I've been dreaming of coming here my whole anglophile-by-Hollywood life. And it was everything I wanted: the rain, the British accents, the bottled frustration masked superbly by compulsive English decorum. IT WAS SO PERFECT. Kind of expensive, though.

Twenty-eight. 28. It just looks weird. So did 26 and 27. Somehow, after 25, they started to melt together. With these "late-20s," I haven't anticipated each individual age, (16! 17...was almost 18! 18! 19 was almost 20 which was almost 21!) so when a new one comes around, it's like, "Huh, we're back here again already?" Time, you old coot.

Apparently when you turn 28 your start using words like "coot."

The Irish do a lot of things their own way; phrasing ("Runners" are sneakers, you have "loads" of something instead of a lot, "having a laugh" means kidding, a "press" is a cabinet), scheduling ("Irish time" is a commonly heard phrase to note general tardiness, such as that of the bus). This weekend I can add to my list of these discoveries: Irish "pool." The balls are small(er) and are two solid colors instead of stripes and solids and don't have any numbers on them; the table is half the size of standard billiards and the rules seem to favor Irish players if you happen to be a non-Irish player. (Or so it seemed after a few drinks.) Needless to say, Team America lost miserably this last Saturday evening in a small bar the only bar in Letterfrack, in Connemara, a national park north of Galway.

My new roommates are 3-year-olds, twins and go by the names of Nathan ("Nate-dog") and Dylan; they enjoy Rugby Tots, tricycle-riding, sword-fighting in something called "Power Ranger mode," wrestling each other and lollipops; also, they would like everyone to know they do not eat vegetables, thankyouverymuch. Their mom Niamh, (pronounced "Neeve") is a wonderful woman who loves her boys but is definitely long over due for an extended spa weekend; their dad, Conor, works for the provincial rugby team and travels more often than not. The family's home just outside of Galway is roomy and welcoming; my bedroom is big and comfortable, and the kitchen is stocked with things like doughnut-shaped biscuits (cookies) and breaded fish fingers. Traces of 2.5-ft. tall humans exist throughout the suburban home; handprints of varying colors, dribbles, artwork, and two of every toy.

Today I was introduced to Gaelic football, the Irish national sport, which gave me the impression that someone said, Wouldn't it be so cool if we played basketball, baseball, soccer, American football, volleyball and a little rugby ALL AT ONCE? To which the masses replied, YES.

I'm in Galway and there are small spiders on the ceiling in my bedroom. At first I thought they were spiders, but they stayed in one place for so long and are so tiny they almost looked like small holes/cracks in the ceiling. Later, one crack had changed locations. Upon closer examination, it was confirmed: There are small spiders on the ceiling in my bedroom.