Domestic Bliss

I am FREEZING.

When Maggie walked into our room, I had my foot up on the bathroom wall, toes pointed up into the bathroom wall heater in a desperate attempt to thaw my toes... she might have been a bit surprised to see this particular eccentricity so soon into our friendship, but probably understood. It is COLD in Galway, and our apartments our like little iceboxes. I have on patagonia underarmour, two pairs of wool socks, a long sleeved shirt, and a fleece sweatshirt, and look like Randy in A Christmas Story.  We've been blasting the heater for the past three hours, and our room is the only one in the apartment that is even bearable. You would have thought we were living in a post-apocalyptic world...at dinner time, we rifled through the room for remnants of orientation cookies, gum, little bits of cheese--anything to avoid the trek down to the freezing tundra of the kitchen. We're like squirrely rodents hiding out in a bomb shelter.

We would have stayed here forever, too, if it hadn't been for Ellie: at about 8:00, the S.O.S. call came from their apartment across the way--apparently she and Erin had accidentally left the oven on ALL NIGHT (read: BAD.) and had blown a fuse in the apartment. The only kitchen supplies left by the boys living with them were dirty plates, a few pots, and a rolling pin, so when we arrived at their place, they were drinking orange juice out of empty wine bottles and cooking spaghetti in a "hob" on the stovetop, laughing like people who are about to be put into straightjackets and carted away. Erin called the emergency line for the apartments--apparently this was not, ahem, an emergency, ladies--but a nice little Irish man showed up to fix the fuse anyhow. Erin plugged a few things in and almost blew up the voltage converter (complete with flames and plasticky smoke) and when I went to leave the room, the door handle pulled right off the door in my hand. By this time, we were all laughing so hard we were crying, and the spaghetti was done. We put a lid on the pot and ran across the street to my apartment and ate the pasta straight out of the pot like we hadn't seen food or civilization for days...and in the middle of eating, the smoke detector started beeping on our ceiling, for no apparent reason, and we have determined that Erin brings disaster wherever she goes.

So, life is good. Maggie and I found out that we are going to be sharing the apartment with not one, not two, but THREE Irish boys... who we will meet at the end of the weekend. We know nothing about them except that they eat lots of cereal, are prone to leaving perishables in deep dark places where they can't be found until they rot, and apparently own a leopard-print hoodie.

Bring on the dirty dishes and the broken appliances! At this point, we've all gotten used to working around the little twists and tricks of these apartments. I secretly really like them. They're confusing, messy, and endearing... perfectly Irish.