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!

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!