Rome: gorgeous, ancient, and big. Basically, since we were so hungover from the night before (shocking, I know), the Blonde and I took a 4 hour nap and barely made it out on time in our fancy clothes for New Year's. We almost could have missed out on being drenched in champagne! That would have been a travesty. Apparently, when you see small groups of people standing around holding bottles of champagne and talking with their friends, they aren't actually waiting for midnight to come and so they can pop open the bottles and toast to the New Year. Lord no. Why would anyone want to DRINK the alcohol? Instead, let's definitely seek out the two American girls that look so cold and so out of place because they're the only ones that got dressed up, and pour tons of champagne on them while they crouch down, trying to shield their very expensive cameras from all the liquid. Yep, that sounds like a good plan to me.
After the hoopla died down, the Blonde and I tried to walk back to the hotel, but since the taxi driver that drove us from the train station to the hotel and the taxi driver that drove us from the hotel to the Piazza for New Year's (got that? good.) both took different directions, we were all confused about how to get back. Plus, I had a blonde with me so that was two strikes against me (kidding! love you Blondie!). We asked what we thought was a helpful Italian guy which way it was to the river and he kind of pointed in a direction and went back to talking with his friends. So we started walking... a lot. It was freezing out, so we stopped in a bar really quick for something hot to drink. You know what makes me a genius? Having coffee at 1:00am. I can't have coffee here past 3:30pm otherwise, I won't be able to go to sleep at 11:30pm THAT NIGHT. What's that I hear? Well, thank you. I do know that I'm completely smart and awesome. When in Rome...
Anyways, did I mention that people are staring at us? More so the Blonde, 'cause she's well, blonde, but also because she's wearing an all white outfit and has open toed sandals on. In 30 degree weather. Granted, we both thought that we'd do the whole New Year's thing outside for a little bit, then go find a bar and hang out. However, since we were drenched with champagne and exhausted, we just wanted to go back to bed. The Big Guy Upstairs clearly had other plans for us that night. Apparently, we were walking south when we should have been walking north. We went AN HOUR out of our way home. An hour. In high heels. On freaking cobblestones. Did I also mention that there were no taxies around? None. Nil. Nada. Zippo.
Needless to say, that after taking another break (this time for a beer), we managed to make it back to our room at 4am. We walked for 2 1/2 hours (sober), finally got a taxi who took us 3 blocks from where our hotel was. Nice. And guess what else? I was still wired from that little cup of coffee at 4am. I had to knock myself out with sleeping pills (my savior) in order for me to get up and go sightseeing at a decent time the next day. Guess what else? I got up before the Blonde :-) 'Cause that's how I roll.
And that was Rome.
Dublin: freaking cold!, rainy, but as I told the Blonde, you go for the people. My relatives kick ass. On this trip though, they actually kicked MY ass. Well, Prada did.
Let's take it back a couple of months where my cousin emailed me asking what we wanted to do while there. I told her the Blonde wanted to go to the Guinness brewery and the Jameson distillery if there was time (do you see what's important to us here?). My cousin mentioned that she wanted to take us horseback riding up in the mountains and that it was really pretty up there and blah, blah, blah. I'm not too keen on horses (Christopher Reeve's kind of ruined them for me) and neither is the Blonde, but we both agreed that we should do it 'cause how many times can you say you've been horseback riding in Ireland? We're all about the bragging rights.
Well.
Did I mention how cold it was? How it was storming and blustering (learned that word from the pilot on the way over to Ireland) out? Well it was. My cousin said that the ride might be cancelled because it was storming, but the horse people said to come anyways. Awesome.
On the way up there, it started snowing. Now, for sure I knew it rained in Ireland, but I had no idea that it snowed there. Well, I might have had some sort of an idea, but I really did expect it to while there. Mainly because I hadn't dressed for the snow.
So even though the weather was sucking, the horse people said that it was a go. I was picked first and my horse's name was Prada. He was the biggest horse I've ever seen. Isn't everything in Ireland supposed to be little? The Blonde was bumming because there was a horse there named Versace, but the instructor told her that he was a bit crazy. The Blonde was happy to get an old timmer named CJ and my cousin got a horse with a really Irish name that I can't pronounce or spell. So let's call her's Bob.
We were supposed to go for 2 hours, but because of the weather, we cut it down to 1 hour. Again, fine by me. I was freaking out. Seriously, I've been on a horse a couple of times before, but Prada was by far the biggest. It was really pretty riding a horse while it was snowing. The snowflakes would fall down and just lay lightly on you. It was just so picturesque for like 30 minutes. Want to know what happened for the other 30 minutes? It's started pouring down rain. Freezing rain. This is the type of rain that penetrates your skin, so you feel it in your bones. My nipples could cut glass at this point. Nothing could top a moment like this... except, perhaps when the instructor suggests we trot. Um... say what?
Has anyone ever tried trotting on a horse when it's pouring? Do you know how much you slide? My abs and legs have never received that good of a workout. Prada definitely liked to trot. I think it was because he was sick of the rain and cold and wanted to be in his stall again. However, he didn't plan for some whiny American bitch to be on his back, preventing him from running his ass home. It was clearly a love/hate relationship between us.
We made it back safe and sound and I was never so happy to be on solid ground. Or was I? For the next 3 days (the whole time I spent in Ireland), I could barely walk. My back hurt, my arms hurt, my love muscles in my legs hurt. I felt like I spent an all night bed romping session with a very large black man.
Needless to say, Prada hurt me, but in all the right areas. I chased away my pain with many, many glasses of Jameson and cran (try it. It tastes like candy). Also, I'm now a professional drinker according to the Jameson distillery. I have the certificate and everything! My mom is so proud!
Those are just two stories from my vacation. I have some more, but I'll probably save those for a rainy day.
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