Indications of ‘Hope’ and ‘Change’ Post Election Day

I figure my last few posts were pretty angry so we'll spice it up and add a movie...


After the elections I decided that I needed to embrace the ‘Hope and Change’. So I did the unthinkable and took a razor to my beard. Below are the horrifying pictures of my ‘Change’. Warning: This footage may haunt you. (Also, the opinion of this film does not reflect the parent company, Lais Properties, but only the Ryan Lais subsidiary).

Viewer discretion advised.

Why I Liked When Clinton Reformed Welfare

Two hours later: I manned up and drank the water… my face didn’t turn crazy colors so if I keep typing you know I’m ok.

My water issues rinsed away quickly as the rest of my day unfolded. Virtually unannounced Kevin’s long haired bearded friend welcomed himself into our cottage. He arrived baring gifts: a half drunken bottle of German beer and a stench twice as potent as the smelly kid in 4th grade who just went through puberty and didn’t know it, but for some stinky reason everyone else does . He instantly made himself to home and sat at our supper table for a bite to eat. He ate through our bag of cheesy poofs like we’d laced them with cocaine. While trying to avoid gagging from the smell I listened to him arrogantly tell us about his times in Europe.

He started out telling us how he hitchhiked here. I laughed knowing that it’s pretty damn hard to hitchhike to an island. When he didn’t laugh I felt a little uncomfortable and let him speak his mind.

Matt grew up in a middle class family and went to high school with Kevin at a private Catholic high school. For two years after getting his diploma he tried his luck at the University of Minnesota and decided he “needed to spend a semester in Europe to find himself”. For under $1,300 he managed a full Euro trip with all transportation, food, and shelter provided. But how?

For less than a grand he took off from MSP and landed in Dublin, Ireland a little more than 2 months ago. For $37 he took Ryan Air to Brussels. Wow. So two months on less than $300 in Europe where the McDonalds costs and arm and leg. How’d he do it? I wanted to know… I picked his brain, because I’m a penny pincher, but seriously the supply and demand for that half drunken double pint beer in his hand sets him back at least €6 alone.

Turns out he’s a professional freeloader. Not like the guy who used to eat every bodies food at the lunch table in high school… That’s amateur compared to this guy. He connected with various truckers who mostly didn’t speak a lick of English and slowly hitchhiked his way through Europe mooching rides, sleeping on the streets, “in bushes”, and in “squatting houses” for free.

“Squatting houses are better than some hostels.” What the heck’s a squatting house I asked him? (Wiki article on squatting houses.) Turns out its vacant lots or semi abandon buildings where the landlord owns the property, but doesn’t use it. So drifters take it over and live their inviting others for “free”. He “slept next to more heroin addicts than” he knew existed. The freeloader explained how he helped tear down a wall in one squatting house in Barcelona, but the cops came and arrested them because the site hadn’t been considered legally “squatting settled” yet. I nodded my headed and showed my deep concerns with a pitying facial expression while thinking to myself ()@#*$()&*)(&@$#! (use your imagination). For food he “went around restaurants begging for left overs” and when this failed he “dug through garbage”!

Don’t feel too bad folks, a little beer chased the taste of trash. In most of Europe costumers buy a bottle of beer and walk out on their merry way, drink their beer, and discard the glass bottle. Or if they feel up to it they can return their glass bottle and receive an X% refund. So our freeloader collected glass bottles around the cities and drank beer to stimulate his mind. The conversation went on for about 30mins about his time in Europe while I cooked us up a feast. I planned on cooking noodles with meat sauce, but our beggar was a chooser too and informed us he didn’t eat meat, so I switched it to tacos, with beef for us, and rice, beans, and potatoes to “meat” his needs. (WHAT, BEGGARS CAN’T BE CHOOSERS I THOUGHT? So he’s a vegetarian who eats from the garbage, but worries about the affects of red meat?)

While in awe Schafer asked, “What’s the biggest thing you learned on your journey?”
Between inhaling the food I bought and cooked, sitting in the warm cottage I helped to pay heat he says with a smirk, “I learned I can live for free.” (WHAT THE HELL!!! FREE? Somebody paid for that!!!)

Then our freeloading friend watched us all do the dishes while he watched the electric meter spin and the computer screen refresh while surfing the World Wide Web for the first time in a while. I guess he had a couple thousand electronic mail messages to check.

He says he found that college isn’t for him, because he likes to live more simple and doesn’t need a high paying job anymore…

This guy now lies in front of the fireplace with full stomach and a blanket to cover the smell and keep his rancid feet from getting too cold. (Thank goodness that draft I’ve been complaining about helps to keep the air circulating or I’d not be able to sleep).

I grow more and more frustrated as he rests with his stomach full, warm, and cozy for a good night sleep for “free”!

His way of life represents everything wrong in this world. People like him give the poor a bad name. He's making a mockery out of every actual poor person.

Thank goodness Bill Clinton reformed welfare.

Gloom and Doom

The world looks gloomy today. Here I sit with my laptop defrosting my thighs as my feet dangle from a foot rest in front of the gas burning fire. The gas fire breathes louder singeing my cotton socks as the drafts billow through the cottage. Chatter of rain hitting our roof repeatedly turns angry and violent throughout the day. Outside for the last 3 days gusts of wind continuously slingshot the tree canopies back and forth while the rain pours down on them. The concrete jungle outside turned into a lake of continuously rippling murky water.

As I take refuge from the vicious skies and abundance of water building up around me I feel calm and dehydrated. With the excessive amount of rain a water main burst right in front of our cottage. So for almost 72 hours my cottagemates and I look outside at fresh water falling from the skies and switch our faucets on to see a strong flow of sediment and insect infested yellowish brown water.

Mom’s famous words in Mexico, “Don’t Drink the Water!” speak to me while I reside in the European Union. In Egypt and Mexico I drank the water and not surprisingly saw a strong flow of sediment and insect infested yellowish brown looking water too. I learned my lesson, but with no milk left, our bottled water reserves exhausted, and only a bottle of dehydrating repulsive Stroh’s Austrian hard liquor and a diuretic Smithwhicks Irish beer remaining I’m starting to wonder if maybe I should just drink the water. I mean over the last 5 hours the water looks clear and the small sand, dirt, and bug particles only jump out at you when the water sits still in a glass and the particles keep swirling around.

I take water, like my family, friends, and Jinette, for granted until it’s not available. I mean thankfully the toilet still flushes even though it looks contaminated before I use it. Other than that though, my teeth caked with plaque, dry throat, and body coated with grime reiterate how important water is to my basic survival.

Unless the water runs clean in the next couple hours I’m going to need to pay for a cab into Spiddal with my rancid teeth, strong body odor, and dirty clothes to get bottles of water. I’m going to go do that before I run dry, literally.

Drunken Mornings

I asked J.P. Friday night if I was gonna work for him Saturday and he told me he'd need help Saturday night. Turns out he meant Sunday morning...

At 8:30p.m. Saturday night I began working for him. Myself, J.P., 2 middle aged woman, and a middle aged man served food, bar tended, bussed tables, and facilitated a party for 80 which turned into one for 150...

I started by taking drink orders for tables and delivering trays of pints, mixed drinks, pops, and hard ciders. I pushed through the crowd dodging youngsters running around below me and drunk adults stumbling around above. I nervously transported the trays through the sea of people. The cost of liquor with their high taxes in Ireland made it seem as if I was moving trays of liquid gold only I didn't have the security of a Brink Truck.

After delivering their first round I collected empty glasses. Meanwhile the Irish party goers bought more booze, then after that bought more, and more, and then even more, then it slowed down so they danced, sang, and bought even more. After that they bought even more! I bet each person averaged 6 drinks... From ages 18-90 they all drank and they all could handle their liquor. Live music filled the airwaves and put a beat to the pounding of their beers. The musician played Irish music and American folk like Dylan and Cash. The drunk older generation showed off their dance moves while the younger generation looked in amazement. I didn't know old people could move that quick... I guess while I was virtually moving with Nintendo video games my parents and grandparents generation were working and actually dancing. I guess if you don't play Dance Dance Revolution you need to learn the real deal...

In between songs the elderly athletic dances quenched their thirst with pints of Guinness. Meanwhile my generation nursed their drinks and only wished they could dance. At midnight the live music left and the DJ moved in. Slowly the elderly exited the dance floor for a drinking break and the young guns loaded with liquor took their shot at the dance floor. The music turned into classics like the Village People, Simon and Garfunkel, Neil Diamond, Don McLean, and Grease...

Eventually the whole party consumed the dance floor and drunkenly moved to the music...

Meanwhile I continuously bussed the tables taking stacks and stacks of empty pint glasses, and mixed drink glasses back to the bar to be washed and redistributed. In between taking stacks of glassware back I cleared the tables of empty glass bottles and filled the recycling bin. I filled 3 trash cans full of bottles over the course of the night! And replenished the ice pails mounted on each corner of the pub multiple times.

Numerous times throughout the night/early morning drunken Irish stopped me to comment on my work ethic. One stopped me and said, "You know how I know you're not Irish...? Cuz we don't work that fast here, you need to slow down, you're making us look bad..." or the other bar tender looked at me and called me over to him and joked by asking, "Have you seen your passport lately?" I looked at him in a confused manner and he continued, "You better hold on tight to it cuz if J.P. finds it he might burn it and keep you hostage here as his worker." (I decided to omit the excessive F bombs embedded in the quotes so they didn't distract from the point of the statement.)

Around 2a.m. the bar closed and a metal sliding gate fell from the ceiling and rested on the bar table top. As J.P. dropped the gate a drunk guy literally slipped his hand in the way and slid it back up and demanded another beer.

Around 3a.m. the drinks were emptied, the toilets filled with urine and throw up and the dancing started to dwindle. J.P. turned off the music, turned on the lights, opened the doors, began stacking the chairs, and started fan ventilation to freeze out the remaining 50 or so drunks.

The lack of music led them to making their own jingles. Multiple groups of people gathered around separate informal entertainers who told folk stories, sang their national anthem, and sang folk songs. I listened in amazement to the witty folk songs... Then I heard our national anthem and laughed with J.P. It was a sorry attempt, but it put a smile on my face.

Finally at 4a.m with 5 kegs cashed, 3 bins of empty bottles filled, trays upon trays of food eaten, and a cold draft blowing through the building the last of the drunks hit up a taxi and left.

J.P. and I bundled up all the table clothes, stacked the tables, finished stacking the chairs, and locked up. I walked out the door around 5a.m.

I fell asleep with the sun peaking through the blinds of my window...

Saddening All Saints Day

I rubbed the crust out my eyes, brushed, flossed, smeared on my deodorant and started a 30min adventure to town. A group of 7 of us wandered down the road with church as our destination. As the speed of our watches caught up to us we picked up the pace. The clock ticked 11:00a.m. and the church bells rang out. Thankfully, church is as on time as our buses--late.

The group us unshowered, unshaven, English speaking, jean panted Americans met eyes with a church of angry looking, sad, extremely conservatively dressed Gaelic speakers. It felt as out of place as when I wore my Johnnies (Condom) shirt around Belfast. But why? Maybe they thought we we're British?

The church was still, silent, and serious. A cold eerie draft pushed us through the door as we moved in. All the parishioners were dressed in depressing dark clothes. We invaded the back pew and shuffled in as a bell rang notifying us mass begun. It being a holy day of obligation the place was a full house.

Over the rows and sea of people Joe noticed the front row of men in tuxes. Then he noticed the casket and pointed it out to all of us. All at once we stood up and attempted to leave mass, but Kevin sat his ground. Sitting at the end of the row he held all the power. We awkwardly stood up then Kevin denied us access and we sat down and sunk in our seats. (Kevin never really explained why he wouldn't budge).

So there we sat surrounded by a full house of depressed Gaelic speakers. I felt sorry for the people, but because of the language barrier never figured out who died or what the circumstances were... I'd been to enough funerals in the last year I really didn't want to go through another. It put me in a depressed mood...

Even though I wanted to leave I figured leaving halfway through would be even more disrespectful than sitting through it.

As I put my hands out for Communion the Eucharistic minister's eyes ate my soul. She looked at me like I was the most repulsive, disgusting, piece of scum to ever walk the earth. I cannot tell you how horrible I felt. I've never wanted to not take Communion like I did at that moment.

We looked up the mass time for Holy Days, so our mistake was innocent... but not unnoticed.