I made out in front of Jimmy Falon
So Friday night, I was at a pub in Murray Hill with the boy to see one of my favorite Irish bands. We were sitting on the same side of a booth at the front of a bar and cuddling and kissing while drinking our Guinness. We were so disgustingly adorable that you could almost hear the waitress say "Aww" every time she came to our table.

There were two guys sitting across from us a few tables away. One had glasses, one had a beard. They'd been there all night, but I hadn't really been paying attention. (I can't imagine why.) About half way through the set, these guys got up to leave. The one in the glasses was hugging the bartender good-bye, and I noticed that he looked like slightly nerdier version of Jimmy Falon with chunky glasses and his hair combed really flat. He looked so much like Jimmy Falon that I mentioned it to the boy, who replied, "I think it is Jimmy Falon." I got a better looked at him as they walked out of the bar, and it was definitely Jimmy Falon. Therefore, Jimmy Falon saw me making out in a bar. This is officially my best New York celebrity story to date. It's going to be hard to top.

Bridgeport* represent
The White Sox won the World Series! My dad grew up three blocks from Comiskey Park. My grandpa grew up three blocks from Comiskey Park and used to shimmy up the sides of the old stadium to watch the games. Grandpa didn't live to see the Sox win the World Series, but my 92-year-old great aunt is one of the few Sox fans alive for both wins. Granted she probably doesn't remember too much about the 1917 series because she was like 4. But still. I tried to explain all of this to my roommate Wednesday night so she'd understand why I was getting so stressed out during the game or why I was so happy when they won. But she just didn't seem to grasp the historical signficance. But then again she thought the White Sox played in Wrigley Field, so what can you expect.

*Bridgeport is the South Side neighborhood where Comiskey Park is located, even though the Fox sportscasters almost forgot to mention it while listing neighborhoods on the South Side.

I think Clare moved me down the list
Because if the theory is correct, I think that's where I belong. I am suddenly so happy in a grinning-and-gushing sort of way that it's pretty much ridiculous. I could say more, but, well, I don't want to yet. Deal.

$70 Pedicures are over-rated
I have to admit I was a little under-whelmed by my trip to BuffSpa at Bergdorf Goodman. Yes, the products they used were all very expensive, I'm sure. And the tub they soaked your feet in had these cool stones in the bottom, as if to convince you you're somewhere exotic instead of the basement of a Manhattan department store. And they did give me champaigne, but I think that had a lot more to do with the whole big-company-trying-to-suck-up-to-magazine-editors thing than the expensive-pedicure thing. But, truthfully, the slightly ghetto place across the street from my apartment pampers you a little more (a calf massage and this special treatment that makes your heels baby soft) for like $50 less. But, hell, I'm not complaining. It's the first real pedicure I've gotten all year, and it was free. In fact, I think I'll go back and get another sometime soon. (Um, they gave me a gift card.) It's not like I've gone all crazy and would actually pay that much for a pedicure. I do still have to eat, people.

Giddy
For the first time in a long time, I am. Will have to see what develops ...

Ireland: Part II (the part that sucked)
We spent the rest of the week in an apartment just outside of Galway. It was only a 10-minute walk to the city center, which is pretty much perfect. So we poked around in the city on Monday, and on Tuesday we went out to Connemara National Park and tromped around on some hills and bogs and such. But that afternoon, Julie came down with strep throat. When we were finally able to get her to the doctor on Thursday, he was actually shocked by how bad her throat was. And he's a doctor. The doctor gave her a prescription for some wacky European antibiotics, so by Friday she was able to function. (Which was good because she was the only one who knew how to drive the car.) Then Saturday morning we got on a plane and came home. Blast. I guess I'll just have to go back to Ireland again and do the trip right next time. That means more tromping around on stuff and more Guinness and Irish boys, of course.

Embracing my girlie side
Sometimes I really love my job. I'm going to a press event on Wednesday, and it includes getting a free manicure and pedicure at the spa at Bergdorf Goodman. Bergdorf Goodman! A Fifth Avenue department store so expensive I'm a little afraid to go in it. This is going to be even better than when I got free hair cuts from students at Bumble and bumble.

But I'm still a bad ass
So there was a mouse in my apartment. I discovered this Thursday night at about 11:30. I'd been asleep almost half an hour when I woke up to DG screaming my name. It was really more of a screech with a high-pitched Southern drawl. Holy shit, is someone breaking into the apartment? Is my roommate being attacked? I start preparing for the worst as I roll out of bed and stagger toward the hallway in my semi-conscious state. "There's a mouse in my room!" I open the door to DG's room, and she's standing on top of her bed still screeching. "Do something! It went that way! Is it still there!" She's pointing to the doorway I'm standing in. Yes, I'm sure the mouse scampered under your door and is waiting ever so quietly around the corner for me to catch it. "No, under there!" She points to her bedside table and proceeds to pull it away from the wall, almost toppling over a variety of lamps and knick knacks. She then jumps back closer to the center of the bed as if the mouse is going to leap all the way up there and attack her. I'm not exactly charming when you wake me up, so I basically tell her to shut up and stop freaking out. I'm sure all the screaming scared the mouse away. And it's not a big deal. It's a mouse. It's really tiny, and it doesn't eat people. (And it's not like it's a mole or anything.) I'll buy some traps. The traps will kill the mouse. End of story.

So yesterday on my way home from work, I bought a few traps, baited them with tasty processed American cheese and put them under the kitchen sink and other places that seem like good hang outs for a mouse. This morning, I checked the traps. No dead mouse. And the cheese was still there, so it didn't seem like we were dealing with one of the crazy smart mice that know how to eat the food off the trap without springing it. Then around 9:30, I walk over to the kitichen sink. I don't remember what I was looking for. But there were some dishes in the sink that DG hadn't washed. (I refuse to be her mom and clean up after her.) And that's when I see it. Sitting on the edge of a plate is a half wet mouse.

I blink and look again. Yep, definitely the mouse. It is seiously so small. It's not moving, and I can't tell if it's alive or not. But I act fast and flip over a bowl that's in the sink and trap the mouse between the bowl and the plate. Well, shit, what do I do now? The plate was full of water, and I'm hoping the mouse will drown if it's not dead already. Then I realize that's probably not going to happen, as there's only like a quarter inch of water. I decide I need to take the whole thing outside and throw it away. I go get my keys from my room. I pick up the plate and hold the bowl down to make sure the mouse doesn't escape. I move the bowl over a little and see a tail, so I know it's still there. There's still water in the plate (and a few floating lima beans, which I'm sure are the reason the mouse was in the sink to begin with. If you're so afraid of mice, DG, don't leave out food to attract them. Thanks!). The water's sloshing all over, and I realized that if I try to unlock my door while holding the plate, I might tip everything and let the mouse loose.

So I walk down the hall (still holding the plate/bowl/mouse) and wake up Alexis. I tell her I caught the mouse, and I need her help. Of course, she starts freaking out. I'll I need is for her to walk with me and open the doors. When she opens the door, she starts squirming and refused to come near me because of the mouse. You can't even see it! So I walk back into the living room, where there's more room for her to walk way around me. She unlocks the door. We walk downstairs and outside. I have her open one of the garbage cans in front of our building. I lift the bowl up a little bit, and the mouse moves! OK, so it is still alive. That's when I have a brain storm and walk to the end of the block and dump it in a garbage can there. This way, if it gets back inside, it will end up in someone else's apartment. I end up throwing out the whole thing. The plate, the bowl and a spoon that happened to get trapped under the bowl with the mouse. I guess I could have just washed them really, really well, but that just felt too gross. And it's cheap, hand-me down stuff from the thrift store and my great aunt, so they won't really be missed. And that, my friends, is why I'm a bad ass. DG was still freaking out as we walked down the street. And I was laughing. I mean, really, who actually catches a mouse with a bowl?

Ireland: Part I (the part that didn't suck)
Jet-lag? Ha! That's for wimps. We got to Ireland Sunday morning at about 8 am, and it was the best day of our trip. We picked up the clown car that we'd rented. Julie couldn't get the car into first gear, and we almost got hit by a van (a slight exaggeration, but it's funnier that way). Turns out the gear boxes are backwards because of the whole driving-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-road thing. Then we almost got stuck in a tiny town because we absolutely couldn't figure out how to get the car into reverse. I was ready to get out and push, but instead we flagged down the next Irish person who passed and asked for help. He was polite and tried not to laugh as he showed us the little ring on the gear shift that you have to lift up to get the car to stay in reverse.

We arrived in Lisdoonvarna (home of the world famous Lisdoonvarna Matchmaking Festival)around 10:30 and can't check into our hotel until 3. We wander around town for a while and get hit on by some guys who are still drunk from the night before. (The bar is still open, and they've spilled out on to the sidewalk.) We try to eat lunch around 11, but all the restaurants in town are closing until lunch because mass is starting. So we buy sandwiches at the grocery store and eat in the town square. We get adopted by a big, fat (but still adorable) dog, who Julie ends up feeding most of her sandwich. Then we make a quick trip to see the Cliffs of Moher. Much prettier without all the fog this time.

We check into the hotel around 3, and take a quick nap. We wake up at 5, and our power's out. I go downstairs to see what's going on, and it turns out the power is out in the entire village (and the next village over). I go upstairs to tell Julie, and when I try to unlock our door, the entire lock comes out of the door knob. Um, that's not right. Luckily, they have another room they can switch us to. I try to take a shower, and the water runs out while I'm all soapy, so I have to rinse off with a facecloth and the little bit of water I can get out of the sink.

We eat dinner at the restaurant across the street. The power is still out, so they're only serving soup, cod, potato and veg. Whatever, as long as it's food. The power comes back on as we finish eating, which is a good thing because otherwise we would have been hitting the pubs by candlelight, and that could have gotten real creepy real fast.

Well, I guess it was a little creepy anyway (but in a really entertaining way). Turns out the Lisdoonvarna Matchmaking Festival is full of middle-aged men who really want a wife. I danced with two old guys. One was short and balding. The other had a big gray mustache and kept trying buy me a drink. If I'd let him, I think he might have proposed. Julie on the other hand did get a proposal. He was 48, Scottish and wearing a tasteless shirt. After telling her he liked girls who look like they'd be good at bearing children (charming), he really believed she was going to move to Scotland to stay home, have his babies and take care of the dogs. When he went inside to get a pen to give her his phone number, we ran back to the hotel as fast as we could.

Hot damn, it's October!
I have officially made it through the whole of September mystery-illness free. Score. Perhaps this means things are starting to turn around. A girl can hope.

And there's more!
I leave for Ireland today! I don't have to leave my apartment for a few more hours, and my flight technically won't get there until tomorrow morning, but still. Ireland! And an entire week with my best friend. This, as the kids say, is going to rock. Expect a full report on all the Guinness consumption and Irish boys when I get back next week. But fear not, I will not, I repeat, will not, be coming back with an Irish husband as my roommate genuinely suspects. I realize I'm a little obsessed with the Irishmen, but I'm not that crazy.

Ireland Preview
Before I go, here's just one more reason I enjoy the Irish so much. So I had to call and confirm when we were picking up the key for our self-catering cottage in Salthill yesterday morning before work. I'm talking with Sean, the man who runs the place, and he asks if I have his address. No, not the street number, I reply. "Ah, now, we don't do that here. Much too complicated. My address is just Grattan House. We're directly across from the Warrick Hotel. It's in between the Texaco Station and Galway Business School, near the promenade." Ah, yes, that's not compliated at all.

Hip Hop Violinist?
I interviewed the most amazing musician yesterday. She's a hip hop violinist from Israel, and her music blew me away. Her CD just came out (aptly title, Miri Ben Ari The Hip Hop Violinist), and you should check it out. (Plus, she was the violinist on Kanye West's College Drop Out album, so I'm not the only person who likes her.)