Stereotypes

Here is a little blog full of observations and stereotypes. Fasten your seatbelt:

Stereotype: Irish men are attractive.
Status: Disproved
Analysis:
I came here ready to see some men. You know, everyone was like "better tell your boyfriend to be careful, they don't make 'em here like they do back in Ireland." Well, first of all, I'm not in Ireland. I'm in Northern Ireland, which is a British state much like Scotland and Wales. Now, I don't hear anyone saying, "ooh, I need to find me a good Welsh man." No. THAT just doesn't happen.

Okay, to navigate away from geography. The men I've come into contact with have a.) all had bad teeth b.) been hard to understand c.) been all-around unattractive. The accent isn't even that great. An English accent is much, much more gentle on the ears, and, in my humble opinion, MUCH more attractive. But, in all fairness, they haven't seemed to take much of a liking to me either. American boys, please.

Stereotype: The weather here sucks.
Status: Still under consideration.
Analysis:
It's a temperate maritime climate. Yeah. Sometimes it rains out of no clouds. But, on the other hand, it very rarely falls below 30 degrees fahrenheit. I'm leaning towards disproving this one. When the sun is shining here, the hills are green, the coast and beaches are beautiful, and there are baby lambs everywhere outside of the city. I don't know if you could beat this. Maybe Albuquerque. Maybe. But at least there isn't dirt in the gusts that knock you down here.

Stereotype: People here are drunks.
Status: Proven.
Analysis:
As one of the most discussed stereotypes of Irish people in the world, I really thought I could come here and disprove it. Fat fucking chance. It's not really even the old people that are crazy about their drink. Things that I have done in the States, and have been considered fucking ridiculous/insane, would be looked at as an everyday activity here. Like, every stupid thing I have drunkenly accomplished in my lifetime could be completed by a 14 year old girl on a Tuesday night before 8pm. Seriously. This place is fucked up.

Stereotype: The food here sucks.
Status: Relative comment
Analysis:
While the food here may suck, it's certainly no worse than the midwest. Hot dish? C'mon! What the fuck is a hot dish? All the week's leftover ingredients thrown in a pan and cooked in the oven? At least here they have good bacon (although too salty for me), good beer, good whisky, good sausages, and good potatoes. AND no one is obsessed with ketchup here like they are in the midwest. It's no New Mexico, but it's no Minnesota either.

Okay, I think that's enough dispelling and confirming of stereotypes for now, but I have once last observation to make:

Observation:
People here do not know how to share a sidewalk. You know, in the States we walk on the right side of the sidewalk. It's just how it's done. Just like driving. Naturally, I assumed that it was the same here, just on the opposite side of the footpath. Actually, people just don't fucking move. They take up wherever they want and don't move for other people. I don't understand how people get anywhere here. I actually ran into a girl today because I'm a stubborn bitch. I'll teach all of the UK to walk, one idiot at a time.

Waiting.

Just waiting for the rest of the group to show up and listening to Jaws Theme Swimming.

I got into a fight with Mike last night so now I feel miserable. Even though it was resolved (I guess) before I fell asleep, I feel kinda gutted.

I hate it when I feel this way.

I've learned:
1. It's harder to have disagreements and resolve disagreements when you're 5000 miles and 5 hours away.
2. Showering everyday is overrated.
3. I need him.

UGH.

It rains here out of no clouds. Seriously. I looked outside, it looked BEAUTIFUL. I walked to work, it WAS beautiful. THEN I felt drops on my head. Thinking it was just water shaking off of the trees, I scoffed when I saw a girl opening her umbrella.

IT STARTED FUCKING RAINING AND THERE WASN'T A CLOUD IN SIGHT.

I mean, I'm not a meteorologist or anything, but I don't even know how that is fucking possible.

Got to work, had some coffee, thawed out, worked some more, then IT HAPPENED AGAIN ON THE WAY HOME.

Fuck "temperate maritime" climates. Fuck 'em.

Don't touch me there.

Belfast makes me feel numb.

Bright side of day:
40-something woman I work with officially has the same drinking rule as me--Lips go numb, no more liquor. I was going say something about the other half of that (pants come off), but I didn't think it was appropriate for my first day at a non-profit.

I think the men of the organization are so soft spoken because these women are crazy. haha. I think I'll fit right in. Though I didn't feel comfortable enough today to jump in on the conversation about vibrators. Maybe tomorrow.

Also:
99p for an Ulster Fry? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ulster_Fry
hell fucking yeah.

Blast

Save for a short walk to time my walk to work in the morning, I stayed in my room alllll day.

I'm lame. Officially.

mm. Sunday morning.

Okay, so I broke down and created a blog. Mostly for you, Alyssa and Margie. :)

I've spent the last 3 weeks in Coleraine, UK (aka small, university city, where people from Northern Ireland take off on nights and weekends), and now I'm sitting in my room at Queen's University in Belfast. I start my internship tomorrow, and I'm slightly nervous, but when I met the people on Wednesday they kinda seemed like crazy fucks like me. So I think I'll fit in.

So far, Belfast has given me mixed feelings. Friday night was a wash. I don't know if anything has ever intimidated me more than the square mile I walked on Friday night. I'll try to expain, here goes:

1. Indian food. We weren't very hungry so we ducked into an Indian restaurant to grab some appetizers. I'd never eaten Indian food, so it was all a new experience for me. We ordered water, they brought us bottles of water. Because we're living on a tight budget, we weren't exactly happy about that. But whatever. Then we ordered appetizers and the guy got angry at us. It's not like they were busy, the only other people in the restaurant were a group of 40-something women at a hen party (bachelorette party), so we weren't taking up a precious table. When he got mad, Ira just suggested to him that we pay for the water and leave, but he wouldn't let us do that either. After that encounter, the mood had sobered. As if we weren't already exhausted from the move. Every few minutes they came to take something away from our table. First silverware, then plates. It was the weirdest fucking thing ever. We felt so awkward. The awkwardness lasted through the meal, which we were sure they had spit in, and we left to find a pub to drown our awkward sorrows.

2. Pub. Our adventure down the road lasted forever. I don't know where the hell we were walking, but I was in heels that hadn't been broken in yet, and I'm pretty sure we walked about a mile from our village and turned around. People lead the group, but are never quite sure where they're leading us to. Friday night, we were led to homeless men, racist shouting, loud pubs, bar whores, and toes with blisters. We went into a couple pubs that weren't what we were looking for and they all got a pint. Figures that the ONE pub that we didn't go into was probably the best fit, and Alisha and Jake were inside having a pint. The streets of Belfast on a Friday night are dark, dirty, and full of wasted people (no matter what time) and kebab shops. Not my ideal city. When we were waiting for a stoplight to change, a homeless man with no teeth came up to me, got really really close, and asked me a question. I think it was something like, "Do you know where I can get a good pint?" Considering there are about 360 pubs per square inch in the United Kingdom, not to mention liquor stores, I just stared at him. When he got more forceful I just said, "I'm not from here" and ignored him. Sometimes here the "American" accent can get you more attention and trouble than you want, but thank God the light changed and we crossed the street. While this was going down, there was an Irish man on the street corner shouting racist comments at and spitting on a Somali man. I think that shook me more than the homeless man with no teeth. I didn't know what to do. I certainly couldn't get between the two. Irish men are scary when they're drunk, which, in my experience, is about 98% of the time.


People here are crazy fucks. Seriously. And not the good kind of crazy fuck. Last night was much better because Alisha and Jake were here. I was super tired, but Ariel, Jake, Alisha and I got Chinese food and went to Lavery's for some rugby and a pint. There were old men, piss drunk, grabbing Ariel's knee. This man didn't have any of the top joints on the fingers of his right hand. Honestly, men that age with injuries like that scare me because it pretty much signals an act of retribution from paramilitaries. Here is a little equation that illustrates the issue at hand (no pun intended):

Rugby+alcohol+camaraderie+man with no fingers(violent past) = UNCOMFORTABLE AMERICAN GIRLS IN THE CORNER

Okay, I'm done complaining. It's not as bad as it sounds, but it's not the opposite either.

Summation:

1. BELFAST IS NOT SUNSHINE AND BUTTERFLIES
2. DO NOT EAT AT CAFE INDIA ON MALONE ROAD
3. DON'T MAKE EYE CONTACT. STARE STRAIGHT AHEAD WHEN PASSING GROUPS.
4. IRISH MEN ARE THE WEIRDEST SOLICITORS EVER (MORE ON THAT LATER)
5. DON'T TALK TOO LOUDLY. YOU NEVER KNOW WHO "HATES AMERICANS"