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

No matter how happy you are with your own life, your body, or your love life, it's always nice to get noticed and chatted up. And if you suffer from a lack of confidence like me, even getting chatted up by minging Irish boys is enough to raise your self-image levels. Sad, I know, but I'm still flattered, even if they are beyond pissed.

After my delightful day of bread baking (which btw turned out to be DELICIOUS), I met up with Barbie for a night of drunken debauchery. Apart from the fact that I'm unemployed and skint, so I was trying to limit myself to £10 for the night. And thanks to not eating dinner and sticking to pints, I managed to get by with £15. Anyway, I meet up with Barbie outside this studenty Irish pub called Biddy Mulligans. It's packed with about 2 different Hen parties, so there's craziness going on inside. Barbie shows up in 3 inch heels (well, she is only 5'2"), tight skinny jeans, and a shirt clervery belted under her bosom so that her ginormous breasts are spread out on a platter to be visually devoured by everyone with functioning eyesight. It was raining, so I ended up in black chunky heeled boots, a knee lenght skirt, and a long shirt...hey, it was cold!

Anyway, the drinking commenced, and so did the pick up lines. A few guys came up to say they had been checking us out since we entered the place. Others pretending to be tourists wanting to know where we'd be later that night...I was even grabbed by a guy named Patrick and forced into a ho-down line dance to Galway Girl.

Now, going out with Barbie is always an experience because 89% of all the guys flock to her and her Eva Longoria like looks, and half the fun is watching her beat guys off her by any means possible. But inevitably after a while, I always end up feeling like 'the ugly friend.' Last night, however, was another matter...

It's always good to get that extra boost of confidence, and I'll take whatever I can get!

*This post was meant to go out a week ago...but my holiday interrupted it...whoops.

A slightly warm wind with a hint of Northern bite is howling down at a million miles an hour, the trees are quickly losing all their newly changed leaves in the gales, and the sky is a quickly morphing into into a darker shade of grey- it's the perfect day to stay in a bake bread!

For some reason, I've been having a yearning to bake. Back in the day (read:before boyfriend), I used to bake all the time out of loneliness spurred on by boredom and a hint of borderline depression. Something in me just wanted to back- cookies, cakes, brownies. Bake, but not eat. For some reason, I was never in the mood to eat what I made, much to the enjoyment of my flatmates. Nowadays, it's almost like I have a more domestic urge to bake. To fill the house with the smell of deliciousness and to warm it up with the heat of the oven, sharply contrasting to the weather outside.

I am reading this other blog at the moment by a friend from back in Highschool who has themed hers around food. (check it out at here if you're curious). And its good- so many delicious recipes I will never be able to make (esp. grilled fruit due to Scotland's lack of both fruit and proper BBQ grills). The most recent one was how to make bread.

My grandma used to be the bread queen about 15 years back, and I always remember her setting bowls of dough in front of the fire to raise. Her bread was absolutely delicious and filled with delicious ingredients like beer. Then my mom begged Santa for a bread machine, so for a while we had fresh bread in our house (at least until we ran out of the free bread dough packets and my mom was too lazy to buy more). But the bread making process, at either Grandma's or Mom's was always an Autumn/Winter activity and always triggers memories of scarves, wood burning fires, the smell of smoke in the air, and the feeling of rain just moments away.

So I got down to it. Bought me some yeast, flour, and then thought, 'eh, what the hell, I'll use up that Cardamom too and make cookies'. And a Cardamom breakfast bread. I know, I kinda go overkill, but I just spoke to Pappa Bear and he will be stopping by, so I can unload some of this off on him.

So I have my ingredients all laid out in front of me. Suddenly, I hear what sounds like someone throwing pebbles on our window. Nope, justTORRENTIAL DOWNPOUR being hurled by the wind against the glass. Perfect time to start baking. Even though all the recipes are in cup measurements and the UK uses weight measurements (what?!?! Add 500 grams sugar? What that heck is that?) I just make it up- added fun and challenge. Besides, I figure it's all about ratios afterall, so I'll add one tea cup of flour, guestimate 1/2 tea cup, 1/4 tea cup....I'm sure it will be fiiiiiiiiiine.

Now the house is filled with fresh baked deliciousness, I'm about to start in on breakfast bread, and I'm going out clubbing later tonight.

Baking and clubbing....good times!

Have you ever noticed how the universe and buses seem to conspire against you when you just happen to have a moment of laziness?

I don't know about you, but this always seems to happen to me. There's somewhere I need to go and I can either walk or take the bus. Walking would take about 15 minutes- not bad at all, unless it happens to be pissing down rain, or I'm in heels, or I just feel I can't be bothered. So I'll go stand at the bus stop. Oh look, a bus should be coming in 3 minutes. So much faster to take the bus. Then 3 minutes go by. Then another 3. And another. Finally 10 minutes have passed and there is no sight of the bus.

By now I'm pretty annoyed because I know that if I had just sucked it up and walked, I would have probably have been where I wanted to go by now. So now I can either continue to wait for the bus, all the while knowing that I am going to be arriving later and later, or just start walking there and hope that I can walk faster than the bus can drive. Will the waiting for the bus now take more than 15 extra minutes? Should I just walk? Walking does burn calories. Oh, but I've waited this long, I'm sure the bus will be here shortly. And then there will be traffic. Which means I'll get there 5 minutes late. Or maybe if I just walked really fast I would burn off twice as many calories and beat the bus.

Naturally, the bus then comes along and I end up arriving at where I'm supposed to be at the exact same time that I probably would have arrived if I had walked.

So I had a sudden thought the other day while sitting in the back seat of Scottie's newish car (aka the one his brother gave his after getting an even newerish one from Grandpa who can now no longer see). We were trying to navigate back from Po's (aka Scottie's brother who is in the Edinburgh Police Force) and in order to do so, had to enter one roundabout, quickly take the second exit to immediately enter a second roundabout, to then take an immediate left out into some more swoopies and loops. Seriously, the thing would have been SO much easier and made SO much more sense if these British people believed in the linear logic of 4-way stops.

Anyway, just as we were entering this insane loopy, roundabout nonsense, I was chatting to Poppa Bear (aka the Dad) about the differences in writing papers in the UK verses the US. In the US, I was taught a very linear and straight forward formula for essays: the 5 paragraph essay. This formulaic method of (Intro+Thesis) x(1st paragraph of proof to prove Thesis) x (2nd paragraph to prove Thesis) x (3rd paragraph to prove Thesis) + Conclusion = essay. You introduced your topic, made the claim you were out to prove, and gave evidence of proof. Done. Not so much in the UK. The UK is a lot more tentative about everything and operates under the idea that nothing is true. Therefore, when writing an essay, you have to propose your thesis as oppose to state it, and suggest how your proposition might be correct, while also making sure to mention that you are aware of all the other arguments that exist which might counter your own idea.

The cat is hungry because it was locked in a closet all day.

There are many theories about why the cat is hungry. While some have argued that the cat's hunger might be due to the cat having missed out on dinner the previous night, this paper will suggest that the real reason the can is hungry is because it was locked in a closet all day. However, it also recognises that there might have been additional factors which contributed to the cats hunger.

You get there eventually, but it's a twisty, convoluted way that could have been avoided if you were allowed to be direct. Just like their damn roads!

Is this further insight to the British brain? Can you understand a culture better based on their road planning and engineering? Should I just finish this port already and go to bed?

People, as much as you like your little roundabouts, they are USELESS, do NOT facilitate traffic, and only help more people get hit by cars. Fricken own up and adopt the stop sign...there ain't nothing wrong with thinking STRAIGHT.

Have you ever noticed that wonderful things happen when you're in a wonderful frame of mind? After the aftermath of Black Sunday, I pulled myself up, started thinking positively again, and got myself back into that optimistic frame of mind where things would go well and could definitely be worse. After all, I still had a form of employment (temping is sporadic, but at least it pays and is perfect until I get my Visa in December), I have an amazing, loving boyfriend, don't have to pay rent, get to live in a fantastic city, and have wonderful friends- pretty damn lucky. So it's even more fantastic when good things happen. For instance, my mobile.

Now, ever since I got back to the UK, the techo-nerd in me has had a bad case of mobile phone envy. It seems like everyone here has these super sleep, awesome phones. I had this:
Which don't get me wrong, was an awesome little phone. It had a flashlight! It's battery could last a week! It was the simplest thing every...but naturally, I wanted something a bit more. Something with colour, or that could take pictures, or have neat ring tones. But alas, having one wasn't exactly necessary since this little guy did a great job, and I really didn't the funds to spend on soothing my techo-gadget desires. But then last week, my friend up and just gives me this sexy little number:
WHOA! For free! Here sister's contract was upgraded and with that came a new phone. So her sister gave it to her, and she has no use for it and gave it to me! The only catch was that it was locked to a network. I did a lil internet investigating and found that LOADS of people had bought this type of phone either over the internet or from friends, only to find it locked. They went to the service provider who said that they couldn't unlock it, that they had to be paying members of the service, and that it was expensive - like over £50 for the company to unlock it. CRAP!!! In the words of one of the online forums complaining about this problem 'you just got yourself an expensive paperweight.' So close...and yet...so far. But I just had to try, so I took it to a sketchy phone unlocking place, where the nice Middle Eastern man gave it a quick glance and said'£15'. WHAT? People online were complaining of spending over £50 to get it unlocked. It sounded too good to be true...but it WASN'T! So now I am the proud owner of an awesome phone that fills all my nerdy needs and only had to pay £15 for it....but the weekend wasn't over yet.

Today was another perfectly autumnal day. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, with a cold icy breeze blowing down from the north, and Barbie and I decieded to play tourists and visit the palace. I've been in Edinburgh on and off for the past 4 years and have never visited the Palace, which is still a working palace where the Queen spends a few week every summer before vacationing in Balmoral to the north. The palace was lovely and full of fun history tidbits, and after walking the palace gardens and breathing in the euphoric aroma of woodsmoke wafting through the air, Barbie and I headed up the Royal Mile to an awesome shop that was unfortunately closing down. The shop is like this hippie new age place that sells everything from crystal pendants, to tarot cards, to buddah statues, to books on meditation, witchcraft, and herbology. And this sale was more than AWESOME.

I have this little obsession with labradorite...and lo and behold, they had loads, and it was all over 50% off. How could I not? Sales this good just don't happen every day! I got a square pendant like this one, but much richer blue. And of course I had to have the earrings as well that sorta look like these, and, well, I just couldn't help it...I caved in and got a ring too...then I stopped. I really don't have the funds for impromptu jewellery spending, but they lady was practically giving these gems away. The total cost for all three pieces would have come to £110, aka over $200! But, she let me walk away with all of them for the sweet price of £40. I figured that's only one days of work....bad, bad Shady, I know, but early Christmas pressie for me. YOU NEVER get cheap labadorite like this. I figured it was another sign.

I don't know if it was just good luck or good karma, but either way, this combination of weather, autumnal ambiance, techo goodies, and my favourite cheap jewllery, and my honey bought me dinner tonight....totally doesn't get better than this! Black Sunday? So passé!

Things have been rather heavy on here lately, so I thought I'd try to turn the mood around. Today was my last day working for the NHS, and even though I will once again be thrown into the unemployment ring until more temp jobs arise, I woke up with a very happy heart. The sun was shining, the air was clear and crisp, and you could feel the changing seasons. It was a perfectly (and one of my favourite words) autumnal day. So nice that I decided to walk to work, even though it meant walking for 15 minutes in high heels.

Along the way, I got the chance to let my mind wander. Scottie is finally taking some vacation time from work, and he and I are going to head North for some Scottish exploring. This got me to thinking about travel and the way people view their experiences abroad. Some base it all on entertainment. I've met a fair handful of travellers in hostels who base their opinions on a city or even country based on how many clubs there are, how cheap the drinks are, and how many nights in a row they were completely inebriated. Then there are those there for the scenery. They take loads of photos, but when asked what the city or country was like, all they can talk about is the architecture and landscape.

Now I would consider myself fairly well travelled. I tried my best to visit all my friends studying in mainland Europe my year abroad in the UK, spent only hours sleeping in grungy, dirty hostels in order to catch early cross country trains, and know how to live out of only a school backpack for two weeks. For me, while night life and scenery add extra flavour to a new place, I find the real heart of a city lies in human interaction- how people respond to complete strangers, their willingness to help others, their social implements, and how their systems help or hinder people.

Which brings me to why I love Scotland so much. While it boasts fantastic scenery, great activities, and good night life, it's the kindness factor that constantly uplifts my spirits. I know this is biased because I haven't spent 2 years every city or country, but having lived for years in both Northern and Southern California, I still find Scotland to have the largest kindness factor I've encountered so far.

My first experience with this was two years ago. My boyfriend and I were trying to get to sleep, as most normal people would at 2:00 am, when we were harshly awoken by a loud voice outside. 'Yer all right, pal? Hey, hey, yer all right? Is this yer flat? Hey- do ye live 'ere? You got to get up, ken, if this is no yer flat, you got to get up.' It finally occurred to me that someone had passed out drunk on the stoop adjoining ours. But rather than let the guy freeze to death, this random stranger passing by woke him up, stayed up talking to him for a while, and then called him a cab to take him home once he got him conscious enough. I was in shock. I had never heard of anyone going out of their way to help a drunk person- heck, back in PB, drunk people were falling around all over the place and everyone just pretended they didn't exist. From then on, I kept noticing small but kind efforts being made throughout the city; people helping old ladies in wheelchairs navigate rough pavement, strangers giving up their spaces on a cramped train for a mother and child, locals stopping on their way to and from work to help tourists with maps without even being asked for help, and strangers having a chat at bus stops or grocery store queues for the sake of just being friendly and passing the time. And these small acts of kindness rub off. A few months ago, I was walking down to the city centre with a friend and noticed a man scrambling around in the middle of a busy street trying to pick up a mess of fallen papers. Shady of yester-year would have felt bad for the guy, but carried on her merry way. But seeing one person join in the scramble to help this guy prompted me to join in as well, and with in a minute, there were 4 random people helping this man rescue his stack of papers from the street. The look of gratitude on his face was priceless, and I had a glowing feeling inside for the rest of the day.

I know that these acts of kindness are happening all over, but until I moved here, I never really saw any of them taking place. So everyone keep your eyes out and do your best to make sure that your city is well up on its kindness factor- it really impresses the tourists!

Okay, so maybe it's time for some reflection. The last time I was on here, I was writing with a vindictive vigour and slurping away on that half bottle of £2.99 wine left other from two nights before. Not good. Yes, I was irate about being asked not to return to a temping job (temping I tell you, temping!!), but in retrospect, it was no big deal. I say that now.

Friday was that verbal vom night (enhanced, as all things are, with booze). Saturday I pretended that I was fine, everything in my life was fine, and I got together with my SAfriend and N, (a friend from back in the UC days who is now doing a masters) to a delicious sushi meal and a few casual drinks after. We laughed about what happened (or at least I tried to), and it actually turned out to be a good night. Then Sunday rolls around. Sunday was a black day...a day of soul crushing, self-imposed loathing and utter self-inflicted revolt that I seem to put myself through 2 or 3 times a year. Apparently Sunday was time number 2.

Here's what happened: Scottie made the innocent request that I spend time with him a little that day rather than see SAfriend again since we had both been working all week (with me going to bed a few hours before him), and we only really had Sunday to be with each other. And for some reason, something in me broke. There really isn't any way to describe it, other then it was like my insides were caving down upon themselves and I suddenly felt like the biggest failure at life ever. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and cry (which I did, and which later turned into hyperventilating). So I hid in bed for a few hours just crying my soul out over how I felt like such a worthless husk of space, how I couldn't do anything right, how I had no purpose in life...it was bad. And all the while, my poor boyfriend was doing everything he could to coax me out from under the covers and talk (from asking, to begging, to demanding, to tempting...), but I just felt like nothing I had to say was worthwhile. Eventually he physically grabbed me up and plonked me on the couch, threatening to call an ambulance if I didn't stop hyperventilating. If I know one thing, it's that I'm not worth an ambulance call, so I took out the bottle of Rescue Remedy that I'd hidden and managed to get my breathing back in order. After a cup of tea, I began to start feeling human again.

Now I don't want to sound like all of this crazy black mood stuff was due to being asked not to return to work- normally, while something like that would certainly bum me out, I would never go all ape crazy. Instead, I think I have to put it down to a whole mix of things; the sun setting at 5 (soon to be 4), my week of early rises, and my non adjusted mental clock, that I have been thinking a lot about careers, jobs, life, and that my monthly visitor is only a week away. So I guess this depression has been building up, and when mixed with anxiety, it coalesced into something big.

During all this, my boyfriend was absolutely wonderful. He kept telling me that I really shouldn't be worried. That the temp agency would call me on Monday and I would have a job again. That I was really unhappy at BG and that maybe this was all for the best after all. And I hate to admit it, but he was right. Sure enough, Monday comes along and I get a call at 9:00 asking me to do reception at an NHS office. I go there, and they LOVE ME. The head of HR even compliments me on my excellent phone manner. They give me a lot more responsibility and it's good for me because now I actually have something to do all day- booking taxis, booking rooms, booking computers...easy. I still don't want to do reception my whole life, but at least I am happier working at the NHS (the free nationalised heathcare service) than at the corperate conglomerate. Which just really goes to show that I am not cut out for the world of consumption and greed, but rather public service, where at least I feel that good is getting done.

So new week, new job, new attitude...and I even got to catch some sun as I walked home!