Today I committed to the one thing I've been putting off since I arrived in Ireland...
The mobile phone contract.
For the past 3 years I've been hammering away credit with my archaic, little Nokia phone that only makes and receives calls and texts. Email? Wouldn't dream of it. Applications? No way. Who needs an extra expense and 2 year commitment to a communications conglomerate? Not this gal.
My view began to change about a year and a half ago when I started working for one of the largest tech companies in the world. I would need a smart phone just to do my job. But I hesitated and powered through the lack of technology relying on other resources to assist with my daily tasks.
This whole cloud computing thing changed my mind. In order to support the people I deal with everyday, I would need to understand how the heck this all works. And I'm much more of a visual/learn by doing person than learn by reading/remembering/etc. After weighing the costs of credit vs paying a bill every month, the solution seemed simple. Buy the iPhone and sign a contract.
Well yeah I could have bought the phone outright if I had a spare 600 euro or so sitting around, but I didn't. Plus at this point in my life, I should be able to handle something like a cell phone bill. But signing a contract is a huge (ahem 2 year) commitment to a phone and to Ireland. I feel like such a grown up.
And it's so pretty. A 16 GB, iPhone 4S in white all to myself. I've been glued to it all night setting up my email, texting my friends on iMessage, playing Angry Birds, and talking to that bitch Siri. It really is a lovely little gem and I'm glad I took the plunge and finally signed away my soul to Vodafone.
Hopefully my decision will still be sound when the bill arrives.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Back to the Land of Living
Everyone will be happy to know that my dad's visit to Cork went very well, minus the torrential downpours we had on Saturday that disrupted our trip to the Cliffs of Moher.
In spite of the above, we managed to do a little sightseeing, ate some fine foods, and drank some fine drinks.
The morning dad left to return to the mother land it hit me...a dreaded relapse of the illness I had just taken a week to get over.
Normally every winter I get one bout of the plague (in addition to a sinus infection every two months) that puts me on my ass. Hopefully, this is it because man, it was rough. Headaches, a horrible cough, and extreme tiredness. Breathing hurt and staying awake was a challenge.
After about 4 visits to the doctor I am now on my second round of steroids and have a lovely, strong antibiotic to bust this thing out of me. Lovely enough, it's finally working and I get to return to work tomorrow. This is nice because daytime TV is absolutely horrendous in Ireland. I'm excited to get back to the land of the living because staying home (as nice as it seems) is just down right depressing.
The downside is, the drugs that are helping me have horrible side effects. I have a nasty taste in my mouth 24/7, anything I eat makes me feel sick and bloated, I can't sleep, I'm sweating a lot, and I'm moody. I have a whole new respect for people who are put on steroids for a long period of time. I've been on them for almost 2 weeks and I'm going crazy. I finish my dose of meds on Saturday and am looking forward to it indeed.
So no news really as I've been glued to the couch or asleep for the past 2.5 weeks. The most exciting thing that happened recently is Baxter got into the trash and ate 2 tampons. Yep, color me disgusting. He managed to purge them though (details aside) and is hopefully okay.
Aren't you happy I've left you with that lovely image?
Until next time...
In spite of the above, we managed to do a little sightseeing, ate some fine foods, and drank some fine drinks.
The morning dad left to return to the mother land it hit me...a dreaded relapse of the illness I had just taken a week to get over.
Normally every winter I get one bout of the plague (in addition to a sinus infection every two months) that puts me on my ass. Hopefully, this is it because man, it was rough. Headaches, a horrible cough, and extreme tiredness. Breathing hurt and staying awake was a challenge.
After about 4 visits to the doctor I am now on my second round of steroids and have a lovely, strong antibiotic to bust this thing out of me. Lovely enough, it's finally working and I get to return to work tomorrow. This is nice because daytime TV is absolutely horrendous in Ireland. I'm excited to get back to the land of the living because staying home (as nice as it seems) is just down right depressing.
The downside is, the drugs that are helping me have horrible side effects. I have a nasty taste in my mouth 24/7, anything I eat makes me feel sick and bloated, I can't sleep, I'm sweating a lot, and I'm moody. I have a whole new respect for people who are put on steroids for a long period of time. I've been on them for almost 2 weeks and I'm going crazy. I finish my dose of meds on Saturday and am looking forward to it indeed.
So no news really as I've been glued to the couch or asleep for the past 2.5 weeks. The most exciting thing that happened recently is Baxter got into the trash and ate 2 tampons. Yep, color me disgusting. He managed to purge them though (details aside) and is hopefully okay.
Aren't you happy I've left you with that lovely image?
Until next time...
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Yank Alert!
Tomorrow marks a very important event...
My dad is coming to Cork for a visit.
There are a few great things about this. Not only do I get to see my dad, but my dad gets to be immersed more into Irish culture now that I am living here permanently. My dad has been to Ireland a few times and knows the lay of the land pretty well, so much that you could play "Spot the Yank" and he'd blend in effortlessly (until he opens his mouth and asks for a dry martini at the local pub).
Side note: Did I mention my dad is the 62 year old version of Ron Burgandy?
Anyway, enough about my dad, and more about me. I swear I'm not shallow.
Whenever I have American visitors come to stay, I feel pressured to show them just how wonderful living in Ireland is and that they don't have to worry about me, I'm okay here. I feel the need to expose them to the wonderfulness that is Cork, in spite of the cold, rainy, and damp weather. Basically I want them to leave feeling as though they don't need to call my mother to tell her to hop on the first American Airlines flight she can find to come rescue me.
Preparations have been lagging this time around since I've been sick with the plague for about a week. Well, not the plague, but a sinus infection that's gone rogue and infected my entire respiratory system. I've been curled up with meds, my dog, a blanket, and non stop episodes of Modern Family to get me through this difficult time. After plenty of rest and fluids I'm feeling much better, minus the death rattle cough that's been lingering, but I'll live.
One American trait that I haven't been able to shake since I've arrived in Cork is my idealism and need to strive for perfection. No matter how laid back the Irish can be, my neurosis just won't allow me to stop and sniff the roses. Therefore, before a fellow American arrives (especially a parent), the following must be complete:
1) Living quarters must be spotless.
2) Living quarters must be well accessorized.
3) Car must be washed and looking as nice as possible.
4) Dog must be bathed.
5) Career plan must be formed in head and ready to discuss.
6) Sheets must be clean.
7) Living quarters must smell nice.
8) I must appear as if I really do have it all together.
Aside from having said plague this week, here are the following reasons why the above will never be completely fulfilled:
1) Living quarters must be spotless. I'm just feeling too crappy to care about this. I finally mustered up the energy to hoover the carpet and I had to take a nap for an hour afterward. In addition, Baxter keeps leaving mystery poos everywhere.
2) Living quarters must be well accessorized. I recently bought a new rug for the sitting room and a few picture frames. That will have to do. In Ireland when you rent a house/apartment/dwelling small enough to be a box, but they call it a house, the furniture is included. So are paintings, curtains, and little bits and bobs. Our landlord is a farmer and therefore, our kitchen is a scene out of a modern day Green Acres, our sitting room has sage colored sofas and pepto colored curtains, and there isn't a painting to be seen. I don't see the point in buying many decoratives if we're just going to move again. And as far as art work goes, I'd like to wait to find something worth buying.
3) Car must be washed and looking as nice as possible. I drive a 1997 polo that I bought in cash. I'm 99% sure an old lady owned it before me due to the religious paraphernalia in it and the 50 small dents along the sides. I'm totally stereotyping here, but after all, it only had 50,000 miles on it when I bought it. Just enough to drive to the local shop, bingo, and back home. In any case, no matter how much I wash that baby, it's still going to be a dented, 1997 polo.
4) Dog must be bathed. Check. I did that during my energy spurt along with the hoovering. He still hates me for it.
5) Career plan must be formed in head and ready to discuss. Check and check. Thank you work for giving me direction.
6) Sheets must be clean. Always a must. Check.
7) Living quarters must smell nice. Impossible. Our downstairs toilet has some sort of plumbing issue (it works but at random, terrible scents come from it). Thank god if you close the door, it doesn't permeate further than the hall. However, I purchased scented candles because I wanted the place to smell Autumn ish. To my demise, it is apparently very difficult to find spice scented Yankee Candles in Cork. And when one does find them, they cost a ridiculous amount to purchase. I settled for a generic cinnamon candle from the local Dunnes. It's been lit for the entire afternoon and doesn't smell like a damn thing.
8) I must appear as if I really do have it all together. Read the above. Seriously, what do you think?
I think the point beneath it all is that I experience reverse culture shock before and after an American visitor arrives. All this week I've been thinking about how small our master bedroom is. I'm nearly 27 and I still sleep in a double bed, with another person. I thought about it and my 10 year old sister's bedroom and bed is bigger than mine. But things here are smaller and we live in a duplex, not a house, so what can I expect. I shouldn't have to justify everything being different than where I'm from and I should be well accustomed to it by now, but whenever my people come, I default back to a true Yank. Bigger is better.
In spite of it all, I'm looking forward to seeing my dad. My health is nearly back to normal so I'm sure I'll be able to show him a good time.
One day I'll learn to look at all the positives instead of focusing on the negatives (that was a goal I set for myself when I was 16...look how far I got). And for now I'll focus on how lucky I am to be living my dream. No one said it would be easy!
My dad is coming to Cork for a visit.
There are a few great things about this. Not only do I get to see my dad, but my dad gets to be immersed more into Irish culture now that I am living here permanently. My dad has been to Ireland a few times and knows the lay of the land pretty well, so much that you could play "Spot the Yank" and he'd blend in effortlessly (until he opens his mouth and asks for a dry martini at the local pub).
Side note: Did I mention my dad is the 62 year old version of Ron Burgandy?
Anyway, enough about my dad, and more about me. I swear I'm not shallow.
Whenever I have American visitors come to stay, I feel pressured to show them just how wonderful living in Ireland is and that they don't have to worry about me, I'm okay here. I feel the need to expose them to the wonderfulness that is Cork, in spite of the cold, rainy, and damp weather. Basically I want them to leave feeling as though they don't need to call my mother to tell her to hop on the first American Airlines flight she can find to come rescue me.
Preparations have been lagging this time around since I've been sick with the plague for about a week. Well, not the plague, but a sinus infection that's gone rogue and infected my entire respiratory system. I've been curled up with meds, my dog, a blanket, and non stop episodes of Modern Family to get me through this difficult time. After plenty of rest and fluids I'm feeling much better, minus the death rattle cough that's been lingering, but I'll live.
One American trait that I haven't been able to shake since I've arrived in Cork is my idealism and need to strive for perfection. No matter how laid back the Irish can be, my neurosis just won't allow me to stop and sniff the roses. Therefore, before a fellow American arrives (especially a parent), the following must be complete:
1) Living quarters must be spotless.
2) Living quarters must be well accessorized.
3) Car must be washed and looking as nice as possible.
4) Dog must be bathed.
5) Career plan must be formed in head and ready to discuss.
6) Sheets must be clean.
7) Living quarters must smell nice.
8) I must appear as if I really do have it all together.
Aside from having said plague this week, here are the following reasons why the above will never be completely fulfilled:
1) Living quarters must be spotless. I'm just feeling too crappy to care about this. I finally mustered up the energy to hoover the carpet and I had to take a nap for an hour afterward. In addition, Baxter keeps leaving mystery poos everywhere.
2) Living quarters must be well accessorized. I recently bought a new rug for the sitting room and a few picture frames. That will have to do. In Ireland when you rent a house/apartment/dwelling small enough to be a box, but they call it a house, the furniture is included. So are paintings, curtains, and little bits and bobs. Our landlord is a farmer and therefore, our kitchen is a scene out of a modern day Green Acres, our sitting room has sage colored sofas and pepto colored curtains, and there isn't a painting to be seen. I don't see the point in buying many decoratives if we're just going to move again. And as far as art work goes, I'd like to wait to find something worth buying.
3) Car must be washed and looking as nice as possible. I drive a 1997 polo that I bought in cash. I'm 99% sure an old lady owned it before me due to the religious paraphernalia in it and the 50 small dents along the sides. I'm totally stereotyping here, but after all, it only had 50,000 miles on it when I bought it. Just enough to drive to the local shop, bingo, and back home. In any case, no matter how much I wash that baby, it's still going to be a dented, 1997 polo.
4) Dog must be bathed. Check. I did that during my energy spurt along with the hoovering. He still hates me for it.
5) Career plan must be formed in head and ready to discuss. Check and check. Thank you work for giving me direction.
6) Sheets must be clean. Always a must. Check.
7) Living quarters must smell nice. Impossible. Our downstairs toilet has some sort of plumbing issue (it works but at random, terrible scents come from it). Thank god if you close the door, it doesn't permeate further than the hall. However, I purchased scented candles because I wanted the place to smell Autumn ish. To my demise, it is apparently very difficult to find spice scented Yankee Candles in Cork. And when one does find them, they cost a ridiculous amount to purchase. I settled for a generic cinnamon candle from the local Dunnes. It's been lit for the entire afternoon and doesn't smell like a damn thing.
8) I must appear as if I really do have it all together. Read the above. Seriously, what do you think?
I think the point beneath it all is that I experience reverse culture shock before and after an American visitor arrives. All this week I've been thinking about how small our master bedroom is. I'm nearly 27 and I still sleep in a double bed, with another person. I thought about it and my 10 year old sister's bedroom and bed is bigger than mine. But things here are smaller and we live in a duplex, not a house, so what can I expect. I shouldn't have to justify everything being different than where I'm from and I should be well accustomed to it by now, but whenever my people come, I default back to a true Yank. Bigger is better.
In spite of it all, I'm looking forward to seeing my dad. My health is nearly back to normal so I'm sure I'll be able to show him a good time.
One day I'll learn to look at all the positives instead of focusing on the negatives (that was a goal I set for myself when I was 16...look how far I got). And for now I'll focus on how lucky I am to be living my dream. No one said it would be easy!
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Meet Baxter.
Most of the people who know me, know Baxter. But for any strangers stumbling across this page, you now know him too.
Baxter is a long haired, mini dachshund and this picture of him is quite outdated. He's now almost 6 months old and losing all his baby teeth (about 1 a day). I'm such a proud parent.
The boyfriend surprised me with Baxter a few months ago out of the blue. BEST SURPRISE EVER. I came home from a grueling day at work to find a little, black ball of fur cuddled up on my sofa. He was so tiny I could nearly hold him in one hand. Now he's a lean, mean, chewing machine.
So far the most notable things he has digested are as follows:
- Earplugs ( x 4)
- An arm from his favorite chew toy
- The eyes of a stuffed pig
- The corner of the carpet in the sitting room
- His harness (he ate half. I immediately bought him another and he's not allowed near it, except on walks)
- Multiple loose teeth
- Paper...lots of paper.
Thankfully he's managed to...manage all of the above.
Baxter is currently going through a stage where he does not listen. For example, he's currently chewing on the new rug I bought as boyfriend continuously yells, "no." In these situations, he gets put on a time out (quiet time in the kitchen). I always made fun of those people who treated their dogs like children. I am slowly becoming one of them. The Jo Frost of puppies would be proud of my tactic. Maybe I should get Baxter a naughty step.
But in spite all of the chewing, being bold, and testing my patience, nothing beats coming home to a lovely little puppy every day. No matter how hard a day it is, Baxter is there to greet me with a tail wag and a lick to the face.
Boyfriend better watch out, he's got serious competition.
More to come on Baxter as the puppy rearing adventure continues!
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