First Impressions

First Impressions

Ireland is world renowned for being the Emerald Isle, it is more like the Emerald-soggy-wet-patch floating beside Great Britain. Jesus Christ it rains in that country, even when the sun is shining it is raining. No wonder it is green, it isn’t because there is so much lush forestry, it is more a moss-covered patina that permeates everything, it even seems to have reached out and covered the people. In terms of the over all look of the inhabitants, the men look like badly dressed JL Bean catalogue rejects, and the women look like bloated, over painted tarts.

I remember the first time I walked into a pub in the center of Dublin, it was a bank holiday weekend and an assortment of characters were out in full array. I had never seen dresses so short. I am no prude, but these were bordering on being random pieces of material slapped on the backside more for decoration than for function. The heels were high, and so was the hair. The make-up was shocking! I had never seen so many orange people before, we are not talking subtle shades of brown blended to enhance the skin tone, no we are talking about out right, blatant, over the top, three to four shades darker than their normally pasty white complexions.  This was just the base, then slapped on top of this is another layer of the various colors of eye shadow, lipstick and blush, oh and the eye lashes were dramatic. Too dramatic, so upon closer inspection I realized they were getting their lashes enhanced. The Irish had come a long way from the poor, Roman Catholic church run country. They were now first world, and had the spending power and bad taste to go along with it. Garish springs to mind.

Oh and the encounter with the newly minted Irish punter was an experience. I first couldn’t believe the level of fashionably challenged individuals gracing my door. I was like, how the hell could this man afford 250 and hour, with such bad taste in clothing? All would be revealed to be later on as I got to understand the mentality and the culture.

Oh and some of the cars in Dublin at the time, the biggest, baddest, newest, hottest thing off the showroom floor. The apartments, that almost as soon as I hit the door of an outcall residence, I was informed it was worth half a million! One time, I exclaimed(I did have a few glasses of excellent Merlot) in utter shock, “For this? You can’t be serious? This isn’t Paris, London, or New York. This is backwards ass Ireland!” Oops! The look on the punters face! He was so upset I called his little country backwards. He was red with fury, how dare I(read a hooker) criticize all the strides the country had made, bla, bla, bla. The first lesson learned in Ireland, do not under ANY  circumstance criticize Ireland in the presence of an Irishman, they can’t handle hearing a foreigner and especially a hooker say anything negative about their blighted little moss-covered hovel of a country. This also translate to them being incapable of hearing personal criticism as well,  this of course renders them unaware of self and situation until it is too late. I will bet anything he is in agreement with me now about that apartment and the country. But he will die first with hot coals shoved up his ass before he would admit, and especially to me.

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