dublin day one

[I had much better intentions of posting each day. The Dublin hotel has wireless, unfortunately it is not working on my floor. I could stand in the hallway and press the computer up to the window or write in the lobby. Too much fun stuff happening in the lobby to write much. I did manage to squeak out the article that was due. Rest assured, I'm having a lovely time. Cheers!]





We arrived at Dublin Airport at 8:30 in the morning Irish time, 3:30 in the morning Indiana time. There were five of our group on the flight plus two surprise guests. I'll start off with introducing the group.

Kevin: I used to work with him in Philadelphia. We're here to celebrate his 50th birthday.

Sean: Kevin's brother, also from Philadelphia.

Joanne: cousin of Sean and Kevin, from Florida.

Luke: friend of Kevin.

They were all part of the group when Dad and I went to Dublin four years ago.

Surprise guests: Malcolm and Sarah. Friends of Kevin and Luke from Philadelphia. They managed to stay hidden while we boarded and reveled themselves an hour in to the flight.

Malcolm and Sarah are staying at the Four Seasons.

The rest of us taxied to our hotel. We ditched our bags at the hotel at hit the ground running.

I love how busy the streets are! People everywhere.

We had lunch at a cafeteria-ish place above a swanky department store. Being the restaurant geek that I am, I wanted my photograph by the conveyor belt for the dishes.

We walked around Trinity College, where Kevin spent a semester 28 years ago. We did a bit of shopping (I bought a cool Waterford jar -- it will be perfect for Twizzlers) and a little something for my sisters and mom. Luckily the items will be shipped, so I don't have to worry about breaking them.

All of us were dragging but the walk was terrific. We stopped for our first pint around 2:00 in the Temple Bar area. As you can see, it was a well documented pour.

Kevin, Joanne, Sean and Nora

Our hotel is right off of O'Connell Street and an easy walk across the Liffey to the Temple Bar area and Trinity College.

The River Liffey

Bangers and Mash

After all of the travel and walking we were exhausted. We had an early dinner and called it a night at 7:30. I did wake up at 10:30 and considered wandering out, but thought better of it.
But I hated to leave 4 1/2 hours of Sadie Hawkins Day on the table. I'll be 50 the next time I rolls around.

almost there...kind of

I'm here! Sitting on the floor near an outlet to plug the computer in. 

I'd forgotten how big this place is. I landed in Terminal F and I'm flying out of Terminal A, I think I might have walked to another county. 

The walk felt good, I have plenty of time and it helped calm me down a bit. I have that pre-flight nervousness going on. 

 

The airport is pretty barren and business like. They are also doing a ton of construction, so there is lots of narrow boarded off places right now. I did discover a cool flag display. It started with the Betsy Ross flag and ended with our current one. A bit of trivia- the Betsy Ross PEZ dispenser is the only one based on a actual person. 

Okay, I'll go back to my regularly scheduled freaking out. Will I even recognize the people that I'm travelling with? I have not seen them for years...and twenty pounds on my part, or should I say my bohunkus (as Jamie Dawn would say). 

weir cook

Just a quick post from the airport. My flight to Philadelphia leaves soon. As you can see, I'm well wired. My intention is to post each day from Ireland. I'm making no promises, I might meet a nice age-appropriate sheep farmer or something.

Mom and Dad dropped me off. I miss the good old days of being able to see people off.

When I was a kid the Indianapolis International Airport was called Weir Cook, named for World War I flying ace Harvey Weir Cook. When the airport opened in 1928 it occupied 900 acres to 7700 now. The airport is in the middle of a big expansion adding a midfield terminal and moving the highway.

I cannot tell you how excited we used to get when we got to go to the airport. I was so big and fun. And you could usually count on getting a treat, something exotic like a Coke and popcorn. We were a good welcoming crew. My sisters have continued the tradition. You can count on being greeted with a sign, bells or something exciting when they pick you up from the airport. I started to write that maybe we needed to get out more as children, but I think it instilled a good sense of excitement over travel- whether we were flying, or someone else.

Okay, I'm headed for one last potty break before I get on the plane. TMI, I know.

Woo Hoo!

age is just a number. ha!

I don't know if it was because he was a younger man, or the fact that he's a Republican that got everyone so excited about the boy in the last post. I always joke that I'm either very hip and cool or horribly immature since most of my friends are at least ten years younger.

I'm rushing around getting ready for the trip and wrapping up some projects and I'm feeling a little 'written out' so I'll leave you with the advice column that my friend David sent me. The writer sounds suspiciously like me....maybe I'll meet a nice sheep farmer in Ireland.

Ask Lynn

By Lynn Harris

Dear Lynn,
I am a 46-year-old woman; I take care of myself, but I do look my age. "Cute" might best describe me. My question? I simply cannot attract a man my age. They're either 10-20 years older or 10 years younger.

This has been happening since I was old enough to date. Why is it that a man my age won't have anything to do with me? My self-esteem has taken a huge blow and now I'm afraid I've become obsessed with this. I scan the wedding announcements regularly and find several couples my age getting married. I can't help but notice that they all look close in age. I realize the midlife crisis thing might be going on (both for me and for the guys), but that's not what I see on the streets. What I see is, couples — close in age — enjoying each other's company.

What's wrong with me?

– Feeling Rejected


Dear Feeling Rejected,

Some of what you are experiencing may in part be a function of your demographic, or — to use a word that really should never be used at all — your psychographic. That is: It's common at midlife to want to feel young, and a common way of attempting to preserve one's youth is to date someone younger. So the fellas who are your age are looking for younger women, and the fellas 20 years older than you looking for… you. At the other end of the spectrum, well… here's to you, Mrs. Robinson.

Of course, there are plenty of people in their 40s who find people their own age, so what gives? And how do we explain your observation that this age weirdness has, for you, been happening all along?

I know you're going to argue with me here, but it's partly your perception. You know the red car phenomenon: When you are thinking about buying a red car, you start to see red cars everywhere, though in reality you're just noticing them more.

I'm guessing that's what you've been doing since you were a teenager—noticing the guys not your age even more than the ones who are your age.

I'm not saying there isn't a pattern, but it's possible that you may have made choices, even unconsciously, that keep this pattern consistent. Like, not flirted with someone your age because you were too busy noticing that someone twice your age was flirting with you.

Let me ask you one question: Why does a potential mate have to be your age in the first place? Yes, I know: so that you two feel that you're at the same stage of life together. But you know what? There are plenty of, say, divorced 36-year-olds well-established in their careers and identities, and there are plenty of never-married 56-year-olds who are still casting about. Age tells just part of the story. I'd give some of these guys a chance. Consider which attributes you're looking for in someone "your age." Stability? Lack of game-playing? Well-traveled? Then allow yourself to see them in someone else.

Also, though I do believe you didn't invent this pattern out of the clear blue, I would like to suggest that it serves you—if only to "explain" why you're still single. My hunch is that what you're really asking is not "Where the heck are all the men my age?" but rather, "Why the heck am I still single?" I know that can be a terribly vexing, self-esteem-challenging, and lonely-feeling question to be asking, year after year, and I wish all single people could avoid that.

So don't make it about meeting people your age. Make it about meeting people, period. People who share your interests and sensitivities, not your birth year. I'm not saying meet people who are not your age, I'm just saying to make it not about numbers, but about feelings, flirting and fun. You might be surprised at the number of men who do turn up.

Lynn Harris is co-creator, with Chris Kalb, of the award-winning website, BreakupGirl.net and author of the new comic novel Death By Chick Lit. A journalist and essayist, Lynn also writes about gender, dating, and culture high and low for Salon, Glamour, The New York Times, and others. In her spare time, she enjoys being married.

post red key shift post

I never blog after my Saturday night Red Key shift, because it is late and I'm typically damn crabby. I love working at the Key, but I'm usually tired of people by the end of it.

Tonight was especially brutal. Not because of the work- I got my ass kicked after the Butler game, but I enjoy the challenge. I am the waitress and the cook so I'm in charge of my destiny.

What made the furrow in my brow deeper was the conversation of a couple that was sitting at the end of the bar. The end where I keep my waitress pad and get drinks. They appeared to be on a first date which is always fun to eavesdrop on. They were in their mid-twenties and full of bluster and bragging. At first it was fun to listen to, the telling of schools and work places. Then the conversation turned to their childhood.

The girl talked about how horrible her parents were and how mistreated she was. How they didn't know how to deal with someone as smart as she was. I was anxious to hear if she was chained in the basement or locked in a closet. Can you guess what torture she was subjected to? She had to mow the lawn! I almost smacked her.

The boy grew up on a farm. Guess what his dad made him do? G0 fishing! Seriously, he was telling how awful it was.

Then the girl started on a whole diatribe about how she was a good student because she was trying to please her parents. Guess what darling, wanting to make your parents proud does not end with report cards.

Damn it, I'm still riled up six hours later. I hope they live happily ever after- and don't have any children.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch....err, bar there was a cute guy that I'd never seen before. He was funny and polite. He grew up in West Lafayette and also attended Purdue University. He was still there at "last call" and the bartender invited him to join us for a drink at the bar down the street.

I was planning on going straight home, but my arm was easily twisted.

Cute boy and I talked politics. He's a political consultant, working for the "other side of the aisle," as they say. I loved that we actually talked about issues and not point fingers. When we were picking out songs on the juke box, he let it slip that he was a guitar player. And it gave me the chance to slip in the nonchalant "I write about music."

I had the nagging feeling that he was younger than me, but quite frankly I was not interested in finding out. Not yet anyway. I was enjoying talking about music, college and the current Farm Bill. I was enjoying his hand on my arm. Then the shoe dropped. A guy in our group asked him where he went to school and when he graduated. 1998. As if that was not horrifying enough, that is when he graduated from HIGH SCHOOL. A mere nineteen years after I did.

Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

home makeover part 1

I'm leaving for Ireland in five days.
Holy crap! I'm leaving for Ireland in five days!

I've done a fairly good job of keeping on track and not freaking out about everything that needs done. And getting plenty of sleep. I actually stayed in last night. Yep, a Friday night and I watched television and read blogs.

That said, I'm still running on a pretty tight schedule. I have a NUVO piece and two Broad Ripple Gazette columns to write. I'm working every day (including the day I fly out) before I go.

So, what did I decide to throw in to the mix? A bathroom make-over. It occurred to me that the ten days I'll be gone will be the perfect time to rip up the floor.

This is the lovely linoleum I've lived with for the last twelve years. It really didn't bother me that much - or I would have done something about it. I just covered it with rugs and only had parties in candlelight.

The lovely floor covering was never installed properly around the bathtub and has decades of bathroom ick around the edges.

The walls have this wallpaper and grey paint.

As you can see the wallpaper is not in good shape either.

The room is really small. Only 40 square feet (not including the tub). There is not a closet or any shelves, so it has been a really easy room to ignore.

There was a leak behind the toilet that was undiscovered for ages. The water dripped between the lovely linoleum and the floor boards, so I didn't realize it until the floor started to buckle.

If the ugly linoleum didn't swing me in to action, the thought of crashing through the floor when I was going potty did.

My house is a "double," there is the exact same floor plan mirrored on the other side. That bathroom is in much better shape and has the original tiles from when the house was built in the 1930s. I wanted to do my bathroom floor in patterned tile, but also considered fixing the floor boards and throwing down linoleum or cheap tiles.

The timing is not great, throwing a fancy party, trip to Ireland and oh, the mortgage. I can swing it, but I've done such a good job of not having any credit card debt that I was weighing the options.

I convinced my self to do it the way I wanted, plus I know myself. I'd lived with the other floor for twelve years, so I was not likely to change whatever I decided any time soon.

I did some research about tile patterns from that era and looked at the floor on the other side. The honey comb pattern, white with black was classic for the 1930s. Then I started pricing them- yikkes.

I send Valentine's Day invitations out like Christmas cards. I mailed out 150. In the card to my New Jersey landlord (1989-1995) I tucked in a note telling Joan that I was now a homeowner and landlord. I loved living in that apartment, above their house and I hoped would be as kind to my tenant as she was to me.

A wondrous gift appeared in my mail box last week. Joan sent me a very generous check! The card said she wanted to buy me a house warming gift. Isn't that just amazing? I'm getting all teary thinking about it.

Since I don't need much (40 square feet) I was able to purchase this great tile. I laid a few of the sheets on the floor and I've been standing on it and giggling for the last two days.

I'll pick out paint tomorrow. How fun will that be to come home to a shiny new bathroom?

knee deep in work

I cheated and posted several days at once. I'd written the Saint Valentine's Day one right after the party, but it got swallowed in to the universe. I have two gmail accounts (one for music stuff and one for personal stuff) and if you are not signed in to the right one your post won't get saved. I learned that the hard way. Twice.

And, will someone please remind me to take the day after the party off? I also worked at the Red Key and Marigold last weekend. And watched a neighbors dog. Oh, and turned in two pieces for NUVO on Monday. I also cleaned up from the party and washed dozens of glasses and cake plates. All fun stuff, but it kicked my ass.

I had a dentist appointment yesterday. Like most of us, I'm not fond of going to the dentist. I do have a healthy respect for proper dental care and swear that one of the reasons I've always worked part-time jobs is to pay for the visits to the dentist. I have a dentist that I really like and has been good to me.

As I was driving there (a miracle in itself, I used to be so freaked out that I couldn't get there under my own steam) I was looking forward to catching up with Stephanie, "my" hygienist. She really changed my attitude about all things dental a couple of years ago -- in a good way.

As it turns out, she reads this blog (Hi Stephanie!), so it made catching up on our lives pretty easy. I was due for one of those cool panoramic x-rays. As she was fitting me in to the space age contraption she told me that she's going to start taking my phone calls and saying "No more Nora." I giggled all though the x-ray.

So Stephanie, you're in charge- remind me to take the day after Saint Valentine's Day off next year. And you need to start blogging. "Tales from the chair", "Rinse and spit," "If this drill could talk" or something.