When the Beckster and I decided to employ a fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants approach for our Ireland adventure, we did so knowing we'd be traveling together and thus able to use our combined travel savvy to find our way.

Continental Airlines quickly blew a huge fucking hole in that gameplan when it at first delayed and eventually canceled Becky's connecting flight from CMH to EWR. Given the turn of events at her office 24 hours prior, a colossal travel fuck-up was not what she needed. Freakgirl, upon hearing about the double whammy of the job and travel woe, said via e-mail: "Thank god you will be in a city that celebrates drinking your cares away."

Indeed.

During some 30+ status-updating phone calls between 7 and 9 p.m. that Friday, Becky and I discussed the options. At one point, I tentatively (but sincerely) offered, "Dude, you've been through a lot in the past 36 hours and if you don't want to go, I'll totally understand." Her response: "WE'RE GOING. I NEED TO GO." But because flights to Ireland only depart EWR (as well as JFK, LaGuardia and Philly, as we checked everything) at night, she would thus be unable to get across the pond until early Sunday morning.

And that's how I wound up arriving in Dublin almost 24 hours before the Beckster.

Now, if forced at gunpoint to find a bright spot in the whole mess, it would be that there was an empty seat next to me for the overnight flight. That proved to be particularly handy when my gastrointestinal tract went nuts halfway through the flight, necessitating a mad dash from my seat to the restroom. Damn cocktails and altitude of 30,000+ feet.

Anyway, to demonstrate how little research I'd done regarding our trip, I did not know the time difference between the US and Ireland. I had no idea about the exchange rate between the Euro and the dollar (answer = not good). And I certainly didn't have a clue as to how to get to our hotel. But I happily learned all these things and more in my 24 solo hours. I also bought a new winter hat (it's hard to describe how bitterly cold it was upon my arrival), ate the first of many Italian meals and watched this.

But I also did a lot of sleeping, knowing that when Becky finally arrived, she would be a woman on a mission. As I said to her during one of our many phone calls Friday, "God help Dublin Sunday night."

To be continued...