Nom of Irony

This was my dinner today, as it was many other days before, and perfectly encapsulates the finely tuned balancing act my mess is.

Friends, I present Chicken Shish Kebab with a side of skimmed milk...

...because these aren't two wrongs, so it's obviously right. No...one wrong does not make a right, but one wrong and a right does...just feck off.

5 Things I use my PhD for

Lots of websites now employ list-based articles to attract web surfers, dossing from work, study, and responsibility, keeping them minimally entertained for a few minutes using an equal ratio of stock images and observations which flit from the achingly cringey to the conciliatory whimsical.

This is one of those, or at least it subscribes to the genre without trying to be funny. But it will inevitably be funny because it is so innately tragic.

Behold, my life since my PhD graduation summed up five quasi-humorous bullet points:

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Ever wonder what graduates use those pricey post-nominal letters for? Well, wonder no further friends! Discover the true rewards of completing a PhD.

1. Online shopping

After trawling through the dregs of the ASOS sale section and emerging with a €7 top that has a lifespan of three washes, I thrill at the prospect of submitting my order under the title of 'Dr.' This is not just for the chance of receiving post, or post that is addressed to me (now a fake doctor!) but that those who come into contact with said discounted package - customer service rep; warehouse exec; postman; my neighbour who puts my post away - imagine this recipient as a high-achieving successful go-getter who has her life in order. Either that or a narcissist who feels that a clothing company needs to know about her Level 10.

2. Ordering holiday brochures

See above for the immeasurably satisfying satisfaction, with the enviable result of swapping research methodology texts for glossy ads for trips you can't afford while getting papercuts. Although, it is essential to exercise caution as actually booking a holiday / flight using this prefix may result in some serious awky mo mos should a serious medical emergency occur. Unless you have a PhD in a useful field like Medicine.

The same rationale can also be applied to low-impact items such as loyalty card schemes, catalogues, and information booklets. One may even have a friend who could indulge and send paper-based communication to your doctor self. They're good friends.

3. Justifying the lack of a career path

This gem has a lot to thank the recession for, but can also be meted out when jobs are a-plenty. This is because, as a PhD graduate, you have spent the guts of ten years in college, broke and hungry, and so when you do enter employment you want it to be meaningful, reflective of your efforts and expertise, and preferably with a cheque more substantial than your old research allowance. But really you just want a job that exists because none does or likely ever will. Keep looking!

4. Multiple celebrations

A PhD is an anti-climax in many regards but when you look forward to submitting and celebrating you instantly realise that there isn't really a reason to celebrate, not until you successfully defend the thesis. But you celebrate anyway. Upon a successful viva, you then realise corrections need to be made and that you will have a proper knees-up then. But you celebrate anyway. Once corrections are in and approved you can graduate and have the mother of all parties to mark the occassion. But you haven't got a job so can't afford one yet. But you celebrate anyway, When you do, there'll be some celebrating done. Until you realise you have work the next day. Que anticlimax.

5. Adding gravitas to a debate

Not likely one that you will have chosen yourself but an inevitable consequence of spending most of your adult life so far educating yourself above most people you know without actually knowing any more than them. That being said, they don't know this and so your opinion is usually sought for manys an argument, be it a family kerfuffle or the 411 on the latest [insert Irish social institution] scandal. Although your every word may be hung on, it only leaves your more mentally disemboweled as you realise that your intelligence level is static and the only great conclusion your studies will have brought you to is that you know nothing.

Mobile Make 'n' Do (not bother)

Well.

Now that all this Hallowe'en mallarky is out of the way, it's naturally time to countdown to Christmas. Hey, don't blame me - dems da roolz.

And so in anticipation of this year's festive festivities, I want to kick off pressie preparation with this humdinger of a project that was "completed" in August. Actually, completed isn't the right term. "Executed" maybe - I literally killed the beautiful mess of an idea I had in my head and got a mess. And with this being about a present, I had to give this mess to my boyfriend, whose birthday the following mosaic of hideous pictures was honoured with.

We're still together.

It's worth noting from the outset that this particular project is great for those who are busy and on the go. Why, I "executed" this in my Ford Fiesta on the way home from work, while parked outside a supermarket. Efficient....is one personal trait your loved one won't give a hoot about when you land home with this to them.

The success of this project relies on how well you know the gift-recipient - mine, for instance, doesn't like sweet things including cake but what's a birthday without some cáca milís?

Hence the inspiration for my present around a present - a cardboard cake which wrapped his actual presents inside (Socks. Seriously) and which was surrounded (Nay, iced!) with his favourite treats: manky crisps.

It started with making a cake shaped contraption from cardboard using a plate (I went to work very well prepared that day) and a scissors.

Only after my little enterprise had started, however, I realised I forgot to wrap the cardboard in birthday wrapping paper. Doh.

The next stage involved making the sides/actual-cakey-parts which wasn't very easy because it was only at this stage I realised the cardboard I was using was basically paper.

Ta-dah! Obviously not going according to plan, I decided to put this bad side to the "back" of the cake. Because when I lined/iced it with the many packets of crisps I bought (at an extortionate price I might add. They used to be 10p) it did not look good.

Observe.

With the job done (sigh) I pottered on home, excited at the prospect of seeing a beaming face when I presented this waste of paper complete with its birthday candle (from a pack which I had previously used at a protest march).

Although, I did feel that DARKNESS would show the fruits of my labour in a better light....

The reception to my cake was....subdued.

Hope this here project gives you some ideas for home-made/supermarket-car-park gifts...and that you swiftly forget about them and buy something better.

One love.

Happy Halloween!

Autumnal Tones

Here are four orange things that have come into my life in the last week.

1. Woolly Jumper.

This used to belong to my brother. I've released it from life in a bin bag in my parent's garage. 

2. Snazzy kicks. 

Snazzy is a terrible word. It's naffer than the word naff. I digress. 

These runners are from the gold mine that is my brother's out of favour belongings. They're not really orange but they're a bit orange. I'm including them because when I wear them with the above jumper the coordination gives me a sense of enormous well being. Sadly these little canvas fellas don't stand a chance against the rain in Galway in November.

3. IKEA candle.

Carol treated me to this lovely festive pumpkin scented candle. It smells amazing. IKEA strikes again. The owl dish was a gift from a friend and fellow owl appreciator, Phil. 

4. Carrot and Orange Soup.

This image isn't really very informative. There is a baby pumpkin there to confuse you. The soup is pumpkin free. The soup recipe is from BBC GoodFood. I like it a lot though it is less of a meal than any other soup I've ever made. It well be a nice addition to lunch rather than lunch itself. Pocket friendly too. 

Fifty Shades of Black

The best part of a decade spent in college has meant that I have been practically broke throughout my twenties. Since I've just turned thirty I'm hoping that this will change soon but until it does I'm happy to wallow in sartorial hits from last season (really circa 2007) and rugby gear.

Laziness and a severe lack of patience has meant that limited income has not always been the root problem of my wardrobe – I know what I like but a combination of pennies and ‘meh’ have resulted in a look that can only be described as “..."

I often look at those around me with, I don’t know, style? in absolute envy – to me a good wardrobe is a signature of those who have their lives sorted and together, an easy observation to make considering that, on the scale of the actual floor to Everest, my life is not one thing I am on top of.

And hence the thought behind today’s post – clothes are meant to instill confidence and comfort and over the last while I’ve discovered that very few of mine do but they do instead say “CRINGE” loudly, and make me die a little inside each day at work, especially when I spot a new rip in the seams or even a new ink stain. Except for my 80s inspired puffball ra-ra gúna – that thing is a winner and will one day have its own post.

I’ve taken one such outfit from my cheapy-weepy collection to demonstrate the lowliness of my fashionista credentials – a black number that is old in parts (thrifty in all) which actually proves that many shades of black available cheaply an inspired outfit does not make.

Black boots which actually look brown here (and which, incidentally are a mere three weeks old) really accentuate the dusky hue of the, eh, black tights.

As we enter the second phase of this my-clothes-are-crap-so-my-future-is-obviously-bleak analysis, note the introduction of another shade of black, this time on my pretty patterned skirt; the stems of the flowers neatly mirroring the distracting reflection of light from the black plastic-ish tights.

Et voila. And you thought my skirt was black wha?! Three pictures in and we are finally provided with an image of what 'real' black looks like, a shade only made more obvious by the aforementioned 'black' but not black skirt. Thanks jumper! Although it's hard to make out, there is a hole the size of Guatemala on my left shoulder which I usually mistake for dandruff on my shoulder though I have that too. Today, it provides the eagle-eyed public with glimpses of my red bra strap. 

I really like how this outfit increases in degrees of blackness the further from my feet we go. You know, like in and around my soul. Laugh.

And now a reward for your patience with this absurdly pointless post - see if you can spot me camouflaged within my black armchair. 

Too many shades, too few words. So much shame.

Room to improve

Several months ago Flash and I took a trip to IKEA.

As a person with no budgeting skills I thought I'd be in safe hands shopping with Carol. I was wrong.

She encouraged me to buy everything I liked the look of.

Though I still haven’t finished paying off my credit card bill from that month I was very pleased with the end product.

I came away with a bedside table, a dining room table, two bins, a few storage boxes, a tin of green wood stain (still unused) and stack of photo frames. I also got another trolley full of smelly candles. No one leaves IKEA without candles.

I've always liked interiors and looking into beautiful people's beautiful homes, but I've always wondered where they keep their stuff. My solution for my room was two bins. I'd throw all of my rugby gear, the source of most of the mess in my life, in two bins under my new dining table desk.

It worked a treat. That evening I was very pleased with myself. I had a belly full of Swedish meatballs and a room that I felt was blog worthy. It was a wonderful 24 hours....

It has looked like this almost all of the time since. Like so many other things in my life, it's a mess.