Home Now.

I am back now. I ran out of money a week before my return to the states. I'd like to say that being homeless, broke and alone in Paris was romantic and added a certain layer of depth to my traveling experience. More likely though, it simply added a layer of dirt and a level of exhaustion that will surely seem more nostalgic once I've received a weeks worth of rest, a hot bath, a pedicure and a deep tissue massage. But, I survived. And survival is, after all, entirely the point. Henry Miller would be so proud.

In case you were wondering, the cold marble floor of Charles De Gaulle International isn't a particularly comfortable place to sleep. Standing in a phone booth outside of the Piere Lachaise cemetery on the phone with my mother, she told me about how as a child, just when she had turned her back for a second, I would be playing chicken in the middle of the highway with the cars. She feels like I am living my life in that same manner 20 something years later. So be it. It's strange when you realize how much you are the same person you were when you were young. Same plot, different characters. I gather you've plenty of evidence of my character at this point to view me as a mischievous child playing in the street.

I will be posting all my pictures and telling some back stories which include my ability to cook frozen pizza with a hair dryer among other interesting tid bits.

xo

barcelona

Was amazing. I bathed topless, swam in the medditerian, drank bottles and bottles of cheap sangria and soothed my restless heart. The sky is bigger in Spain. The sun is dryer, and all in all, this was exactly what I needed.

I fly to Paris in the morning. This is my last week, and although the trip was entirely not what I imagined, it was entirely perfect. I feel so, so something I haven´t felt yet. Something like assurance. Something like somehow, I am somewhat more who I never knew, I always was.

NYC on the 30th.

xoxo

My Last Day in Ireland

Life is so strange. Same plot, different characters. So, when you don't know what else to do. And the only thing you really know, is that you are in no place to make decisions for your self. Then you get your ass on a plane out of town and hope for the best. Hope for warmer weather and expect darker spirits.

Here's to my holiday in Spain.

I choose Dublin on a whim, because it was cheap to fly to and, well, the Irish like to drink even more than I do, so it seemed logical. I liked the city instantly. Not for any reason I can put into words, but I did. After a few days, I was out of my comfort zone, and slowly learning how to deal. It takes a while to learn how to be. How to be quite, and how to be loud. But slowly I began to feel more myself that I'd ever felt before, and more aware of my self. Like I could see the future. And that the future was good.

So, I got comfortable drinking in pubs alone. Got comfortable with drinking Jameson on the rocks, because it was cheaper than Old Fashioneds. Got comfortable making five minute friends. And so I
wandered into the Sheeban. It was during the day, and the bartender and I hit it off instantly. She adopted me and introduced me to all her friends. It was two days later that I was sitting in a pub on St. George's street when he sat down next to me. And so, in the rare moments I am so intensely aware of what I want, I go after it with unabashed integrity. And so I went after it. With there being no option but, well, to succeed.

And he asked, "Do you always get what you want?" As he was walking me home. And I replied,
"Yes." ; "So be it." He said.

We had the most unassuming and easy, good conversation of my life. But then, nothing. Nothing
until I ran into him at Hogans. A couple days later. When he told me we would have coffee, and he kissed my cheek. And I went home drenched in a school girl crush. When I saw him at the Bartender's wedding later on that week, he alluded to all sorts of complications, and did his best to exude an air of distance. Something like hesitation.Something I can't explain. All this about
someone that I've only known for ten days.

Today

I touched a stone for ten years good luck, received my whiskey taster diploma from the Jameson Distillery, drank from Jameson's personal stash (at 30 euro a glass, it was the most amazing thing I have ever tasted), met some amazing people and am, decidedly incandescently irrevocably on fire like happy. I love it here and am staying until I go to Barcelona on the 17th. I've made some incredible friends and feel more myself than I ever felt possible. I feel invincible.

I threw my ring in the Liffey and turns out that life is.so.good. after all.

THINGS I HAVE LEARNED IN IRELAND SO FAR

I really, really like it here.

Dublin is small and rainey. It is super easy to walk around in circles for an hour trying to decide what pub to have a pint in. And then end up in the first one you considered.

However drunk you thought the Irish were, multiple that times three. I can, in fact, survive on only beer, water and the pathetic excuse of a meal that my hostle serves under the guise of “breakfast”. Despite my food intake being all most 100 percent carbs, I do believe I will quickly lose the couple pounds all that delicious French food had packed on my ass.

I “look quite Irish” (it is better if you say that with a very thick Irish accent.)

And, basically, in every sense of each word, I STILL EFFING GOT IT. Know what I mean?

ps. fax is the new email and I am only using disposable cameras from this point on. way cooler that way.

Everywhere I turn there are stacks upon stacks of kegs. If you walk down any given street around 4 pm, you can see the delivery trucks hauling them down into the basement of the pubs in preparation for the masses. This is, by far, the drunkest place I have ever been.

All the hostels around here are in Temple Bar, a huge tourist type area full of Americans and obnoxious Irish boys trying to pick up drunk American girls. Dublin is teeny tiny, though. So, yesterday I walked a few blocks north and came to an adorable little restaurant and bar. I treated myself to a pint of Carlsburg and made friends with the bartender. She was kind enough to give me a tour of the area on her break and introduce me to a couple of her friends who bought my drinks the rest of the evening. This place reminds me of an alcoholic Italian mother. Don't try and tell anyone you aren't in need of a drink. They'll get you one anyway. I was able to make an absolute fool of myself in front of the adorable bar back who was doing an excellent job of ignoring me.

I think I will stay here a little while longer.

Rodin's Gates of Hell

appropriate, no?

LOL.