Power Suit Me

I got a job. I am rather pleased with myself.

Go Team Me.

Corporate Me

So I discovered the new format offered by Blogger and decided to take advantage of it. I noticed the Adsense option, ( you allow ads to be placed on your blog and you get paid for doing nothing apart from sitting on your backside typing furiously on a keyboard) , and decided to install it.

Now I have an ad for Hurricane Katerina charitable relief.

I am going to need something a little more profitable if I plan on retiring at 35

Nergh.

Fish Watch


I think the Beta fish Ian has in a bowl is suicidal. The bowl is behind where I sit at the computer and all I have heard this morning have been little bursts of air bubbles from the demented fish. He sticks his little mouth above water, takes in a few gulps of air and then burps them out with all the charm of a newborn.

I hope he doesn't die on my watch.

Summer Rubbish

Since the start of May I have seen the following movies-

Blades of Glory -perhaps if I was a hormonal 12 year old I might have laughed
Spiderman 3 -they went OTT with the black eyeliner and failed rockstar look
Shrek 3 -seems the scriptwriters have forgotten what "funny" means
Pirates of the Caribbean 3 -Oh my god. I cannot believe the script was allowed outside the studio

Not one of the above godforsaken attempts from the film industry comes close to defining entertainment. Don't bother wasting your money. Paint your wall and watch it dry instead. Perhaps cut your toe nails. Maybe even clean the hair from under your bed.
To add insult to injury we were charged an extra $2 to see the Pirates of the Caribbean as it was, apparently, in High Definition.

Spare me.

Remember in "Pulp Fiction" the comparisons John Travolta drew with North America and Europe,... well not much the comparisons more the differences, via the medium of fast food? I have to agree with the Mad Scientologist. There aren't many huge or significant differences between Canada and Ireland, but there are little things can leave you in the quite the muddle.

Stores here in Canada stock more or less the exact same products as found in Ireland. However, Canadian marketing gurus have decided that packaging which sells perfectly well in Europe, OBVIOUSLY will never appeal to the Canadian consumer, so they have gone and changed it all. Or maybe they felt that Canadian packinging would never work in Europe. Neh. Either way, it had lead to me standing in stores, scratching my head wondering where the hell Herbal Essences has gone to and asking the store assistant, who now thinks I am an idiot, where everything is. For example. This is what Aussie Shampoo looks like in Ireland


And here is what it looks like in Canada.. well on this particular type.


See? I have to admit I am loving the purple packing. Makes it look less like a dollar store effort. Dear Lord I have sucummbed to the might of the marketing gurus!

I bought hair straightners today. Holy crap. They have ceramic plates coated in titanium. My hair feels like it could take on the might of one of those hair commercials where the models give themselves whiplash swinging their hair around.

L'oreal. Beacause I want a neck collar.

Canada's Finest!


This is an illustrative example of the very tough job Ian has to contend with daily. Today, he had to drive the speedboat around a lagoon.

He's like Sean Connery in a schpeedboath

It’s Abooot Time.

I have arrived. Canada, here I am. And what a tormented weather situation going on here. One day hot, next day cold and I AM BEING MOCKED FOR WEARING MY COAT WHEN IT IS COLD. Clothing etiquette defies just about everything here. Yesterday was a tad on the chilly side yet I passed a guy wearing shorts, a cut off shirt and flip-flops. Now, while he did have a rather impressive array of tattoos to show off, I was horrified at the amount of skin he was displaying in lukewarm weather.

Mutter.

So, getting here was relatively uneventful. Heathrow was Heathrow…. A mind-boggling sea of illogical thinking, Duty Free seems to have erased the “duty” and “free” aspects of the concept and communication barriers are loud and proud. . There was an unpleasant incident with my feta cheese tart- I couldn’t understand the waiter and he couldn’t understand me. I got my tart eventually but kept checking for an unsanitary or nasty little surprise.

I thoroughly recommend British Airways for all your aeronautical needs. A delightful airline complete with air stewards that fill you up with too much wine and compliment you on your perfume. Wonderful boys. However, Pearson airport wasn’t such a barrel of laughs. Immigration, as with all countries, is never a barrel of laughs. However, this was the first time that I was taken to one of those side rooms where you assume criminals are taken, not those on a valid work visa. I was asked to wait in an area with families from India and Pakistan among others. Fine you think, and find it would have been, had I not been left there without any information, without any guidance and without anyone even attempting to help me. Immigration Officers kept passing by ignoring my requests until finally a lovely female immigration officer approached me and asked, “Do you have a passport?”. The fact that I had just entered the country via an airplane was wasted. However, she instantly got into action and got me all visaed up.

Retrieving my bags was another matter. I love how airport personnel place charges on luggage carts. This is a reasonable action as it cuts down on inappropriate cart gatherings, however it really does not facilitate the traveler who doesn’t turn up with any local change. Then, to add insult to injury, you try getting change for that stupid cart machine. Yeah, it’s a rather large pain, particularly if you have to deal with the sour faced oompa loompa behind her bulletproof glass and the idiots that are oblivious to the queue concept.

Once out of the turmoil of international travel, things recovered themselves well… apart from the flood of tears when I saw Ian, (an odd blend of happiness, exhaustion and anger). So now that I am back on the old stomping ground it’s all good. Well, apart from the fact that I don’t have a job and am getting more and more depressed as the days go by. It’s one thing to have international experience, but quite another to have Canadian experience. It’s the old Catch 22 situation here and it is driving me nuts. I’m trying not to just settle for anything, instead utilizing the years and years I spent at university to some good use, and not falling foul to the immigrant trap.

Ian and I are getting on great, apart from his odd desire to see Spiderman 3. A film slated by critics. A film starring Tobey Maguire. Who should be slated with something solid. It is just me or is there something fiercely annoying about Mr. Maguire. However, in the name of international peace relations I have agreed to see it with Ian and two of his friends this week. The excitement just might kill me.

In shock news, Ian and I are considering buying bicycles to get fit. I know. Who would have thought? We have been walking lots, but Ian’s PC Plod pace does nothing for our relationship, so at least I can let him loose on Heber Downs, (local flora and fauna area) while I cycle around and around in circles on completely and utterly flat areas as I am loathe to pedal up a hill and too scared to freewheel down one. Well, the brakes could fail!

I shall write about my Orientation Day tomorrow as it is the finest definition of "ridiculous" I can think of.

In a few hours I will be on my way to Heathrow and then to Toronto. A ridiculous flight path. If you don't understand, whip out a map and look at where Limerick, London and Toronto are. It's as if the pilot has started to fly in one directon, realises he has gone the wrong way and just slaps the plane into reverse hoping no one will notice.
I have noted that my posts of late have had all the characteristics of blog post starvation, ( a treatable disease once detected early), and hope to have a little time to spare once arrived in Canada to do a little update. Seeing as Ian is a working man and I am neither, I will dedicate Monday morning to blogging. Expect a rant about an airline, the people they employ, and the loss of my baggage.

It's going to be an exciting one.

Only two more days and I am finished work. To say I am "winding down" would be an understatement. I am moving around the office with all the speed of a slug taking a leisurely slide with the efficiency of a hanging sloth. Indeed, productive. Tomorrow, I will have a staff lunch with my team and some of the girls and, then, Friday sees my leaving do. I am prepping the camera for shame inducing pictorials. It shall not be given to anyone else unless they promise to take flattering pictures of me. A flawless plan!

Once all that is done, I will have to get around to doing some packing. An activity I LOATHE. So much so that I would not be shocked if I start binning things so I don't have to pack them and drag them to Limerick and then all the way to Canada! Aaahhh laziness.

Of course my actual arrival into Canada is under serious doubt at the moment. I have a visa...... somewhere in the world. I haven't recieved any paper stating that I have been approved for entry into Canada. If I don't get this piece of paper soon I have zero proof that I have a visa waiting for me in Canada, therefore prohibting me from gaining entry to Canadialand.

And can I get any response from the people who are supposed to be dealing with it? But of course not.

Bleurgh

I ate so much chocolate today ( as well as Easter Sunday lunch and Easter Sunday dinner, followed by Easter Sunday drinks and Easter Sunday coffees), that I have been forced to pop a Motillium and some antacid pill to ease the churning, the pain and the will to end it all. I think I will have a little lie down and reflect on my blatant abuse of one of the Seven Deadly Sins- Gluttony.

Spent the day with my Gran. She is quite the funny little poppet- she has a very kind, innocent view of the world, only telling happy, positive stories about people, no matter how devious a conman they are. Recently, she got satellite TV installed and so has been enjoying the pleasures of multiple channels. She is coming to terms, albeit slowly, with the sudden appearance of two remote controls. One is for operating the TV itself with terrestrial channels and the other is to control satellite channels. Gran doesn't quite see it that way. She refers to the terrestrial remote as her "shortwave remote" and the satellite one as her "longwave remote". It is very sweet, yet also, oddly logical for a person that was raised with only radio as a form of entertainment. Keep it familiar is what I say.

We also took her on a tour of all the graves. Once you get to her age, it's good to keep in with the relatives who've passed on before you- you always need someone to save you a decent seat with the dude upstairs. She is the only lady who enjoys these little trps. There is a lot I could learn from her- from finding the silver lining in every single situation, whether good or bad to making people drink so much tea against their will that they want medical attention

Large Female Ape Hands Sighted in Rural Area- Easter Shocker

Isn't that below image just plain terrifying... people MOISTURISE or your hands will end up like mine. I slapped another coffee jar worth of Dead Sea mud onto my hands in an attempt to remove fake tan from the palms of my hands, ( covered myself in fake tan and forgot to wash my hands.. looks like my hands are from Portugal and the rest of me from Siberia). Once, the mud dried, I captured the below picture. It highlights how wrinkled and worn my hands are. And that I am second cousin, twice removed to an ape.

It is worth noting, that my hand situation did improve somewhat once I had removed the mud. They don't have quite as terrifying an appearance as when encased in mud, instead presenting a slighty more human aspect that leaves one questioning ones potential ape blood lines.

Mud Mud Everywhere..............


My parents spent a few weeks in Jordan enjoying the Eastern sun, hypersaline sea and mineral sand. Seeing as they were at the Dead Sea for a number of days and had tired of endless floating, Indiana Jones sets and gorging on luxury buffets, they decided instead to pack as much of the black mineral mud into coffee jars as they could. Indeed a classy pair. It is reported that the mud aids in circulation, lessens the effects of extreme skin disorders and deposits essential minerals in the skin. How fabulous. I lathered my face with it this evening. I shall keep you updated on the results. I am sure you are on the edge of your seat, dying with anticipation. Below is the Kenco jar which looks like it has been filled with rather squishy turds. Underneath is me with mineral mud on face. I would consider myself to not be a squishy turd.








Update- my skin didn't like the mud. And before any of you smartasses point out you shouldn't put it on your face, may I point out that the Dead Sea Spa ladies ( they do exist), assured my mother that it is safe. However, in the hours since, my skin has turned red and is rather itchy. Plus the removal of all the toxins has caused a spot outbreak on my chin. Mutter.

I am so tired I have gone beyond being tired. I cannot sleep and am running on nervous energy. I have cleared up my Sunday for sleep. I may squeeze in a little nod to daylight. No promises.

Just A Spoonful of Sugar..

There are 8 teaspoons of sugar in a single 330ml can of Coca Cola sold in Ireland and Great Britain.

Not sure if Americans have it better. They don't have sugar, instead creating dental cavities with High Fructose Corn Syrup.

And people wonder why their teeth are rotting and falling out of their heads. Tsk Tsk

The Gee Gees





Even though I tutted tutted at all those crazy people placing ill advised bets on horses last week, Friday saw me cave in. I didn't have any tips or any hunches, instead I spent the morning reviewing the form for all horses in the Gold Cup and decided that seeing as the favourite was a guarannted winner, ( with silly short odds), there was no point in putting my €10 on him. Instead, i went for an each way bet on Exotic Dancer, (see above), sent the facilities guy to the bookies on his lunch break, huddled around the radio at 3.30 and nearly peed my pants when he came in second. I had wisely placed an each way bet, ensuring some return on my bet. While my winnings were small, nothing could wipe the Cheshire Cat like grin off my face. I am beginning to understand the addictive side to gambling

I should NOT be allowed anywhere near a store anymore. Really. I went into town on my lunch break to mail a letter and like a moth to a flame was drawn into the Debenhams 25% sale. In I went, a woman on a misson and emerged 10 minutes later weighed down with half the cosmetic department and my wallet quite a little lighter. It was a shopping blitz, never seen before. I bought stuff I will NEVER use. Granted the shampoo and face wash will come in handy, but the sea salts and cherry bubble bath will take pride of place in the dungeons of my closet. Of course, once I started I couldn't stop and went into a clothing store where I just HAD to buy another pair of linen trousers. The fact that is is bitterly cold and pouring rain each and every day will not deter me in wearing them.

The Cheltenham festival is on this week. The week when people who have never seen a horse in their lives declare themselves racing experts. I have chosen not to indulge in the frenetic betting, but not so for some of the people I work with, if the screams of "Gwanyabloodynag" are anything to go by during race times. Lunch hour sees a mass exodus as they all take off to the local bookies to torment the teller with €1.00 bets from 15 people on the nag that just missed the slaughterhouse by a hoof, but may have a chance according the brother of the cousin of the sister of the neighbour of the girl at the next desk.

Only one more day until Casino Royale is available to buy. Daniel Craig goodness. Yum.

Canada


J'arriverai au Canada le 5 mai. Pour honorer la deuxieme langue du Canada j'ecris en francais. Je serai dans les banlieues de Toronto avec mon ami, Ian. Qui sait ce que je ferai! Peut-etre je balayerai les rues. Ce n'est pas reellement drole...........

Irish Stew


I have noticed on a few blogs and websites, North Americans discussing the making of Irish stew for St.Patrick's Day. I just so happen to have the definitive Irish Stew recipe and am willing to share.

Ingredients-
Some choice alcohol with Irish bar setting
Lemon
Salt
Cheese and Onion Taytos
Poitin

Utensils -
Neverending supply of glasses ( plastic advisable towards the end of the stew)
Chair with back and arms
Stainless Steel Bowl
Bounty Tissue
Taxi
Money
Lighter
Trained medic


1. Take an average Irish bar, fill to capacity with eager drinkers.
2. Provide pint sized glasses for required numbers
3. To each glass pour one part whiskey to 5 parts Guinness
4. Mix, cool and consume
5. Vigorously shake drinker
6. Once the Guinness-whiskey mix has fermented add one shot of green vodka
7. Allow to settle
8. While drinker is settling prepare one shot of black zambuca with flame ( glass optional, drinkers open mouth preferred)
9. Pour shot into open mouth, ignite, heat and swallow. Cheers encouraged.
10. Allow drinker to cool.
11. An optional spicy addition for the caliente lovers is one shot of finest Mexican tequilla.
12. Prepare drinkers arm with highest quality salt, pour shot of tequilla (worm suggested for added nutrients) and finish with a lemon garnish
13. It is suggested at this point to provide a stainless steel bowl for bodily evacuations. Toilet trips forbidden due to potential loss of valuable seat in busy stew.
14. While drinker is simmering, open a packet of finest Irish Taytos, place on a bed of Bounty, garnish with salt and serve
15. Take drinker off the boil and place on chair with back and arms. Cool.
16. Open a large bottle of poitin. Decant
17. Serve repeated shots of said drink until drinker begs for mercy.
18. Repeat steps 3-17 for as long as desired.
19. A side of Taxi optional
20. Trained medic necessary

Result
A delightful blend of alcohol soaked people with a hint of unwanted aromas and a bitter aftertaste.

Traditional Irish Stew is an accquired taste and does come with some unwanted side effects, but nothing a helping of Paracetamol, a bottle of Lucozade and a lie in can't cure

Want to buy some Irish Air?

I have to admire the entreprenurial skills of the Irish people. I am so jumping on the bandwagon. I have an endless supply of old jars and glasses. They are in need of filling. I'm off to the West of Ireland. Might not be back for days. But be sure I will come back a wealthy lady.... that or covered in seaweed... or found headfirst in a pool of cockles.