Snippets
So I haven't updated my livejournal in a while, mostly because I think nearly all the people that read my livejournal are on my email update list, which I'm at least a little better about using! But anyway, I have a few minutes to kill, so I'm just going to write about some random things that have happened while I've been in Scotland so far.
I feel like my entire trip over here was justified by the fact that, on Saturday, I got to see a naked Welsh man dance on a table while grabbing his penis and gesticulating wildly at all the people gathered around him. This was about ten minutes after Scotland beat Wales in Six Nations. As soon as the game was over, they started playing loud music and all the drunk rugby fans were singing and dancing and having a great time, and I was just laughing and enjoying the spectacle (while I enjoyed my free pint, since Scotland won) and then all of a sudden there was a completely naked man dancing on a table. Crazy times. The best part, though, was once they actually dragged him off the table and he was trying to put his clothes on, I saw him standing with his underwear in his hands and the most perplexed look on his face. I guess when you're at the stage of drunkenness where dancing naked on a table seems like a good idea, figuring out how to put your underwear back on must be pretty difficult.
A few weeks ago, me and my flatmates were walking at night on the way home from having dinner at a friend's flat, and I was saying something (I don't know what) as we walked by a pub with a bunch of people standing outside, and the next thing I hear is "Oy! Are you an AMERICAN?" I turn around and there's a group of about 4 people, and one of them is holding a dead Christmas tree. Why, I couldn't tell you, but he definitely had a dead tree. I say, somewhat shyly, "Yeah, I am." "Where are ye from?" "New York." "WOW, my girlfriend's from Jersey. Hey, do you want this tree? Really, you can have it." And then he came after me with the dead Christmas tree, and we crossed the street and quickly fled the scene.
The other day I went to a Ceilidh at a place called The Lot, which was enormously fun. I was with my two French flatmates, Agnes and Caroline, and they had with them two friends visiting from France. We get to the Ceilidh and there's a group of three guys there, who we sort of attach ourselves to. Want to guess where they were from? Yeah, France it was. So there were seven of them and me, and I had to throw occasional temper tantrums in order to get them to switch to English. I'm all right when I'm one-on-one with someone who's speaking slowly to me, but in a big group I get totally lost. Anyway, we had a great time with them and went out to Bannerman's later for drinks, and it was oh-so-convenient because there were three boys and three flatmates, and we all sort of paired off to talk and stuff. Once the pub closed we were all outside just talking and stuff, and then we took our leave to head home, and it became clear that, out of all of us, Caroline was the only one to manage to get a phone number.
Elise: Caro, I can't believe you got his number, you NEVER would have done that in high school!
All of us: OOOOOOOH (and various other comments)
Caroline: Well no one else had gotten one, how else were we going to stay in touch?
Elise: Well, we all did just say we'd see them at the Ceilidh next week...
Me: Basically you're just a complete hussy.
Caroline: *blank stare* Lori, what's a hussy?
Me: Never mind
*runs away with Caroline chasing after, wanting to know the definition of 'hussy')
Sometimes that language barrier can be a lot of fun. I really need to start making a list of the words they have butchered or mispronounced.
So anyway, I'm hoping the good-for-nothing, steal-all-my-money-and-bankrupt-me laundry machines are actually available, so I'm gonna go check on that.
Cheers
I feel like my entire trip over here was justified by the fact that, on Saturday, I got to see a naked Welsh man dance on a table while grabbing his penis and gesticulating wildly at all the people gathered around him. This was about ten minutes after Scotland beat Wales in Six Nations. As soon as the game was over, they started playing loud music and all the drunk rugby fans were singing and dancing and having a great time, and I was just laughing and enjoying the spectacle (while I enjoyed my free pint, since Scotland won) and then all of a sudden there was a completely naked man dancing on a table. Crazy times. The best part, though, was once they actually dragged him off the table and he was trying to put his clothes on, I saw him standing with his underwear in his hands and the most perplexed look on his face. I guess when you're at the stage of drunkenness where dancing naked on a table seems like a good idea, figuring out how to put your underwear back on must be pretty difficult.
A few weeks ago, me and my flatmates were walking at night on the way home from having dinner at a friend's flat, and I was saying something (I don't know what) as we walked by a pub with a bunch of people standing outside, and the next thing I hear is "Oy! Are you an AMERICAN?" I turn around and there's a group of about 4 people, and one of them is holding a dead Christmas tree. Why, I couldn't tell you, but he definitely had a dead tree. I say, somewhat shyly, "Yeah, I am." "Where are ye from?" "New York." "WOW, my girlfriend's from Jersey. Hey, do you want this tree? Really, you can have it." And then he came after me with the dead Christmas tree, and we crossed the street and quickly fled the scene.
The other day I went to a Ceilidh at a place called The Lot, which was enormously fun. I was with my two French flatmates, Agnes and Caroline, and they had with them two friends visiting from France. We get to the Ceilidh and there's a group of three guys there, who we sort of attach ourselves to. Want to guess where they were from? Yeah, France it was. So there were seven of them and me, and I had to throw occasional temper tantrums in order to get them to switch to English. I'm all right when I'm one-on-one with someone who's speaking slowly to me, but in a big group I get totally lost. Anyway, we had a great time with them and went out to Bannerman's later for drinks, and it was oh-so-convenient because there were three boys and three flatmates, and we all sort of paired off to talk and stuff. Once the pub closed we were all outside just talking and stuff, and then we took our leave to head home, and it became clear that, out of all of us, Caroline was the only one to manage to get a phone number.
Elise: Caro, I can't believe you got his number, you NEVER would have done that in high school!
All of us: OOOOOOOH (and various other comments)
Caroline: Well no one else had gotten one, how else were we going to stay in touch?
Elise: Well, we all did just say we'd see them at the Ceilidh next week...
Me: Basically you're just a complete hussy.
Caroline: *blank stare* Lori, what's a hussy?
Me: Never mind
*runs away with Caroline chasing after, wanting to know the definition of 'hussy')
Sometimes that language barrier can be a lot of fun. I really need to start making a list of the words they have butchered or mispronounced.
So anyway, I'm hoping the good-for-nothing, steal-all-my-money-and-bankrupt-me laundry machines are actually available, so I'm gonna go check on that.
Cheers