Latin phrases, silly outfits and a ceremonial head-bonk

Sorry for dropping off the face of the planet there! It was a busy three weeks at home (hurrah!) and then back for a whirlwind of graduations--first Greg's on Tuesday, then mine on Friday!

I'm not going to bore you with the details of the trip, or the graduation just now, but in the video below, you can see the footage (provided by my excellent ex-flatmate Heather's dad via facebook)  of my "exact moment of graduation," which happens when the Chancellor says the Latin words, and I'm hooded, then bonked on the head with a 16th century velvet cap. (I'm not sure I understand the last bit, but I presume it has something to do with the fact that this is St Andrews, and this is how we've always done it?)

Happy watching, and I promise I'll provide a full, detailed and delightfully witty account of my last month once I recover from the week of celebrations :)

Scotland, this is why nobody likes you.

7.5 hours before departure, and I am standing in my room, wearing a damp wool sweater, trying to use my body heat and a hair dryer to expedite the drying process. Because I don't have a dryer, and the flat is so damp that nothing dries in under 2 days lately. And because living in this country has taught me NEVR to go on a trip  in the winter without at least one wooly jumper.

Scotland!! (shakes fist)

At least I'll be on a plane in a few hours....damp jumpers and all.

And so it begins. Again.

LAST SHIFT! LAST SHIFT! LAST SHIFT!

That's what they'll say to me, say to me,  say to me, this one's a fighter.

Cheesy? Yes. The only thing blaring in my headphones to and from work the last week? Oh yes.

Of course, in the wake of the others who've left (I'm one of a fair few in the last couple weeks...apparently I'm not the only one having the issues I've been having!), I've also been bumped up floor service (aka, real person work), which has been much better than 30+ hours of being yelled at by chefs. So, surprisingly, I've actually enjoyed work since I gave my notice. That's always the way of it, isn't it? At least it is for me-- the second I find a escape route, things become more tolerable. (But I think it's mostly the fact that I don't need care about doing well at my job anymore, so when I'm shouted at, I'm just like- Well. I'll be sure to pass on that memo to my replacement right over there...)

So come tomorrow morning at 1 am, I'll be DONE with this job forever (and ever) and off on yet another whirlwind adventure. Because, as much as I like to think that someday I'll do things differently, with like, a normal schedule and more than a minute to breathe...I'm not really sure I know how anymore. Whirlwind-ing is my specialty. I might as well embrace it, right? At least I don't have to get all the way across the country this time....Juuuust up and down the eastern seaboard. Whatever.

This season's Traveling Whirlwind Extravaganza includes swooping into NYC on Monday, seeing my mom, meeting my new baby cousin, hugging her older siblings & parents, swinging down to DC to see Greg's parents, continuing down to Williamsburg, being in my best friend's wedding (!!), planning our own wedding (venues, caterers, bakers, and dresses, oh my!), seeing my dad, maybe seeing my sister, (wishing I could celebrate my brother's big 2-1, but knowing a trip to CA would probably be too much :)), heading back up to NYC to finish The Planning and then back to good ol' Glesga (better known Glasgow for those unfamiliar with the regional dialect) in time for Greg's graduation, and over to St Andrews for my own graduation two days later. Oh, and Thanskgiving in there somewhere. (Location: TBA. Either NYC or St Andrews. As you do.) Phew.

GAME ON.

wise words from my favorite lady

Right, so, first things first.

NEW TAYLOR SWIFT ALBUM. So sue me. I love her. We bonded on one marathon drive up to NYC on Thanksgiving weekend, wherein "Speak Now" was the only CD in the car, other than 2 (beautiful but) depressing Broadway musicals. After that, there was no going back.

I feel like it should be a guilty pleasure, but if I don't actually feel guilty, then I guess it's just a pleasure, right? 

T-Swift's songs have seen me through many trials (hah. but really. sometimes you just need to hear a whiny voice that's not your own, ya know?) but this week has been driven by one song in particular. It's a long, long story. But the bottom line is that some select people higher up on the food chain (ha!) at work than I am are really, really mean. We're talking, so unnecessarily rude, belittling and downright unprofessional that I've come home from work in tears on many occasions. (Ok, y'all know I'm a weeper, but even this is too much!).And on Sunday morning, after a particularly terrible Saturday night at work, I was down to my last coping mechanism. This was it:

But you know, dancing around my room singing to nobody about how mean they are? Highly cathartic. I didn't even feel the urge to walk out of work that day. Heck, I even enjoyed myself at times.

However, I did some thinking, and some praying, and a lot of talking (can I get an "amen" from my fellow verbal processors?). And I realized that not even the excellent reputation of the restaurant or the fact that I actually enjoy waiting tables or the few people whose company I enjoyed or the great pay that I receive could make up for the huge amount of anxiety I experience every time I walk in to work, or the fear that I feel when I have to work with those particularly unpleasant personalities. So despite the fact that I hate giving up, especially when I feel like I haven't spent a lot of time in a job (I've only been in this one for 2 months)--'cause what if it gets better??--I decided to give my 2 week's notice.

Instantly, I felt lighter.

Guys, this job has been weighing on me. Transitions are hard, and moving to a new city and starting a new job is never easy, but I think most of the problem was feeling so demoralized every time I came home from my job--where, as a full-time employee, I spend most of my time. Now, I'm not so spoiled that I have to love what I do every second that I'm doing it. But I do need to not feel verbally abused when I show up for work.

And today, my first day of semi-freedom (you know, the type that comes when you can see a light at the end of the tunnel), I snagged T-Swift's new album. And although, of course, I love every last one of the songs, this one seems particularly apt for my day.

Dear Soul-Killing Waitress Job:

We are never, ever, ever getting back together.

Like, ever.

new theme song.

Guys, sometimes living in a city is rough. Living in a city where the sun doesn't shine, and where we don't really have internet...or friends...or job satisfaction (waiting tables 30+ hours a week: fine. polishing cutlery 30+ hours a week: not so fine)... It's particularly rough.

So today, we had hot chocolate and put this song on.

Go on. Click it. Tell me it doesn't bring at least a bit of a smile to your face.

Personally, I'm calling it my new theme song. 'Cause if I'm gonna throw a pity party, I definitely want it put to a jaunty tune.

Making Friends 101 (a crash course)

In undergrad, you could make friends a couple ways. You could join some clubs. You could rush a sorority or fraternity. You could hang with your hallmates. For a few weeks there at the beginning, it was even acceptable to say "Are you a freshman?" in the hopes that they'd catch the subtext "Are you as lost and confused and friendless as I am?"

Grad school, at least for me, ended up being pretty easy. Picked a pretty tiny field at a university where somehow everybody knows everybody else, combined that with the fluke of 8 personalities that mostly all got along great, not to mention had similar interests, plus we kind of had ban together against the outside world that says we were all off our rockers for our career choice. So, basically, I got a built-in posse.

Real life is not so easy.

Where do you go to make friends, if not class, or extracurriculars? Where do you find them? Are they hiding somewhere secret? Obviously grown ups make friends, too, but there's kind of an aura of mystery surrounding the actual friend-making process. Or, alternatively, I'm just socially awkward and maladjusted. (Knowing my undergrad uni, this possibility is not entirely out of the question...). Why don't they just offer a class in these things? Then a perpetual student like myself might have a fighting chance... you know. Making Friends 101. That sort of thing. I'm sure it'd fill up before you could say "Damn you, Banner!" (Shout out to my not-so-beloved undergrad course scheduling system, which somehow always messes your life up a little.)

Nevertheless, I've set out to make a life for myself here in Glasgow. It's tough when I'm working full time. I'm getting to know the great people I work with...but they're work friends, so the rota really determines our  "hang out" time.

Since that's not turning out to be quite enough, I took decided to check out a life drawing class in a coffee shop near my neighborhood. ("When in doubt, go to class" is apparently my motto.) This is a better idea than making work friends, I think, because I tend to be about 10x calmer with charcoal in my hand. Plus, it does not require me to do much talking, except a little quiet chatter in the breaks-- never a bad thing.

Things I did not intend to do: make friends with the model. Some people like to chat with the model when they're on a break, but I don't really like to establish any personal ties with the person whose naked body I've just been measuring and replicating on the page. This presented problems in undergrad, where I often knew the model personally, but I figured that was a non-issue in such a vast, new city. But halfway through my attempt to join in the chatter of my classmates, the model looks at me and says "You've got charcoal all over your face."

Well, you're not wearing any clothes, but I'm not callin' you out, lady....

Okay, I didn't actually say that. I did the normal person thing and thanked her. I then spent the remainder of the break trying to scrub the charcoal from my face with my sleeve instead of trying to make friends. She stayed naked, though, so I think maybe she'd have benefited from my observations ;)

So, Attempt 1 didn't go quite the way I'd envisioned it.

Attempt 2 was better, but only slightly. Greg and I have been on a quest to find this church we'd heard about. But for the last 6 months, getting there has been a bit like trying to get to Narnia without the wardrobe. Aka, impossible. We just got lost every time. But this Sunday, we finally made it! It was fabulous. We then decided to be grown ups (sensing a theme?), stick around for coffee, and try to meet some people. But people seemed mostly interested in chatting with each other, or leaving. And there was also no coffee. So we nibbled on a jelly doughnut, and peaced out. Guess we're baby-stepping: we found the place. Makin' friends is a thing for later, I think :)

For now, I'm just going to slink back to my comfort-zone on my day off today by scheming my return to grad school and celebrating Aya's & my distinction-level dissertation marks. Not to worry, I'll be back to keep you posted about how I'm navigating the complex playground of adult relationships some other day!

UK Quirks: The Thanking Compulsion

Guys, I live with a linguist. So, when we combine her interest in languages and the fact that she's a non-native English speaker who finds most colloquialisms totally hilarious with my general interest in speech patters (academia for the win?), living United Kingdom has provided endless amusing observations.

The latest one has become apparent through my recent endeavors in the service industry. Did you know that British people like to stand around thanking each other? To excess. It's true!

Not only do they have far too many words for "thanks" and "thank you" including "ta" and "cheers," but they also like to pair it these words with phrases like "that's great"/"lovely"/"perfect," and often all three in the time that it takes me to clear away a plate.

What's even stranger is that the appropriate response to all this thanking is not "you're welcome" or "no problem" or even the more casual "no worries." No. The appropriate response is to thank that person again.

Yes. You read correctly. Excessive thanking. I'm not really sure this necessarily makes the interaction any more polite, because they're often muttered under their breaths kind of like an extra-polite verbal tic. Consider the following:

Customer: "Oh that's great, cheers, thanks"

Server: "Thanks, can I get you anything else?"

Customer: "No, thanks, that's perfect, cheers"

Server: "Ok, cheers!"

You know how many times they thank each other in this interaction? Six times. Not to mention the affirmations of perfection and greatness ;) Why do they do this? According to my Scottish co-worker back at Greyfriars, it's just what you do-- habit, more than anything. She said once, "I'll go up to a table with their food and thank them, and walk away thinking 'Why did I just do that? I'm bringing their meal to them. I'm doing them a favor!'"

So there you have it. I'm not entirely sure whether British people just hate to miss an opportunity to be polite, or whether it's mere compulsion...But the fact remains: Everybody is sufficiently thanked. All the time.

Similarly, they like to apologise. A lot. As in, I just heard a server in the cafe where I'm sitting walk up to a table and say "Sorry, Americano?" as she brought someone their coffee. I have suspicions that these compulsions are connected. But that's a linguistic adventure for another day.

in want of a snappy title (post-move discoveries)

So it’s been nearly two weeks since I moved into this new (and by “new” I mean, pretty old and kinda manky) flat in Glasgow. I wrote this whole long post detailing the exciting time we had cleaning this quirky old flat, including several thrilling discoveries (a gumball machine, two fondue kits, an assortment of about seven cheese graters. and a disproportionate number of spoons) and some truly inspired prose about Aya’s and my Amazonian strength whilst moving all the oddly placed furniture about the flat (who puts a loveseat in the kitchen and the flat’s only table in a bedroom? WHO?).

But that post (almost-post?) was written on the first night in the flat. A lot has happened since then.

Since this new endeavor has finally allowed me the space and peace of mind to begin wedding-planning, I figure it’s not too inappropriate to describe my time in Glasgow in those terms. I know this seems unrelated. Bear with me because it really, really isn’t :) So, I give you Christy’s Guide to Using a Major Life Change as a Wedding Fitness Plan. Yes, it may be in want of a snappy title. (True confession: I’m so hopeless with titles that my supervisor came up with the one that’s written on my dissertation). But whatever the title, I’m telling you—it gets results ;)

Step 1: Move to Glasgow

First, you’ll burn plenty of calories in the stress that it takes to find a flat, and in the restless nights you’ll have tossing and turning over whether it’ll fall through like it always seems to do. Then there’s the matter of physically lifting all your earthly possessions! Bonus points if you have to move it to several other destinations first. Double bonus points if you have to move it up 4 flights of stairs upon arrival.

Step 2: Clean Your Flat

Now, if you’re living in a normal person’s flat, which gets cleaned even every year or so, you probably won’t get the full benefit of this exercise. What you really want is a flat that hasn’t been cleaned since about the 1970s—we’re looking for a nice thick layer of grease and grime here. Then, since it’s obviously unlivable, scrub every countertop, floor, tile, windowpane, appliance, fixture, crown molding, dish, pot, pan, and utensil in the place. Once you’re finished, everything that’s not scrub-able. If you haven’t worked up a sweat yet, you’re not doing it right.

Step 3: Do the Laundry

Now, part of step 2 requires quite an old school flat to begin with—none of these fancy new clean buildings. If you’re lucky, you’ll end up with a flat that has a retractable drying rack hanging from the ceiling. Do a couple loads of jeans and haul that baby up to the ceiling to dry. Feel the burn right through those triceps!

Step 4: Enlist Your Flatmate

Thus far, all of our steps have been exercise-based. This one’s got to do with diet. Feed your body good things! I’ve found my Belgian flatmate to be particularly helpful in this endeavor, as she doesn’t like processed/pre-packaged foods. Thus, more cooking. And more cooking healthy things. Wedding-ready body, here we come! (Take care: Belgian flatmates as well as fiancés often enjoy beer, but be careful not to ingest too much. It can undo all that good work!)

Step 5: Be a Little Broke

Curbing spending? Never fear. No better way to keep from over-eating than not being able to afford your chip addiction!

Step 6: Get a Service Job

By now your memories of lifting furniture and boxes are probably fading pleasantly into the distance…along with your muscle tone. Quick fix? Get a full-time waitressing position at a French-American style bistro (…in Scotland? The identity crisis isn’t crucial, but it sure is funny :)). Heavy plates, high volume of customers, lots of walking in circles, and long hours that make you skip dinner (because you’re serving it to someone else!)…not to mention the twenty minute commute time!

Step 7: Don’t Bother With a Car

Speaking of commute times, living in the city is the perfect choice for your getting your body looking fit for that wedding dress. No car means walking everywhere. All the time. (Don’t feel too bad if you hop on the subway once in a while just to escape the cold.)

Step 8: Internet’s Probably Overrated, Too

Looking for a sure-fire way not to sit on your butt all day? Make sure your landlady’s left the country and disconnected her landline, leaving you waiting a month and a half for an electrician to have an opening to reinstall it. This will ensure that 1) you have to leave the house (run up and down four flights of stairs) every time you feel like refreshing Facebook and 2) you don’t sit around streaming bad TV like you did when you were a hobo living on your friends’ couch.

Step 9: Get Some “Pets”

Want to get your daily cardio without leaving the house? Find some field mice coming up through the gap in your floorboards.  That’s sure to get your heart pounding! Name them Tom and Jerry (okay, that’s not necessary for fitness either, but it does make the activity more bearable). Spend a morning running around the house with bowls to catch them. When you do, jog down the stairs to escort them out the front door. Leave one un-caught, just in case you ever want some more indoor cardio. (Alternatively, buy some mousetraps. There are better ways to get exercise in Glasgow).

Step 10: Look Fabulous

Somewhere in the midst of all this activity, look in the mirror and think, “Hot damn! You’re looking fine today!” Because you know what? You are. If you’re pairing all this bizarre activity with being close to your fiancé, planning your fantastic wedding, and having great flat-company, decent job satisfaction and even the prospect of some new friends, you’ll probably be glowing a little. Big city living looks good on you now, doesn’t it?

the real world: couch surfing and stale cupcakes

Well, I made it down the street with all of my belongings, which was kind of a herculean effort in the end. But I'm here in Julia & Tamara's flat, and ever impressed by how fantastic it is to have a place to call "home" for the next couple days before I can move into my flat in Glasgow. (Well, we sign all the paperwork tomorrow, so I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop...Fingers crossed it doesn't fall through at the last minute like last time!)

After the insane night of cleaning and packing and certainly not enough sleep, I drove with Julia & Tamara to drop our friend Amanda off at the airport on Friday-- she's flying home to the states, and saying goodbye was THE WORST! .... So after we saw her to security and tried to convince her just to stay and stay, we self-soothed with cupcakes, which made it a little better (but they'd gone a little stale so the relief was fleeting ;)).

Shopping in Edinburgh was a better remedy-- I invested in a fabulous pair of Levis and some bright red Chanel lipstick in an endeavor to remind myself that yes, I am a grown up, despite the fact that I'm crashing in my friends' flat and subsisting on stale cupcakes. (Well, actually that last part is a lie. They've been using me as an excuse to cook, which I really don't mind!)

We had the laziest Saturday known to man yesterday. I think we didn't even thought about changing out of our pj's till about 4 pm.  But I kinda think we deserved it, don't you?

So all in all, the "real world" is a kind of surreal and a little bit hobo-ish at the moment. My hosts are both at work (because they're not bums, like me, who quit my job in anticipation of a move that ended up not happening quite like I'd planned...oops...) and I'm here, job-searching and re-packing my belongings and drinking coffee. And feeling extraordinarily thankful for my friends.

on completion

Well, team,

I'VE DONE IT.

Wrote my MLitt dissertation, and handed it in yesterday. Mixed horror, pride and relief. Horror, because it'll never be good enough-- that's just academia. Pride because I DID it, dangit. And relief because I don't have anything at the back of my mind, begging to be worried over, anymore.

Packed my flat today-- which involved my friend, Tamara, showing up after my 11:30 pm panic to  help me put my odds and ends in a suitcase and moving my entire life down the stairs, up the street, and up the stairs to her flat. Yeah, she's a beast. / a saint. / frickin' awesome.

CanNOT believe it's nearly been a year. And what a year it's been. Did some of the best and most rewarding work / research of my life. Made some amazing friends (who've kind of become my family over here, which I have to say, I love). Lived in my first big-girl flat. Saw a little bit of the world. Got to know my surroundings. Learned how to be a bartender ("barmaid," as they call it here. haha. what is this, the 19th century?). Got ENGAGED to the love of my whole life (!). Realized that I'm exactly where I need to be, doing exactly what I need to be doing at this point in my life.

Yep. I'm pretty proud of myself. And I kinda think I deserve to be :)

So tonight, while I'm sleeping in my little bed for the last time, looking around at the empty room that's been my home for the last year...I'm a little sad to leave. It's been a good year. Tough at times, of course, but-- let's be honest here for a minute-- what year isn't? I'm happy to leave though, too. As Greg said to me just this morning (while he was helping me wade through my laundry to start packing- just so you know how wonderful he is, basically all the time), "Our future is so bright."

And it is. And that's kind of what's making it easier to leave, knowing there's something so good and wonderful waiting for me after I do. Even if we have no answer for what we're doing once we actually graduate this fall...At least we've got no answer together! That makes it all a little better.

notes from the front lines

Dissertation draft: completed.

Beginning editing today.

It only took threats of physical harm and my most deep-seeded fears coming true to get me to kick it into high-gear and write the last 7,000 words this week. Um, that's what friends are for?

But seriously. They're great. The friend that threatened me also supplied me with cupcakes, so how bad could it really be?

I also went to the Edinburgh Book Festival with a buddy so that she could see Garth Nix speak...and so that we could generally nerd out at the bookishness of the whole thing. A much-needed break. Also there were burritos! (They're rare here, okay? Stop looking at me like I'm crazy).

Greg's family was also in town last week, and I got to spend a wonderful day hanging out with them, daydreaming about the wedding, walking around the city, taking in some modern art...generally catching up. Seeing Greg with his family makes my heart so happy. It was the best.

And I've been camped out at another friend's kitchen table pretty much all week-- which, as it turns out is much better than my desk--partially because I can no longer think with 30-odd books piled up round my ears, partially because they always invite me to eat dinner with them, and mostly 'cause it's good banter when we're all slowly losing it over our dissertations :)

So, it's really not so bad out here on the front lines of dissertation-writing.

Other than the mild panic that's setting in.

But it's mostly over having to be out of my flat at 10 am on Friday and not having anywhere to go (except for my friends' couch. Seriously, THANK goodness for these ladies.) That's another story for another time, but if you'd like to know about the illegal practices of one particular registered Glasgow landlady from whom I nearly rented, I'm happy to provide a name for you! (hmph.)

Anyhow. I'm off to print and edit this dang draft. Lord willing, I'll be done editing on Monday, and by Tuesday, it'll be out of my hands, leaving me with TWO glorious days to pack up my life and move it...um...elsewhere.

Here we go.

Nanny, you rock. (And other assorted post-holiday thoughts)

Well, team, I'm back from my globe-trotting--and, as you might gather from the timestamp on this post, still a little bit on the wrong time zone.

First of all, as the title suggests, I've gotta to give a shout out to my grandma (Nanny) for her unswerving devotion every last one of my ramblings. In my absence, she's read every single word I've written, AND spent the week making me feel like a literary genius by quoting me directly on several occasions. So Nanny, you just rock. (The rest of you, endeavor to be like her. And not just 'cause it strokes my ego! :p)

Secondly, it was QUITE a trip. Now, normally, I'd strongly recommend against flying halfway across the world for only 10 days, 4 of which are spent alone on an airplane, grinding out a dissertation and having your seat kicked by a large German woman for the better part of 6 hours*. But in this case, I have to revise: if you can see your younger cousin marry the love of his life, dance like a fool with your favorite people, laugh so hard you think you'll never catch your breath again, shed a couple tears, give an inordinate amount of hugs, relive (or re-learn) family history through photos and audio-tapes, fulfill a 4-year standing goal of couch-sitting/Olympic-watching, have a couple heart to hearts, find The Dress for your wedding, eat a lot of gourmet cooking, and soak up all the love your family has to give for just one week...

Then you should probably get on the frickin' plane. Because it's worth it.

Yeah, even the wicked three-day travel-hangover.
And the nasty dissertation stress.
And the realization that I also have to pack up my whole flat and move to a brand new city in 3 weeks (more on my country-mouse anxiety at a later date)....

Yup. Still totally worth it.

Anyway, if I go MIA for the next 3 weeks...that's what I'm up against. When I emerge, I'll be DONE with my M. Litt in Mediaeval Literature.

So,  without further ado--I'm off for one final brain-wringing. Catch you on the flipside.


*Don't throw a pity party for me just yet--I did spend one leg of the journey dining on steak and having my wine glass refilled by an overeager flight attendant during an mysterious and unexpected business-class upgrade. Yeah yeah, tough life.

Off on a hair-brained adventure (as usual)

Well, actually, right now I'm still laying in bed, in my pj's, surrounded by a stack of books. This is the life! Or something.

But I'm leaving in abouuuut an hour or two for Glasgow, where I'll spend one last glorious day with my fiance (read: working on my dissertation while he gives a beer tasting). Tomorrow, I'll head for the airport at 0Dark:Thirty (which will really be broad daylight, but really early. Yeah, summer!) By that afternoon, I'll be meeting my brother at the Port Authority so he can walk me home, since I've never been!

Then, as usual, the crazy's gonna hit. Wednesday I'm trying on wedding dresses with my mom & sister. Thursday, I get on another plane out to Seattle, where we'll reunite with the rest of My Big Fat Family of Northern European Descent (I'm not kidding. It's a little like this and this when we get together, but we're not Greek, and everybody's named Bob, instead of Nick). Then I get to see my cousin get married (!) on Saturday. And after that...well, who even knows. All I can say is that it's going to be some awesome family time, and I get to be out there till the 2nd of August before I run home to The Final Countdown: Dissertation Edition.

Away we go!

i need a dollar dollar, dollar is what i need

Sometimes, when I'm having a crappy day at work, and the hoover is heavy, and I have to mop the floor twice because it's still sticky from the sugar bowl I dropped cleaning up after breakfast, and I'm sweaty because the heating's on, and silly American tourists have been tipping in dollars instead of pounds, and I've been told off by the kitchen for messing up an order....I sing this song to myself, and pretend that I'm in an indie film montage instead of my crappy day. Hey, it's the little things.

Story-time.

Once upon a time, in a far-away land, there lived a girl*. One day, the girl met a boy**. The boy and the girl liked each other, which wasn't a big deal or anything. Until eventually, it was. That's when they figured out that sometimes, when you like each other for a long time, you fall in love-- which is exactly what they did.

Then one day, while they were both busy with other things, they realized that being in love was great. It was so great, in fact, that they decided that someday, when they were a little less busy, they should get married.

Well, the Other Things kept coming around to bother them, and they kept taking care of them, which kept them pretty busy for a while. And the boy thought to himself, "Man. These Things won't quit. What's the point in waiting around 'til they do?" (Full disclosure: the girl might have been involved in this conversation).

So he bought the girl a ring, and got down on one knee, and asked her to marry him.

She said yes, obviously.
(She also asked if she could wear the ring yet. He said yes to her, too.)

And in the next few weeks, the boy and the girl floated around on a cloud of joy and love and really shiny jewelry.

But the Other Things were there below, lurking. So when the boy and girl finally decided it was time to climb back down into their real world (which mostly consisted of books and un-met word-counts), the Things pounced!

Feeling frightened and wholly unprepared for a battle against the Other Things, the girl and the boy clambered straight back up to their cloud where they could daydream in peace about world travel and wedding venues.

Note to the Reader: this story is in search of an ending. Will the boy and the girl ever come down from that cloud? How will they ever defeat the Other Things? Why does Christy tell such crappy stories?
Stay tuned to find out.




*unnamed, to protect her identity.
**unnamed, to protect the story's continuity.

an ex-pat Independence Day

The Fourth of July has never really been my favorite holiday. Don't get me wrong-- I love my country. And I am so incredibly thankful for the privileges that come with living there. But I'm just not wildly patriotic. Actually, I've really come to enjoy the ex-pat facet of my identity. It's kind of a fun thing for me, feeling at home even outside of my own country.

But then, I'd never spent Independence Day abroad.

Now, I know we (we, being the US. obviously?) declared independence from England, which is technically a part of the country in which I'm currently residing. Buuuuut let's be real here for a minute. We've established that Scotland and England don't play nicely together. In fact, most of the things England likes, Scotland hates, just to be contrary. So naturally, there's been an amusing amount of interest in America, and all things American, probably just because yesterday was the day we "told England to f*ck off" (co-worker's words, trying to understand what Independence Day was. Oddly correct and fantastically succinct summary.) Other reactions included:

1. This was years ago, but it remains my favorite story--a Scottish friend of mine sent me a Facebook message on the 4th of July, congratulating me on living in a country that had successfully managed to declare its independence from England. Poor Scotland.

2. Lots of "God bless Amurrrrica!"s spoken with truly delightful impressions of an American Southern accent.

3. Questions about what the point was. ("No, no, we didn't actually get independence that day. We just...um...told England we wanted it. Officially. On paper. And now we celebrate with fireworks. Don't worry about it.")

4. And, of course, the ever-confused look on American customers' faces when I wish them a happy Fourth of July and it slowly dawns on them I am in fact an American, too.

I've also experienced a bizarre phenomenon, in which I suddenly feel more compelled than ever to talk about my country. Like I said. I've never been particularly vocal about how much I enjoy the US. Now that I'm living abroad, however, it's like I think it's the greatest thing in the world. I jump at the chance to explain how fabulous the US can be (or how strange it can be. That happens a lot too). Maybe it's being so far from home that's got me a little homesick for the ordinary things--you know, like...Tide-to-Go pens. AND CHICK-FIL-A.

But then again, I've been having headaches when I don't wear my glasses, so dropped into Specsavers yesterday and had a free eye-exam/consultation with an optician, and came out with even more information than my private eye-doctor has ever given me back home, plus a prescription for new lenses that will be oh-so-freaking-cheap. So as far as trade-offs go, I think I made a pretty good choice. Ex-pat suits me...For now, at least!

extra, extra! read all about it!

For the 0.01% of my family/friends who prefer to get their news on my life via this blog, instead of Facebook... I've got some news! Plus, an exclusive photo (you know, like they do to boost website readership for printed publications? Just indulge me.)

Actually, I really think the photo speaks for itself:

Left hand. Ring. Snuggly couple. (And yes, that's my brother & mom up in the corner there :)) I know what you're thinking: all the signs and symptoms of engagement, right?

Well done, you! 'Cause that's absolutely correct. (can't. stop. smiling.)

Wondering why we look a little bleary eyed? That's probably because we'd stayed up most of the night on the 20th of June to see the sun rise from the cliffs overlooking the North Sea, beside the cathedral ruins in St Andrews. It appears that my -ahem- fiance is either hopeless romantic 'cause that's when he popped the question. Perfection.

So, life right now has a lotta love. And a lotta dreaming. And a lotta good, important conversations my favorite person, and all the people who are most important to us. And, okay, not enough dissertation-writing (What can I say? Every time I go to type something, there's this sparkly thing on my hand reminding me about the best future ever!) But mostly the love.

Coming soon: day-dream updates, future-talk (aka, Where in The World is Carmen Sandiego are Christy and Greg Going?), an adventure back home for my cousin's wedding, lots of spontaneous exclamations of joy, and, as always, a little babble about dead poets. Y'know. For good measure.

It's a once-in-a-lifetime thing...I guess.

I don't know if you've heard, but there have been a couple pretty important events happening lately in the UK:

1) The Queen's Diamond Jubilee. This sounds really fancy, doesn't it? It is. The whole country was abuzz for the last few weeks preceding the Diamond Jubilee-- there was a Bank Holiday (read: a day off work/school), shops had sales, people planned barbecues....and generally got really excited about the Queen reigning for 60 years? As an American, the whole concept of one person being "in charge" (as much as the Queen is actually in charge of things these days...which is to say, not much) for that amount of time is just a little bizarre. But it did warm my heart to see all the red, white and blue decorations. Kinda made me feel a little 4th of July-y. (Which of course is the exact opposite of the sort celebrations that were happening over here. But still.)

However, I did notice a distinct lack of interest up here (that is to say, in Scotland). Shops are one thing, but individual people are whole different ball o' wax. Both Greg's family and mine were convinced there'd be some kind of event happening in our respective residences... And yes, lots of neighborhoods farther south were supposedly having block parties and neighborhood barbecues. But up here, not so much (with the exception of some epic party in Edinburgh castle. Needless to say, I was not invited :p). I did attend a party to celebrate, but it was thrown by an English girl. On the other hand, Scottish acquaintances of mine circulated things like this (pardon the crudity- it makes my point too brilliantly to withhold):

(dijibnet.com)

Conclusion: Queen's Jubilee in Scotland...Yeah, not the biggest deal. But that meme did make me giggle. Like, a LOT.

2) The Olympic Torch Relay. Okay. Now this was actually pretty cool. You know. How many times are you going to see the Olympic Torch run by your house, yadda yadda. I happened to be in Glasgow when it came through-- and everyone was really excited to see it! All the representatives from Coca-Cola were promising loads of free giveaways, music, etc. What we actually got was one 250 ml bottle of Coke, an a cappella serenade by 3 women dressed as Greek goddesses, and a really prime view of a man in a white van, waving a small stuffed creature that's supposedly the mascot of the 2012 games. Truly bizarre.

The mascots, Wenlock and Mandeville (Google images)

 And then the torch runner came by. Being short, I really only managed to see the back of one eager student's head as he snapped a thousand photos, but Greg's camera tells me the runner was lookin' pretty bedraggled tackling a pretty epic hill. And carrying a heavy torch. That's on fire. I just don't envy those runners :)

Greg and I were interviewed by some news team about why we were excited to see the torch run by (this was, in fact, the second time a news team had asked us about the 2012 Games. The first was in London this winter, and I think they were disappointed when the realized we were Americans :p) After we gave our answers, we conferred with our friends, who agreed: well, it'd be pretty dumb to miss something so important. We're here, and it's kind of a once-in-a-lifetime-thing, I guess, so we might as well...right?

So, maybe the Jubilee was kind of a bust up here. But one thing's for sure--the London 2012 publicity team seems to be doing a pretty good job whipping up national enthusiasm. Even the most apathetic of populations (postgrads? in Scotland?) got off their butts and watched the torch go by. They even woke up at 7 am to see it in St Andrews! (I didn't. Once was plenty, thanks.)

Even though people up here don't get quite as enthused about national happenings, I kinda love the chip-on-the-shoulder way I've gotten to experience all these events--Oh, sure, let's have some fun, celebrate some silly things. But let's not forget that they are, in fact, some very silly things :)

Dublin: a non-existent holiday

Yep, that's right. We were all set to go- tickets reserved, hostel booked- or so we thought!

I don't know if you've heard about Ryan Air, but if you've spent any time on this side of the Atlantic, you probably know about the Ireland-based, cheap-as-crap airline that connects most major UK/EU cities. And friends, they're cheap as crap for a reason. I'll spare you the rant, but the bottom line is that despite receiving a confirmation email, our tickets were never actually reserved...which meant that until about 12 hours before our flight was due to leave, we thought we were going on a holiday that didn't actually exist.

Bummer? I'd say so.

Not to be deterred, Greg and I decided to salvage our time off and see if we couldn't make some fun out of our non-starter holiday. Scotland was enjoying unusually delightful weather earlier this week, so I packed up my backpack and headed out to Glasgow. We spent time in the sunshine, watching the seas of humanity camped out on one hill in Kelvingrove Park, collectively transforming into lobsters over the course of the afternoon... And okay, seriously. I have yet to find a better opportunity for people-watching. We brought a bag of crisps and a beach towel and settled in like we were watching a film (maybe some kind of documentary- "Scottish Natives Encounter the Sun," or perhaps "Glasgow at Play." Or, to borrow Greg's description "The Fleshtival."). It was delightful.

The next morning, caught an early bus to Edinburgh.

Fresh off the bus! (Castle barely visible beyond the park/mist...obnoxious bagpiper not pictured.)

Here's where things get interesting... We were wandering in a new direction that we usually wander when we're there, and ended up about 20 minutes outside the city centre.  And as some of you know, when I wander far and don't eat, I sometimes pass out. So, to avoid this, we stopped in the first cafe we saw: a place called Braw, where we inevitably struck up a conversation with the owners. Apart from being very sweet (and throwing in free coffee!), they also suggested that if we were looking for something a little offbeat to do, we could take a stroll in the drizzly afternoon down by the Waters of Leith.

That's us! On a bridge!

We had. No. Idea. How gorgeous Edinburgh could be outside the city centre. We ended up strolling along this river by a moss-covered stone wall for a long while. I'm certain the walk wasn't actually very long distance-wise, but Greg likes to stop and smell the roses (sometimes literally) even more than I do. In fact, I think I come off as somewhat of a slave-driver in comparison. But even I couldn't resist dawdling along and examining all the wildflowers growing along the bank.

Exhibit A: Greg, in utter awe at nature's miracles.

Exhibit B: Me, looking like a surly teenager, not at all impressed by the miracle of ivy. Don't worry, I joined the party later....

Marveling at the moss-covered wall. Not pictured: the pack of runners that almost ran us over shortly thereafter.

Greg was pretty pleased with the transition-- it meant he got to do more things like this :p

Anyway... since we had no other plans for the day, we decided to follow the signs to a "Modern Art Museum." Only, every time the signs appeared, they said it was the same distance away. We began to wonder if the "modern art" might be performance-based/ audience participation modern art that sends the viewer wandering downstream in a search for something that doesn't actually exist, when...

Just so frickin' overjoyed! (That's the Gallery of Modern Art archway in the distance. He's not a complete nutter :P)

We found it! (Little did we know that we'd taken the most round about way possible. It was literally a few meters from the cafe, but our nature-walk-detour took us about 1/2 a mile out of the way. Typical Greg and Christy adventure :))

We wandered there for a while, taking in lots of really off-putting sculptures (like a GIANT room-size statue of a naked baby...) and generally feeling snooty...

Then caught a bus back to the city centre. We wandered for a while, enjoying tourist-pandering sounds of bagpipes on the Royal Mile, took a detour into the National Museum-- so Greg could see the dinosaurs and I could see the really excellent collection of medieval Scottish artifacts (NERDS)-- and eventually decided we were far too hungry to continue.

So we had the what-do-you-want for dinner conversation. I don't know about your relationships, but 9 times out of ten, the conversation in our relationship goes something like this:

Greg looks at me and says, "I'm feeling a curry tonight. Are you feeling a curry?"
And naturally, I respond, "Greg, I'm always feeling a curry."

Aaaaand scene. Decision made.

So we went on a quest for Indian food. Because neither of us our Edinburgh natives, we resolved to follow our noses. Which seems like a bad idea, but in Scotland, where there are Indian restaurants pretty much every half-step you take, it can yield some pretty incredible results. And it did. We ate in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, seated on cushions and surrounded by low-hanging ceilings, where we stuffed our faces for under 7 quid each. Despite our intense loyalty to the affordability of St Andrew's Maishas...This had to win out. It was amazing. Capped off our evening with some whisky in a tiny little pub with a great selection (that was playing the Sound of Music soundtrack, to which the bartenders were singing along...definitely my kind of place) looked at each other and decided:

This was WAY better than Dublin.

barefoot, blue-jean night(s)

So, anyone know where the month of May has gone? Because it seems like the last 3 weeks just flew by without so much as a warning!

Post-paper-frenzy, I took a couple days off and visited Greg in Glasgow, where we did adorable things like visit the Auchentoshan distillery, eat delicious Indian curry (surprised? didn't think so), play Scrabble and wander around in the semi-drizzly weather.

Celebrating Greg's "birthday" a few days late in Glasgow 

Scrabble! in a bar. because we're nerds. (also, evidence of my awful, awful hand...)

I think it's that last bit, combined with the stress-let-down, that made me ill upon my return to St Andrews. We're talking full-on immune-system meltdown, lock myself in my bedroom with tissues and chicken noodle soup for 5 solid days, watching several seasons of How I Met Your Mother and sleeping 12 hours a night, ILL. Also, I tried to go to work on day 2 of this illness. Yeah, work ethic! They sent me home when I couldn't stop sneezing near the kitchen window. Note to self: people don't like it when you're sniffly near their food. Gross.

Anyway, I gradually reintroduced myself to the land of the living with nerdy movie nights with my girlfriends. Here is where I make a shameless plug for BBC Drama, because it's revolutionized my TV experience. Particularly, the BBC's Shakespeare Retold series...Please, please, tell me this in't wonderful:

Okay. Seems cheesy. But really, it's brilliant. And when paired with good friends and mexican food? Unbeatable.

And, just when I thought that May would be a miserable month filled with rain, sniffly noses and the occasional bright spot of movie-watching...The sun came out again last week! Which, obviously meant that the whole of St Andrews dragged their pale, fleshy bodies out of their wool jumpers and stockings and into swim trunks and sundresses. It was... a sight to behold.

Of course, I'm no better. I pulled on a breezy skirt and spent a couple lovely afternoons picnicking on West Sands / stocking up on vitamin D before the sun disappears forever.   The plan was to do some dissertation reading outdoors, but I think we only managed 10 solid minutes of reading before we gave into girly gossip, trashy magazines and an epic search for ice cream cones. As you do.

I also attended not one, but two backyard barbecues-- one with my undergrad friends, and one with the postgrads. It was great way to wrap up the year with both crowds-- although I kind of can't believe those punky little first years I lived with in 2009 are graduating! How time flies... (nostalgic sigh)

Plus, Greg came into town for the end of the week (aka, to celebrate my birthday!), and we attended John Burnett's Garden Party. Which, frankly, sounds more sophisticated than it was. But it was, again, gorgeous, sunny, and warm, and we got to hang out with some great, fun people (specifically, Greg's buddies from his time abroad). And there was a giant Jenga set. What more could anyone ever want?

My birthday was a super-low-key and wonderful day. Greg and I wandered by the sea, browsed old bookshops, skyped my family, ate at this fantastic Thai restaurant that I've been eyeing since I arrived in September, and had a few drinks with some of my friends. All in all, a perfect, perfect day.

Celebrating my birthday! (please note the difference only a few days makes. That's Scottish summer for ya)

...And a perfect May. Lots of idyllic quality time with the people I like best--the greatest way to unwind after a wonderful (but stressful) year. Plus, a little bit of color in my pale, pale cheeks! (I'm pretty sure most of the town population has a sunburn.)

And FINALLY, (I swear this is the last thing), due to a clerical error, I've been given this weekend/week off of work till next Friday. So, with our extra time and some clever budgeting, Greg and I have booked a trip to Dublin next week! We'll leave Monday and get back Thursday morning and we are OH so excited to see nerdy stuff (Book of Kells and Oscar Wilde's home), and maybe some less nerdy stuff (live music and a tour of the Guinness storehouse). So get ready to hear more Greg & Christy adventures next time!

Oh, don't even lie. You know you're pumped.

And now, for to read about Scottish kings in the sunshine. Maybe I'll go somewhere with a view of the castle... :)

mission: accomplished.

Guess what?! Today, I turned in (drumroll, please)...

My LAST coursework...EVER.

EVER!

Oh, I've still got a dissertation to write. But that's the fun stuff,  the part where I get to just pick interesting things to read and then write about them. (And PhD's are more of the same :)) This paper felt a little like I was sticking my brain into my washing machine's "Spin" cycle and trying to submit the drippings for a grade. Sorry to be so graphic. The last few weeks have been pretty stressful...

But guys! This is 5 years of higher education coming to an end! I don't think I was this confused over my undergraduate education, 'cause, hey. No one can sustain the undergraduate lifestyle forever and live to tell the tale. (I'm talking about all the intense studying, obviously.)

But I also left undergrad feeling hyper-aware of everything I didn't know yet. I'm not sure if that's the way everyone feels, but I felt it strongly enough that I decided I needed to go to grad school. There were just too many things I still needed to learn! Like Old English. And how to decipher the handwriting of sixteenth-century Scottish secretaries. And I certainly wasn't going to read hagiographies in my spare time (Y'all know that I much prefer a nice, jaunty poem about gassy knights who fall off their horses. Yes that's a link, because I knew some of you would think I wasn't serious. It's poem 77, if you fancy a peek into my world.)

Now, I've been made to read, understand and discuss a lot of things that no one had ever really had a chance to teach me before. It has been SO eye-opening. And now that I've done that, guys, I can safely say that that I really do not ever want to enroll in another full-time, taught degree again. But then, the great thing about this degree is that I finally feel like I have all the tools to pursue the things that most excite my mind.

I also have a some mental exhaustion, about 20 books out from the library, not one but FOUR different piles of laundry on my floor, a wicked Coca-Cola addiction, and about 8,800 words under my belt. So, even though I'm SO excited about "contributing to human knowledge" (to quote my wonderful boyfriend, who totally believes in all my bizarre goals. I'm the luckiest).... Right now, I'm just really excited about watching bad TV and eating junk food.

Papering: The Halfway Point

I was chatting with my Belgian friend Aya recently, and she was explaining how, in Dutch, they have a verb for "writing a paper," which translates literally to "papering." I sincerely wish we had this kind of word in English. My whole life, summed up in one word!

Right now I'm on draft #3 of the first of two essays, which means I'm definitely tired of looking at my own words. Plus, it also means that it's all written--even though it's not due till tomorrow?! I've literally never been so prepared to turn in a paper....which I'm considering a sign of growing up. PLUS, celebrations for the infamous MAY DIP begin tomorrow night, and I, for one, am thrilled to say that I will not be pulling an all-nighter to write this paper prior to jumping in the North Sea. If you're curious about that story, just take a wee scroll through memory lane. I think it had far more appeal back then-- i.e., before this year's "March Dip" left me with the desire never to be cold or wet ever again.

But you know, I think May Dip will be just what we (we, being the medievalist M.Litts) need to clear our heads--a nice swim in the North Sea. If nothing else, it'll totally wake us up to start our next paper...(groan)

adventures in candle-burning

...By which I mean, burning the candle at both ends. It's realllllly an adventure.

Which must mean that it's That Time of Year!

You know. That Time of Year when I disappear off the face of the planet because of all my essays (Apologies in advance!). When I start getting up early to write papers and work till late every night, then roll straight into a week of plowing through The Vision of Piers Plowman (if you're a big fat nerd, you'll know what a feat this was)-- plus have a visit from Greg, in which we mostly walked around town looking for good places to study. (At one point, he left me to pick up some takeout for dinner, and by the time he came back, I'd turned my hair into a frizzy ball on the top of my head in my stress. so cute!)

Luckily, we had class on Thursday, so the madness calmed down a little bit after that-- which, obviously, was a good excuse to attend a ball, right? It was faerie themed, so there were a lot of tiaras and flowers and flowy dresses (none of which I managed to bring here. awesome.)

There were gorgeous friends:

There was a ceilidh (you know how I feel about ceilidh...)

There were dance cards....

And dance lessons...

And so-

Much-

Tango.

(Yes, we were just posing for the camera--these are less than half of the tango-photos. and YES, we did take off through the line of dance because we couldn't stand not being able to tango for real...)

All in all, it was a great night, and I went home with sore feet and tired legs and a happy heart.

Unfortunately, I spent the rest of the weekend paying for it, as I had an essay (still writing it, actually) and a couple shifts at work. But it was all made up for the fact that I met a bunch of people from South Carolina who just looooooooove my hometown (Actually, they did that thing where they were like "Oh, you're from ___? Do you know ___?"--which pretty much never works...but this time it did! It was bizarre.)  So that kinda made everything a little more bearable :)

Now, off I go to write about nonsense words some more!

(photos taken from my excellent friend Caitlin's diligent Facebook tagging. Thank goodness for friends with cameras.)

a Saturday afternoon cacophony

So, just when I started to forget that I'm living in Scotland, I hear a parade of bagpipes and drums marching down my street.

...And just as I wrote that, the bagpipes faded, and I'm now hearing 76 trombones. Not in the Music Man sense, although that would make my heart pretty happy. Just "in the my goodness, those are a lot of trombones out there" sense. I think maybe I'm hearing the Kate Kennedy Club parade? From what I remember of the last time I saw it, it's a lot of people marching in cheesy medieval-looking costumes, and in the middle, they stop for a pint. Because this is Scotland. (And, because it's Scotland, it's cold and rainy, and they're still out there. I will not be.)

To add to the cacophony, I just spent some time muttering these lines repeatedly to work out all the interesting internal rhyme and alliteration going on:

Forflittin, countbittin, beschittin, barkit hyd
Clym ledder, fyle tedder, foule edder, I defy the.


[Outdone in flyting, poxed, filthy, hard-skinned
Ladder climber, befouler of the hangman's noose, loathsome adder, I defy you]*

(How's that for a giggle?!)

Conclusion: everything about this place is noisy--the instruments, the language, the rain on my rooftop... Aaaand I love it.

Happy Saturday!



*Translation loosely taken John Conlee's edition of "The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy," The Complete Works of William Dunbar (Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 2004).

Song for a Rainy Tuesday

So, despite being generally frozen in my flat, this weekend turned out pretty fantastic-- I worked Friday-Sunday, celebrated a friend's birthday, went to Vineyard for Easter (wonderful), skyped my family and heard lots of happy news, and had a really exciting meeting about a joint research project (that I'll gush about more later). And to top it all off, Greg came into town on Easter Sunday just as I was finishing work for the night. We spent yesterday in a teeny tiny coffee shop--he wrote his portfolio, and I researched obscure things, 'cause we're ginormous nerds :) We had our usual date-night-in (Indian takeaway from our favorite restaurant and a movie). But he had to be back in Glasgow for a workshop this afternoon, and I've got a term paper consultation, so he took the bus back this morning. And even though it'd been kind of drizzling all day, the downpour really began just as his bus pulled away.

I know I'm so lucky we get to have short, unexpected visits so frequently, and usually, I spend the days that Greg leaves reminding myself of all the other reasons why I'm so gosh darn thankful for this season of our lives (and also doing lots of work to distract myself). 

But the nice thing about living in Scotland is that you can pretty much count on the weather to be rainy when you need it to be. Like when you gotta say goodbye when you really don't wanna. So today, I'm feeling pretty gosh darn thankful for the weather....and taking it as a sign that I'm totally allowed to indulge my rainy-day mood by listening to Ray Charles and Betty Carter croon my feelings all day long.

Happy Tuesday, indeed :)

everything's broken! (not me, though. for once!)

Had to get that out there right at the top, given my penchant for breaking bones. So, fear not, friends and family, everything me-related is working fine and dandy! Apart from this nasty head-cold that had me inhaling steam from a cup of hot water with a bar towel over my head as a last-ditch attempt to survive work this evening. (hey, you gotta do...&etc)

But everything else appears to be broken. First it was the Vodaphone cell tower. Apparently all the sleet/snow/wind we had earlier this week had knocked it out (....as if this weather was surprising? we are in Scotland, after all. You'd think they'd have like, a back-up plan in place, or something. But no.) Luckily that was back up and running within a couple days, so I'm no longer cut off from the universe.

Meanwhile, the heating in my flat totally quit working. Then they came to fix it. And it quit working the next day. And okay. I'm all about celebrating Easter! You know I am! But I'm a little concerned that The Man (ie, the property managers for my flat) are going to let us freeze to death while they enjoy their holiday weekend!

Additionally, the hot water stopped working properly today as well (1/3 of a tub will not be sufficient, even for a person small as I am), and I spilled an entire glass of red wine down my trousers today. I do not want to smell like red wine upon arriving to work tomorrow.

But here's what I came to in my 10 minutes break this evening. Sure, everything's kiiinda broken right now. Admittedly a pain. And I've certainly some other less tangible, ragged bits and pieces floatin' around my life too, of course (Honestly, who hasn't?). But it's Good Friday, for goodness sake--so all I can really say is, thank God for the broken things.

thanks, Eric Church...

...for this gem. It was on my "gotta pump up for a 9 hour shift today!!" playlist, and it's been on a loop in my head all. day. long. 'Cause even though I didn't work a 40 hour week, I did do a 25 hour weekend, followed by that doozy of a shift today. Phew. Talk about jumping in the deep end! But I'm pleased to say that I've only made one or two mistakes that prompted a string of expletives, so I'm callin' it a pretty successful start.

To celebrate, I'm in my pajamas (of the wool-socks-and-jumper variety. Did I mention it's meant to snow tonight? What the heck, April?) One of my favorite beers, Brew Dog Punk IPA (shout out to Greg's bar!), was on offer at Tesco-- I've got one in my hand, AND one in the fridge for a rainy day. I'm about to watch the Game of Thrones Season 2 premiere like the giant nerd I am. And finally, I have a glorious day off tomorrow, which my aching, slightly booze-soaked bod could really use. Spain was bliss for my soul, but there's really something to be said for the utter joy of putting my feet up at the end of a long day.

Despite the exhaustion, however, I still really enjoy my job! (Specifically the bit where they pay me to stand around and pour drinks and chat...and yeah, there's a lot of cleaning. But that's going to be overlooked for now).  And because you know my affinity for lists....here are a few things I'm learning!

1. how to pour a pint of lager. More tricky than it appears. I'll spare you the obscene jokes that the boys I work with have been making as they teach me how to pour (plus, I'll leave your mind to wallow in the gutter trying to guess 'em!)
2. how to pour a pint of cask ale. far more complex and less forgiving. I look over my shoulders like a lost puppy every time I'm asked to do it. Luckily, lost-puppy seems to be a thing that works...at least in soothing impatient customers ;)
3. how to carry hot plates / keep a cool head. serving isn't tough, but it is a balancing act.
4. how to make a black and tan. This is a skill I'm incredibly proud of, but will probably never need. It's also the closest the bar will ever come to serving a "cocktail."
5. how to negotiate orders for drinks that a) I've never heard of, that are b) given by a mildly intoxicated person, who c) has a heavy Scottish accent. A winning combination.

The learning curve is preeeeeetty steep, so I'm sure I'll have some more to add to the list as time goes on. It's only my first week, after all! :)

"we hungry? maybe some cake strawberry? cake apple? cake cheese?" : Palma de Mallorca

If you've spoken to me in the last....oh, maybe month or so, you'll have heard me GUSHING about how Greg and I were planning to go to Spain over spring break. We've both traveled the south of Spain before, but really, the possibility of sitting on a beach and actually feeling warm was just too alluring to pass up. So, scraped our loose change together and managed to book trip to Palma de Mallorca-- a teensy island floating in the Mediterranean just off the coast of Spain. The only requirement was that we find a hostel within walking distance of a beach, and with some kind of proximity to an interesting buildling or two.

What we got was a place that was filled with saggy middle-aged bodies on the beach, and a thousand and advertisers haranguing us to eat at their restaurants with heavy German accents and garbled English syntax (see the title-- Could. Not. Stop. Giggling). But you know what? That was okay. Because between being mistaken for German tourists (German appears to be the lingua franca in these parts), and being totally confused as to whether or not we should even try to make a point of using our (admittedly rusty, but certainly passable) Spanish, we managed to have a great time.

For about 3 days, we lay on the beach and tanned, reveling in the fact that there's absolutely no way we could have managed this in Scotland*. I devoured a book (The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. A quick read, but incredibly poignant). We wandered the old city centre, oogling the buildings, the blue sky, the bluer Mediterranean, the palm trees, the insanely gorgeous cathederal, palace and palace gardens (pictures to follow when Greg uploads them)...We ate great food, late, under street lights and in gorgeous squares, or looking out on the ocean. And on the second-to-last night, Greg led me up to rooftop of our hostel, where we watched the sun setting over the ocean, listened to somebody else's music playing out of a top story flat, and drank a bottle of (delicious) Spanish wine. Bliss.

Aaaaand, then we reluctantly returned home. But (miracle of miracles!) Scotland decided to be sunny for us! In fact, I thought I might actually sweat to death on the bus back to St Andrews (Scottish transportation is not well-equipped for the possibility of good weather), but I only sustained a mild sunburn...ironically, the worst one of the trip :P

Plus, upon my return, I discovered that the NINo office finally came through for me, and had my first shift as a server/bartender last night (more on this to come, I'm certain). I've literally never been more excited about a job-- the staff is great (one of my good friends works there, so when it got slow, we just chatted), the clientele is pleasant, and the 8.5 hours honestly flew by like nothing (the only thing reminding me was my achy feet :P).

In conclusion, I'm warm, relaxed, well-fed, well-rested, totally in love... AND gainfully employed. Life is great.


*Only later did we learn that Scotland has been enjoying some very fine weather in the last week as well. And in typical Scottish fashion, everyone's either looking over their shoulders for the clouds to roll in, or proclaiming, "Looks like today's our summer!" and suggesting we enjoy it while it lasts. Oh, Scotland.

meanwhile, in weird news...

Alright. Having had my rant (and then given a much more polite version of it to the people at the office, who've kindly agreed to help me all they can with the awful, admittedly ineffective system they've got)...Life got much better the end of this week.

The sun came out, and I had a picnic by the beach with a friend while reading a Havelok, a Middle English romance about an exiled Danish king who happens to breathe fire in his sleep. Super pleasant.

I also woke up this morning to go swimming (Getting back in the water has been absolutely fantastic. Although I can say with great disappointment that my times are not what they used to be....) but apparently there was a problem with the pool today, so instead, my swimming buddy and I grabbed coffee at North Point. (They took one look at us and knew our order. Achieving "regular" status is my absolute favorite.) We took our coffee to go, and drank it out by the cliffs, watching the tide roll in and crash against the castle wall. It was a delightfully Scottish morning-- low clouds, wind, the whole town washed in grey. St Andrews is sparkling in the sunshine, but it's unmistakably striking in this more natural setting.

But to get to the "weird news" bit: on the way back, we walked past a construction worker kneeling in the middle of the street. With a tiny brush. Dusting off the spinal column and pelvis of a 15th century monk.

...as you do.

Seriously though! First of all, how bizarre is it that they managed to lay down a sewage system right next to this body without finding it? And secondly, man. I've gotta say. Bits of 17th century pottery found by Jamestown settlement back home have got nothing on this kinda history. At least for a medievalist :)

Which makes me incredibly glad to be here. Before leaving, I'd encountered a lot of people that asked (and rightfully so), "But why are you going all the way to Scotland to study literature?" And obviously, the US has some great literature programs. But on days like today, I'm super glad to have chosen St Andrews. Because sometimes, on the way home from coffee by the cliffs on the North Sea, overlooking the castle ruins, you run into people digging up ancient history.

And what could possibly be more exciting than that?

warning: this is a rant

Dear National Insurance Number Office:

Could you please endeavor to be more incompetent? Because it's really going to take some effort at this point.

First, you sent my application to the wrong house. Fine. It happens. But since I got the memo a mere 4 days before the application expired [side-note: who puts an expiry date on an application?! who?!] and since, apparently, Royal Mail is pretty bad at getting things delivered in a timely fashion anyway, even my efforts to send it out within one hour of receiving the application has not been sufficient.

You couldn't have phoned me to let me know you'd rejected my application on the grounds that it arrived a day or two later than you wanted it? Instead of letting me wait 2 weeks, patiently checking my mail and harassing my neighbors to see if it's been mis-delivered again? That was too much for you?

Honestly. I've got this fabulous employer waiting for me to get this NI number, so that I'm legally allowed to work, so I can earn back the money I spent on the visa that will allow me to live and be employed in this country in the first place. (That is to say, almost the entirety of the sparse funds that I earned slaving away with a broken arm in a dark, garlic-scented restaurant that shall remain nameless. I'm not bitter; why do you ask?) But I'm sure this goal is in your best interest as well, because really, I'm just asking to pay taxes--which you should enjoy, being a government operation and all. The least you could do would be to comply.

Sincerely (and with a fair amount of rage),
Christy

old english, st. patty's and too much fun.

Well, first things first: If you're wondering how the test went... What a painful experience! My brain wasn't right for hours after taking it; I was just so exhausted by the physical act of a two-hour translation, not to mention how ridiculously difficult it was in comparison with anything we'd done in class to that point!

So, as we sat at lunch, discussing how we footnoted various grammatical oddities, and why on earth our professor chose a poem about a wall covered in hoar-frost (and what the heck hoar-frost is), and kennings are the worst ever, we came to the conclusion that Old English is not for us. And thank goodness, we don't have to think about it at least until our grades come out in another few weeks.

But, because it was such a horrific experience, I felt totally justified to skive off to Glasgow in the middle of the week BECAUSE...

...my friend (and sorority sister. Shout out to ΦΜ's ΓΑ chapter!) Katie was in town! She'd been in the UK on business (after working with Bedouin women in Israel for the last 6 months. Because she's a bad. ass.) and once her contract was over, she took off to come hang out in Scotland for a little while. Glasgow wasn't originally on the books for her trip, but because I have a boyfriend there whose couch she could crash on, she made it happen. Which gave me a really excellent reason to wander around Glasgow, have tea in a classy tearoom, do some girly shopping and catch up with my long lost friend!

Plus, she came back to St. Andrews to visit our now-mutual friend (they met when he came for a visit last January), and the three of us went out for St. Patrick's day with my medieval crew. What a group!

Unfortunately, there was no group shot (apart from one sweaty-looking one in the bop after we'd danced our faces off; more on this later), but this one's pretty great, right?

So that was a SUPER FUN night, which, of course, ended with the bop. Nevermind that we're postgrads and we're supposed to be to old for it. I guess since the only dancing alternative is a sketchy underground dancefloor full of locals (the Lizard), we somehow always end up there.

Exhibit A: last week, same place, same friends.


But, as result of my too-fun weekend, here I am, still in my pj's, surrounded by books and papers, trying desperately to get back on my academic game. It's kind of rough, but I think there's something in me that firmly believes that if I put everything I need to read in my immediate vision, I'll get so overwhelmed that I'll actually read it. Lest you get the wrong impression of how thrilling my life is, I think this process is how I spend at least 80% of my time lately. It looks like this:


And with that, I really had better get back to the grindstone.