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.