a nut shell.  Back to the match, “Cark” lost.  I am proud to say I did make a shot with a quidditch/hurling stick in my first try after the game…Jay almost hit a baby…good job man.

We then walked a shit ton, I had some drunchies, and no, I did not eat my own leftovers, drunchy monsters, I ate fried chicken from “Hillbillies”…so Amurican.  After that, we went to An Brog, cool bar, second place to the bar in Dingle.  After a beer, Aaron, wearing a dirty mustache, convinced 6 ladies that Jay was a semi-pro surfer…this is after Jay was accused of being on an MTV show…congrats, youre famous for not even being famous.

Back from the bar, Aaron shaves the stache…claims that Kate would not approve.  Aaron, be more like Clint.  Night cap…Mare-Bear watch out…Devere Dog-pile…Mary angry…go sleep.

Ireland Has Many Erections…its Not Sexual…

Tuesday, the 13th

If you came to this post searching for our glorious redemption, I will put it out there, redemption was not had…WJ, Fenogs, and all of our fore-fathers, I deeply apologize.  Anyways, read on.  As we walked into class today, the photo of the entire group is nicely put on the screen, 3 seconds later, damnit Damien, why are you zooming in on the Devere Scholars?  O, cuz we were the only 3 making goofy faces…suck one Damien, we were just having a good time, and you’re killing our buzz.

            It wasn’t all that bad, as our lecture stumbled over his words for the next 2 hours trying to explain what every single tower, monument, and sculpture in Ireland was about…what I got out of it was there are a lot of stone works “erected” in Ireland in honor of Irish people (Haha, erected).  Let’s be real here, if Zeke sleeps through your lecture, you need to take a step back and figure your life out…the barometer of success weighs heavily on the judgment of Zeke Radik…and you sir have failed.

            In true Devere Scholar fashion, we farted around and honestly accomplished absolutely nothing between the hours of 2-4.  We did discover a new lunch spot down the road…sorry Panini Machini, sorry Fiona (server lady at Panini place who looks like Fiona from Shrek), but we have moved on…it was great while it lasted…but “sheeken and sheeeze paneenees” were getting old.  But I digress.

            We took power, power naps from 4:00-8:30, only to wake up and make some stir fry and finish dinner by 10.  Ireland,­ you are kicking our ass, were tired as hell.  Anyways, to top off Hotel for Dogs, we watched Lady in the Water, in which Paul Giamatti and some red head lady kinda sit around and don’t do anything…movie critics, if you liked it, you fall in the same category as the stuttering lecturer…you suck.

            Hey, lets get to be early tonight and get a good night sleep so we can actually have enough energy to go out tomorrow.  O wait, it wouldn’t be a night in Ireland if “the girls” didn’t come back banging down the walls in the middle of the night, with a heavy dose of social lubrication…in other words, more drunk than Gabe when he has conversations with the couch.  Anyway, first round, drunk people come back from the Washington Inn…which we have deemed lamest bar in Cork.  I’m pretty sure I lived in a bigger dorm room and there are more old men than the cardiac unit at the local hospital.  Anyway, to each his own, enjoy the same old bar you go to everynight, trying new things sucks anyways (sarcasm).

            Round 2, lets bring drunk Irish douchers back and have them be super loud…that was me kidding, but apparently the girlies thought this was a great idea.  He who laughs last laughs last…they got kicked out…suck it

Man-Cards Revoked

Monday, the 12th

          Wake up in the mornin’ feelin like P Diddy?  Still don’t know what that means but I don’t think P Diddy has ever woken up in Ireland and said,  “Well shit, here’s to another awesome lecture.”  P Diddy, consider yourself lucky, someone named Gabriel, clearly inferior to wolf-pack Gabriel, lectured us on modern Ireland…I couldn’t tell you one fact that he said…again Damien, I’m just living up to the expectation you set upon me last week…your fault.  I’m gonna be honest, we all had a case of the Mondays…if you skip the next few lines, not only will I not know anyways, but I will not be offended.  After class, we “mobbed” over to the gym, as our man Doug-e Fresh would say to play some basketball.  Since we have been dubbed the “frat boys” (folks, Aaron is the president of a service org., not a frat, get your facts straight), we figured that our attendance at the gym was necessary at as many hours as possible.  We hit it hard, and I took 3^rd place in the 21-tournament.  (Truth be told…3^rd was last place).  We did see Zeke at the gym getting his ping-pong on, I think he is semi-pro.

            Once sufficiently swole, we went to Tesco for some bro-tein powder and muscle milk.  Not really, we bought burger meat and other essentials, including a 10-pack of Beamish (which Gabe likely drank half of).  We cooked burgers on the stove, that shit is hard. (that’s what she said).  But really, what is a better night cap than Hotel for Dogs.  I know, man-cards revoked for 24-hours…J-Wilks would not approve.

            Ireland, St. Patrick, and all patron saints of Ireland, we disappoint you on this night.  We have stayed in and failed out Devere mission…we went to be by 12…sad day…short post…get over it America.

I Put My D*@^ On Everything in Your Room--Gabe

Sunday, the 11th

Waking up at 7:30am seemed like a great idea, until about 7:30am.  We tried to carefully sneak around and out of the room without waking the room mate…no chance, sorry Letitia.  Apparently when the people the night before said the entire town of Dingle goes out and drinks on Saturday night, they were not kidding…the streets we absolutely empty from 7:30-9:00am.  So, what is there to do in an empty town with 3 roads…you guessed it…absolutely nothing.  We walked around the town about 7 times.

At 8:30, we called all of the bike shops in town, hoping to rent some road bikes and head out to Slea Head…all 2 stores were still closed.  Finally, at 9:15, Paddy of Paddy’s bike shop woke up to our phone call and rented us some bikes.  Don’t worry Mom and Dad, the roads were totally safe.  There were huge bike lanes, protected shoulders, no gravel or bushes in the road, and we wore arm and leg pads.  O wait, sorry, Paddy doesn’t even rent helmets, the 2 lane road is as wide as a SmartCar, pot holes the size of small craters, and absolutely no shoulder.  As cars whizzed by at 80 km/hr, we shit our pants for about the first five minutes, and eventually became immune to the feeling.

Photo stop 1, Jason needs a break.  Photo stop 2, Jason ball-taps Aaron.  Photo stop 3, USA sheep…represent.  In Ireland, farmers decide that instead of fencing off their sheep, it would just be easier to graffiti them with a custom design…and one farmer chose red and blue stripes. The white stripes was the fur, Doug.  We finally got to the view...high cliffs with water crashing on them…pretty sweet.  In the distance, 2 islands.  Hey Damien, is that Iona, where Columba began his monestary?  Yes, it is, suck it, we listen in your class…Devere Scholars represent.

Its 11:30, bus at 12:20, and were riding back to Dingle…hit up a some local sandwich shop called Subway, and get on the bus…back to sleep…again, no scenery descriptions, sorry nature lovers.  Apparently, if you speak an obnoxious foreign language, your seat is reserved in the back of the bus.  From Dingle à Tra Li, a group of 6 annoying foreigners decided to recant their night at full volume, I hinted that they quite down, but clearly they are like the illegals in Arizona, they speak no English.

We got back around 4:00pm, showered, and had a David moment, trust fall in a towel…luckily they stayed on.  Jay opens his door to be greeted by the following sign, “Jason, I put my dick on everything in your room. Signed, Gabe.”  WTF Gabe, completely unnecessary, but I laughed at the situation…awkward to say the least.

In case you aren’t a once every 4-years soccer fan like I am, tonight was the world cup.  We headed off to a bar, trying to avoid the entire gang of 30 UCC, non-Devere scholars, but they spotted us in the street and pulled us into a bar.  Luckily, there was free BBQ and the bartender didn’t forget my order every single time…whatever.  Spain won, sorry world, but I really could have cared less…baseball is cool, LeBron is a douche, and football is pretty sweet, but soccer + America = only every couple years.  (J-Wilks, you’re an exception, you follow that shit and know more than most Europeans).  That night, we came back after the game, Gabe was piss drunk, screaming about heresy…it was hilarious.  We proceeded to let him continue talking to the couch and we snuck off to bed…good night Gabe.

Chocolate? It’s Dingle Baby

Saturday, the 10th

At 12:45 in the early afternoon, I get a bang on my door…WTF?! I’m sleeping.  “Stephen, get your ass up, were going to Dingle and our bus leaves downtown in 30 minutes.”  Fifteen minutes later, I rolled out of bed, stuffed some undies and a rain jacket in my bag…and Aaron and Jay carried me to the cab.  Back to sleep for 3 hours.  Sorry folks…scenery sucked…rain, clouds, fog, smeared windows.  But I will humor you…the rolling green hills were speckled with bleached white sheep, leprechauns roamed the field gently picking cotton off the sheep as beautiful farm-maiden milked cows ever so daintily…not…I slept all the way there whilst staring at the inside of my eye-lids.

We arrive in Dingle, a town that doubles its population in the summer…2,400.  Doug, that means they have 1,200 in the winter.  We asked about 6 people for directions along one of the three major roads as we trekked through the rain on our way to the Grapevine hostel.  Johnny greeted us…and led us to our four man bedroom the size of a small dorm room…it's not like the movie…our roommate was a nice lady from SF, named Letitia.

“You down for some food” says Stephen.  Sorry, I hadn’t eaten anything since the chicken and ass sandwich I bought for 5 Euros at the bus station.  With the local recommendation, we ended up at John Benny Something’s, and were instantly berated by the waitress for not ordering beers…get over it lady.  Jay proceeded to order a beef and Guinness stew, which we pronounced Gweeness just to piss off the waitress, it worked, just after asking her what the soup of the day was, which she made us guess…bull shit waitress, you suck.

After dinner, we stopped at the local carnival and took pictures with Snoop-a-Loop.  How often does a 50 Cent and Snoop Dogg themed carnival run through a town of 2,400…I dunno, but that’s some rare stuff right there.  Snoop and Fidy do Dingle, and I saw it happen.  Aaron, sorry, but your night gets shitty from here on out…step 1…buy a wrong way bus ticket…step 2…spill your ice-cream at the ice cream parlor…step 3…get kissed by David, the gay man at Paul Gainey’s…step 4, hop on the grenade for Jay.

Ladies and gentlemen, here is the breakdown.  While sitting at the internet café, we decide to buy our train tickets back to Cork, I repeat, BACK TO CORK.  Aaron prints reservation #1, one way ticket from Cork to Dingle please…well done mate.  Next stop, ice cream parlor…hey Aaron, how bout you lick your ice cream off the cone onto the table.  That’s pretty shitty, 2 bus tickets and no ice cream…all you need is a little consoling and a kiss on the cheek…FROM A DUDE!  Here’s a Frommer’s fun fact…introduce yourself to a man at a potential GB, and you find David lookin for some Dingle in Dingle…what a lucky guy.  Jay, you’re not getting off easy, you got a nice planter on the head as well.  Folks, David quietly told Aaron that he was not into me…phew, no kisses.   To top off the bus ticket ice cream kiss, we reconnected with our long lost Irish friends…Bridene and Jess…Dingle natives.  As Jay smooth talked his way next to Bridene, I sat off to the side and, sorry Aaron, but I fed my right hand man to the wolves…dick move Steve.  I was still a little put-off that I couldn’t attract any late-nite score in Dingle (Mom definitely just made a face).

The Irish girls suggest we go surf with them at 7am, but they also insist it will rain all day…hmmm…no thanks honey, we will pass.  Back to the hostel, Johnny says bread and jam is free…perfect, drunchy monsters round II, this time, it’s our food.  I may or may not have stolen some honey from another guest, the truth remains untold.  Johnny rolls in around 2am…hammered drunk…we all go to sleep…separately…without David.

Don’t you dare…I have kids

Friday the 9th 

I woke up this morning with a light headache and a burning question…what the hell am I still doing waking up at 7:30am for school, its July and I am in Europe…get fuc**d.  In class today, we had the usual; cougar askin’ questions and Doug fulfilling his prophecy…what else can I say that makes everyone else in this class seem smarter than I.  Congrats Doug, rep your city.  Fortunately, the wolf-pack has Gabe who reps us well.

            Finally, week one of class is over, Damien…you’re a smart guy, but I am glad to hear you threw in the towel for lecturing, no homo but I’ll just think of you next time I can’t fall asleep.  Anyways, next stop…Berryscourt castle, some strange art museum, and the Devere Scholar memorial…boom.  We first showed up to the castle, and walked through the front door, stepped over the “murder hole” and into the main room.  For all of you who just asked what is a murder hole, please close my blog, look in the mirror and say “Hi, my name is Doug,” and proceed to gently slap yourself.  For those of you who figured out that a murder whole insinuates the place they drop shit down to the dungeon, like hot oil and other torturous stuff, congrats, you made a Gabe-like conclusion; you are now an honorary wolf pack member.  Sorry, I’m getting all off track, like the cougar lady.  Of course, mid-castle tour, Trust Fall…who blew it, Stephen…drops Aaron flat on his ass.  Sorry man.  Next stop, the double pooper.  For all the Doug’s, it is a 2-hole toilet, set up for husband and wife to have their best conversations together.

            Leave castle, get a drink from creepy tea and muffins dude, and head to an art museum.  Doug, what art museum?  Unfortunately, Doug was preoccupied asking Cougar questions, so I have no idea what the museum was called.  Anyway, it was like any other art museum, sucked a lot, pretty boring, perfect time for silly photos and trust falls.  Sorry Damien. 

            Next stop, huge church in Cobh…the place where the Titanic set course for that iceberg.  We walked through the beautiful church, which began to be built in 1858, and was finished in 1909.  We then headed down to the water, where Aaron attempted to wrap his arm around Damien in a group photo…bad call Aaron, big Damien angry, he says “Don’t you dare…I have kids”  What does that mean…not a clue.  Next photo…picture this; a long-haired man riding a cannon, similar to riding a bull.  Picture another guy at the back of the cannon with the cannon protruding from his waist (wiener joke)…and the third guy with his mouth open at the head of the cannon (wiener joke)…greatest photo ever…if you like dirty jokes…sorry Mom, but it was hilarious…Zeke, you da man.  The Devere scholars proceeded to have their photo taken with the James P. Devers plaque (with great reverence)…apparently this program is super expensive and you are paying for it…sorry Zeke, but Devere is the man now.

            After a bus ride back, we cooked what we thought was our turkey…who bought the turkey, not me, not Jay, not Aaron…shit, sorry mystery turkey buyer…we ate your turkey.  After eating, we stayed in like old ladies and went to bed.  Ireland, its Friday night and we’re stayin in…that’s right, we play hard to get…respect.

           

All That Jelly, but no Toast

Thursday the 8th 

     Who would have ever thought fire represented evil and water represented purity?  I dunno, maybe you should lecture 2 hours about it.  Anyway, to pass the time, a trust fall while walking up the stairs was in order, don’t worry folks, we double-teamed that shit…I caught Aaron, Jay caught me…could have been ugly, but Gabe was likely two steps behind ready to catch us while the cougar and Doug watched eagerly, hoping to ask another question.

            Today, we decided to skip the language class…were men; we have to go to the gym right.  After class, we headed off the Mardyke Sports Facility, where we got our swole on…obviously.  So Gabe informs us there is a sauna, but we have no swim suits or change of clothes…quite the toss up.  Do we risk our dignity and go in a public sauna naked…nah, don’t wanna send the wrong signals.  No swimsuits, no naked sauna.  But the gym was incredibly nice, we lifted, rode a bike, and watched some Lady Gaga music videos…you stay classy San Diego.

            After the gym, we headed back through the wooded-alley to the apartment, showered up, and Aaron and I trekked to the mini-Tesco down the road for a few essentials.  We came back to the apartment, and went all out for dinner this time…you guessed it, pasta round 55.  This time, we hid the left-overs so the midnight drunchy monsters didn’t attack.  After dinner, we proceeded to shotgun 3 pints of beer each, without spraying too much beer all over Gabe’s dinner.  Once sufficiently lubricated, we stumbled out the front door, back to Gollum’s bar for a 21^st birthday celebration.  Either the population of Cork is heavily male, which I highly doubt, or this was a GB.  Likely, a GB (what is a GB, pretty obvious, this is the same place I got 5 free shots in one night, the pieces of the puzzle began to arrange themselves).

            Ditch the GB, and head off the The Bailey, much better choice, and strangely a gender-proportional crowd.  This time, there was live music, and more than 8 square feet of bar-room floor.  A good find.  We slowly realized that returning to the same bar that we visited on night 1 was not going to end up being too exciting…and the GB really isn’t the greatest place for 3 dudes trying not to send the wrong message…sorry Gollum, but thanks for the free shots.

            Head count, minus 1…shit, we forgot Dan.  Sorry Dan, you looked pretty occupied with the 3 40+ women…props?  Well, I’ll spoil the cliff-hanger, Dan shows up tomorrow, with his clothes on, shoes tied, and wallet and dignity intact…sorry Dan.

Tissues Come in Man-Size?

Wednesday the 7th 

(Jay) “Hey guys, did I spill water all over my desk?  (Us)  Jay, that’s not water.  (Jay) Ya, that’s totally water, whatever, I’ll clean it up after class…story censored for public viewing.

Language class?  For no credit?  An extra hour of lecture?  Ya, ok, no.  Instead of attending day 1 of the optional Irish language class, we took a nap class from 1-5…much better decision.  Come on, the people here speak English anyway, a few street signs in Gaelic, but still, I know how to speak English good.  Well, that covers most of Wednesday right…wrong.  Well actually yes, Wednesday is nothing to celebrate.  But, Aaron did fulfill his golden prophecy as we returned to Tesco, this time to spend another 150 Euros on groceries between three people.  Jay, can you please provide some ID to purchase that beer…maybe a passport; o my bad, it’s still drying…WTF? Ask Jay.  Back to Tesco, sorry for buying spices world, maybe I just like the taste.  And salsa in Ireland, don’t think so, the lady put chipotle mustard on my sandwich when I asked for hot sauce, shit’s weak.  I began to notice a few differences, first, salsa in enchilada sauce, second, not only do you drive on the other side of the road, you walk on the other side of the sidewalk, sometimes, and third, tissues come in regular and man-size.  The Will Power guy definitely uses man-size.

Shit, I almost forgot, Doug! Still won’t shut the hell up.  8 questions in one hour session, you’re killing me man…nobody cares what you title your essay.  And cougar lady, not the one who yells scrotum, but the other one, you need to be quiet as well.  Asking the professor to repeat every date in your notes for a thematic essay, shortly after the teacher mentions dates in history are semi bull-shit guesses anyway, is pretty useless…figure it out mama-cita. 

Sorry, but they get on our nerves…the 4^th member of the wolf pack, Gabe, asks only brilliant questions so he keeps the class in check, without him, our wolf pack may survive but the classroom may fall to pieces.

For dinner, pasta again, garlic bread again…all this meat, no spices, says Jay.  The end-trails of this night may or may not have consisted of me consuming and staying in while the rest of the wolf-pack howled at the moon.  Bitch move Steve, you owe everyone drinks now.

BEAMISH…Gets you piss drunk

Tuesday, the 6th 

So apparently yelling scrotum in the middle of a lecture is not the best idea.  Luckily, it was not me, it was a 40-year old PhD woman in our class who believed the origin of one of Ireland’s original names “Scotia” came from the word scrotum.  Come on lady, we all thought it, but blaring it out in front of the class, bold move soldier.  Aside from the scrotum screamer, Diarmuid lectured us on how to prepare a 2-hour lecture with the improper usage of inflexions and…. dramatic. …pauses.  To survive the first day of class, we sat in the back of the classroom, and tentatively listened most of the time, trying to prove that the Devere scholars are not the ass-clown distractions that the professor said we would be.

During the breaks, we decided to initiate the “trust fall” game, made famous by Sir Daniel Tosh.  YouTube it if you are confused.  At this point, Doug and the classroom cougar self-nominated themselves as the most annoying classmates who refused to sit more than 5 minutes without asking if religion was spread forcefully or if an essay needs a bibliography…come on now, I remember my first lecture.  In the resuscitation, we met Robert, in the most hidden room on campus, ORB123, who we have since renamed Bobby, a wise man with likely too much knowledge to drop in one year.  Bobby, you da man.

After class, Aaron was hankering for a trip to Tesco, in which he wished to add to his collection of a jar of peanut butter.  We had all this jelly, and no toast.  Sorry Aaron, false alarm, drinking and cooking comes first, Tesco tomorrow.  That night, we cooked a good 2 pound bag of pasta, along with 4 sausages from the greatest open-air market I have ever seen.  We loaded up, more spices for Jay, sausage for Jay, and some apples for Jay.  While it may seem minor, we say Bobby while walking through city centre near the English market, I waved, he did not…Bobby made us sad.  But, we got back, cooked up the pasta, ate almost all of it, but unfortunately, the remainder was consumes as a drunchy around 2pm…RIP fatty linguine.

That night, we headed to the Washington Inn to watch the Netherlands advance to the World Cup finals, and I met Beamish, a great Irish beer, the Corkian competitor to Guinness.  4 dinner pints + 4 Beamish technically = 10-11 American beers…add a thick black consistency…welcome to strug-city.  I am proud to say, my ensuing actions were controlled well, the actions of some others, who will remain anonymous, were definitely an attribute to being piss drunk, literally…infer as you will.

As we walked home, we surely reeked of ugly Americans, but in all honesty, when we were just introduced to your syrup-thick beer, opposite side of the road driving and side walking, along with rain, and the x-factor, drunk girls, we were helpless, sticking out was inevitable.  O well, get over it America, we do you proud, drank Coors Light on the 4^th in your name, while in Ireland.

But, lay down, spin around, fall asleep softly…Jason, if you only knew what the morning would bring.

The 2 Man Wolf-pack has Become 4

Monday the 5th 

          In a night filled with screaming girls, leaking toilets, and freezing temperatures, fact of the matter is that I slept awful.  When my alarm rang, I quickly hit the 10 minute snooze which seemingly lasted 3 seconds, so I dragged myself out of bed, frozen like a popsicle.  I shuffled into the kitchen, cracked some eggs, and cooked breakfast, Jay ate the leftovers.  Then a scraggly, bearded man emerged…Jeremiah Johnson?  No, Aaron Page, the 3^rd musketeer.  After a delayed train and missed bus, Aaron snuck thru the door between my going to bed and the drunken banter, but either way, we all packed up a backpack and walked over to the university. 

When we arrived, we had an orientation where we got our first extended experience of the Irish twang.  Luckily, neither teacher heard us laughing as they drug on through an overview of the class.  It seemed as if everyone was taking this way too seriously, its summer school, right?  Then it clicked, as our teacher called the 4 LMU students to the front of the room and politely asked us not to be a distraction, as each succeeding year has managed to slightly disturb the peace of the classroom…an easy task we assumed.

We next headed to the library, which I have vowed not to return to, even though it is 800 times nicer than the LMU failure of a library.  O ya, on our way to the orientation, an unnamed classmate made a valiant effort to get struck by a moving vehicle…no worries, the Devere Scholars saved her.  We continued the day with getting ID cards, and taking some small group photo that they failed to mention to us throughout the day.  Anyways, the next character in our story, Paul Newman?  No, Gabriel, the world’s second most versatile man.  He offered us shots the night before, but sorry Gabe, that minor detail missed the plotline.  Regardless, Gabriel is the man, a true gentleman and a scholar.

So our two man wolf pack has now become four; first there as Jason and myself, next Aaron, and now Gabriel.  The four of us loaded the bus with the rest of the group and headed down a country road to an overlook of the Atlantic ocean, no homo, but this was incredibly beautiful.  Next, a salmon dinner at a gorgeous, ornately decorated restaurant; for dinner, the wolfpack split, but only temporarily.  After dinner ended, we loaded back up in the bus, and as the driver insisted on driving on the right side of his bus while on the left side of the road, I decided it was easier just not to look.  Next character, Zeek, the leaf man.  Hey Zeek, sorry, no story.

To end the night, Aaron, Ashley (shit, there are girls on the trip, and we speak to them outside of the classroom, dont tell mom), and I walked down to the university to steal some internet, which worked poorly at best.  After being serenaded by drunken Irish boys as “bloody wanker bums,” we walked back to the apartment, and hit the pillow face first.  Day 1, complete.