Friday, 27 September 2019

My Jeans Are Done and My Wallet is Empty

I have a problem: My jeans are nearly worn through. 

There is very nearly a hole in the thighs! While the rest of them are a beautiful deep blue, the seat is nearly white. I'd say there's 2-3 more wears outta them, if I'm lucky.


These are the only jeans I currently possess. I put my entire wardrobe into 40kg when we moved to Ireland, at least 1kg of which was scarves, and another 5kg I'd say was shoes, and this collection entailed only one pair of jeans.

I got this pair of jeans after I got married mid 2017. I'm thankful my marriage isn't as perishable as my jeans, although my husband is showing signs of wear and tear as well - 2018 was intense, and this year is not proving much more relaxing, despite only having work as a continuous commitment, and only 30 hours or so of it at that, for me.

Part of the reason I only have 1 pair of jeans is a self-inflicted poverty. Jared and I met in 2015, we've bought a house, renovated that house, and had a wedding in another country, as well as a ten day cruise honeymoon, then moved overseas while having a holiday on the way. Some of that was saved for, some of that was Kiwisaver, some was inheritance, some of that was debt. Turns out when you're doing big life changing milestone things like getting married and buying a house, it consumes your entire disposable income. There is therefore a hiatus on life-changing milestones for the next while.

We had a brief beautiful debt free period where neither of us had any debt between June-December 2015, and we were living in a shitty cold flat that was only $140/week, and clearing $70k between us after tax, and those 6 months were lovely, we saved heaps and had an amazing trip on the Gold Coast, both of us splurging on new clothes, which we still have now, tho they're looking a little worse for wear.

My 40kgs worth of clothes that I bought here, most of them I got at second hand shops, and most were purchased between 2-5 years ago now. I must say, in March when I went to a group interview and compared my attire to my competitors, they looked more qualified for the job than I, based on their clothing alone. I brought the best clothes I had with me, but they weren't new when we arrived, and I've been wearing the same clothes on repeat since Dec 2018 now. 

About a month after we got married, I took my first pay and spent about $500 in one day on new jeans, a decent jacket and a merino wool dress. These brand new jeans, that made me feel slim and sexy, figure hugging boot leg jeans that I could dress up or down, and they looked good!

And now they're nearly worn out. We're still paying off the credit card, cos the US was really expensive, then moving to Ireland was really expensive for the first 6 weeks until J's first pay. Setting up a new apartment on a NZ credit card when you're paying in Euros is brutal. 

We could've finished paying it off awhile ago if we lived somewhere less awesome or if we'd not gone away with Brendon while he was here or if we'd not gone out to the movies that time and that time and that time.... The austerity measures have been pretty lax really. 

But you have to live. And what kind of precedent does it set if people come from the other side of the world to see us and we say we can't afford to hang out with them? How can we admit that hanging out with someone for a weekend financially crippled us for the rest of the month?

We have, for most of this year, been living just over the bread line, but still acting as though we're raking it in. Date nights, weekends in London, going out for dinner on a whim. Are these things unreasonable?

And that's the disconnect. We would really like to live as though we're raking it in, but we can't because we aren't. We are renters, and currently paying 40% of our not-insubstantial income on rent. I can't help being a bit angry about that.

I have a few case studies to compare my plight to - an Irish scientist who moved to Canada, a Scottish builder who moved to New Zealand, and ourselves. All three of those examples have involved professional people moving to similar countries, finding jobs in their field and being paid much less. Is this the fault of their new host country, or is this just about coming in last and having to stand for a bit because the nice chairs are already taken? 

Is the lot of immigrants to earn less while having to pay out more because you don't have the accent, the skin colour, the background, the knowledge, the connections, to get the good job? As an immigrant, I'm sure you can work your way up, but it probably doesn't happen the second you walk off the plane. 

I'm not really sure.

But, I do know this: all of our financial eggs are in the Irish basket, and to all the people who are missing us and saying we should come home - unless you're paying for the tickets, we won't be able to afford it before Christmas next year. 

I have tried to reflect and ponder - is our lifestyle really so excessive? Are we more indulgent than I realise? What are other people doing differently that makes it look like they have so much more disposable income than us? How do other people travel and not break the bank? 

I've concluded that we don't actually suck at budgeting or that we live in crazy indulgence. Sure there's heaps of little things we could do to save money, but is getting a coffee every day so crazy? 1 bottle of wine a week is hardly excessive. Going out for a meal once a week shouldn't be the make or break of a budget. Our purpose in being here is to travel, and if we can't actually afford to do that, what the fuck are we doing here?

The only answer seems to be move to a small town, or increase our income by doing something like sneakily getting someone into our second room against our landlord's wishes. 

I look at what we're able to afford just for ourselves, and wonder how on earth we'd ever be able to afford to have children. It feels like we can barely feed ourselves, and it feels pitiable and pathetic to admit it, like crying poor little rich kid. 

I can't believe how difficult this year has been financially, but our trouble absolutely pales in comparison to the people who come here as English language students, or from non-English speaking countries, or God help them, refugees or asylum seekers. The government assistance here is very meager in the face of pretty much the same prices as New Zealand, but in Euros. No wonder there are homeless people on every street corner in Dublin.

And what is the cause of this? Nearly everyone that we've spoken to in Dublin has said that the landlords are responsible for the crazy rent prices here, and that there's now fewer and fewer business start ups because people simply can't afford to lease space for things like art studios or zero waste shops or cool quirky start ups. I'd love to hear from a landlord as to the price justification, because so far the only justification I've heard is that 'the demand is there'. 

I know as a landlady currently, despite asking for really high rent, we still have to subsidise it from here (further compounding our financial woes), and that those are real costs - rates, mortgage, insurance, life insurance, property managers etc etc. But given the insane percentage of increase in prices for rent here (and in NZ) I do not think all of those can be accounted for by cost increases for all the landlords. 

At least for us, my teaching registration is being processed, and there's a teacher shortage here too, so hopefully a lot of demand for day relief teachers, so there is at least a hope of further income, which many others do not have. 

But what happens as a society when the middle class who are earning a decent whack of money are spending it all on basic necessities instead of entertainment, hobbies, eating out, travelling? What then? If there is no middle class who are spending money on day to day life stuff, how many businesses start folding then? If there is no middle class spending time and money on hobbies, then surely art, craft, sport all suffer? There has to be a tipping point soon, because those working currently can't sustain life on the meager wages given while simultaneously paying out insane amounts in rent, and actually create another generation with economic, emotional, educational, cultural success. The equation just doesn't add up. 

Image result for henrietta street

Every time I have this argument with myself, I'm reminded that renting conditions used to be significantly worse, and the concept of the burgeoning middle class is relatively recent. Just around the corner from us, there's a memorial to a house that use to house 100 people, in Henrietta Street. It is a real life reminder of just how much worse it could be, and has been only 100 years ago, 1 town house turned into 17 flats and each family in a one bedroom apartment with no running water inside the house.


This is what we're trying to move away from, but currently if I had to live here alone, I'd be sharing a house because there's no way I could afford a one bedroom apartment in Dublin by myself. It would be literally my entire paycheck to pay for rent and get to and from work.  I will concede, the calibre of that would-be flat is so vastly better than in times past - running water - hot and cold! Internet, electricity, lush furniture, TV, laptop, all of these things that are now 'necessary' to every day life. Our framework of what is normal has escalated an awful lot in the last century. 

There's a lot of talk about how difficult millenials have it, and it is tough trying to financially get ahead, but has it always been hard? I tried that argument on my uncle awhile back and he was saying that when he bought a house in Palmerston North in the 70s, the interest was 20% or so on an amount somewhere near $30 000, but he was an apprentice and earning $4 a week or something insane, and his income was barely more than his mortgage payments. Obviously he made it work somehow, he didn't enlighten me as to how, and I'd speculate he certainly doesn't have that problem anymore.

Fastforward to today, and not so long ago we had a 6 figure mortgage at 5%, a personal loan at 12% for work we were doing to said house, a credit card at 20% and student loans for both of us as well. Do I hear his point? Yea.... but no?

When we say get ahead, we're comparing back one, maybe two, generations, and is that enough of a comparison for it to be valid? When we say get ahead, what are we getting ahead of, or who? Because alas this doesn't happen in a vacuum. There is usually a human cost to your getting ahead.

In a perfect world, I would really rather get out than get ahead. Buy a campervan (electric perhaps?), and cruise around the countryside, working remotely. Buy a random block of land in the middle of nowhere for next to nothing and build a shack on it, make it self sufficient with solar panels and tank water, an epic garden etc etc. But most of those things are predicated upon the assumption of space available and capital available for such investments. Without those things, you're stuck doing the same ole. 

I remember my boss in Laos saying to me 'the Western countries haven't realised yet that in order to develop third world countries, it will come with a cost to them, it will mean that they have to forego some things in order for these countries to develop'. Perhaps this is what we're starting to see? Cheap imports from poor countries are not so cheap anymore, and therefore we must pay more and more for them. Does this apply here? I'm not sure. But I know my budget is tight enough to make me angry, and it feels really good to get angry at someone. I think that is the appeal of the hatred towards Wall Street, and the 1% it represents. 

I feel poor and I am angry.

Those sentiments have been the rumblings of political unrest, and ultimately war, in times past. The current social situation now is very similar to what it was 100 years ago in terms of economic difficulty and those difficulties being blamed on immigrants. That was the German story at least - those rich Jews are taking all our jobs, and all our money, let's get 'em. My inner socialist then says there should be a few more Robin Hood type taxes to stave that off.

I am educated, I have a career, a good job, a husband who is also educated and has a good job and I am still touch-and-go as to whether or not to eat in or dine out this week, or to spend 20 euro on a new pillow. 

For us, these feelings of poverty are just that. Feelings. I don't think in any real sense we could be classed as actually poor. Where have these expectations come from that it's OK, normal even, to go out once a week, to have international holidays multiple times a year, as well as living in a nice apartment and eating? Are these so unrealistic? I would say this is from movies, TV, generations past, but I think the more profound one is social media, and watching everyone else doing it, then trying to keep up. Our friends are doing these things, and we basically can't afford to keep up with the Jones'

So perhaps some of this comes down to financial priorities. It's not so much that we can't afford it, it's just that it's not a financial priority right now. Jeans aren't even close to top of the list. Debt is. Rent is, for obvious reasons. Exploring Ireland is, and socialising to make new friends is. Things like jeans? Well they've kind of fallen by the wayside, along with a keep cup for Jared, non-plastic drink bottles, a decent raincoat for either of us, a bike..... the list is long and expensive. I mean extensive.

But hopefully, maybe, if I'm lucky, by January, more jeans will be a financial priority.

What do you think? Is immigrant poverty a reality? Are millenials actually worse off financially than the previous generation or is that just rhetoric? I'd be interested to know your thoughts.


UPDATE: RIP jeans, thank you for your service. 06.08.2017 - 02.10.2019

To the sidewalk girl

Dear side walk girl, I see you crying. Who cries on the side of the road, if they're not wanting a shoulder to cry on? I see you.

Dear sidewalk girl, let me put my arm around you, the least I can be to you now is human. You cuddle up to me as if it's the kindest thing anyone has ever done.

I hear you, you don't need to speak, just cry. It's ok. We all need a good cry sometimes. I'm sure it'll look better in the morning. I'm here in the mean time.

What's wrong?
You can't even imagine, your only reply.

Dear sidewalk girl, you have the soul-shaking, marrow-wrenching sobs of the broken hearted. I wish there was something I could do, say, that'd make it better.

Dear sidewalk girl, what is your name? Is that an American accent I hear? Where are you from? Are you homesick, sidewalk girl? Me too. Me too.

You clasp my hand as if I caught you falling off a building, and snuggle into me, much like the 4 year old I've just left, when she is disconsolate. Do I smell? Is my breath bad? What can I possibly say that'll ease this beautiful creature's suffering? You hold my waist, and I'm self conscious of my ample girth, but I'm quite sure it's the last thing you're worried about.

I am trying to let you cry, but who am I kidding? I can't be quiet for that long. You don't have to tell me what's wrong, but let me at least regale you with stories, stories of times when homesickness broke my heart, stories of a time when I thought moving to another country was the worst idea ever. Stories of how I lived through the pain. Stories of how you can too.

I tell you of what I ran from when I moved to Laos, and how it followed me.

Dear sidewalk girl, I can't fix it, but I'm here. I can listen, I can make a space for you to cry, I can make a space for you to feel. I can make space for you to heal.

Do I pray? When was the last time I prayed? If God is real, would he even listen to prayer cast up in doubt? Do I pray silently, aloud?

Dear sidewalk girl, I applaud your embracing a perfect stranger so wholly. Everyone needs a bosom for a pillow. Darling girl, are you warm enough? You cling to me as if I'm the only person you've seen in a year. I hope there's someone in your life who cares as much about you all the time as you're allowing me to right now.

You've come here for love? I guess, me too. We all follow love of one kind or another. Where is your love? Are you safe? Can you go home tonight?

Dear sidewalk girl, there is healing in your tears, and there are different chemical structures to your tears, depending on why you're crying. Cry it out. Breathe.

You say you want friends, me too. That your only friends here are some gay males. Will you be my friend? Like actual, I'm not just saying that, I'm also basically friendless here. I think we could be buds.

You say you wanna go home. Home like the USA or home like around the corner? Where is home for you?

Dear sidewalk girl, who is that girl that has fire in her eyes walking across the road towards you? Is this your love? There looks to be nothing much lovely about her.

Here, please take my number, take a lifeline. You can call me any time. 

Dear sidewalk girl, thank you for sharing your heart. I wish you friends and happiness and peace. I hope you call. I hope you find home.

Saturday, 21 September 2019

Translating Irish Slang

As a kiwi, we get exposed to US and UK slang reasonably regularly, but Irish slang? Not so much, so here's what I've learned in 6 months....

Grand: Good, OK, fine, alright, definitely not a superlative. Decidedly average.
E.g. "I went to the Grand Canyon and the weather was grand, but the craic was mighty."


Your man/your one : that guy over there who we were just talking about, the bartender, the waiter, the guy who nearly bumped into you in the street, a mutual acquaintance. Probably not your SO. 
Your one - female equivalent.
E.g.: "I got a drink off your man at the bar and he put in an extra shot and gave me a wink!"

Messing: tutooing, fiddling, generally being a bother
E.g.: [To the child playing in the indoor sandpit and flinging sand all over the room] "Stop your messin'!" 

That's gas/he's gas/she's gas: they're/it is hilarious
E.g.: "She was going all around giving out free hugs while she was in a t-rex suit, ah, you know yourself, it was gas!"

What's the craic?: (pronounced: crack) What's the news, where are the laughs, what's the goss, what's happening?
E.g.: [answer the phone] What the craic? 

The craic was mighty this night


Good craic: good fun
E.g.: Let's go in here, it looks like good craic. For more delineations of craic see here

Loads: heaps, lots of
E.g.: "There were loads of people in town tonight, and the craic was unbelievable!"

Lashin': heavy rain
E.g.: "You better grab your coat, it's fair lashing rain out"

That's deadly: Brilliant. NZ equivalent of 'that's mean' or 'that's mint'. 
E.g.: "I saw the poster you designed - that's deadly!'

That's lethal: like deadly, but slightly more sinister. NZ equivalent of 'that's brutal!'
E.g. 'Have you tried this here cocktail? It's got absinthe and it is lethal!'

Dinner: depends on who you talk to, but in crèche your meals are:
Breakfast, snack, dinner, snack, tea (as in afternoon tea about 5pm)
'Lunch' still exists, but it's 50/50 as to what your midday meal is called

Bold: naughty.
E.g.: "Why are you being so bold today? If you keep it up you might need to sit in the bold corner if you keep giving out to me."

Naughty: dirty, kinky
E.g.: [From one consenting adult to another] "Give me a spanking big boy, I've been a very naughty girl"

Pants: underwear, knickers NOT trousers
E.g.: Did you put on clean pants today? 

You know that kinda way, like: you know what I mean, are you picking up what I'm laying down? Do you understand me?
E.g.: "The kids cannot handle spicy food, put in just enough curry powder to make it kind of yellow, you know that kinda way, like? That'll still be loads for them!"

You know yourself: less an existential statement and more 'you know this to be true from your own life experience.' 
E.g.: "You know yourself that if you leave 5-10 minutes earlier you will miss loads of traffic, especially if it's lashing rain out."

Ah stop!: Said after anything vaguely outlandish or complimentary, NZ equivalent of awww shucks. (Although I think I'm alone in using that as a IRL phrase)
E.g.: "Your kids are so well behaved and lovely!"
"Ah stop!"

Come here to me: come here. 
E.g.: "Come here to me, I'll help you put your shoes on."

Giving out: Fussing, behaving badly, making a ruckus, making a big deal out of nothing. 
E.g.: "I've already put my lunch box away mam, why are you giving out to me?"

Byebyebyebyebye: When ending a phone call, continue saying very quickly until you've found the hang up button.
E.g.: "I am legging it to the station, but I just wanted to let you know it's lashin rain, ok? Grand, byebyebyebyebyebye."

Quick Fire Round


Loo roll: toilet paper

Hoover: vacuum cleaner

Press: cupboard

Hot press: hot water cupboard

Rashers: bacon

Jumper: Jersey, sweatshirt. 6 year old nanny kid gets very cross with me when I forget this one.

On: As in 'Tag! You're on!'

Mam/Mammy: Mum/Mummy

Da: Dad

Please also refer to the Foil, Arms and Hog language lesson about 'Dublish'. (And actually just their entire youtube catalogue - it is DEADLY!)


Tuesday, 10 September 2019

Laundry Bags

<rant>

I have lived in Ireland for 7 months now.

I have found mesh laundry bags for the purposes of washing delicates once.

Once.

I'll grant you I've not done a lot of shopping in my time here, but I've seen them only once. I bought them! And then on their first use, one of them ripped and none of the set of three seem to be capable of keeping its contents inside the bag during a wash cycle.

I thought it was because I hadn't looked. Turns out it is not.

I went for a very purposeful mission this morning with the sole intent of procuring laundry bags. I started at Penny's and they had bra bags of a kind, but similar to the crappy ones that I already possess.

I went to Debenham's where I got some bras from a couple of weeks ago, assuming that I just missed them last time. Mostly people didn't even know what I was talking about, let alone where to purchase one from.

I tried Dunnes, they certainly did not have any.

I scoped out TK Maxx, an unlikely candidate, but still unsuccessful.

On my way to the Chiropractor, I went to Victoria Secrets, thinking surely a specialist lingerie shop would sell a bag to wash the delicates.

They do not.

Neither do the Elverys where I tried at Victoria Secret's Sales assistant's suggestion. Avoca, across the road from there, definitely don't.

How?!!?

The washing machines that I've had the misfortune to encounter since arriving have decimated my delicates. How have Irish stores not figured out this vital upsell?

I guess I shall consult the internet as the real world has decidedly disappointed.

</rant.>