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.