| First Ireland Holiday Sept.2000 |
At the end of August Marco left for his holiday. Since we had talked about me going just a week before he left, this was most
definitely a spur-of-the-moment decision. For the next 4 weeks I listened to countless people from the chatroom tell me how sorry
they felt for Marco. "Poor Sweet Marco - having to put up with you" "It's never gonna work" is what I heard numerous times! Very
few actually thought we would get along. I also listened to my family and friends in the real world tell me they thought it was great
that I was going, all the while having that concerned tone in their voice that I was gonna go meet some psycho killer and never
return. A few actually came out and said it.
For the first 3 weeks that Marco was gone we spoke on the phone a few times. Needless to say, I was having second, third, fourth,
etc. thoughts about my decision. Was I nuts? What the hell was I doing? This was SO unlike me! But each time we spoke, he was just
as excited about me coming as he was the very first time we spoke about it. So, my mind was set. I was still going.
The fourth week he was gone (the week before I was supposed to leave) I tried calling him every day. For 6 days I couldn't get a
hold of him. I left messages on his cell phone voice mail, called at all hours of the day and night, but no Marco. I was now officially
freaked out. I just knew that something had happened to him. He fell off a cliff and died or something and I would have no way of
ever knowing. I didn't know any of his family's phone numbers or addresses. Hell, I didn't even remember their first names! They
knew nothing about me. I didn't know the name of the town where we were staying or the name of the Bed-n-Breakfast. I was royally
fukked! I decided that if I didn't get a hold of him by the time I was supposed to leave, that I wasn't going. There was no way in hell
my ass was getting on a plane, going to a strange country, not knowing a soul - all by myself. Nope! Wasn't gonna happen!
Strangely enough, when all of this came into effect, the same people that had previously expressed so much concern of me going,
were now excited and told me I should go anyway. It seems that as long as the possibility of the psycho Internet killer was out of the
picture, all was well.
So there it was, 1 day before I was supposed to leave. I hadn't even packed because I had no intentions of going. My phone rang
at about 4am and who is on the other end? You guessed it, Marco. Yay, he wasn't dead! For the first 5 minutes of the conversation I
had to listen to him go on and on, "Do you know how many times I've tried to call you?" "All I ever hear is beep beep beep - busy
busy busy! Do you EVER get off the damn Internet?" (I only had 1 phone line at the time) "I have tried calling all week! Today we
were hare hunting and I walked down the mountain TWICE just to get to a phone to call you. And it was busy both times!" He went
on for a while longer, while I just sat there with a smile on my face. I have to tell you, at that point he could have bitched at me for
an hour and I wouldn't have cared. I was just happy that he was alive. Apparently his cell phone had died, which meant he had no
way of getting any of his voice mails I had left. Oh well, it was all ok now. I told him that as long as he called me the next morning,
so I knew he hadn't died overnight, that I was still coming.
We talked the next morning, and later that day I was on the plane. I'm not afraid of flying, never have been. But, when I am stuck
on a plane for over 8 hours, going over the ocean, it's kind of hard to think of anything else besides it crashing, thus making me
sharkbait. So if you combine my thoughts of death, my worries over leaving the country for the first time, a lack of nicotine, and the
anxiety of meeting Marco - well, let's just say that my plane ride was anything but pleasant. I had a window seat, which was good,
because this meant I could at least see what we were gonna crash into. The guy next to me was originally from Ireland, but had been
living in the States for about 4 years. He was going back to watch some soccer tournament. (friggin soccer!) He was nice enough,
but the last thing I wanted to do was hold up a conversation with some stranger, so I was happy when the movies finally came on
and I got to wear my headphones. Here's a side-note on one of the movie choices, "A Chicken Run". First of all, there was probably
1 child on the entire plane. Secondly, this is one of the most twisted kiddy movies I've ever seen. Hell, within the first 15 minutes
they show a poor little chicken getting her head chopped off because she hadn't laid enough eggs. My Gawd! Ok, enough about that.
I didn't sleep at all. There was no way with all of the thoughts going through my head that I would be relaxed enough to sleep. By
the time we were flying over Ireland it was morning (about 6am). So by now my thoughts of becoming sharkbait had left and were
replaced with "OhMyGawd, what if we don't recognize each other? What if I am left to wander around Shannon airport without ever
finding Marco?" Laugh if you may, but I was having a severe anxiety attack. Of which, lack of sleep was not helping!
Yay, my ass was finally off that horrible plane! It was really early, so the airport was basically empty except for those of us
departing the plane. I followed the crowd around corners and down hallways so that I would be going where I was supposed to go.
However, since I had never gotten up once while I was stuck on that flying-tomb-in-the-sky, the sight of a bathroom reminded me
that I had drank about a half gallon of orange juice while I was up there. Dang, apparently everyone else did too. There was a huge
line, and by the time I was done, everyone was gone. Oh great, now what was I supposed to do? There were no crowds of people to
follow anymore.
I eventually found the hallway that led to the customs counter. It had a wall along one side, and a long window along the other
that showed the luggage terminal. I was near the very end of the line (a slow moving line I might add), so while I was waiting I
decided to look for Marco through the window. There were lots of people standing around in there, and I just assumed they were
there to pick someone up. (that's how we do it in the States at least) During the 30 minutes that it took to get up to the counter, I
frantically looked at every person near the luggage carousels. Not one of them even remotely resembled Marco. Remember that
anxiety attack I was having earlier? Well, it was now upgraded to a mini-heartattack. Continue
definitely a spur-of-the-moment decision. For the next 4 weeks I listened to countless people from the chatroom tell me how sorry
they felt for Marco. "Poor Sweet Marco - having to put up with you" "It's never gonna work" is what I heard numerous times! Very
few actually thought we would get along. I also listened to my family and friends in the real world tell me they thought it was great
that I was going, all the while having that concerned tone in their voice that I was gonna go meet some psycho killer and never
return. A few actually came out and said it.
For the first 3 weeks that Marco was gone we spoke on the phone a few times. Needless to say, I was having second, third, fourth,
etc. thoughts about my decision. Was I nuts? What the hell was I doing? This was SO unlike me! But each time we spoke, he was just
as excited about me coming as he was the very first time we spoke about it. So, my mind was set. I was still going.
The fourth week he was gone (the week before I was supposed to leave) I tried calling him every day. For 6 days I couldn't get a
hold of him. I left messages on his cell phone voice mail, called at all hours of the day and night, but no Marco. I was now officially
freaked out. I just knew that something had happened to him. He fell off a cliff and died or something and I would have no way of
ever knowing. I didn't know any of his family's phone numbers or addresses. Hell, I didn't even remember their first names! They
knew nothing about me. I didn't know the name of the town where we were staying or the name of the Bed-n-Breakfast. I was royally
fukked! I decided that if I didn't get a hold of him by the time I was supposed to leave, that I wasn't going. There was no way in hell
my ass was getting on a plane, going to a strange country, not knowing a soul - all by myself. Nope! Wasn't gonna happen!
Strangely enough, when all of this came into effect, the same people that had previously expressed so much concern of me going,
were now excited and told me I should go anyway. It seems that as long as the possibility of the psycho Internet killer was out of the
picture, all was well.
So there it was, 1 day before I was supposed to leave. I hadn't even packed because I had no intentions of going. My phone rang
at about 4am and who is on the other end? You guessed it, Marco. Yay, he wasn't dead! For the first 5 minutes of the conversation I
had to listen to him go on and on, "Do you know how many times I've tried to call you?" "All I ever hear is beep beep beep - busy
busy busy! Do you EVER get off the damn Internet?" (I only had 1 phone line at the time) "I have tried calling all week! Today we
were hare hunting and I walked down the mountain TWICE just to get to a phone to call you. And it was busy both times!" He went
on for a while longer, while I just sat there with a smile on my face. I have to tell you, at that point he could have bitched at me for
an hour and I wouldn't have cared. I was just happy that he was alive. Apparently his cell phone had died, which meant he had no
way of getting any of his voice mails I had left. Oh well, it was all ok now. I told him that as long as he called me the next morning,
so I knew he hadn't died overnight, that I was still coming.
We talked the next morning, and later that day I was on the plane. I'm not afraid of flying, never have been. But, when I am stuck
on a plane for over 8 hours, going over the ocean, it's kind of hard to think of anything else besides it crashing, thus making me
sharkbait. So if you combine my thoughts of death, my worries over leaving the country for the first time, a lack of nicotine, and the
anxiety of meeting Marco - well, let's just say that my plane ride was anything but pleasant. I had a window seat, which was good,
because this meant I could at least see what we were gonna crash into. The guy next to me was originally from Ireland, but had been
living in the States for about 4 years. He was going back to watch some soccer tournament. (friggin soccer!) He was nice enough,
but the last thing I wanted to do was hold up a conversation with some stranger, so I was happy when the movies finally came on
and I got to wear my headphones. Here's a side-note on one of the movie choices, "A Chicken Run". First of all, there was probably
1 child on the entire plane. Secondly, this is one of the most twisted kiddy movies I've ever seen. Hell, within the first 15 minutes
they show a poor little chicken getting her head chopped off because she hadn't laid enough eggs. My Gawd! Ok, enough about that.
I didn't sleep at all. There was no way with all of the thoughts going through my head that I would be relaxed enough to sleep. By
the time we were flying over Ireland it was morning (about 6am). So by now my thoughts of becoming sharkbait had left and were
replaced with "OhMyGawd, what if we don't recognize each other? What if I am left to wander around Shannon airport without ever
finding Marco?" Laugh if you may, but I was having a severe anxiety attack. Of which, lack of sleep was not helping!
Yay, my ass was finally off that horrible plane! It was really early, so the airport was basically empty except for those of us
departing the plane. I followed the crowd around corners and down hallways so that I would be going where I was supposed to go.
However, since I had never gotten up once while I was stuck on that flying-tomb-in-the-sky, the sight of a bathroom reminded me
that I had drank about a half gallon of orange juice while I was up there. Dang, apparently everyone else did too. There was a huge
line, and by the time I was done, everyone was gone. Oh great, now what was I supposed to do? There were no crowds of people to
follow anymore.
I eventually found the hallway that led to the customs counter. It had a wall along one side, and a long window along the other
that showed the luggage terminal. I was near the very end of the line (a slow moving line I might add), so while I was waiting I
decided to look for Marco through the window. There were lots of people standing around in there, and I just assumed they were
there to pick someone up. (that's how we do it in the States at least) During the 30 minutes that it took to get up to the counter, I
frantically looked at every person near the luggage carousels. Not one of them even remotely resembled Marco. Remember that
anxiety attack I was having earlier? Well, it was now upgraded to a mini-heartattack. Continue
