Right now I can't have any caffeine or alcohol or citrus juice.
Which means I'm basically down to drinking Shirley Temples for a vice. 
Oh, that's good. I like that.
The BAD: wasted about an hour going up to the GNIB office to see that it was still Frigida, Mala Regina Occidentalis, on duty
The SAD: the thought just occurred to me as the GNIB office is clearly where the other gardaí send you when they don't want you around, maybe she just does this to people for the sake of company?? But then I figured that's like having sympathy for the devil and I want no part of that.
Besides that would imply that the other guards don't like the super-nice guy who is the personification of
céad míle fáilte 
Also, even if it were that pitiful, it's no justification for what she does to people.
The GOOD: after a hiccup or two, a certificate of insurance is on its way. I explained to Icy McQueen over there that it would take as long as it takes (and that 1--the garda for the last two years has accepted my documentation as it was and 2--I was told last year to bring in the same documentation and it would be fine... ...she proceeded to accuse me of attempting to defraud the immigration office in several ways
(it's called a chill pill, hun): "Honey chil', puh-lease! If I wanted to defraud y'all, I could just not show up... an' this ain' exactly whitty reparté, so what is it exactly you think I get out of this?")
The IRONY: She was very irritated with me for being a few days late... if I get the other one after my insurance info comes in, I can say "The other garda sent me away saying I needed different proof of insurance; I told her that would take as long as it takes to come in and I would have no control over it. She didn't care. Here I am: here's my proof of insurance."
