So I’m making the 8000-mile journey back to Californ-eye-ay in three days and as per usual, I’m avoiding packing as if it were … um … any other adult obligation. In case it isn’t already obvious, I have a phobia of adult responsibilities similar to the fear that some experience when they are in the presence of a bear, a shark, or a bearshark. Take your pick.
Sure I’ve looked at my suitcase a few times. I’ve even gone so far as to look at my suitcase and my closet in rapid succession — but as far as moving anything from said closet to said suitcase is concerned … nah, none of that. And plus, I think it’s going to feel a little strange going home. I believe this will be due in part to a few things: 1) jet lag times a thousand 2) trying to maintain calm while I once again switching sides of the road 3) getting used to Stephanie’s stupid face again 4) Getting used to Stephanie’s Grand-Theft-Auto-esque driving style again 5) having the ability to watch 15 hours of Family Guy and The Office at my leisure 6) Being able to cuddle with BUB at my leisure 7) trying to overcome jet lag by sleeping in a twin bed I’ve had since I was 2 because the queen size bed I’ve had since I was 13 flew off my dad’s truck when I was 22 and trying to move back home, thus lodging itself under a semi-truck on Interstate 5 … never to be heard from again. Also, I think it’s just going to be strange being back at my house, for a few reasons. Sometimes the problems you left at home are still there … waiting for you to walk through the door so they can punch you in the crap lousy face. Also, not being around the people I’ve been in the presence of for a solid three months will be weird. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
And of course there will be inquires in regards to my time here — some of them will most likely be how Scotland is different than the states, what I’ve learned since I’ve been here, how hot the men are, etc. So let me try to sum it all up:
Dail chuach am bainne ghobhar, suath ri d’ aghaidh, ’s chan eil mac rìgh air an domhan nach bi nad dhèidh.
In Scottish Gaelic that means: With violets and goats’ milk anoint your face, and every king’s son in the world will be after you. That’s it. That’s all I’ve learned about Scotland and that is what I’ll tell everyone. Dump a crap ton of goat’s milk and petals on your head and every guy will want to tap. Makes sense.
So my friends and foes, wish me a safe 18 hour journey and know that the next time you shall hear from me I will be back in my cozy little twin bed with the broken springs, all curled up in my mountain of blankets while my sole source of heat (a small and shitty space heater) tries its damndest to heat up my half-underground, -723456732 degree (Fahrenheit) room. I can’t promise you anything about the quality of the blog as I believe hysteria is the third stage of hypothermia … but don’t quote me.
And here are some photos I took within the last week:
Let's be honest ... they usually are
On the way to Stirling ... *cue Enya
A cafe in Stirling
I think we all know of whom I'm referring to in this one ...
I mean, that's just funny
The castle was like, directly to the right ... I think we got it
My friend Kasie from California came to visit moi
I almost did it ... almost
Yes please, part 2
Fun fact, William Wallace stayed here when he backpacked through Europe
George's Square in City Centre. They get supes into Christmas. And for the last god damn time,
NO THAT IS NOT THE LONDON EYE ... Jesus H
Fun Fact pt 2: They sold Disneyland balloons at George's Square. Don't ask questions. Because I honestly don't know.
Maturity is the name of da game
On the ferris wheel with the bitches. I look like I'm about to sneeze.
Fun Fact pt. 3: Kasie got asked by a elderly, drunken Scottish woman if anyone had ever milked her due to the bovine nature of her hat. Which, ironically, someone has.
George's Square contd.
Fun Fact pt 4: I did not fall once while ice skating ... weird.
Leaving the Christmas festivities
The Queen Street rail station.