• “FML.”
• “said [object].” As in, “I bought a new car, then I immediately trashed said car.”  No one is as confused as you think they are.
• “aforementioned” See the aforementioned bullet point.
• “I feel like…” pronounced “Ifeellike”, as in “Ifeellike she’s just never gonna be happy without a boyfriend” or “Ifeellike we should eat dinner soon” or “Ifeellike Christopher Columbus discovered America.”

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I got the apartment I wanted, in the area I wanted, at the price I wanted, for the length of time I wanted, with the preferred aesthetics I wanted, shared with the person I wanted.  This place is the coolest.  I’m really happy to be here.

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If there were some kind of update on the apartment situation, I’d surely post about it here, but the real estate out there — even the rentable real estate — is a miserable situation for a couple kiddos who’re just barely hanging onto their paychecks in the meantime.  (Or paycheques, now, I suppose, because EVERYTHING MUST BE DIFFERENT.)  There’s a lot of false advertising and outdated photos abound.

And with a one-way ticket into Dublin from the country costing €5.40, after a long day of toiling in front of the computer, rushing into the city to look at an apartment I can dismiss just by the carpeting in the main lobby — well, let’s just say I’ve had it UP TO HERE with apartment hunting the last four weeks.

Our requests are simple, really:

1. Reasonably attractive because I am a reasonably attractive person who will be in this place all day long.
2. No carpeting, unless it is brand new, short, and not spanning the whole apartment.  And even then, it better not be red, good God.
3. Not ground floor, because there’s no area of town that lacks knackers (hooligans, thugs, whatever you want to call them).  I know how tempting it is to look in other people’s apartments.
4. Reasonably spacious.  That is, room for a desk because I work from home, the bed not jammed into the corner, etc.
5. Flexible lease because my 12 months started counting down from the moment I landed.
6. A nice neighbourhood.  (Yep, I spelled it that way.)  Because although that penthouse duplex apartment was gorgeous and brand new and within budget and all-around unsane, it was also surrounded by barbed-wire fences and one measly corner shop.  A newspaper tumbleweed literally crossed the street as we waited for the real estate agent.  That area of the docklands is going to be beautiful someday, but not this year.
7. Parking, either included in the price, or with a rent reasonable enough that parking rented separately will still keep us within our budget.
8. Stay within budget.

Not too extravagant, right?  We’re not fancy, our budget isn’t out of control for a starting salary, and we know we can make a place nice and comfortable on our own.  This is a very attainable list.

EXCEPT IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO ATTAIN.  These requests are possible in pieces, but an apartment with all of these qualities does not exist.  And so, while I continue to fool myself into thinking that maybe one will come up tomorrow or next week, possibly, I would like to show you exactly what I’m dealing with here.

Look, I’m not trying to be cruel towards other people’s style choices, but for the areas they belong to, and the state of the economy, and the rise of modernity in apartments elsewhere in the city, the price they’re asking for on these types of places is inexplicable.  So, while I continue to waste time during the day browsing the pages of DAFT, I’m going to keep cataloging the evidence until someone takes the hint and drives to IKEA.

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Oh!  Hello.  Didn’t see you there.

Okay, yes I did, I’ve been extremely aware of how much time was slipping by without an update.  It’s kind of rude of me, yes, but don’t worry — my thank-you graduation post cards are finally in the mail, and I think I have some decent reasons for staying quiet.

There’s a law of physics that not many people know about, but I do because I’m a doctor.  It says: Moving to a new country will be batshit crazy for at least four weeks.  You might think I’d be excused from this, seeing as I’ve already conquered Ireland once before.  I have to admit, I THOUGHT SO TOO.  I knew the Irish were slow as hell at getting public service things done, so I would just get them done early and be done with it.  But is anyone ever really done with immigration?

I suppose I am now, as of yesterday, but that’s only after I’d gone to the Dublin bureau for a few hours only to find out I’m not living within their jurisdiction at the moment.  I was going to tell a long story about the whole thing, but THERE’S NO TIME.

I sit at a computer all day long but I still have no time to update anyone about anything.  I’ve been typing this entry progressively for a week or two between work and getting the bus and writing up letters and going to bed.

Work is going well, I enjoy it, although my eyesight doesn’t.  Straight after work, I bolt into the city (or as fast as a bus will take me) in order to view apartments that disappoint me time and time again.  (Although, we saw one yesterday that I’m crazy about.  Let’s all work together to will this one into happening.)  By the time I’m home, it’s 9:30 pm, time for heating up dinner, finishing up some part-time work, and going to bed for work at 8 am.

I’m exhausted, although since it’s from bountiful work and progress — and not, you know starvation or poverty or illness — that’s really nothing to complain about.  Sometimes I just need to go into an empty room by myself, cry it out, and then get back to lobbying my old landlord for a reference, or my bank for a reference, or my employer for a reference.

Oh, and also enjoying the fact that the last 9 months are completely over and that I don’t think about them at all anymore.  It’s like I never left.

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