I've found my people, and they've embraced me.

Part One - Getting There

I realize I have a problem. I will never again be able to enjoy travelling as I used to. Why? Simple; for the last 5 years of my life, I have not had to pay for airfare. Because of this, I was never stressed out, angry, or upset when something went wrong while travelling. If the plane was delayed, oh well. If I was bumped from a flight, oh well. If they ran out of peanuts - oh well. I hadn't paid for anything, so I couldn't expect anything. Now that I am paying for my flights, I do expect things. Things like good service, timely push-offs, and free peanuts. And when I don't get these things - these things I paid for - I get stressed out, angry, and very upset. It's not really being spoiled, because when I was spoiled with free airfare I was always polite. It's simply that I expect to get what I paid for. Perhaps I am too demanding (or, perhaps, I fly on shitty airlines where "what I pay for" is shitty service).

This weekend was one of the worst travelling experiences of my life; definitely in the top three. Ryanair is atrocious. I have heard them called "the Southwest of Europe". This is not only a disgrace to the good name of Southwest Airlines, it also offends me on a deep, personal level. I won't bore you with the details of the seven hours I spent in airports this weekend, but I will say one thing. After a 20 minute argument with a customer service representative, I was told that I was "bitchy, even for an American" (not to my face, but to a co-worker as I walked away). I would have said something in response if I wasn't somewhat proud of this statement. My return trip found me wasting an equal amount of time in an airport, but it was much more enjoyable as I was much more drunk. I can now check "drinking alone in an airport bar" off my list of things to do. In the end, I am thoroughly unimpressed with Ryanair. Sure, I would probably fly them again, but only if their price was significantly (£60 or more) cheaper than competing airlines. Otherwise, I just don't think it's worth it.

Part Two - Being There

My jaunt to Dublin was spectacular. Saturday, I explored the city via a hop-on-hop-off tour bus service. The drivers were stereotypically Irish and, when they weren't talking, they played stereotypical Irish music. It was cliché-tacular and I loved it. I saw the Book of Kells at Trinity College (an ornately illustrated book of gospels from AD 800), Dublin Castle, The Doors of Dublin (all the old Georgian squares have these really ornate and colourful doors), St. Stephen's Green, Christ's Church Cathedral, St. Patrick's Cathedral, The place where Bram Stoker wrote Dracula, all sorts of random political and historical buildings, and (most importantly) the Guinness Storehouse. Is it sad that my favourite thing was the brewery? You didn't get to tour the actual brewery itself, but they had this awesome eight-storey interactive museum kind of thing with all the technical information, history, and advertisements you would ever want. There was a whole floor dedicated to the history of Guinness advertising. I don't think I need to tell you how much I enjoyed this. I am a nerd. Saturday night I wandered around the Temple Bar (a sort of 6th street style) area of the city with some friends I made at the Storehouse. Throughout the day, I kept being stopped by lost tourist looking for directions. They were fairly shocked to find I was American and, often, just as lost as they were. It wasn't just the tourists either. I fooled many an Irishman, who was equally shocked to find I was American. Apparently, it's not just the freckles and red hair (I didn't have the heart to tell them it was fake) I have going but it's "my face and my charm". It turns out Irish people like me a lot because 1. I look Irish and 2. am from Texas. The combination of the two is, to them anyway, hysterical. I may be living in the wrong country.

Sunday, I went with ten other people on a Celtic Tour of the countryside. Since it was such a small group, everyone got fairly chummy. I particularly got on well with these two girls from Newcastle and the driver, Paul. He called me Texas all day and, I'm not going to lie, it fulfilled a life long dream of mine. Who from Texas doesn't want to be nicknamed Texas when in a foreign country?!? Unless of course if you are in a war movie, because then you would have to die first. We travelled about an hour outside the city and visited Fourknocks' Tomb (built over 5000 years ago and home of the oldest carving of a face - though, 5000 years later it's not so impressive), Mellifont Abbey (where there are these really neat Celtic Crosses), Monasterboice Abbey, the Hill of Slane, and the Hill of Tara. It was really rather interesting and it was nice to see the famous Irish Countryside. You know that whole "Ireland is green" thing? Honestly, I have never seen such a vivid shade of green in nature before. It was gorgeous.

I learned something about my family while I was over there. We're Irish. Yeah, yeah, I know my Grandparents were Irish, but since my mom grew up in England, I always thought of us as British. Nope. All the quirkiness I used to attribute to being English is really not English at all. Our personalities, our sense of humour, our looks, our attitudes - it's all Irish. I never really thought about the fact that my mom and her siblings were first generation Brits. They grew up more Irish than they did British and that's what's been passed on to me. I really liked Dublin and the people I met there. They got me. I felt very comfortable there; very much at home. Part one aside, it was a very nice weekend. I've got a ridiculous amount of photographs, some of which I'll get posted to facebook in the next few days. (I would have posted them in here but in order to write a photograph based post I would have to write it at home and then what would I do at work?)

Rob is my Hero

Back when I first arrived in England, I had a little bit of Mac trouble. My battery wasn't charging properly and I had to go into the Apple store to get it swapped out for a new one. Who is it that ends up helping me out? This guy from UT, who happens to be good friends with my dear ad partner, Cesar. What are the odds?

This guy's name is Rob. And Rob is my hero.

He graciously accepted my Genius Bar appointment via Facebook and squeezed me in during appointments last night. Apparently, the Regent Street store in the single busiest Apple store in the world - based on what I saw last night, I'd believe it. After a few hours, it was concluded that the problem must be something physically wrong with my hard drive. I ended up leaving my laptop there for surgery - they have to open her up - but, I should get her back, good as new, in just a day or two. In fact, she'll be better than new, as there may be an upgrade to the new leopard OS and (finger crossed, cause' this would rock) the addition of CS3.

I apologize for completely flipping out and being, perhaps, a little overdramatic in my previous entry. But honestly, it did feel like my world was upside down. There was a girl at the Apple store last night who had, in fact, lost everything on her hard drive. She had been in the day before balling her eyes out. I could, obviously, empathize with her, but I was just so glad I wasn't her. So much so, that I felt rather guilty sitting next to her with my working computer and all it's music, pictures, and files.

I'm just really, truly, relieved. And you know what I am going to do to celebrate? Buy an external hard drive. A.S.A.P.

I am broken hearted.

I installed a normal update on my computer last night and, when prompted to restart, I did so. Now, my computer won't load the operating system; it only boots into Darwin (Mac's equivalent on DOS). After several attempts to contact the UK Mac Support line (did you know you can receive 24 hour technical support on your iPhone, but no other Mac products?), spending about 30 minutes using Google via a calling card and Jeremy, and calling the American tech support line (in this respect, the time zone thing really helped me out) I was told that, essentially, this was a freak accident that sometimes happens when installing normal updates and I may or may not have lost everything on my computer.

This is where I went into hysterics.

Everything. EVERYTHING may be gone. All of my music. Every picture I have taken over the last five years. Everything I have ever written. Things other people have written for me. Every design project I have ever created. All of my ads from portfolio. What it comes down to, is that my entire life has be erased.

I know that sounds incredibly dramatic, but I can't tell you the sense of loss I feel right now. It's like a loved one dieing - not like your mom or brother or someone else equally important; more like an estranged Aunt. It's just this profound feeling of helplessness. There's this sinking feeling in my chest when I think about all of the things I won't be able to replace. I feel victimized. I feel like someone has raped and pillaged my memories. All of these things that did once exist now, simply don't.

Again, I know how ridiculous this sounds from a purely logical standpoint. I should be able to restore a good 60% of my music library from my iPod, not to mention what I will steal from you lovely people at Christmas time. I should be able to get my portfolio work back from my Ad partners if I harass them enough. Most of the pictures that are truly important to me are in my scrapbook (mega-props to Brandan for getting me to do that) and then there are all those pictures online. That's the big three, as it were.

But it's all the little things that make my heart break. Random individual songs I've collected but never put on my iPod. New music I've bought in the last six months that never made it out of iTunes. Play lists I had made. Pictures that were too embarrassing or inappropriate to print, but were still brilliant nonetheless. A lot of random pictures I had saved from high school that never made it to the scrapbook. Things I had written in my spare time, just for fun. Things people had written for me as a romantic gesture or as a pick-me-up. I had a word document, from forever ago, of things John would say on AIM that made me laugh (John, I am pretty sure you know this, which makes it less creepy). I had a word document of everyone's reply to an away message question, "what's your favourite thing from this summer?" in reference to our last Summer before college. It's these things that I cannot replace that make me feel so empty all of a sudden.

I use to think losing my music collection would be the worse thing that could ever happen to me. This was a statement made back when I had a 500 CD case and the iPod had yet to be invented. Just a few days ago, I updated this statement and said that losing my facebook profile (as apparently you can, just randomly, have your facebook profile deleted) would be ghastly. It didn't even cross my mind that I could lose everything on my computer. It's like my brain could not even comprehend the horror of that reality and, therefore, refused to recognize it. Ironically, I have been toying with the idea of buying an external hard drive to back up all of my files for about a year now, but the cost/benefit analysis never worked out (i.e. I didn't think this was likely to happen and I didn't have $200 to spend on one).

Worst decision ever.

Double irony (as long as we are talking about irony) is that I never EVER update my computer when I am prompted. I just can't be bothered and, as of late, my internet has been too slow to do it. But, last night, for reasons only the gods will ever know, I decided to click "update" when prompted.

My mom is fed-exing me the original installation discs for my Mac. Best case scenario seems to be that they will be able to do an "archive re-install", meaning that they will be able to recover everything in my home folder. The only real downside to this is that I have no idea what my home folder is. So, if I was suppose to be adding things to my home folder (seems likely) there won't be much of anything to recover. I have my fingers crossed that things get automatically saved into my home folder… maybe?… please?

To top it all off, with my laptop out of commission I also lose my sole form on home entertainment. I can't watch DVDs, I can't listen to music, and I can't hang out online (not that I could really anyway (read: shitty internet)). I think part of why I was so upset last night was the realization that my entire pathetic life revolves around this one machine. I mean, I would have had a very happy evening watching Six Feet Under, listening to some music, reading, and falling asleep. But as soon as you take that away, I was struck with a serious moment of panic. The idea that that is all my life is; it's really disappointing.

To sum up: I've potentially lost a significant chunk of what I hold dear and have realized my life is an empty sham.

The lesson to be learned: Buy a fucking external hard drive, and buy it now.

And then there was this

This was the view outside my window at work on Friday afternoon. I have to admit, no one felt particularly guilty when we spent five minutes sipping tea (coffee for me), watching this guy work, and arguing the possible repercussions of flashing a man repelling from a 20 story building.

What an odd job.

A Busy Day at Work

Well, I had stuff to do. Now I find myself with an hour and fifteen minutes still to go and I am bored! I was instructed by Sarah, who is away today, to call her if I needed something to do. I have done so, several times, and to no avail. I know the people around me are busy and I keep asking them if I can help, but it would appear as though I am of no use to anyone. By trying to be helpful, I've put myself in a bit of an awkward situation; I am just dicking around and my overworked, stressed out colleagues KNOW that I am just dicking around. It really makes me feel guilty; guilty enough to open up Word and start typing while occasionally glancing at the Corporate Vehicles document sitting next to me in a vain attempt to appear to have found something important to do. Every so often I pause from typing and flip through the document with a pensive look on my face; I think that's a nice touch.
I've already written my abnormally long email today, spent a necessary amount of time on facebook, read through a stranger's blog, read through a friend's blog, and caught up on the last month of Gofugyourself.com entries. I don't know what happened. I was so busy this morning! We have a microsite we have to roll out this weekend, so Val and I were left to double check the consistency of the pages in regards to formatting, information, and branding. We had to work through 5 - 8 WebPages of varying length per a total of 22 countries. Val (who is in charge of this one) was worried it wasn't going to get done. She had me burning through those like wild fire; which is fine, I rather enjoyed my morning - I like when I have something that has to get done - but now I find myself with nothing left to do. Where is the bloody fire now?! Val is still working on bits and pieces of it, but it seems as though my area of expertise (mindless labour) is no longer required.
In short, through an exceedingly high level of efficiency and productivity, I have worked myself out of a job. I vaguely remember having a conversation with Ben about this a few years back, when he was working at a law firm one summer (funny, now I work at a law firm). He had observed that his peers and colleagues worked at an alarmingly slow pace, which he originally chalked up as laziness and/or incompetence. It wasn't until a few weeks into it that Ben started to realize the benefits of slowing down your productivity in order to extend your work load over longer periods of time. I guess this had just slipped my mind until today. I should not have been so hasty in my work! It was wrong of me to work as quickly and effectively as I could in order to not only meet, but beat, the deadline that was given to me. Why, oh why, did I think that was a good idea?
Now, I'm not saying you should slack off, or ever just do the bare minimum. One hurts thos you work with and the other is simply lazy. You certainly aren't going to climb the corporate ladder with only 15 pieces of flair. BUT, there is something in the idea of always being busy vs. always looking for something to do.
Say you are an over achiever and you accomplish all your boss gives you to do in the first two hours of your day. What next? You have to go ask for more to do. In the beginning, I'm sure this makes you look like a stellar employee, but after days, weeks, months of you having to ask what to do your boss ends up thinking, "Why do I always have to TELL her what to do. No one else has to ASK what their job is. I should fire her.". How awful! And all because you wanted to work to your full potential.
On the other hand, lets say you do you work, you do it well, and you do it in your own sweet time (though, of course, you never miss a deadline (without fair warning)). In this scenario, you never have to ask you boss, "what's next". You simply do what you are told, when you are told, and no one can make a complaint about you. When your boss sees you, intensely focused on your computer monitor (apparently amending some Corporate Vehicles document - you look so pensive) he can't help but think, "Now THERE'S and top notch employee. Always hard at work, never has to bother me. I should give her a raise". If you ask me, that's a much better situation to be in.
Unfortunately, this has chipped away thirty minutes of the hour and fifteen I needed to kill. Ironic. I worked too quickly through this post. I gave myself an hour deadline (well, goal really) and I blew it away; cut it in half!
Balls.

Zen Day

Sunday is quickly becoming my favorite day of the week. I have fallen into a very relaxing and productive little Sunday routine that truly makes me happy.

I get to sleep in. Whenever I do get up, I mosey on over to the gym where I get to enjoy a nice workout and a proper shower. (Remember how mine is made for midgets? I've gotten very accustom to showering in public.) On the way home from the gym, I pick up the Sunday Times (about 3 lbs of newspaper) and stop in my now favorite coffee shop, the Bean and Cup. I am on a mission to become a regular there. After a few hours of reading the paper, I pack it all up and go to the grocery store where I pick up whatever I need for the week as well as something special for dinner Sunday night. I like cooking something properly for myself every now and then. Part of me thinks it's kind of pathetic - picking up the single sized serving of chicken - but I really enjoy cooking and I really see no problem with treating myself to an extravagant home cooked meal once a week. Last week I made grilled red pepper and black bean fajitas and this week I am going to make a proper roast dinner with roast potatoes and everything.

I've always been a bit of a loner (and too shy for my own good), which is why it's always been hard for me to meet new people/make friends. During the rest of the week, this sometimes gnaws at me. I worry that I'll never really have a close group of friends again. I worry people actively try not to include me. I worry about how other people view me or what they think of me. But, on Sundays, I don't have to worry. I just get to enjoy my workout, my paper, my coffee, my dinner... my routine. I just get to be with myself and forget the rest of the world for a little while - and it's really nice.

I think this might make me a crazy person, but I'm ok with that.

Extras

As I don't have a TV or a DVD hire near me I have gotten into the bad habit of simply buying movies and TV series without really knowing anything about them. So far, this has worked out well for me; I discovered Band of Brothers this way.
And now, it pays off a second time. Everyone, please watch Extras. You can borrow it from John as, apparently, he has known about this and been hiding it from us. You'll love it.
And by "you'll", I mean Jeremy.