From the category archives:

Everyone is Insane

Get Over It

by Marinka on September 9, 2014

I have many important things to update on, including the fact that I am not drinking alcohol in September and that my cat is urinating all over the fucking place, but I feel like first I have to tell you about my trip to Ireland. So let’s get that over with so that we can move on with our lives. By which I mean discussing temporary sobriety/lack of meaning in life and cat urine.

To recap, I went to Ireland with a man that I started seeing in the spring. About six weeks into our romance, he asked me if I’d like to go to Bermuda for the weekend and I said no, because I read about the Bermuda Triangle and the last thing I need is to be disappeared at this particular moment of my life, so he suggested Ireland instead. I’m not sure how he went from Bermuda to Ireland, maybe he was listing islands in alphabetical order, while skipping over Capri and Goodenough, which apparently is an island in Papa New Guinea, dear lord.

I loved the idea of going to Ireland and immediately agreed and then spent the next two months in the following Q&A.

Me: Are you sure you want to go to Ireland?
Him: Yes.
Me: Are you sure you want to go to Ireland with me?
Him: Yes*

* Of interest is that during the interrogation, the subject’s second “yes” became a lot less definitive and I could detect a strong “no” undercurrent mingled with hints of “Jesus, what the fuck have I done?” But the transcript just reads “yes” so there you go.

The trip was great. Here are some of my journal entries about it.

Day 1

Dear Journal,

I am in Ireland with that guy I came to Ireland with. The trip is great. Ireland is beautiful but the best part so far is that we sat across the aisle from each other on the plane and while I slept during the night, he was unable to because (a) there was a girl in his row who insisted on talking to her mother in the row in front of her and that kept him awake and (b) the guy behind him had some sort of a bladder infection and kept getting up to go to the bathroom and grabbing the seat in front of him, which is where the guy I went to Ireland with was sitting. So, he got no sleep and I got lots of sleep. So far, I’m winning.

Day 2

Dear Diary,

This is the best trip ever. I am ecstatically happy. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before. Well, maybe when my kids were born. And during the seventh or so episode of The Bachelor every season, where a lot of the riff rat is gone and you can really tell the contestants apart. The guy I went to Ireland with and I are getting along really well. I think we’re soul mates. Here’s a picture of the rainbow that I took, after he pointed it out to me. I took it with my iPhone but I did not use a filter, because I wanted it to be pure, like our love.

rainbow 225x300 Get Over It

Day 3

Dear Notepad,

I am having a great time! The guy I came to Ireland with and I are getting along so well! We are laughing a lot, but only at things that are funny, not like for no reason, like demented people. I just adore him. And Ireland. I adore him (the guy I came to Ireland with) and Ireland. Both. Here is a picture of me and an alpaca. I tried to get closer to the alpaca but they are shy or something. Or hate me because I’m Jewish. More tomorrow!

alpaca 300x225 Get Over It

Day 4

Today we went to Dublin. We walked around and the guy I came to Ireland with pointed to a bridge and said “oh, that’s the river____” and then said some name of the river. I wasn’t really listening because I was thinking how I’m basically a hostage in this relationship. The guy I came to Ireland with brought me over to Ireland and now we are together all the time. Like ALL THE TIME. I wonder if this is what being conjoined feels like. If so, I totally understand why they operate on conjoined twins even though it can and often does lead to death of one or both twins. I would totally risk it at this point. As a matter of fact, I will volunteer myself for the surgery. OMFG, we’re practically breathing in sync.

Oh, anyway, after the guy I came to Ireland with pointed to the bridge and told me it was some river, I said “great! I’ll just cross the street to look at it!” and he said, “what you don’t believe me that there’s a river there?” Note to self: It’s really hard to fling yourself into the river when you’re busy answering questions. And finding someone to deconjoin you.

Here’s a picture of the river. I’m sorry that I don’t know what it’s called. My pet name for it There Is Not Enough Oxygen in Dublin for Both of Us.

river 225x300 Get Over It

Day 5

Diary, we need to talk,

So today I said to the guy that I came to Ireland with, “hey, do you think this is the part of the trip when we’re on each others’ nerves and really sick of each other?” and he said “fuck, yes” which really hurt my feelings.

I mean, I know I got sick of him first, but in my defense, I have a very brittle personality and people often get on my nerves, whereas he is Irish and the Irish, in addition to being musical and being blessed with the gift of the gab, are very good natured. And I don’t think it’s very good natured to agree to being sick of each other. A more gentlemanly approach would have been to say “I can understand completely how you may be sick of me, but I am more enchanted by you than ever, my precious source of happiness.” Or words to that effect.

Day 6

Today I treated the guy I came to Ireland with to a multi-part discussion about his response to my question of “hey, do you think this is the part of the trip when we’re on each others’ nerves and really sick of each other?” After some consideration, he suggested that perhaps we are suffering from “overexposure” which sounds disgusting to me.

Day 7

Things are better.

guiness 225x300 Get Over It

Day 8


Days 9- 10

I don’t want to leave Ireland. I’m so happy here. The guy I came to Ireland with is the perfect travel companion, despite the whole getting to the airport fiasco. Oh, and he didn’t appreciate my post about it, either. He said “I got you to the airport on time with no wait or delay and you gave me a severe blogging. No more my precious princess! Get yourself to the airport in the future!”

But I don’t think he means it.

I will drop many hints so that he invites me to Ireland again.



by Marinka on August 22, 2014

ireland 082114 300x222 Vacation

I’m in Ireland and it is beautiful and everything is going really well, which is obviously a relief and also a damn good thing because right before we left, I almost had a nervous breakdown.

Now I don’t know about you, but personally I believe that there are two types of people in the world: the ones who get to the airport for an international flight a few hours ahead of time and those are who placed on this earth to torture me.

This was the first flight for me and this guy I’ve been seeing (I mean our first flight together; I didn’t walk over here from the Soviet Union in the 70s, you know) so I was really hoping that he fell into the former “let’s get to the airport on time” category. And for a while there, it seemed promising.

“Our flight is at 6:30 tomorrow evening,” he told me the night before. “So I’ll pick you up at 3, 3:30.”

I worried that 3:30 am was a tad too early. But “better safe than sorry” is my motto and favorite cross-stich pillow. Besides, there are a lot of fun things to do at the airport, like go through the security line multiple times to see which screener has the nicest touch. Don’t knock it until you try it.

“So we’ll have breakfast at the airport?” I asked and there was an awful silence on the other end of the call, followed by an explanation that if he picked me up at 3:30 pm, we’d have enough time to walk to the airport. Just for future information, telling me that I have enough time to walk somewhere is never comforting. Because even if it were true, would I have enough time to walk there while dragging my suitcase and checking every five seconds to make sure I still had my passport/boarding pass/euros/faculties. I don’t think so.

To make a long story slightly lengthier and more draining, I got picked up at 3:45 (pm!) and then as we drove off to the airport, one of us who Shall Not Be Named realized that s/he forgot something so we had to circle the block and come back to pick it up. It is so handy that there is absolutely no traffic in NYC on a Friday afternoon, so circling the block is not at all like circling the seventh through twelfth rings of Hades. But then, by 4:15 or so, we were definitely off and zooming.

Except one of us had to stop off at some store and order a soufflé or something. I don’t want to be dramatic, but by this point I was cursing myself for not ordering one of those Life Alert ™ bracelets that I could press and be airlifted immediately to safety and/or JFK International Airport. Of course I’m still at the stage in the relationship where I’m trying out this fake “easy-going” personality because I understand that some weirdos like to have relationships with people who don’t stab them in the eye due to timing issues, so I sat back in the airport car and smiled in a way that I hoped was more demure than maniacal.

But by 4:45, we were definitely on our way. Unfortunately the AroundMe app didn’t indicate that there was a psychiatric unit en route to JFK so I didn’t think that I would get the attention and care that I so richly deserved. I tried to sit still, while rocking softly in what I considered a soothing fashion. It was after 5, I knew the gate closed at 5:20 and I was staring at a Missed Flight situation.

Although I personally have never missed a flight, due to my inherent goodness and knowledge of how time works, I firmly believe that the worst thing about the Missed Flight experience isn’t missing the flight, but all the stuff that comes along with it, including but not limited to, having to have contact with ticket agents, getting on the next flight and assigning blame for whose fault it was that the Missed Flight situation happened in the first place. (Fortunately, I had that last part all worked out. The moment I found out that I was being picked up at 3:30 for a 6:20 flight.)

And then I start to think. Because although a Missed Flight is bad, it does come with a silver lining. And the silver lining is that if we miss this very first flight we take together, then for the rest of the relationship I will have the Upper Airport Hand. This means that when we have a flight, he will turn to me for wisdom and guidance as to what time to depart. I hold on to this silver lining. I may miss the flight, I may never see Ireland, but I will get the Upper Airport Hand. And wouldn’t that all be worth it?

Unfortunately for me, things weren’t that easy. We get to curbside check-in and I race forward with my bags. The curbside check-in operator informs me that in addition to the $20 per bag fee, there is an addition $2 per bag convenience fee and that gratuities are optional but highly appreciated. I pay readily and happily. Or as happily as one can do these things while staving off a complete disintegration of one’s nervous system.

I was successfully checked in, but the guy I was traveling with was not so lucky. By the time he meandered with his bags, curbside check-in was closed. Closed, I say. Instead of committing suicide as any normal person would be tempted to, he took this as a bit of good news.

“Score!” he said. “I saved $2!” and proceeded to check-in inside, like an animal.

The rest of the airport process was a blur, there was a Soviet-era breadline-inspired security line and then our gate was somewhere near the Galapagos Islands in the airport scheme of things and by the time we completed our passage there, I was exhausted.

“Want to get a drink?” he asked me, motioning to the bar. I don’t understand questions like that. Because on the one hand, yes, I would like a drink or a dozen to take the fucking edge off. But on the other, the plane is boarding, there are people online walking onto the plane, taking their seats and reviewing the safety manual. And I’d like to join them.

Eventually he finished his drink and we boarded the plane. As I exhaled into my seat and buckled my seatbelt I felt a spasm in my shoulder. Whether it was from carrying my bag, the stress of the pre-flight ordeal or the onset of Ebola, I did not know. What I did know was that we did not miss our flight to Ireland. And that I was silver liningless.


Oh, and here’s his version of what happened:

I am in Ireland enjoying a wonderful summer break with the love of my life.

We arrived on Saturday morning after an overnight flight from New York.

I can’t believe how perfectly everything fell into place.

My adult son who travelled with us organized a car service to pick him up in New Jersey and then pick me up in midtown Manhattan. I didn’t wait for him to arrive; I brought my bags down and waited at the kerb. I was no more than a minute downstairs when he swooshed up and the driver carefully placed my bags in the back. Onward to pick up my beloved!

The driver deftly dodged the heavy Westside traffic and got us speedily to pickup number three. There’s my angel! She also had the foresight to bring her bags downstairs! We were on our way in record time but I realized that I had forgotten my prescription eye drops.

Not to worry, my princess said; I have some that you left at my place. In no time at all we were on our way again as she had organized one of her kids to bring them kerbside for a speedy drive by.

She is wonderful; what great time management! Why can’t the government work like this?

Onward to JFK where we pulled in right in front of the entrance to the airline desk. The wonders of kerbside check in!

Nobody ahead of us; no wait, no line.

She was the only one of our group to get kerbside check in; my son and I were directed to the inside desk where we were processed without delay!

On to security, the bane of every traveller. Six people in front of us. How can this be? The gods of travel have visited great favors on us! Security screening; two and a half minutes. A post 9/11 miracle indeed.

We arrive at the boarding gate and find that boarding has commenced. Luckily there was a bar adjacent to our gate so I suggested to my cherished darling that we take a seat and have a drink until the line shrunk. She just nodded; I led her to the bar. I enquired what she would like to drink. She shook her head. Poor dear; she is speechless over the superb choreography that I have demonstrated so far on this trip! One drink later we walked to the desk and proceeded to the jetway, which is the covered bridge from the terminal building to the aircraft door.

Oh no! Disaster. There was a line of people on the jetway waiting to take their seats. It took us four minutes to get to the door!
My son had been assigned a seat across from my beloved so I pleaded with him to swap with me.

Luckily he did so the vacation was off to a great start due to my canny and careful time management!



August 8, 2014

Love stories are so dull. And they’re all almost exactly the same. Girl meets boy. Girl and boy decide to go to Ireland together in August. Girl realizes boy is bat shit insane. How many times can you hear this story before rolling your eyes and thinking “this again?” In case it’s new to you, […]

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August 5, 2014

In case you read this blog for all your breaking news, there is an Ebola outbreak going on right now. It’s mostly in Africa, although two infected American missionaries have been brought to the United States. Also someone walked into a NYC emergency room, feeling all Ebolaish, but the hospital spokersperson is telling us not […]

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Not Your Mother’s Vagina

July 31, 2014

I do not have a bucket list. Really, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t have goals. Lofty, admirable goals. And one of those goals is to figure out which fucking Always pads to buy once and for all. Preferably before the onset of menopause. I’m racing against the clock here, people. Mona […]

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Modern Love, or Something Like It

July 19, 2014

Me: Did you get that link I sent you? The one with the movie writeup? Him: Yes. That movie sounds unbearably dull. Me: ALright, I’ll just go by myself then. Him: No, I’d like to see it with you. Me: ? Him: You greatly underestimate how much I love the idea of spending three hours […]

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Hard to Say

July 4, 2014

I haven’t made my final summer vacation plans with the kids yet, and while that would throw most people into a panic, in my case it’s probably for the best. Because lately I’ve been thinking that maybe I should just go and be in the World Cup. This is certainly a surprising turn of events […]

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June 18, 2014

The Lord works in mysterious ways. Like you’re living your life and things are pretty good, if you don’t focus too much on the Human Condition and the frailty of life and the fact that the we are all, each one of us, is going to die alone. Unless there is some sort of a […]

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