There Ain't No Devil, It's Just God When He's Drunk

My dad took me on a two week excrusion to Paris and Amsterdam when I was 11 and I discovered two things about myself.

1) I love to travel

2) I've developed a very strong neurosis about looking like a tourist.

And it's debilitating to my travel experiences. I can't bring myself to take pictures of landmarks or scenery, I run around cities like a lost rabbit with ADHD because I have no idea where I'm, going and don't want to ask for help, or, god forbid, pull out a map. I don't even like opening my mouth at all, least anyone hear my accent and immediately shuffle off into the 'damn tourist' category. This means I have no pictures to show off when I come home and have to resort to stealing others' from google and pretending like they're mine.

A reason for all this is probably to do with where I grew up- pastoral NorCal, where people from the Bay Area would come up to go wine tasting, explore the Redwoods, and visit organic markets. They also dove far too slow on our windy roads, stopped to take pictures of trees/deer, sheep, and led wineries to start charging for tasting, so even though I grew up in a town economically supported by tourist dollars, I still believed that "if it's called 'tourist season', why can't we shoot 'em?"

This neurosis left me almost crippled when I moved Edinburgh because now I wasn't just a tourist, I lived there and sure as hell didn't want to be mistaken for some one just passing by. I quickly tried to adapt the accent, look like I walked with a purpose, and went shopping at all the British shops so that I looked like I fit in better. And I now get asked for directions by tourists on an almost weekly basis. Victory!

But given all that I hate about looking like a tourist, I am super happy to show off 'my town' to other visitors. Even though I want to slap those cameras out of people's hands as they take numerous photos of Grayfriar Bobby because they are blocking the pavement, I am also more than willing to walk a Continentaler 2 blocks out of my way to physically show her the street she's looking for.

I'm bringing all this up because I am leaving in less than 24 hours to board a plan to Krakow, Poland. And I am going to try my damn bestest to NOT let this tourist affliction ruin my holiday. I will try to belligerently stand in the middle of the street and go snap happy, even if it means forcing passerbys to manouver around me. I will wander around with a map in my hand, attempting to follow the 'Walk through the City' guides. And I will pop into shops, grab things off shelves, and throw money down, hoping it will be enough.

Or, I'll just meekly follow my boyfriend and his parents as they commit all the acts above, all the while pretending that I'm invisible.

'Umm, probs around 8:30.'

'You think? '

'Yeah, I mean come on. It's Scotland, they're builders, I don't foresee them arriving anytime before 9:00 or after 4:00.

'Oh, okay.'

Which is why at precisely 8:00, we got a knock on our door and 7 various large, burly men all related to the building/construction profession filled up the tiny space the estate agent called a living room.

And I look a right state in the mornings.

Uggggggggggggggggggggggggggh.

Seriously, nothing is more appealing than emptying the bathroom of boxes of tampons, perfumes, and hair bands in an old tee shirt stolen for your boyfriend with Ron Jeremy's face staring out of it (he says he got in in the States when he was 15 because the liked the 'Keep on Trucking' slogan underneath the face) and knowing that you won't be able to pee for another 6 hours thanks to big, scary Scottish dudes ripping the walls of the bathroom.

You can't really see it in this shot, but basically you shave your WHOLE BOTTOM HALF of your head...because you hate the back of your head. I've seen plenty

of women with this look around my neighbourhood and I really really have no idea why they do it. Because in my book, it's not hardcore, impressive, cool, or wicked- it's retarded.

This time the culprit is a badger.