Spicy Turkey Panini

I forgot to take a picture, so this will have to suffice
until I came it again. Sorry!

This weeks recipe will be a twist of the classic turkey sandwich.

"I never thought mixing salsa and turkey would make sense but it has a kick!" -Dylan

Directions:
1. Take two slices of bead. The big thick "fancy" bread works best for this, but any brand is fine. Butter one side of each slice, and put them a pan. Set the stove on low.
[If you have a same panini grill, like me, that works even better!]
2. Lay one to two slices of cheese on one slice of bread. I use Coby Jack. = ] Then place your turkey slices on top of the cheese. My favorite to use is the carve-board turkey; it has an overall better taste with this style of sandwich.
3. Place salsa on the other slice of bread. I use Tostitos's mild chunky salsa.
4. When the bread is nicely toasted, put them together. And you have your Spicy Turkey Panini.

Note: Other recipes add mustard to this as well, for a zesty flavor. Just try it out, and have fun with it.

Adding Some Color Into My Life

Gotta get my duck face on!

So I was visitting one of my favorite websites, Pinterest, and I came across this lovely hair-do with deep red color on top, and platinum blonde on the bottom. It was gorgeous. Instantly, I wanted to see if I could do something similar with my own hair. My hair was getting a weird copper color recently with all the sun I've been soaking up, and was way too long for my short physique. So I decided it was time to color it up.





 Steps to get to this new do:

1. Don't be afraid to look stupid. During the process, as seen in the photo to the right, and afterwards. If it looks bad, it's just hair. And there is always more dye to fix it. 
2. Figure out how much blonde (or any other desired color) you wish to add. I played it safe, and didn't add as much. I figured I'll just return at a later date to add more if I want to. 
3. Divided hair into sections. Bleach bottom section. 
4. Next is to dye the top part. I just had my salon dye it a shade darker than my natural color to get a rich red. Make sure to have them set in peak-a-boo highlights, to avoid block coloring and to help the colors blend. 
5. Wait forever. 
6. Dry and fashion hair accordingly. Since it's a new color, try different styles to be even more adventurous. There's endless possibilities when it comes to a woman's hair. Just enjoy yourself. 

Here's the end result for myself. I will more than likely add more blonde to the bottom eventually. But all in all, not too shabby. :)

Hughie's Big Day

As previously stated earlier, Hugh Hugh and I attended the annual Bark in the Park for the first time this year. Unfortunately, I am not sure if Hughie can par take in future years. =/ Although I take him for a two mile walk almost every day, Hughie had trouble walking this walk. The weather was awful, nearly 95 degrees out and he refused to drink out of the watering bowls the humane society put out for the dogs. He took frequent spots in the shade, and often would just lay down where he could. I felt so bad of him. But he did get a lot of attention, receiving treats from strangers. I know, I know, stranger danger...but times are tough, and Hughbert deserved it. When we got back home, all we did was sleep (I had been up for nearly 30 hours straight due to work, and he was just too tired from the walk). When we woke, we watched some Dawson's Creek, and had a feast made for a king. I was happy we raised some money to help out other pups in need, and maybe in the future we'll try something else. Probably just not a walk in the hot summer sun anymore.

I had to carry Hugh Hugh part way cause he was so tuckered out. 

Hughie on his shade break.

The Effects of Disney Princesses and Barbie on Young Girls

[Caution: This paper was written by me nearly three years ago, just so readers know the time frame this was in. Also, if you wish to read more about topics like this, please feel free to click the "Kerry-ing for a Cause" tab above. Thank you.] 

     Whether or not parents realize their children are influenced by the images, they are. According to Helga Dittmar, Emma Halliwell and Suzanne Ive, authors of the article “Does Barbie Make Girls Want to Be Thin? The Effect of Experimental Exposure to Images of Dolls on the Body Image of 5- to-8-Year-Old Girls’”, girls, as young as six years old, are affected by the images of Barbie to be thin. Dittmar et al continues to state that about eighty percent of younger girls have a fear of becoming obese. Along with Barbie, Disney’s Princesses also “encourage very young girls to emulate their heroines,” according to Kira Coshrane, author of “The Dangerous World of the Princess” (22). These images can have negative effects on young girls. Creators for Disney and Barbie dolls should make changes in how they present princesses and Barbie. The creators should create new images. The media plays an important role in how these girls think. Barbie and Princesses are main contributors. If the creators of Barbie and the Princesses would create new dolls and new princesses, ones with a healthier body image and who are more independent and act more intelligent, then girls would have a better figure to admire.

Life size Barbie compared to a healthy "skinny" woman

     Young children are very impressionable. Young girls notice Barbie’s and the princesses’ physique, and in return, they believe that is how they should look. Girls tend to idolize Barbie and the princesses. They wish they had their hair, their skin, their clothes, their car, their boyfriends and mostly their body. Barbie and her perfect, plastic, manufactured body and the princesses and their highly unrealistic proportions and not-drawn-to-scale bodies have been a classic image for beauty. Girls tend to think that Barbie and these princesses are what the norm is and are how they are expected to look when they are older.  Since they are exposed to her so young, and young girls are not usually exposed to types of images other than these, they do not realize that Barbie and the princesses are not “the norm.”  Unfortunately, Barbie’s physical perfection is impossible according to Dittmar.  In a study referenced by Dittmar, real women have less than 1 in 100,000 chance of looking like Barbie and having her body proportions: “Were Barbie a flesh-and-blood woman, her waist would be 39% smaller than that of anorexic patients, and her body weight would be so low that she would not be able to menstruate (Rintala & Mustajoki, 1992)” (Dittmar). Barbie would have to starve herself, and become severely malnutritioned in order to look like herself. Young children cannot realize this fact, and most adults do not tell them these facts. They continue to idolize these images.

      Like Barbie, the princesses have highly unlikely proportions, and perfect body, hair, and complexion. However, unlike Barbie, they also can stereotype women as unintelligent, and dependent upon men to save them. Kira Cochrane states, “Based around Disney princesses such as Snow White, Cinderella and [Aurora] from Sleeping Beauty, it encourages very young girls to emulate their heroines. Be pretty, be helpful…” (22). While being helpful is definitely a good characteristic to have, princess stories do not teach young girls to be independent, to help save themselves as opposed to waiting for their prince to come along. Cochrane continues to say how she thinks that there should be something “that encouraged girls to be dangerous, too. Because if any group needed to be encouraged to take risks, it’s young women” (23).  Unfortunately, there are girls out there that will continue to believe in princesses and princes. They do not learn how to take risks, but to sit around waiting for their prince to help them. Then, these girls become adults, who feel as though they are actual princesses and wait for their princes to come save them from this horrible world, Alexandra, a friend of mine, being an example. Alexandra is twenty years old, and signs her name “Princess Alex”. She never learned that she was not a princess, and that there are no real princes either. She continuously compares her boyfriends to the princes in the story books and movies, always thinking the one she dates will be the one who saves her, rescues her from this “horrible world.” She used to say this world is horrible, and in fact, still does, because of the people who told her that she was not a princess and that she should stop waiting for her prince. Whoever she was dating at the time was her prince in shining armor, until they broke up with her, broke her heart, then they became a frog in her mind. She would say that she was “the real Cinderella and that one day [her] prince would come.” She never learned to become independent, to deal with this “horrible world” by herself, on her own. Women, like Alexandra, do not realize the impact these images from their childhood had on their ability to be independent, as well as intelligent, young women.

     These images not only hinder girls’ abilities to become bright, self-sustaining women, but they also make the women fear becoming overweight. Some girls grow up still with the impression bedded in their minds that Barbie as well as the princesses encompass everything. They continue to idolize their bodies. In return, they become obsessed with body image, and develop a fear of becoming fat. They also fear that their children would become obese. My own mother, once a thin beauty herself, tried to sign me up for Weight Watchers when I was only eleven years old. The doctor had told her I was twelve pounds over the average weight for someone my height. My friend’s father told her she should go on a diet because she weighted more than her sisters. She was also nine inches taller than her sisters. In a study referred to by Dittmar, there are parents who think their five-year-olds are too fat, even some parents think their babies are too fat. They put them on diets and force them to work out, to insure their children do not become obese.  With children growing up with these images, as well as their parents putting such an emphasis on being thin, the cycle only continues. These children will then grow up to become obsessed with weight like their parents did.

     While parents have a strong effect on their children, there is another effect. Children are strongly affected by children around them, their peers. These children‘s peers also have negative body images, and their peers project their ideas of a healthy body image. According to Dittmar, the teasing of peers strongly affects children.

 “These findings emphasize not only the importance of social pressures of thinness but also attitudes toward weight. Indeed, 6-to 13-year-olds showed evidence of body dissatisfaction, with all age groups wanting to be thinner (Gardner, Friedman, & Jackson, 1999). Children from age 4 to age 6 were shown to favor a thin body (Musher-Eizenman, Holub, Edwards-Leeper, Persson, & Goldstein, 2003), and Cramer and Steinwert (1998) reported that 4-to 5-year-olds showed an aversion to “chubby” figures, whereas 3-year-olds did not” (Dittmar).

This is a result from other parents influencing their children to be thin, and the images of Barbie and the princesses that impact the children’s impressions of body image and behavior. These children, who are around the age of five, start to take in more of the world around them, which is why they are so impressionable. So, if what they have been told by their parents and the main images of their childhood, Barbie and the princesses, tells them to be thin, and other kids around them are not, there will be some teasing involved. They tease children who may be slightly overweight because for these children, that is not normal or acceptable. This teasing only hurts the overweight children’s self-esteem, and body image, which repeats the cycle of being obsessed with body image for young children.

      Some would argue that Barbie and the princesses empower girls to believe they can do what they want, that they are worthy of what Barbie and the princesses have as well. These images show girls that they can have the boyfriend/prince, the car/carriage, the dream house/castle, etc. The fact that Barbie can do so much, for instance, be a dentist, a nurse, a mom, a fashion designer, makes young girls realize they too can be any one of these occupations. However, there is a underlining assumption that in order to get all the things that Barbie and the princesses have, you must look and act like them. While Barbie may encourage girls to fulfill their desire of becoming what they wish to be as adults, Barbie, along with the princesses, put a lasting impression on girls that they must look and act a certain way to get these things. This only hinders the girls’ creativity, self-esteem, intelligence and independence. Girls think they must look and act like the princesses in order to get the prince to fall for them, and for him to save them; yet, it never occurs to them that they can save themselves. This fact helps to lower the girls’ ability to remain independent and intelligent. These images overall are poor images for girls to look up too.

Disney Token "Feminists"

     Others would say that not all princesses act dumb and are completely dependent on others. This is true. Ariel, or the Little Mermaid, is more independent than other princesses. In fact, her independence and desire to break free of her surroundings is the reason why she even meets her prince. However, Ariel’s figure is still unrealistic, which still sets a poor body image in young girls’ minds. Also, Ariel tends to think illogically. She was so obsessed with the prince and in love with him, that she started acting less intelligent. She would idolize the statue of Eric, and act like a typical girl, giggle continuously at what she imaged he would say to her, all the while never showing her truth strength and intelligence. She signed the contract with Ursula that almost lost her freedom, which shows she was not using her intelligence at the moment. Then, she needed her father and Eric to come rescue her from Ursula, a evil sea witch who wanted to harm Ariel, which does not show as much independence. Another princesses that shows a change in character is Belle, or the Beauty in Beauty and the Beast. Belle is intelligent, reads continuously, and does not need to be saved by any prince or her father. Also, the message from that movie is that true beauty cannot be seen.  This is a better image for young girls. However, most princesses do not act like Belle; and, there still is no princess that is not extremely thin, and that appears to have a flaw with her physically.

     There is no Barbie or princess that is not unrealistically thin. Likewise, there is not enough images from Barbie and the princesses to show girls how to be independent and intelligent. This negatively affects young girls. It teaches them that being unrealistically thin is normal and that independence and intelligence is not highly valued. The creators for Barbie and Disney’s princesses should work to create new images that are not as thin, and show more independence and intelligence. Then, girls would have better role models to look up to and the numbers of girls with body image issues and self-esteem issues would be lower. 

Bark in the Park: Hughie Edition

<---- Hughie Hefner 

Hello my lovely Readers,

This Sunday, my wonderful pup and I will be walking in the annual Bark in the Park to support our local Humane Society. If you have the time, please check out my donation page. There you can read a bit about why I am walking, and why it's worth your time and money to help us out. Here's the link:
http://www.toledobarkinthepark.org/Markslist/campaign/display/profile.do?campaignId=9732

IF you can't afford to donate, please spread the link to anyone you know that would be willing to help. We greatly appreciate it!

Sincerely,
Kerry and Hughie

Trying Something New!

Recently, I have vowed to become more knowledgeable in the ways of cooking. Eating out all the time gets expensive, and eating pasta everyday is just plain boring. So, now I am challenging myself to make at least one new dish per week. I'll post some pictures here along with the recipe. Dylan's my taste tester, so I'll make sure to include what he says about my dishes!

This week: Morning Buns

"They taste like Snicker-doodles!" -Dylan (for Dylan, that's a very good thing!)

 I truly enjoy Starbucks' morning buns. But like I said, eating out every morning is expensive, even if it's just at a coffee shop. One morning I just fiddled around with crescents, cinnamon, and sugar. What make out of it was surprisingly like Starbucks morning buns. And they're cheap and easy to boot!

Directions: 

1. Preheat Oven to 375, or what is said on the side of the crescents can. I prefer Pillsbury =]
2. Unhold the triangles, and add desired amounts of cinnamon and sugar. The more the better!
3. Roll the triangles up into the traditional crescent shape. In a small bowl to the side, roll the crescent in sugar. Then, if preferred, mold the crescent into a circular shape (like a bun). 
4. Place in the oven for 14 minutes, or follow the time on the side of the can. 
5. Let cool for five minutes. Enjoy!!

From a Time that was Never Planned

Attempt to leave Ireland #1

Attempt to leave Ireland #2

The Ritz, where I stayed my last night abroad. Much better than the hostels and B&Bs I was at for the last three weeks.

Jennifer and I
I was awake for 42 hours when this photo was taken.

Hello Chicago...and snow....

My Journey: Back to the States

Sadly, after three months of travelling alone, I was ready to go home. I was extremely tired, and my health was starting to fail me again. I needed to go home.


I was planning on arriving in Cork around midnight, staying at Bru Bar for a few hours until my plane left around seven o'clock. Then it'd be just a quick eight hour flight to the states, and then just a few more hours until I'm in my apartment, cuddling with my pup again. Well, life's funny sometimes. You know the saying, tell God your plans, and he'll laugh? That's exactly what happened here.

There was a longer delay on my flight to Cork than expected, due to weather. By the time we were twenty minutes outside of Cork airport, the pilot announced his plan to divert the plane to Dublin, and from there they'll arrange a bus to take us to Cork. Or so I was told. See, at this point I was passed out due to illness and lack of oxygen, and the heavy turbulence did not help anything. I woke up to the plane cheering as we landed in Dublin, severely confused. At this point it was about half past twelve midnight, and Cork was three hours away.  And the bus would show for another two hours. So there I am sitting on the side of the road, waiting for this tour-like bus to arrive, at 1am. By the time I arrived in Cork, it was 5am. I checked in for my 7am flight, hailed a cab and went to the bar. I could not stand to be in the airport another minute. I thought my troubles with airlines couldn't get any worse...I was wrong.

I sent to Bru bar, and chilled for two hours there with Jeff, the barman from before. Listened to some of his music, and drank a few beers, much like I had done before. Just trying to relax, and count done until I could be home again. When it was time to go, Jeff called a cab, and went to the airport. Sat for awhile talking to the cabbie about life and my journey thus far. Enjoying my last connection I planned on having over there. But again, life is funny.

My plane was delayed by three hours. I tried sleeping, but I couldn't due to all the reshuffling the flight attendants made us do. At this point, I was up for 27 hours straight, minus the time I passed out on the plane from London. By the time we landed in Heathrow, my connecting flight for the states was long gone. I spent the next four hours running from terminal to terminal trying to find the right person at the right desk to help reschedule my flight. Along the way, I ran into two fellow travelers from my flight, Jennifer and Rick. Jennifer was Asian Canadian, and Rick was like an Australian version of my father, but much more sociable. Together we spent the better part of 4 hours arguing with airline officials, trying to manipulate us into a seat on respectable planes home. Well, Jen and I couldn't get one until the following day, and poor Rick was looking at having to wait 3-4 days to a flight out of the country, and then possibly even longer to get a connecting flight that would actually take him all the way home. Another misfortune for Rick was that the airline wouldn't pay for his stay in London until they could rebook a flight for him, like they did for Jen and me. We combined our rooms, and gave him one of our slips so that he could have a place to stay for at least one night. And eventually, the airline gave him one night free at the same hotel as us, with complimentary dinner and breakfast.

The three of us ate dinner together, with another women from our flight traveling to California. We sat and drank until the barmen kicked us out. Then we continued to talk in our rooms. We talked about life, relationships, our journeys thus far. Rick was going through a divorce, and was in Ireland to see his beautiful baby girl. Jennifer was 37 years old, and afraid she'd never find a person to settle down with. Me, I was a lost girl, not 100% sure what she wanted out of life, or who she should be with, just trying her hardest to figure it all out. Surprisingly enough, so were the "adults" I was accompanied with.

We each were able to help each other figure out some answer to our real problems, in a small way. Rick and I helped talking Jennifer into changing her anxious ways. Jen and I helped Rick realize his need to keep the spark alive, and how to fight for the woman he loved. Jennifer and Rick helped me realize I had time still to figure out my life, and to change my path if I took a wrong turn somewhere. They taught me about "ships passing by in the night", about how things will eventually line up the way they always meant to be. I was afraid to let someone just be a passing ship; Rick showed me how that's what needs to happen in this life. And because of that, moments are all the more special. Ironically, Rick became a passing ship himself. He took my contact information, because he wanted to see how I went back home and started making changes in my life. Well, he never wrote. Jennifer did once or twice, but then they both became two ships I passed by one night in January. And that night, that was never suppose to happen, was the best way to end my trip. That moment will always be one of my favorites from my journey. Never to be forgotten.



P.S. If you wish to see more photos, check out my travels blog! http://the-end-of-your-comfortzone.tumblr.com/

Walking Tour of London

One of many Wellington monuments

Queen V, a sign of Hope

Rolan, our marvelous tour guide. Sorry I didn't give a tip, but I was poor traveling student, and all. :/

The colors changing on Parliament, so beautiful. The far side is where Guy Fawkes tried to blow up the government and failed. Still to this day, we say, "Remember, remember the fifth of November. Gunpowder, treason and plot. I see no reason why gunpowder, treason should ever be forgot..."

My Journey: London, post New Year's

You can see some of the photos I took on New Year's eve with the guys. That night was...comical, I suppose? The next morning was a rough one for all, except me. I was hangover-free as usual. I already mentioned my fantastic day, but the guys' day consisted of sleep, water and soup. And a little bit of fried food for my fellow American.

We shared stories from what we remembered, and filled each other in on what happened after we got spilt up. RECAP: I was mistaken for an Irish woman multiple times, and danced on a bar (My bartender, as shown below, danced with me). Adam got me and him lost, walking around London for three hours during the early morning. Then, he tried to kiss me. That didn't go well for him, poor guy. Craig, due to his double fisting all night, got real sloppy. And real sick. And Jon was just insulted no one believed he was from Ireland. Later, we went on a walking tour of London. Finally, a beautiful day in the city! All my good photos of London are from that day. I just wish I could have found the Peter Pan statue in Kingston gardens. Months after my trip, looking back I can see just how appropriate that story for me, and these people.

The next two days, I was kind of a bitch to Adam for New Year's. Craig was always a bit off-standish towards me when sober, and remained that way until his hug goodbye. Jon was playing hot, warm and cold with me. He would be flirty, and then just be a friendly stranger, and then just a stranger all together. It was very frustrating, and I found myself falling back into old tendencies I had when men from my  past would do that. I still feel rather silly and humiliated for some of the things I said and did around him. But like all the others, we said goodbye and walked away promising to keep in contact. Then, we forgot to exchange emails/phone numbers.

I was running late to the airport, but being the skilled traveller that I am at this point, I knew Heathrow like the back of my hand. Also, as the fates would have it, my flight was delayed due to weather related issues. I didn't realize just how terrible it was out there until I was already in the air....

New Year's 2011

No one was really ready for my photos haha

My bartender

"The Guys"

My Journey: New Year's in London

Something incredible happened on New Year’s eve, and I can’t tell you what yet. It changed my life that’s for sure though.

I went on a Pub Crawl for New Years with Adam. There, I met and spent the next few days with Craig and Jon (two men who were staying in my hostel). There was some comfort and confidence back in my personality; I was beginning to feel familiarity with them even after one day. Craig was from N. Carolina, so we bonded over missing home. Jon is from Dublin, so we bonded over our love for Ireland, and both of our wishfulness to return one day. They were really something else, especially that night. We got separated during the night, so for the later parts, it was just me and Adam. We got lost for four hours trying to make it back home. We were so far from where we should have been, taxis wouldn’t even take us home. Adam had been taking triple shots of burben all night, but swore up and down his sobriety. Yeah, right. At that point, I was sober….and annoyed. It was a crazy night; one not to be forgotten that’s for sure.

The following day, while others were too hungover to do much of anything other than sleep, I found my way around London by myself. I figured out how to use the tube system (mastered even) and could have even made a map of the city by the end of the day. I have never felt more accomplished. I was terrified to travel in such a huge city alone, with no help (cause the English aren’t always good for that). I could feel my self-confidence grow by the minute. It was such a wonderful feeling, and one that isn’t easy to describe. So, if I am doing a poor job, please forgive me.

Later, I met up with the guys again….that was interesting…..

Touristy Tour Numero Uno

A guard from the Tower of London hitting on me while we take a photo together. Only in London, England. And everywhere else on my trip. Ha. 

Me, in front of London Bridge 

London, England

Bath, England

Praying in Bath, England

Stonehenge, England

Stonehenge, England

The British are coming! The British are coming!

I lost that scarf after I got back. I reallly miss it :(

Inside Windsor Castle

My Journey: Londinium, England

I arrived in London about midnight. I was already overwhelmed with the city. People warned me about the English being in-personable; and, they were right. I almost couldn’t find a way to my hostel. I had no internet and many didn’t seem to want to help me get there. I wasn’t sure how to use the tube, or the heathrow express, so I took a taxi. HUGE mistake. It cost 65 lbs, which is about 130 usd. Awesome, right? 

Eventually I arrive to my home for the next six days, and was again overwhelmed. There was an exponential growth in the popular compared to how many people were staying in my hostels previous to this. I stayed in an all female 16 bed dorm. It was disgusting. I didn’t realize girls could be so gross. They burped, farted, quiffed, walked around naked (and they definitely didn’t have the bodies to be doing so, either), coughed, sneezed, gagged. It was nasty. And none of them spoke. It was so awkward. I thought they were mute for awhile. It was bipolar experience, in complete contrast from Ireland. Great. 

I spent the first two days just going on tours. Big bus tours, the tourist of tours essentially. I saw Windsor, meh. I saw Stonehenge, meh. I saw Bath, meh. At this point I was completely over traveling. I didn’t prefer this city at all. I just wanted to get it over and done with. It was a horrible feeling. This feeling also probably had something to do with what happened my last night in Ireland, but we won’t get into  that gem of a story. I met a cute young couple from LA who vacation together every new years. It was their tradition which they started about four years previous. They stayed in London for a little while, but then were going to Amsterdam for actual New Year’s. I hope one day, I get to be like that with my significant other. They actually helped me figure out what exactly I want to do. I mean I want to be a nurse, but I didn’t know where to go. They told me about their friend who was a ‘traveling nurse’. Basically, you tell your boss where you want to live, they find you work and pay for your housing. Almost all the money I’d make would be pocket money. That’d help when it comes to trying to move to Ireland in four years. 

That was only the first day bee tee dubs. The second day I got to see all the tourist areas in London, and learned a bit about the city’s history, which helped spark my interest a minuscule amount. I enjoyed conversing with the tour guide. He was funny, and not in a too British humor kind of way, if that makes sense. He helped me understand the politics that were happening over there, and I did the same to an extent with American issues. It was nice just chatting again with someone. 

That tour ended, and I decided to go back home. I once again did nothing that night. I went to the pub, ordered a Heineken and onion rings, like I did almost every night there. I talked to the girl bartender, Maddie, who was nice enough. The cook was an Italian man, who loved/hit on me, naturally. I also met a man named Adam. It sure turned out to be a character that one. He’s an Aussie, just traveling on school grants for about a couple of months at this point. He had no plans, never booked a room more than a day in advance. He was pure craziness. Trust me, you’ll hear more about him later. 

Ring of Kerry/KIllarney, Ireland

Killarney, Ireland

Ring of Kerry, Ireland

Ring of Kerry,  Ireland

Ring of Kerry, Killarney, Ireland

Ring of Kerry, Killarney, Ireland
(I was named after this place!!)

Killarney National Park, Ireland

Killarney National Park

Goodbye, my lovely Ireland.

Oh how I will miss you so! 

I suppose it’s time to write about my time after Cork. I stayed in the train station for a few hours until my train arrived. I met a lovely lady travelling to Dublin. I spoke to her about my journey so far, and her’s in America several years back. She was so warm and welcoming, like most here. God, I love this country more than anything. I have never enjoyed myself so much “alone” before. I put “alone” in paranthesis because, I rarely felt alone here. There was always a kind face, and a welcoming embrass wherever I went. And free pints, as well ;) As previously stated, I truly felt like I belonged here. 

In part, that’s because of the people I met in Killarney. Killarney is about an hour or two trainwise from Cork. Once I arrived, I checked in my B&B, ate, and passed out. It was around 5pm before I got my first sleep in nearly 48 hours. Once I woke, I wondered about town for awhile, looking for a man called Charlie Foley. Allen, from the night before, told me specifically to find him and met him, cause he’d be one to take care of me. 

Well, I met Charley Foley, and he didn’t seem to enthusiastic about his nephew. So I wasn’t welcomed as told, at first. I sat there and drank for a minute, and tried to chime in when I could with a convo the man sitting next to me was having with his brother, the barman. There names were Jerry, and John (respectively). They were going on about drinks, and I called them ridiculous, as only I would. That was my ticket in. The rest of the night I spent talking to Jerry, and John when he was free, about drinks and politics. The Irish sure love drinks and politics! Later on, Charley Foley seemed to warm up to me, and bought me a drink and invited me to visit his other pub down the road. Soon after, everyone was buying my a drink. Mostly Jerry though, only cause I have never had most of the drinks over here. It was fun, meeting him. It helped me realize how outgoing I can be, and how I didn’t necessarily need some by my side all the time (aiding me with my inquisitive shyness at first) to enjoy myself. 

After that bar closed around half past twelve, we went to a bar called Mustang Sally’s, which is a dancing as well as a drinking bar (City tap meets The Attic for instance). I met a few of Jerry’s young friends/relatives, ones who were actually my age. Finally! Some people in their early twenties (20-22). The others were always 26-36! I sat and talked to them for awhile. They took me under their wing, sort of speak, teaching me the ways of the Irish. They taught me slang, how to properly speak to someone, etc… I loved every moment of it, especially because it was all so new and completely random. The people, the culture. I just soaked it in as much as possible. I was learning the Irish ways, and fitting in even more so before the hour was up!

Later, Jerry walked me home. He told me about the town, and his family. Just bullshitting the entire time. He reminded me somewhat of a friend from back home. I took great comfort in him. He was kind, and sweet. He tried to look after me as much as anyone could. He kissed my cheek goodnight, and gave me a hug. We made plans to see each other the following night. 

In the morning, I took a tour of the Ring of Kerry, part of Ireland that I was named after. I have never been hungover, but that day, I was. It was worse because I was in a little buggie, on an uneven road. It took all  I had to not vomit every few feet. That’s what happens when all my drinks are free so long as I match the Irish drink of drink! It sure was gorgeous, though. Some photos are already up, so one can see how lovely the Ring Of Kerry really is. It’s a bizarre area as well. In an hour’s span, I saw sunshine, rain, hail, clouds, clear skies and rainbows. It was magnificent though. The tiny towns we passed by were gorgeous, and had the best soup I have ever had in my entire life. There are three things that I would miss about this country and they are: the people, the free drinks, and the soup. YUM. On this trip, I met other Americans (Finally!) as well as Australians. It was wonderful spending the day bonding with them, sharing our exercise and learning how different they are (even with the fellow Americans). 

After the trip, I went to bed. I had only two hours of sleep thus far. I slept for three, and went back out to Foley’s. I was under the impression that I was suppose to meet Jerry around 8pm, as he said the previous night. That didn’t happen. For the first hour, I was continuously fighting off men trying to stroke my arm or my hair. There was even a couple of friends trying to play a game with me, like in the movies. One would be a complete asshole, then the other would swoop in and save the poor girl from him and take her home for the night. They tried with me, but were unsuccessful. Luckily, Jerry showed up towards the end of that. I pretended to be with him until they left. Then, Jerry and I sat and drank a few pints while some of his brothers and friends trickled in. I spent the night talking, drinking, and shooting the shit with them. When that wasn’t happening, Jerry’s brother Mike was commenting on how lovely my bum appeared to be, even though it was “big” for him. Mike was piss drunk, so I excused it by laughing and simply telling him to “fuck off”. Once Foley’s closed for the night, we again went to Mustang Sally’s to drink and dance a little. It was extremely fun because Mustang’s played old American songs, ones that are barely ever, if than, are on the radio. Later on, Jerry again walked me home, kissed my cheek and said he’d see me the following day. 

That was the last time I saw Jerry. The next day was Christmas Eve, and all that I met seemed to work. I spent in extremely late and just walked around town, ate, and then went back to the room to sleep again. Christmas day, although many offered to have me for dinner, I spent with those staying in my B&B, sharing food and drinks that were given to us the day before. It was a lovely day. I got to talk to many people from back home, who I missed dearly. It helped me tough base again with myself, and what was happening around me. 

The day after Christmas here is known as Boxing Day, or St. Steven’s day. Friends in Killarney worked that day as well, so I was on my own. I found a cute bar called Murphy’s, and once again drank for free for several hours. I hadn’t eaten, and so after only 3-4 pints I was starting to see double. My first time experiencing such a phenomenon, ha! I met a wonderful older couple, Katherine and Don. Katherine was exactly like me, only thirty to forty years older. We shared our life experiences, and our views about certain topics like politics, the homeless, clothing, shopping, and traveling. She saw that I was reading Nicky Sparks, of course, and insisted I send her the book when I’m done. I took her name and address down, as did she mine for she wanted to knit me a scarf (because we both shared an extreme love for scarves). Later, once all were good and intoxicated, I slipped out to find food. I ate at a lovely restaurant called Smoke House. I stopped in several bars on the way to see if they were selling food; they weren’t. But whenever I walked into a bar that day, all male eyes were on me. It was eerie in a way. I’d only seen such reactions in movies, but there I was living in them. The Smoke House was a lovely eatery that reminded me of Tommy’s from CLE. I LOVE THEIR SOUP. Cannot express that enough! 

After Boxing Day, I returned to Cork, hoping to see friends I met the previous week. I saw some, not all. It was nice coming back to something familiar. It’s odd to think of this place as familiar already, seeing how I spent no more time there than Killarney, or any other place abroad. It just had that feeling about it. I wasn’t nervous, or scared. I knew were I was going, and who’d I most likely see. I liked that feeling. 

I spent some time reading at the Shelbourne, and drinking at the Bru Bar. I saw friendly faces that I knew, and it again just felt good to have that familiarity, and to see these people happy that you came back even for one night. I drank for a little bit, and went off to bed around one. I was so tired from the lack of sleep the previous day. I couldn’t sleep though. I went to bed around one and woke up around five or so. I decided to visit Jeff again downstairs, thinking he’d like company to keep him awake. We just sat and talked for a little, listened to music; I tried to sleep on the couch while he cleaned. He flirted like he always did, and asked about Allen from last week. It was better than being in my empty room upstairs, but very relaxing at the same time. Just what I needed. 

We said our goodbyes when Jeff left for home. I did not sleep, once again. I don’t understand it, but I cannot sleep in Cork for whatever reason. I walked around town, tried a little bit of shopping, before I went back to the hostel to get ready for my plane to England. There I saw some people I met the night before. We chit-chatted and drank. I had to chug my beers while my taxi cab waited outside. I was totally drunk when I got to the airport, and the entire way to England. It was great. It was a very fitting departure from my time in Ireland. Several pints and a few Sláintes…..Ah, I miss it already. 

My Journey: Cork, Ireland

So, I arrived in Cork. The first thing I did, as stated many times, was get a beer. After the hellish days I just went through, what else could I have done? I then practiced my small talk skills on the hostel’s bartender; she didn’t have it. Awkwardly, I left the hostel/bar, and found a lovely (and cheap!) fish and chip restaurant. It seriously reminded me of Five Guys with the amount of food I got for so little euro. After an awkward din din with people staring and watching me, I went back to the hostel and SLEPT. I slept for over 12 hours. Jesus Christ, a nap never slept so good. P.s. my sailor’s mouth has returned with a little help from the Irish over here. Apologies. 

When I woke up, I walked around the main strip of Cork for a few hours, just shopping and taking photos. I was a little disappointed in my travels so far. Nothing stood out to me. Nothing seemed special yet. I felt like I was in any other town, at first. I went back to my hostel, to picnik/email/facebook. Later on in the day, I began suddenly very very cold. I went up to the bartender and asked for something warm. He made some Mulled Wine earlier, and shared it with me while we listened to Ja Rules greatest hits. YUM…the wine, not Ja Rule. I’ve had similar wines in America, just with different spices. Still, it was fantastic. Right about then, a man named Patrick arrived looking for a room for the next couple of nights. He booked himself one, and came back to share a drink at the bar. He seemed harmless enough. He was an elder gentlemen, grey thinning hair and beer belly as well. He talked about how he was planning to move to Cork to start over. He was widowed, with no concrete job. He kept asking if I thought it was good for a man his age to try and change his life, start fresh. I thought for a moment. It was such a lovely idea, and very courageous one. I loved it; and I told him so. He simply laughed. We sat for a minute or two longer and he asked if I wanted to go find a place to eat with him. Harmless enough, I agreed to.

I regret that decision. For four hours, Patrick made us walk around town trying to find the perfect place for us to eat at. All the while, he would try to hold my hand, or take me by the arm and pull me in close. At dinner, he would speak about my beauty and try to brush my bangs away. I can’t recall how many times I told him stop, and that I didn’t appreciate him, being a stranger (and just a creepy old man in general now), talking to me or touching me in such ways. I lied through my teeth. I try desperately to get him to stop. I told him how I’m a “prude and don’t even touch my boyfriend in such ways.” Yeah, right! He’d ask which room was mine, and if there was any other people in it. “208 and yes a couple of girls.” 206 and I was the only person in the room for the majority of my stay in Cork. I did not trust this man anymore, and while we were walking around town, I seriously considered getting “lost” in the crowds and running away, back to the hostel to hide. I didn’t. Eventually, I made it clear I was tried and had no interest in continuing on anymore. We went back, where he tried to kiss me and ask me out on a date. If I had learn sooner, I would have told him to just fuck off and leave me alone. I didn’t. I just ran upstairs and hid.  

Later that night, I felt ashamed that I really haven’t tried to talk to many people. So, I went down to the bar hoping to find people to interact with. I found Patrick. I once again hid. In the corner off to the side. I was wearing my skinny jeans, a BGSU sweatshirt and my hair was in a huge messy bun. I pondered on how much I enjoyed being able to hid easily from people here, simply because they don’t know all my faces yet. Once I thought he left, I made my way to the bar.

The bartender (cutest Irish barman I've seen yet) commented, “You finally decided to come join the party, yea?”

I responded, “Haha yeeea. You see I was trying to avoid someone earlier.”

The bartender’s interest in me peaked a litte, it seemed. “OH, really? Who?”

“This man in a grey shirt sitting over here….his name is Pa——”

“KERRY!” Fuck, Patrick didn’t leave like I thought he had. 

He walked over, started to stroke arm, and talk about “our date” for the next night while I just sat there rigid as a frigid bitch, simply ignoring him as much as possible. The bartender was still standing by and watching me. I shifted my head and moved my eyes towards Patrick, signaling to Jeff (aka cute bartender) that this was the man I wanted to avoid. Jeff demonstrated his understanding by nodding and stepping closer to ask Patrick something. After a few awkward moments, Patrick left and went over to another part of the bar, instructing me to follow him. I told him after I finished my drink I would. The moment I finished my pint, I grab my things and ran upstairs. I stayed there for the rest of the night. 

I was a little upset at the fact that I let him ruin my first real night in Ireland. But, I convinced myself enough at the time that I was fine just sitting up in my room watching a bootleg version of Breaking Dawn Pt 1 and facebook chatting Dylan until four in the morning. While, that’s not a bad night, it’s also not an exciting or adventurous one. 

Because of that night, I was convinced that I didn’t like Cork, and regretted coming over. That is until the following day. I was suppose to see Blarney Stone, and take a tour of Cork this day. Never happened. The tourist company (Paddywagen) cancelled on me the night before, which only added my hatred for that day. So I just walked around the town center again in the early morning, finding nothing of too much interest. I went back to the hostel, read a little Nick Sparks down at the bar and then took a long nap. I woke up with a note from the Hostel telling me Patrick wanted me to call him for dinner and that he’d be getting off work in a few hours. Fuck, well I’ll eat now then, thanks for the warning I suppose Bru. I walked a block up the street to a bar called the Shelbourne. There, it was wonderful. 

The Shelbourne had deals with local restaurants, so all food was delivered in and really cheap. The barman seemed to be more friendly than those I have met up until this moment. He asked questions about me and where I’m from. We talked about everything from drinks in America compared to Irish drinks to American politics and how I won brownie points for being a democrat. The locals were all late 20s to late 30s, and were extremely friendly. BUT, not in any creepy way like Patrick. They were just generally nice people. I loved it. They made jokes about me traveling alone at such a young age to a country where I have never been to before, and had no relations within. I was nicknamed “The Fugitive” and every now and then one would crack a joke about me running from the law. I spent eight euros for pizza and one drink, then sat there for eight hours with these people and drank God only knows how many West Coasts, Irish Ciders and Guinnesses. It was fan-freaking-tasti ;)

When without the all that, I still enjoyed my time there. Some of them just understood me. They understood that I wasn’t  shy but content with observing and absorbing everything around me. All the misconceptions people usually have of me, whether I’m a stranger to them or not, those people knew that wasn’t me. I loved them for that. I sincerely loved them for that. And, because strangers like this understood so well, and welcomed me with open arms, I finally felt like I found my place in the world. It’s hard to describe and understand, even for me, let alone whoever reads this. But, I don’t know how else to word it. Sure, I have loved ones back home, people who love me and would do what they could for me. It’s not like I’m a complete loner back in BG or Cleveland. But, I always felt that even with some of my closest friends, there wasn’t one that automatically got me after just a few drinks with me. 

I really started to open up after meeting them. I had a bit more confidence in myself. I declined from going out to the late bars with them; it was already 1am or so, and I hadn’t slept well the past couple of nights. I went back to my hostel, found that my first roommate arrived (a older man, trying to sleep). I was going to watch Psych, drink, do this and do that, but I felt rude if I did anything up there with him there. So, I went down stairs to the bar; I thanked God several times when I saw that Patrick was not there. I asked the barman just for some water; primary intention was just to drink that and go upstairs. Then the barman (Jeff, same from the night before) came over and asked me about my night. I told him about the free drinks for so many hours down the street. He noted that he was jealous, and went back to the game of pool he was playing with a resident.

Feeling outgoing and drunk, I decided to walk over and just watch them play. I figured eventually they’d warm up to me, and if not I’d just go back to bed. Well, after a few minutes they did warm up to me. The resident’s name was Allen Coss. Allen is a 34 year old grad student from Galway. He studies linguistics, but reads about hundreds of other topics. We spent the entire night talking about philosophers like Hobbs, Kant and Plato, as well as a few others I never heard of. We talked about politics, and Ireland’s current situation. We talked about our lives and where we came from. We talked about relationships, what makes them work, what makes them fall apart. We talked about “organic intelligence” where someone is born with brilliance and understanding, while others force it by studying and read on subjects (but yet, they never fully understand). We talked about how the people in our lives may or may not have it, and how we ourselves (all three) have it in varying degrees. We talked crap to, don’t get me wrong. Boys will be boys, and every now and then Allen and Jeff would get a little “vulgar”. Always in good humor, however. 

When that wasn’t going on, Allen was trying to get me to date him, and marry him. I was his soulmate, he kept saying.

“I’m sorry, love. I have a boyfriend.” 

“What? No! I can’t believe it. I was just about to go over there and start kissing you. Your so beautiful and bright. We’d be perfect together! Please?”

“No, I can’t.” 

We talked a little about relationships, specific ones we’ve had and the problems we found in them. I told him my issues with my current relationship. How, although I love him dearly, we’re different people. I like to argue, and I love it when the person can argue back. I love poking fun, and joking around. My jokes aren’t always the nicest or cleanest jokes, and I love it when the person can take it as that, and give it back even. I like being secure, and feeling secure with my significant other. I like feeling wanted and loved all the time, not just some of the time. I love passion, both aggressive and gentle. I like having that connection that allows me to be me one hundred percent of the time. Do I get this from my current relationship? Yes, otherwise I wouldn’t bother anymore. But I don’t have it all the time. It comes and goes. That’s my problem. 

“I can give you all of that.”

“Bull, Allen. I won’t be here tomorrow, and neither will you. We live oceans away from each other.”

“You need that. I’m good at all of that. We’d be perfect for each other. Soulmates! Come on, something brought us together tonight; it’s fate.” 

“Pshhhh…” I just laugh at him. 

“Laugh all you want. You’ll date him for another year or so, and that’d be that. Unless something changes, you two will never be satisfied with each other fully. You can be with someone like me.”

*shakes head. smiles* “Fuck off.” 

The convo continued….on other topics as well, not just the apparent fact I met my soulmate and he’s 13 years my senior and lives nearly 4,000 miles away….yeah, ha! We stayed up, drank, danced, talked. Allen missed his train to Dublin, and I missed mine to Killarney. None of us gave a fuck anymore about anything. We just enjoyed our company too much to leave. 

We said our goodbyes to Jeff once he decided to leave a couple hours after he got off work. Allen and I walked to the train station together, poking fun at the Irish and Americans, respectively. Just having fun. Then out of nowhere,

“Come to Dublin with me.”

“I can’t and you know it. I have to go to Killarney.” 

“Come on, come to Dublin. Spend Christmas with me and my family.”

*shakes head* 

He hugs me goodbye, and kisses me on the cheek. As he lingers, the trainstation manager yells at him to hurry or he’ll miss his train. Another hug and kiss goodbye, and he runs off. 

I’m on my own again in a strange country, just hoping for the future. 

Cork, Ireland

Touching down in the UK

Couple sitting next to me on the plane...

St. Patrick's HIll Couple

Semi-outdoor mall in 

Mince Pie

Bru Bar

City Centre

The Shellborne