The A.C.

Not to be confused with “The OC” or “The Vegas”, my sister, soon-to-be-brother-in-law, husband, and I just spent a weekend in “The A.C.” There’s nothing like a quick jaunt up to Atlantic City. Fill up on White House Subs, get your gamble on in Bally’s and Wild Wild West, and drink it up.

What once started out as a fun weekend has become a yearly tradition, and there’s no end in sight for our foursome and the adventures (and stories) we encounter in Atlantic City.

Eating White House Subs

Gearing up...

...to head out!

Crashing on the return home!

See you next year, Atlantic City!

Irish Car Bombs Don’t Translate

Last year on the day after St. Patrick’s Day, I was speaking with my British neighbor and friend about how my husband and I had done a few Irish Car Bombs to celebrate. She looked at me, and said, “You did what last night?”

It never occurred to me that Irish Car Bombs (a shot of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey and Bailey’s Irish Cream dropped into a Guinness and then chugged) wouldn’t translate. Clearly, my knowledge of British/Irish relations and the history of Northern Ireland leaves a lot to be desired. When Marcus got home, I asked him, “Marcus, Fiona had never heard of Irish Car Bombs. Do you think that title is offensive? Who do you think it’s offensive too?”

Marcus shook his head, “It’s pretty much offensive to everyone involved.”

Whoops.

At any rate, this year we convinced Fiona to come and join us for a couple Irish Car Bombs before she went out for a leaving do with friends.

I think they were a bit of a (culture) shock. But, at least they were yummy.