I am not an Aussie.
I cannot even try to pretend I am an Aussie.
When I try to be an Aussie, bad things happen … like shots of Jager getting poured directly from the bottle into my mouth.
I arrived in Dublin in the early afternoon, Abbey (that’s @ahesser on Twitter and the author behind the fabulous site, A Chick with Baggage) and her friend, Brian, greeted me at the airport.
That was the last time in five days there was absolutely no alcohol coursing through my blood (sorry, Mom and Dad).
The following is an excerpt from my liver’s journal:
After you checked into Abbey Court, the hostel on River Liffey just across from Temple Bar, you went to eat.
And by eat, you clearly meant drink with a side of lunch.
So what if Brian had started a tradition earlier during their travels in Ireland — every time he ordered a beer (Guinness) he had to order a shot of Jameson on the side? You didn’t have to do the same.
But, you did. And then you had another beer.
When it came time to move your bags from the storage room to the dorm, you didn’t need to cross the river to Temple Bar to do some exploring … but you did.
And by exploring, you clearly meant more drinking.
Sure, you meant to go for only one drink, but soon it turned into an entire evening at Auld Dubliner. Followed by drinks near the hostel, followed by a not-so-sober Indian dinner.
D, you did it again.
First, it was a tour of the Jameson distillery.
I must be the luckiest liver in the world — you were chosen as the whiskey taster at Jameson, which meant not only did I get to enjoy (if that’s what we are calling it) a complimentary glass of whiskey at the end of the tour, but also a taste test complete with Scottish and American whiskey.
You may now be a whiskey fan, but damn. After awhile, it just hurts.
In case Jameson wasn’t enough, then you went and headed to Guinness and toured the old brewery. Of course, at the end of the tour, there was more drinking when you received a complimentary Guinness. The three of you sipped your delicious and beautiful stout from the top of the building at Gravity Bar. While the bar did provide you all with stunning 360-degree views of Dublin, was the Guinness really necessary? Really?
When you returned to the hostel, I thought I would have time to recover, but noooo. Abbey did some work and you and Brian just had to sip on Jameson and Coke,and then head out a few hours later back to Temple Bar for more drinks.
You are slowly killing me, D.
I don’t care if it is St. Patrick’s Eve. It was fun to go and pick up Abbey’s friend, Emily, from the airport and head to Galway, Abbey’s home for three months, in preparation for the next day’s festivities.
Yet, you felt it necessary to include a Bulmer’s with your lunch when your group stopped in a little town.
Then, that night, you ended up in the beautiful seaside town of Galway, celebrating St. Paddy’s Eve. You drank even more.
I think I may loathe you.
You brutal bitch.
Did you really start the St. Patrick’s celebration in the early afternoon with mimosas, then head out to town to drink with the locals until the wee hours of the morning?
Did you really consume that many beers and shots?
Ha ha ha.
What’s the matter? You feel a little groggy? You can’t get out of bed.
Serves you right.
It’s called rebelling. You better get used to it if you plan on drinking like you are 21 every day.
Seriously. You deserve every ounce of pain you are feeling.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for taking the night off.
It is an absolute pleasure to be delightfully sober.
Do this again and I promise, I will kick your ass.
Your Recovering Liver