Perfect Attendance Award

Growing up, did you know there was an attendance award?  There was, and I was awarded it.  A lot.  Supposedly it should be a source of pride, it's not really.  Maybe if it were I would have better attendance here on this blog.  Supposedly it was going to be the great communicator between all of us siblings, and those of you on the outside who like a glimpse of the inside.  Failure.  Here's to new beginnings!! Don't you just love the new year? I LOVE my nice new moleskin calendar so completely bare and clean and awesome.  I can't wait to fill it up with all sorts of fun things, and probably some not so fun things (but I can wait for those).

 But we just aren't quite there yet, so I'm sitting here tonight being thankful for my sleeping one year old girl upstairs, and my rowdy 3 year old boy right here negotiating a bedtime.  I'm thankful for two really great, really fun families with which to spend birthdays, Thanksgivings, and Christmases.  Speaking of, side note, we had SUCH a fun time in North Carolina for P man's birthday and Thanksgiving.  Peter had tons of balloons, got a train, decorated his own cake (a huge hit), and visited the world famous Asheboro Zoo, not to mention his grandma let him go fishing for his presents and both kids fell in love with Auntie Tess and Uncle Jonathan. I'm thankful for a busy, full, fun, fighting, and loving house and all of the people in it and who visit it.  There is so rarely a dull moment...and we usually sleep through those.

I'm thankful for my incredible college friend who hosted me, MLL, and FTD in NYC for an extended weekend.  We saw as much of NYC as we possibly could with two little girls, including Central Park, FAO Swartcz,  the Rockettes and Radio City Music Hall, the tree in Rockefeller Center, St. Patricks Cathedral, Times Square at night, we walked High Line Park, took a cab with babies in the bjorns, stopped traffic in Grand Central Station, saw the Bloomingdale's Santa,  and pretty much walked all of Manhattan in a long afternoon.  Of all of these things, we loved visiting MEByrd the most.  And clearly our stop in a NYC dive diner with none other than the soon to be Dr. Gordy.  It was awesome.

I'm thankful for P's preschool which he ADORES and for how it is helping teach him about the meaning of Christmas when it is so easy to get caught up in the festivities.  P and L loved setting up all of the nativities & Holy Families and talking about the birth of baby Jesus.  We went to the Holy Land Experience in Orlando, which if i were honest, I would say that I was nervous about how tacky or blasphemous it might be.  I dare you not to tear up when the angels descend singing hallelujah and your 3yr old exclaims "the baby is here!"  Though also happening on that trip a life sized replica of a Jesus was standing on some waves and started speaking as we walked by....."PETER, COME TO ME..." It was hysterical to watch our sweet boy explain that Jesus was talking to him (it was actually a reenactment of Peter and Jesus walking on water, still awesome).  We rode the Christmas Cannonball Express to the North Pole just like the Polar Express and drank hot chocolate, ate cookies, and got a bell from Santa's sleigh from Santa himself.

And then, RBD II, LTD, RBD III, FTD, LDL, BML, CMD, PDL and MLL were all in the same house, under the same roof, asleep in our beds on Christmas Eve.  Magical.

See you in 2013.  Promise.

oh.  and we bought a house.  we'll move soon, and update you then!

Best Week Ever

The last time someone said I had the best week ever it included saving a life (kinda, but not really) and getting a hole-in-one.  This just may trump that.  Plus, this is me saying I probably had the best week ever, which carries more weight probably.  I don't even know where to begin.  And I just had a homemade Irish coffee to celebrate slash loosen up the fingers.  So pardon if I get sort of all over the place on you.

I guess I'll just go chronologically.  Probably makes the most sense.  I can't remember if I told y'all about when I entered a commercial competition a while back or not.  Anyway, me and two other people created this commercial and entered in the contest in hopes of winning and getting lots of cash for our artistic genius.  We were finalists.  We didn't win.  Months went by.  Then, out of nowhere, they want to buy our commercial.  It was very exciting.  Disclaimer: we didn't make a lot of cash, but we made some. So that's nice.  I think it will only be on the internet, but I'm not sure.  Regardless, here it is for your viewing pleasure.

Since moving to LA last year (kinda crazy to think I've been here over a year now, really dosen't seem like it) I have been looking for an agent (both commercial and theatrical) and have made little headway.   Well, through some networking I managed to get a meeting with an agent I hadn't met before.  A friend of mine works as an intern at this particular agency and that is the reason she agreed to see me.  After about a 30 minute meeting she offered to take me on.  So, obviously I am excited about that.  We still haven't actually signed anything, but have a handshake deal and plan to meet soon to sign the papers and what have you.

Lastly, and what I am most excited about is what happened today.

I've always wanted to be one of those people with a really cool job.

Let me back up a little bit.  There is a website which I have been a fan of for some time, and I have applied for a position here on a previous occasion.  I didn't get it the first go 'round, which I expected, but it also kept me from applying to a similar job not too long after the first had been filled.  Anyway, a different site that it is affiliated with recently posted an opening for a paid internship.  I applied.  The submission was to include, résumé, cover letter, 10 pictures that you thought fit the branding of the site, and a 1-minute video as to why you were the perfect candidate for the job.  About a week went by without hearing anything, so I assumed that it was a similar fate to the first time I applied.

On my way to work (as a caddy at a country club) I got a call from a number I didn't know.  I was driving, and since I didn't know the number, made no effort to put my earphones in to answer.  Once I saw they left a message and I was at a red light, I put in my handsfree device and pressed play on the voicemail.  It was "John, from Tapiture".  Well.  Isn't that exciting?  He wants to talk more about my submission over the phone.  I call back.  We talk for a few minutes and he wants me to come in to meet in person and continue the dialogue.  I am supposed to work this tournament, so I ask to schedule the meeting for tomorrow.  Perfect.  As I sign in at the caddyshack, the caddy master says they don't need me today.  Well, that would have been nice to know before not being available for an awesome interview.  I call the gentleman back and inform him that I am now available to meet anytime today if that is preferable.  It is.  The meeting is set for 1:30(which is 3 hours from where we are in the story).  I call T&L just to talk to someone while I start to panic.  They give very good advice about what to do.  Maybe go real early, park, walk around, have some lunch, and grab a beer.  Then make sure to chew some gum after the lunch and beer, before interviewing.  I agree it's a good plan.  

I am invited into the inner sanctum of this place I have so long been a fan of.  To even be taken behind the curtain and see how it is run is something fans of this site would pay large sums of money to do.  I meet and greet some people, get the tour, etc before heading into the conference room to be asked questions I haven't had really any time to prepare for.  This part goes well enough, though I do get real nervous mid-interview as I feel I've been rambling for too long and just stop mid-sentence acknowledging I am rambling, and that the interviewer should revert back to the last time I stopped talking as my answer, because at that point, I had answered the question, and there was no need to continue to "expand/say the same things over and over again".  He then introduces me to another member of the team for some more questions and whatnot, then he returns for one last session.  We talk about potential compensation, when would I be able to start yadda yadda, then finally asks again if I have any more questions.  I ask, timidly, if there would potentially be any flexibility regarding acting, or if I would just have to make the decision to stop pursuing that.  The answer was perfect.  I can't really remember verbatim what it was, but, it was exactly what I wanted to hear.  Essentially, "yes, there would be some flexibility, it's all about managing life, and just making sure the work gets done.  As long as the communication was there, and the work doesn't suffer, then go for it.  And if it gets to a point where it's taking up more time than we would like, we can have the talk--- you know, where we discuss maybe bumping down to part time."  So I guess that's actually pretty close to verbatim.

He leaves the room.  

Comes back.

"I have to be honest...."

Ok cool, they liked be but it isn't the right fit.  At least I got to interview and see the offices (which I neglected to mention are on the beach).

"....we don't normally do this, but we really like you and thought you had some good answers.  If your interested, we'd love to extend an offer."

Oh, well then.  Offer accepted.

This all happened in a 6-hour span.  From when I received the voice mail, to walking out of the office with an offer sheet, I would have probably still been lining up putts for a 30 handicapper who thought it was my fault he couldn't get out of the bunker(err sand trap, except it's a bunker, because there is no trap, it's there for you to see, no tricks, nor traps, just don't hit it there).  

As I was driving home and debriefing the family, I could hardly contain my excitement.  This is the type of job, that even if I'm not able to act while doing it, I truly believe I will enjoy it enough to be OK with that.  And what else could I possible ask for?  A creative job, on the beach, with beer on tap not twenty feet from my desk.  Pretty perfect.

So tomorrow, I launch into a new adventure, not entirely sure what it holds or where it will take me.  But I have a feeling it will be a helluva ride.

Looking Ahead to Veterans Day

I'm not sure one of our personal heroes, and one of your national heroes, would post this himself and so I am doing it for him.  I know at least my small family is really working on our charitable giving, on discovering where we feel called to give and investing in the causes that pull at our hearts.  This is one of them.  Please read this letter from my brother -

Family, Friends, Squadron-mates, People who erroneously gave me their contact information-

First, forgive the email intrusion. Second forgive me for using the intrusion to ask for money. Yes this is real, not a contest or phishing or anything nefarious – for that I’m sorry.

For those of you still with me, a group of folks at Harvard Kennedy School (me included) are borrowing from the “Mo’vember” movement and growing mustaches from October 15^th until our Veteran’s Day observance at school on November 13^th.  Why mustaches? We are sacrificing our dignity and good looks in order to raise awareness for homelessness, specifically in the veteran community.

Veterans make up a disproportionately large part of the homeless population. So much so that the Department of Veterans Affairs has made a goal of completely eradicating homelessness among veterans in five years: http://www.va.gov/homeless/

In the mean time, there are folks on the street that can use our help. To that end, our group’s mustaches are meant to raise awareness among our peers for two charitable causes that aid the homeless population in our community. The links below will lead you to our chosen shelters, where you will have an opportunity to donate to support me and the specific shelter of your choice, should you feel inclined.

To donate to the New England Center for Homeless Veterans, click here:

http://www.crowdrise.com/hkstache-veteransshelter/fundraiser/m021518

To donate to the Harvard Square Homeless Shelter, click here: 

http://www.crowdrise.com/hkstache-harvardshelter/fundraiser/m021518 

If you have already donated, thank you. If you wish not to donate, please forgive the intrusion. I will probably send out one more call for support in our last week, and then I’ll report on how close we came to achieving our goal of $10,000 for each shelter. 

Thanks for reading this far, and thanks always for your past and future support.

Yours truly,

Bale Dalton 

Ireland: Part Three

It's finally time for Part Three of the Irish Adventure! Big ups to CMD for cronicaling his golf and drinking alone shenanigans  In fact, I am pretty sure that I have used the phrase "cologne of booze and bad decisions" in the last few days.

On Day 5, LTD and I followed through on Matthews suggestion to take the Gap of Dunloe and Lakes of Killarney Adventure. A vintage van that reminded me of Mr. Toads Wild Ride picked us up at the hotel and proceeded to drive around town picking up things for the van and a "jacket". We arrive at O'Conners pub to discover that this is where most people begin the tour. The van quickly fills up with tourists who appear to be mostly American and we head out toward Kate's Kottage. Just before the van drops us off, we get a warning message from the driver: Do NOT take horseback or a jaunty through the Gap. It is a fairly easy walk. These services are just trying to scam you. Perhaps in a display of travel ignorance, I begin to get very anxious. All the plans I have made and things I read said DO take a horse cart, horse, or bike through the Gap. That the 7 miles are much to strenuous to walk and make it back to the boat in time for a ride back. I should have known better. LTD and I are kind of known for our epic walks. Sometimes from friends in Colorado would refuse to walk Pax with me because they knew it meant 5+ miles down random paths. I digress. Since LTD and I have already committed our wholes selves into this adventure, we get some water and head for the horses.

"So which one of you is the more experienced rider?" says the burly Irish man with a mischievous grin. "Um. I guess I am." I say. Mom agrees. I get put on a horse (unidentified by name) that seems to be pretty easy to guide. I'm told he/she is the horse that leads the others. Ok! I say. No problem; assuming that means the horse knows the way. I haven't ridden in a while, but its a tourist destination. I should be fine. The horse's owner hands me a stick and says "don't drop this. You're going to need it." Awesome. I think. LTDs horse continues to drop its head and eat along the way. She (Rosie) is the lead horse except that she doesn't like to move. You can imagine how this goes. My horse gallops in front only to slam on the brakes with the appearance of being lost. LTD's horse leads onward until a fresh patch of grass, or another horse, or a stream, or an errant gust of wind distracts her. This is not good. Most of you are thinking "yeah, yeah, yeah. get on with the story. Ain't no big thing." and that is true. Until about halfway, when our "guide" turns to us and says "I have to turn back now, you're on your own. The horse knows the way, but just in case, I will say a prayer for you". Awesome. Not 2 minutes later, my unnamed horse gets spooked and decides to rear back and head in the wrong direction, taking out any pedestrians that are in its way. Yay. I yell at LTD who's only response is to stop her horse. Rosie is cool with that, since it means she can eat again. Thankfully my horse's owner was not far down the path so all was right on the trail in a matter of minutes. Blisters. Sore bums. Ripped jeans. All in a days ride through the Gap of Dunloe. We arrived and order ourselves a well deserved Irish Coffee.


But Wait! There is more! After collapsing on the luscious greens of the Ireland shore, we are told that our "red boat" is almost always late and that we should return to the house for another pint. Another pint sounds amazing, but we were also told that after 2pm, no more boats would be departing and that we would have to traverse the Gap again. WHY is this information not consistent? Happy with effects of the Irish coffee, LTD and I bask in the sun to wait for the boat. When it does arrive (2 hours later) we discover that is it a skiff. A 12 person wooden skiff with three rules: 1. Keep your hands/fingers inside the boat. The trip has seen quite a few lost fingers and it isn't a pretty sight. 2. If someone in your party should fall overboard, DO NOT try to retrieve them. The boat driver will trouble shoot on the fly with the retrieval process. Too many people have been lost in this manner. Oh. Dear. LTD continues to look at me like she is never going to let me plan a single International (or domestic) Adventure again. The boat ride was harrowing but incredibly beautiful. Weather was starting to come in through the mountains resulting in whitecaps on the lake. To such experienced boaters like ourselves, this seems like not a big deal. I turn around to check on LTD and discover that the driver was refueling the vessel while we were still moving. A passenger was dilligently holding the engine/rudder while the boat operator poured fuel from an extra tank into the main fuel tank. He discovers our horror and laughs a bit. He thinks now is a good time to tell us that the reason he'll have to "think on the fly" if someone goes overboard is because he doesn't know how to swim. At all. We hit a rock on our way through a stone bridge. LTD and I hang on for dear life. Other passengers bundle up in their rain gear to avoid the wetness of the waves. All Americans on the boat wonder why we didn't have to sign a liability waiver. One older women gets off the boat at Ross Castle and begs for an "I survived the Lakes of Killarney Adventure". We all echo the sentiment. The Lakes of Killarney really are a must see. The pictures don't do it justice, but obviously I included them anyway.

LTD and I arrived back at the Killarney Park Hotel shortly before RBD2 and CMD. Naturally we ordered a few pints, Irish Coffees, and some snacks. All in a days work. Part Four (and hopefully the conclusion) to come shortly!

O Danny Boy

Fáilte.

As this trip inched closer, I became exponentially more excited about it.  Day of, I was straight up giddy.  Immediately upon landing, I knew it was going to be an awesome trip when a nice Irish lass told a certain member of the group she could tell he had his head up his own ass.  Great start.

Within 18 hours of arriving in Dublin, I announced I could move to Ireland and be just fine.  It is possible I was delirious from not having slept in over a day.  Regardless, I think I meant it.  After dropping off our bags at the hotel, we took off to play Royal Dublin.  I had played links style courses before in Scotland, but this would be my first try in Ireland.  It was....educational.  For a number of the early holes it was raining, then for the remainder of the round, windy.  We were fed Jameson throughout.  Whether or not its effects were detrimental or advantageous is up for debate.  I think probably detrimental.  Shot a tidy little 86.  I did manage to birdie the last, so at least it ended on a positive note.  The combination of sleep deprivation and Jamie, I had at least started to crawl into the bag, and the day wasn't even close to being over.  Back to the hotel to shower and change before dinner.  We walked into the restaurant to find four glasses of fine Irish whiskey resting calmly at each seat.  Oh boy.  I already knew I liked Jameson, but never had experienced anything other than the basic variety.  Tonight, I would be introduced to 12-year, Gold, and 18-year.  They were all delicious.  Even a member of our group, who will remain nameless, proclaimed their enjoyment despite being a loyal Makers Mark drinker.  This, coupled with casual dinner beers and a glass(es) of wine, well, the evening was kicked into a new gear.  Just as a reminder, no sleep as occurred yet.  I could have easily, and probably should have, called it a night.  Instead, we hit the town with our incredible hosts.  First stop, The Residence.  Whiskey.  More whiskey.  Lady GaGa stories.  Old Fashioned.  2 AM.

Quick little sidebar:  we had a lovely waitress who was actually from California but moved to Dublin years ago, etc etc.  It was determined by my table-mates that there might be some interest on her part.  I only sort of disagree.  Plus with a table full of people, it makes it quite difficult to maintain any sort of rapport.  To be clear, this did not stop me from trying.  I do that.

Our waitress, after our meal, told the group(emphasizing the word group here) about a spot the waitstaff frequents after work. I file that information away.

We leave The Residence in search of this bar we had been told about.  Our numbers are down by about 80%.  We can't find what we were looking for, but we did manage to find another place of interest.  Only one drink here.  We are fading.  It's late.  We haven't slept.  We need sleep.  We must go back to the hotel.  We have a nightcap.  And fish and chips.  Perfect ending to an incredible day.

I wake up (am woken up) the next (same) morning, to a voice pointing out that my nightcap was on the bedside table.  I find this humorous.  I'm not sure the voice did.

Answering the bell wasn't the easiest, but we had to make moves and get to the stadium for the Navy/Notre Dame game.  I have no idea what to expect, but based on our experience to this point, I should've figured it would be special.  Box seats. 3 course lunch.  Free booze. Oh, and I shouldn't forget the flask of Jameson presented to each person upon getting off the bus.  Ooph.  It begins again.  At noon.  You're right, I should just not.  But, I'm in Ireland.  So I do.

The game itself was, well, it certainly could've been better.  But, the experience was incredible.  And isn't that what it's all about?  I decided yes.  I did enjoy having to explain rules and so forth to the Irish contingent of the group.  After the game we walked to a nearby pub, because why would you stop drinking between events?  I did switch to Smithwicks for a few pints, so as to not get too full before I had to eat again.  Dinner is just a few blocks away.  Whiskey.  Irish beef burger.  Guinness.

Sláinte.

The adults/responsible people go to bed.  I go out.  Temple Bar.  It's crowded.  A little popped and tired, we go back to our hotel.  Our hotel bar.  "The Octagon."  Our bartender, Keean, "Keegan?" "Kee-an" "Keean, got it" tells us he can get us into the basement nightclub for free.  Sure.

Keean leaves his post to take us down.  It is a different world.  Laser lights.  Fog machines.  18-year olds.  This is officially weird.  Sure, I'll have a drink.  Someone asks if a girl is wearing a shirt, or if it's just a bra.  That goes about as well as you'd think.  Two of our three, so the two that are not me, are wearing hats.  Backwards.  We are Americans.  A hat is then slapped off a head.  We look for the dude that did the slapping.  We (thankfully, in hindsight) don't find him.  We should call it a night.  We start the walk back.

[female voice]
"Hey, are you an American?"
"Yes.  Is it that obvious?"
"Yes."
         -more conversation-
"Well, me and my friends are going in here for a drink."
"Oh.  Should we come in?"
"Sure"

Fade out.

8:30 comes early (again).  I no doubt am wearing a cologne of booze and bad decisions.  I act as chipper as I can.  We have a three hour drive to golf.  I take advantage of a little honey hole in the back of the bus to take a nap.  I am good at this.

Refreshed, we arrive at Lahinch.  Interestingly enough, Lahinch is the surf capital of Ireland.  I wasn't aware the Irish surfed.  The water had to of been 50 degrees.  The course is incredibly hard.  Or maybe I just played poorly.  Probably both.  However, the course is so awesome that I never could quite get full on mad about anything.  And my goal of breaking 90 each day was still intact.  So that was nice.  The group goes out to dinner in the town of Lahinch.  It was actually quite good.  I had been expecting the food to be questionable while in Ireland, but to this point, everything has been delicious.  We all went for a few pints at a local pub.  It was quite entertaining.  I usually try and blend in to my surroundings.  This group had no qualms being tourists.  Pictures were taken.  Some more embarrassing upon review than others.  I behave.  I am also the last to finish my drink.  This has been a theme for most of my life.  I eat slow.  I drink slow(sometimes).  A tame evening.  We walk to the hotel.  9 hours of sleep is medicinal.

We are now headed to Ballybunion for golf, then to Killarney to stay.  The drive was a long one, and it included a ferry ride.  It has become abundantly clear why Ireland is called the Emerald Isle.  The rolling fields are beautiful, houses dotting the farmlands.  The ferry ride was great in and of itself.  Hopefully an attached picture will do some justice, but the marriage of the blue sky, gray water, and green fields was mesmerizing.  Look at these Irish clouds.

Just off the first fairway of Ballybunion there is a graveyard.  I didn't realize at the time this would be an indication of how I would play this day.  Ugh.  I mean, once you start to get uncomfortable with your game, you may as well just enjoy the scenery because playing well is out of the question.  The upside is, there is plenty of scenery to enjoy.  Many of the holes were guarded by beachside cliffs, the Atlantic just on the other side.  After golf, we continued on to Killarney. Our lodging for the next couple days would be the Killarney Park Hotel.  Incredible.  Huge rooms.  A back garden area.  Walking distance to pubs.  This dinner was particularly entertaining.  I'm not entirely sure why.  Maybe we were all settled into being in this awesome country.  Every person there welcomes you wherever you go.  Wine is poured, stories are told.  Some not great for the mixed company. Still hilarious.  Maybe even more so considering.  I ordered the pork belly, and everyone looked at me like I was insane.  Coming from a kid who would only eat PB&J growing up, my parents must be just baffled at my current eating habits, always looking to try something new.  I wouldn't eat a hamburger till high school, and even then it had to be homemade, on a grill, at a BBQ in someone's backyard I knew.  Finished things off with an Irish coffee.  I ordered, others followed.  They were pleased.

Next up, Waterville.  It sort of looks like it might finally rain on us today.  Our bus driver/friend Matthew assures us it's not going to.  It's raining on the way there.  We are not convinced.  It is still spitting a little upon arrival, but sure enough, as we get set to tee it, the rain stops, and we have ourselves yet another beautiful day.  Today, I feel good about my game and play well for the first few holes, then lose it for the middle part, and close the round with a decent number.  A playing partner remarks, "great round, what were you a couple over?" I respond, "nine, but thank you." 81.  At this point, I am repeating myself, I'm sure.  But I continued to find myself just staring out at the surroundings.  I keep trying to pick out parts that look like places in the States and just piece it together, but really nothing captures the uniqueness of it all.  I think Waterville was my favorite.  I also played the best here, so I'm sure that was a factor, but I took close to as many pictures as I did strokes, so that is saying something too.  We orded sandwiches for the ride to dinner, which sounds weird, but we were hungry.  The female cook came out and called one of the group a wimp, which was hilarious.  She didn't want us to take the food to go.  "To go" isn't really done much here.  We are sorry, we must go.

We head to this cool, family owned, hotel/restaurant not too far from where we are staying.  Our reservation isn't for a few minutes, so we step into the bar for a quick drink.  This place was cool.  It has bag tags representing courses from all over the world.  A search begins for our home courses.  We find one.  It's pretty cool.  There is also a wall of logo golf balls.  I find one with the Gator logo.  I'm pretty pleased about that.  Another boozy dinner follows.  I find I am on a weird goat cheese kick, yet I keep ordering it and loving it.  Some people are less than thrilled with their selection here, the first time I think this has happened.  There was another large group in the room with us.  A competition as to who could be the loudest ensued.  We lasted longer, so clearly, we won.

I've seen an overhead picture of what we were about to face at Old Head, which is situated on a peninsula.   I'm hoping the wind will lay down.  For the most part it does.  I felt rushed by the starter, so I don't really enjoy the first few holes.  A trait I share with my father.  There are deadly (no joke) cliffs all around.  Like, just accept that ball is lost if it's close to the edge so you don't take a misstep and plummet to a rocky, then watery, demise.  This of course made for some pretty awesome vistas.  I play okay, until a collapse at the end which is extremely maddening.  I take some cool pictures, so that's good I guess.  A few of us get a pint after the round and enjoy the views and the weather.  Others are waiting for us on the bus.  We are not aware.  Whoops.  Drinks and snacks on the bus.

Dinner tonight is boys only.  I'm not sure I've mentioned that I get sort of panic-y at large dinners because I don't think people deal with folks in the service industry as well as I do.  (I don't think many people handle many things as well as I do.)  People don't listen, or pay attention, or don't realize what they ordered.  I know I had a Jameson coming.  I politely remind our waitress, when she asks if I'm doing ok, hoping she picks up on the "I'm sorry you have to deal with us tonight, we are tourists, and we've been drinking" smile.  I've been told a number of times to make sure I check out the singing pubs of Killarney before we leave.  This is our last night in Killarney.  My last shot to see what it's about.  I'm told to go to The Grand.  No one else is game.  I head out, determined, on my own.  I'll just have a pint, see what it's about, sing a few tunes and be on my way.  Hahaha. This place is awesome.  I'm having such a good time.  I make friends.  Irish friends.  American friends.  Oh you're from San Diego? Here for a wedding? Congrats! Yeah, I'll have another.  The band plays Wagon Wheel.  I scream/sing it with my American friends.  I take a picture. "Are you an American?" What is this, am I wearing a sign? Sure, shot of Jameson it is.  Oh you're from the North?  What's the deal with Northern Ireland?  What's that relationship with the English? Contentious?

Ohh boy.  It's 3:30.  This is not what I intended.

I am woken up.  I don't realize this.  I am woken up again.  Everyone is on the bus.  My dad is packing for me.  For some reason I don't like this.  "Everyone is waiting for you."  I feel bad.  About people waiting for me.  And physically.  I must rally.  I can't ruin this for anyone.  I get on the bus.  Judging looks.  I play it off.  Whatever guys, I'm chipper, I'm ready to go.  I am not ready to go.  Light jokes.  Yeah, I had an awesome time, get off me.

Tralee.  I go to the range.  Hit the ball in the middle.  Wash my face.  Buy three waters and chug them all.  And some gum.  The caddy is a beast of a man.  Asks where I went out last night.  The wind is howling.  I could shoot 100 easy.  I make contact with the first shot.  Success.  I am slowly coming around.  This course is awesome.  Without a doubt, this is the worst I've played.  There are a number of contributing factors.  But, I am thoroughly enjoying the day.  I am hemorrhaging golf balls.  I finish with the last one I have.  Perfect.  What a golf trip.  I can't believe we've played the courses we have.  Incredible.

I'm sure I'd be reminded of it if I left this part out:  bus ride home for me was less than good.  I sit down and the setting sun is beating on me through the window.  The bus is bouncing all over the road.  I don't get car sick.  I need shade, and a smoother ride.  I take a bottle of water, snacks, and an empty bag (just in case) to the front of the bus.  Thankfully, I sleep.

For our final meal, we go to the Original Durty Nellys.  It's famous and all, but I think this was our least favorite experience.  We were way in the back, service was a little lacking, the food didn't measure up to the other places, and a member (a grown man) of the group felt like fighting a dude upon us leaving. The jerk wouldn't move an inch as we all tried to squeeze through the door jam he was occupying.

We arrive at the Shannon airport, ready to head home.  Both my parents forget they have full flasks.  This is hilarious.  My mom, always a cautious rule-follower, is no doubt mortified.  I get my bag searched in customs.  That's it.  We are airborne.  We cross the Atlantic home.  We will remember this trip.  We will search for an experience to match it.



Slán go fóill.