Hazards of Driving

Well, it was that time of year again...or time of my life, rather.

I packed myself up, threw it all into the Monstrosity and headed back down the Alaskan Highway-- only I changed it up and instead of spending weeks on end (or so it seemed) mucking through Canada, I didn't bother trekking across the country and instead took a sharp dive southward and kept going till I hit...Texas.

I hate Texas. And not just because I spent a year living in a dirt hole. No, I just...dislike it strongly.

I'm currently suffering from culture shock. Not all that surprising considering where I came from. I always seem to suffer from culture shock, or rather reverse culture shock. Going back to where I came always throws me for a loop. When I get somewhere odd, the culture shock never really gets me. When I went to Scotland, I adjusted easily. It was when I came back that was hard. It took months for me to feel at ease again and not constantly thinking, "That's wrong..."

When I left the Dirt Hole all those moons ago and went back to Chicagoland, it was the same thing. I was overwhelmed by the cars, people, stop signs, speed limits and where I was. I grew up in the area. It's seared into my mind's eye to the point it's easy for me to call up areas and write stories about them without needing Google Maps. And yet, I drove around with my Texas plated car and got passed on suburban streets for going too slow (also known as the speed limit) and beeped at when I actually used stop signs.

You see, I forgot how the people of Chicagoland drove. While I loved them for their predictability  I'd forgotten their lack of use of speed limits and stop signs. After living in the dirt hole where it was cause for celebration when someone went the speed limite and you got a ticket when you failed to come to a stop for three seconds, it was jarring to realize I'd get run over if I ventured out onto the interstates of Illinois.

So, I didn't. I kept to the mean suburban streets and thanked God I had Texas plates.

When I arrived in Alaska, I don't remember finding things jarring. They were strange, but in a similar way Scotland was strange once I got over the jet lag. They drove fast during bad weather and slow during good weather. Generally speaking, Anchorage drivers were predictable and I never honestly feared for my life when I drove around the city. I drove around with ease and never one felt road rage or had the urge to announce I was a FIB, don't mess with me. (This happened often in the Dirt Hole...)

I honestly can't say that during the times we visited the Chicago area during our three years in Anchorage, I feared for my life whilst in the car. I even drove a few times...I never wanted to scream, never wanted to hide or close my eyes and pray.

San Antonio....oh, how I hate you and your love affair with highways/interstates/access roads.

One thing I learned during my few visits to SA during my tenure in the Dirt Hole was this: SA drivers are not predictable.

Honestly. You never have any idea what the hell they might do at any given point. They go slow for no reason, change lanes without warning, fail to look when they merge and kind of just...scare the living crap out of me. The lanes are also extremely...narrow. And while they know how to paint lines (something no one in Anchorage has gotten the hang of for unknown reasons), sometimes they just don't paint lines and the road is SUPER WIDE and you've got no idea how many lanes a road has.

And I have only drive through SA once in my life. In a small s40. And I only drove on the interstate and never had to get off.

You can't get anywhere without using the interstates and loops and access roads here. It is confusing, annoying and frankly frightening because you never know what someone is going to do. And most people have HUGE trucks.

Granted, I've got a huge truck like vehicle, but still.

I refuse to drive. Pilot Boy keeps mocking me, as I love civilization and hate being in the middle of nowhere, and yet I'm a hermit.

A well dressed hermit who loves hangers, but still a hermit. Even more so now that we've only got one car and I refuse to drive it.

Anywhere.

I'll drive when I get to where I'm actually going, which is in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma. Till then, I'll sit around a pine for Anchorage and the mean suburban streets of Chicagoland (which are way less scary than the road system of SA).

Last night, I tried to think of amusing Christmas stories I could share in the days leading up to the holiday.

I came up with nothing. I am so average and boring it was not even funny. ::hear crickets::

As a child, my Christmas's were drama free. I acted like a normal child. I got up super early, woke everyone else up and we opened gifts,  one year while it was still dark out. As I got older, I got up later. And it'd be a while before we opened gifts. Then as I became a teenager, I became self aware, so I began doing my hair the night before so I'd look wonderful in the morning opening shots. Which is kind of strange, as I did not own real pjs till I was 22. Nothing remotely exciting happened at the holidays except for warm fuzzy feelings. At some point, my dad would get mad and yell, but as we got older (by we I mean, me mostly) we figured out how to deal with dad better to make him warm and fuzzy.

For awhile, after Christmas Eve service, we'd look at Christmas lights and then watch "A Christmas Carol" from the 1930s and then I'd go to bed. Then they stopped showing "A Christmas Carol" and I was sad. And we stopped driving around at lights. And I forgot.

The strangest Christmas I had was in Edinburgh, Scotland. My friend John (he has no nickname, I am sorry and I all ready have too many Js in my life) invited me to his uncle's house for the holidays. I was actually planning on wasting away in my dorm room since E had abandoned me for the holidays and our plans to spend Christmas in the South of France (which just sounded cool to us). On Christmas Eve we road the train to Edinburgh and met his uncle. (Whose name I cannot remember. Sorry.) We went to his house, met the rest of the rag tag group and ate soup. In the morning there was a socking (seriously it was a stocking sock) at the foot of the bed. I was like, WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM? It was filled with very random objects. And it was clear the most random ones were mine. Presents time was awkward because no one had gotten me anything. So they wrapped up random things for me. I got a CD and a jar of apple jam. They made us go for a walk through the hills. I learned my mint coat wasn't wind proof. We ate dinner and then I spent two hours standing in the hallway talking to my family and J (see, how confusing if I had two Js in this story?) Afterwards, I spent two hours playing with the little girl of the house till John threw up. I spent the rest of the trip worrying I was going to throw up. Boxing Day was dreary and we took the bus back to Glasgow because all I wanted to do was go home. We got home, got to the store before it closed and ate ham sandwiches.

It was the oddest holiday ever. I felt like I was on the outside looking in the whole time. Like I was invading. I had never till that point spent the holiday with anyone except my own family. I knew I'd be okay with Pilot Boy when I spent Thanksgiving with his family and I didn't feel like I was invading. I was picked on the whole time for not eating enough and I thought I was going to explode because of the lack of planning and never knowing left from right, but I have learned to deal with that aspect. I feel at ease with Pilot Boy's family...they also never gave me a CD of someone I had never heard of or an open jam jar because they felt sorry for me. I would have preferred to just stand there and stare at my feet than open presents when they clearly had not been expecting me. I didn't bring them anything.I honestly did not mind not having anything to open. I was more than happy to free the Bratz dolls for the little girl. It was like opening twenty presents just to free them from their packaging.

The first year we had Basil Bea Dog, I was paranoid she'd attack the tree. We got her at the start of December, before we put the tree up I think. I was worried she'd get into the tree and gifts. She was more interested in socks, ear plugs, pin cushions and bras. She never showed interest in the tree or the presents under it. She never has.  She ignores the tree for the most part, as I assured my parents last Christmas. Basil had no interest in their tree and did not knock it over because it was no in front of a window. I'm pretty sure that is why it fell over this year....it blocked her view of the window.

As for the gifts, Basil has no interest in them unless they are for her. Her presents always smell good to her. Last year, she got REALLY EXCITED when we opened presents. She tired to help destroy boxes. She also thought the rolls were for her to play with, so she'd take them to Allin. Oddly, they were presents for him, so she brought them to him. This year, the only box she has shown much interest in were the two boxes containing her gifts.  Grandpa got her some rawhide bones and my aunt and uncle got her cookie (I opened them early for her. Well I tried to have her open it, but she was too excited.)

This Christmas I'm going to friend's houses for holiday parties. One told me to bring a swim suit because they have a hot tub. After I hung up the phone I was like, "AHHHH!!!!!! I don't think I can get my butt into my suit!" Plus, hello, it is winter. I don't even have a razor blade. TMI? More than likely. Anyways, I knew I should have ordered that one piece suit with the control panels in it...

Containers of Presents

Holiday season means boxes.  Boxes are usually addressed. So you see said box and are like, "OMG! THEY SENT ME A PRESENT! THEY REMEMBERED ME!"

Then, since the invention of the internet, you get random unmarked boxes. By unmarked, they are from places like Amazon, Kohls, Bed Bath and Beyond or Target. You stare at the box and think, "I did not order that....or did?"

So, duh, you run into the house and rip it open and then stare at the object inside and think, "What the hell?"

I have done this a few times, especially since moving away from home. A few times I stare at the thing for a while, then remember there are these things called recipts and they usually tell me who paid for the item. Usually these types of boxes come from my mother. Or brother. Or my father. Okay, I could have just typed my "Family" there, couldn't I? Oh well.

I got a box like that today. I came home from finishing my shopping for Pilot Boy (YAY SALES!) and saw something on the front stoop. I was like, "OH MY GOD. THERE IS A PACKAGE ON THE FRONT STEP!" I figured it was Hubert coming back from his extended vacation in Georgia. (Herbert is a laptop that was parted with Pilot Boy in Georgia. Pilot Boy hated him so much (Herbert, but Georgia) that he simply decided to leave Herbert there and took Hewie (my laptop) and got me a MAC, who is nameless. Sorry MAC. Anyways, the other day, Pilot Boy announced Herbert was returning, as the person/people/place that had Herbert was like, "Hey, we've got your laptop. We're going to send that to you now." BTW, they wouldn't' send it to him before, which is why he was like 'WTF, I am buying a MAC.")

Seeing I live in frozen Alaska, I was like, "OMG IT IS FROZEN!"

So, after falling down the driveway in the Monstrosity (I had to use the 4Wheel drive to get IN the garage) I ran to get the package, only to find Kohls has sent me something.

"I didn't order anything from Kohls..." And if I did I would not have addressed it as PILOT BOY IRELAND SCOTT. Seeing it is that time of year, I was like, OH CHRISTMAS PRESENT!

Upon arrival inside, it was indeed a present, so thank you present giver.

However, one time, I got something and I had no clue who sent it to me (this has happened twice, but the story I am going to share isn't creepy, like the red ball incident of 2006.)

I was living in Glasgow. It was September, and I was still dating/not dating/having no idea what was going on with Not Boyfriend. (That is what I call him.)  L and I were walking up the stairs after getting our mail and I suddenly realized I had no idea who had sent me this small box and pen. I opened the box while we walked up the NEVER ENDING STAIRS OF DEATH. I was like, "Its a bracelet?"

"Yes, it is. Why are you asking me if its a bracelet? Who is it from?" L asked.
"I don't know. There is no note." I shoveled the papers in my hands.
"Do you think its from Not Boyfriend as a way to say sorry?" L asked.
"I don't know."

I kept looking at the receipt, trying to find who it was from, but it didn't have a bill to address on it. It was a very lovely bracelet too. And it had a matching fancy pen with it too. As we neared the fourth floor where we lived (Or the third floor as it was called), I was still trying to figure out who had sent it to me, because Not Boyfriend would never do anything like that. (Hence the Not Boyfriend.) As we were nearing our rooms, I finally found (in micro-print) at the bottom a note that read: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, IRELAND! LOVE, MOM

"My mom sent it to me!" I said, feeling relieved.
"Why do you sound so relieved?" L asked. "Wouldn't it have been sweet if Not Boyfriend had sent it?"
"Its from my mom. For my birthday," I announced. "Plus, Not Boyfriend would never send me anything. I'm pretty sure I only exist in the moment the phone rings."
L stared at me funny for a moment and then said, "Your birthday is in November. Did your mom forget?"

Later, after asking my mom about it, she said because the egg poacher she had ordered me from Amazon was taking forever (it never reached me, it went to Australia or something?) she ordered the present early, to make sure it arrived.

To this day I am VERY thankful she sent it to me and Not Boyfriend, mostly because it would have been so out of character for Not Boyfriend and by that point in time, I was so confused by him, him doing something like that would have made my head explode.

I still wear the bracelet and announce to people, "LOOK WHAT MY MOM GOT ME!" The pen, though, tragically, dried up from too much use. I am serious. It was such an awesome pen, I used it all up!

cannot forget, refuse to regret...

Maroon 5, I just realized, have played a rather large part of my life. Large part meaning their songs are accessories in events of my life. And I just realized it. I am serious. I am currently sitting around watching FUSE and the Maroon 5 Take Over special they are playing at the moment. I just finished watching an interview with Adam Levine and Jess Carmichael. (I think that was his name.) And it just kind of hit me that I think Songs About Jane is the most listened to disk I own. I am serious.

I bought Songs About Jane while I was in Scotland. I went to a music shop on Byers Road I think after I was Done. (Why is that capitalized? Well, because I was Done and it was a big deal. And in being Done, I was through with the strange, made no sense to me not relationship I was having at the time. I was just Done.) I went to the music shop to buy the McFly CD. I had been hearing the McFly song on the radio every morning and decided I liked the idea of British surf rock. I was standing in the music shop and was all ready holding the McFly CD and was staring at the Maroon 5 CD and thought, "Hey, I'm Done, I'm buying both and a latte."

So I bought it and a latte and went to lunch.

The McFly CD wouldn't import on to my computer (Jess, the Evil Laptop), but the Maroon 5 CD did. I ended up importing it and listening to it in one go and then watching the music videos that were on it. I had all ready bought three songs by Maroon 5 off of iTunes when I was back in the states, as "She Will Be Loved" was the theme of the past summer. I ended up falling in love with almost all the tracks on that disk and "Through With You" became one of the most listened to song on my iTunes on Jess the Evil Laptop. For years. I bet if I opened it up now, it'd still in the top ten. The next summer, the disk was ALWAYS in my disk player in my car. It was always in the car and when I would re-discover it I would stick it in and it'd be the player until my husband removed it. When I had the s40 with its 6 CD changer, it was ALWAYS in the player and I was sad when we got the 4Runner, because it only had one spot for CDs.

Today, I realized, while in college I bought bought almost anything Maroon 5 had put out, I had not bought anything since. I had stared at their last CD a lot, but had never bought it as it always was 13.99 and I just never had 13.99 when I saw it.

I have 13.99. iTunes is also no longer dumb. I today, I finally bought their last CD they put out, but did not pre-Order their next disk. I need to hear a few more song before I jump onto the next disk.

Songs About Jane is an awesome disk and if you do not own it, you totally should. But that is just my opinion. I tend to think about various place in Glasgow, Scotland when I hear it, so maybe that is why I like it so much. "Through With You" tends to remind me of the stairway in the Adam Smith Building. "Tangled" for some unknown reason reminds me of crossing the street from Kelvingrove Park to University Ave. "Not Coming Home" reminds me of my dorm room. "This Love" reminds me of sitting in that same dorm room with L and watching the music video with her and her informing me Adam was hot. "She Will be Loved" will always remind me, not of Glasgow, but of Galena, IL, as that was where I first heard it and began to cry while sitting waiting to go somewhere with my family. During my senior year of college I decided I wanted "The Sun" to be the first dance at my wedding (I did not have dancing at my wedding, but the music play list I had made to play during dinner had it on there.)

Certain lines of the songs really stuck with me during this point in my life. Almost every song on there I felt was pertinent to that point in my life. Not many CDs can do that, in all honesty. The McFly CD was just fun music. The Muse CD I bought while I was over there, while much loved by me, did not fit perfectly into my line of thought. (Other than "The Small Print" and maybe "Falling Away With You.")

That is all. You may now go about your won lives again.

A New Direction

Recently, I have been feeling listless and bored. Last time I felt this way, I launched Ireland Scott Designs. Seeing I cannot "relaunch" Ireland Scott Designs, I decided to just add to what Ireland Scott had to offer (har har har). I decided to launch a...gift bag line. Why gift bags?

Because I like "scrap booking." I put those in quotes because what they call "scrap booking" these days does not strike me as "scrap booking." The first scrap book I made (WHICH THE MOVERS RUINED WHEN THEY MOVED IT OUT OF THE DIRT HOLE) is a scarp book because I used scraps to make it. I used odds and ends. It was during this time I really discovered the world of scrap booking and for the life of me, I could not figure out why someone would take a class or only put one picture on a page. Those are the "scrap books" that confound me. There is one picture on the page and about 20 dollars worth of paper and other random things.

I love the random things though. I am a sucker for that kinds of stuff. And I love paper. And pens. I love everything the scrap book world has to offer. I just hate using it in an actual "scrap book" because then the pages never lay flat. I loved my Scotland scrap book because it was stuff I had picked up while over there. Receipts, tea bag holders, coins, cards, etc. (The receipts are gone now, as they are faded and ruined. This pisses me off greatly, but we'll save that for another day.)

Last fall I was standing in Hobby Lobby, as I so often did while I was living back in Chicagoland. I was in the scrap book section. I should not have been in the scrap book section for many reasons, but there I was, lusting after paper. I did not need any paper as the Dirt Hole scrap book was put on hold while I wanted for the internet to work again so I could upload more pictures to have printed (which never happened, well the internet began working again, but I got distracted so I never finished the Dirt Hole book).

As I lusted after the printed paper, it hit me: I could make gift bags and cards for Christmas! I was actually going to see people for Christmas that year, so I did not have to mail any thing off. I could use gift bags and MAKE THEM!

So I bought paper, stickers and plain paper bags. And proceeded to have a total ball making the bags. I had a few left over, and I posted them on Ireland Scott. I think I posted them too late, as they didn't move. I figured they wouldn't move. Then I moved.

I was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling earlier this week. I knew I needed to do something constructive, so I said to Basil Bea, "I think I will make more bags. Like bigger ones. And cards. How does that sound?"

She stared at me blankly, but I left the house, bought what I needed, spent two days working and now am beginning to post. I have a feeling all the time and money I spent will be wasted, and the gift bags and cards will never move, but at least I gave it a shot. And man was it fun making those bags. I love doing that sort of thing.

Maybe I should finally get my butt in gear and fix my Scotland scrap book?

the grass is always greener...in the desert

When I was a freshman in college, I spent part of my spring break in Atlanta, Georgia. This was my first trip into the Deep South and I was sorely disappointed not to find people with Southern accents. They all sounded like me.

However, the grass in Atlanta was violently green. Seriously, I have never in my life seen grass that green. I freaked out and cried out, "OMG! Look at that grass?"

"What about it?" my friend who was driving me somewhere asked.
"IT IS GREEN! Like vividly green! Like, florescent green!"
"Yeah? You're point?"
"Grass is not naturally that color! But its all that color here!"

My friend logically rolled her eyes at this point and ignored me, but I could not get over the bright green grass. It was even sort of soft. (Yes, at one point I had to touch some just to see.)

In Scotland, the grass was also bright green, but it was a different sort of bright green, it was not blinding, it was just GREEN! Thus, I never got truely excited about it, plus after six months, I was as numb to the constant green as I was to the lack of sunshine and frizz free hair.

I was walking the dog today and as I rounded the corner, violently green grass caught my eye in the world of shades of yellow. It is spring time in the dirt hole, so there are tiny bits of dull green color coming to the few lawns being watered for 12 hours a day. There are leaves coming back to the trees, buds appearing on other trees.

As I walked closer to the violent green color, I came to realize the trees in this yard were also brilliant green in color, as well as certain sections of the front lawn (the side yard and back yard look like the rest of the yards here....yellow and dead). I came to a stop and the dog sat down.

"Basil Dog, look at that yard. How the hell did it get to be green like that? It hasn't rained in years," I said.

The dog stared at me blankly.

"It looks like the grass in Atlanta!" I exclaimed.

The dog continued to stare at me.

I resisted the urge to go over and touch the grass to see if it felt like the grass in Atlanta. One, because it would have been strange and two, the dog was getting impatient with me to continue her walk.

So we walked on, but I still couldn't get that vivid green color out of my mind.

Scars Tell Our Stories

We all have scars. They might be big, little, or inbetween. They might be somewhere for the whole world to see, or they might always be hidden. However, our scars tell stories about where we've been, what we have done. They fad over time, just like our memories of the events that gave the scars to us. Some scars don't fad and are forever with us.

I have three major scars on my body, along with many little self inflicted ones as I was a scab picker as a child. I did not realize my mother's threats were real until I was about fifteen and noticed that I tanned sort of strange (when I did tan) due to all the tiny white spots on my arms and legs. Now I just don't tan and no one can see those scars that I picked at as a child.

The first major scar is on my back and it is there from my picking at it. It was given to me by a fellow child who was pulling me in a wagon and flipped me out the back and proceeded to drag me half in, half out of the wagon up the street. I remember this happeneing, but I do not remember much about it other than hanging out the back of the wagon keeping my head up. I scraped my lower back up pretty bad. My mother was appalled that the child would do this to me. And later, she was appalled by the fact I kept picking at it.

"You'll never be able to wear a two piece because you'll have that ugly scar on your back!" she would yell at me. At the time, I was about five or so, she would not allow me to wear a two piece and in my wisdom as a five year old, I figured that meant she never would.

Two years later, I had a fake two piece (swimsuit that bared my tummy and back, but was tied together on the sides). I was at my grandma's house and my brother and I were playing in the sprikler on a hot summer day.

"What is that ugly thing on that child's back?" my grandma demanded of her daughter.
"She fell out of a wagon and picked the scab until it scarred. I told her it would be ugly."

I never was able to see this scar, thus I do not know if it is ugly or not. I do now that it faded and it pretty much gone. I was in middle school, now allowed to wear two pieces though I never did and asked someone if I had any scars on my back. No one saw anything. Later, when I was in college and wearing a two piece my dad said, "Hey, that ugly wagon scar is gone."

"Or she's just too pale to for you to see it," my mom commented, still bitter I had picked at it when she told me not to.

While I am not upset that that scar fadded, there are two scars on my body I would rather not have fade away. One is the scar from my appendix removal. The other is a small scar on my left hand between my index finger and pointer finger.

Most people would be happy to have appedix scars fade away over time. These people must not have paid 7,000 dollars give or take a thousdand to have theirs removed. This removeal screwed up a lot of things for me, as I had planned to use that money to pay off a student loan. Also, seeing the student loan was less than 7,000, I would still have the left over money and we could fix the air conditoner in my husband's car. However, no. My appedix decided it had to get infected to the point where they had to phsyically CUT it out and cause me to be in surgry for awhile, hiking up the price. Having to have it cut out of me, also left me with a long thing scar, not the tiny no show dots. The doctor assured me afterwards, I would still be able to wear a two piece swimsuit and it wouldn't show. I looked at him doubtfully, wondering if he had gotten out in the past ten years. The first time I put on a bathing suit after I had it removed, there it was, clear as day. I knew it would be due to the fact when I was still skinny and wore low rise jeans, it showed. Seriously. If long shirts hadn't been in, the whole world would have seen the ugly scar right above my hip bone.

The last scar I have is always visable to the world unless I wear gloves. It is tiny and no one has ever in my life asked me where it came from. I do not think anyone has noticed it. I know it is there and I know the story behind that little scar. It is all I have left, a physical reminder of my life in Glasgow, Scotland. I got the scar on my very last day in the city, New Years Eve. I was goofing around with my then boyfriend and somehow his toenail nicked my hand while I was sitting on the couch trying to read while he was doing something on my laptop. Or something like that. The moment was such a normal moment, my brain did not catlouge it as something important that I should remember. I just remember, suddenly my hand was bleeding between my fingers. I remember, a day later sitting on a train charging towards London, picking at it. By this point in time, I did not pick scabs like I used to. I hardly had any any more for one, and I was no longer fascinated by blood like I was as a kid. I sat there, sad to have my life in Glasgow ending and figuring I would never see that guy again, as I had gone into the relationship thinking it'd be a fling, but it wasn't.

I picked the little scab every day. I always kept a little bit of tissue on me to soak up what little blood would come out of the little spot. I spent five days in London picking at it. By the time I got on the plane to come back to the States, it was almost healed. I picked it one more time on the plane, knowing it would be a scar now.

It is a little scar. I look at it and smile, remembering all the great things about Glasgow. Remember all the great things that relationship did for me. It might have been a short one, a little one just like the little phsyical scar it left behind, but it did a lot for the emotional scars I bore from my past. I always knew it would not take much to heal me. That small amount of time spent in Glasgow healed me in such a way that I was ready for real relationships, I wasn't scared of guys, I knew there were actually nice ones out there that would not emotional abuse me and cheat on me.

And I found one. The ring he gave me sits a finger away from the tiny scar I got on my last day in Glasgow, Scotland. The same guy saw me through the hasself of getting the appendix scar and swears up and down I do not have a scar on my back. He has looked for it on numerous occassions, trying to find this ugly scar I was supposed to have my whole life from being dragged in a wagon. If he has ever noticed the small scar on my left hand, he has never asked me where it came from. If he did, I would tell him. I have noticed as of late it is fading. It made me sad to see the tiny scar fading after all these years of hanging in there. I do not want to forget. It is just that simple.

I can forget about the appedix, I can forget about being dragged in the wagon. I do not want to forget him and Glasgow. I simply do not want to forget.

Home for the Holidays

I don't go home for the holidays. Seriously, if I'm more than 100 miles away from home, I just don't go there.

The first time I was away for the holidays was when I was living in Scotland. I made the choice not to come home at the end of term (17 December, the date is seared into my head). I wanted to experience the full holiday season in Scotland. In June or July, whenever I bought my ticket, this sounded like a WONDERFUL idea to me and my friend who was also living in Scotland. However, she was staying a year and by the time we actually went to Scotland to begin the whole "living abroad" thing, she freaked out and was like, "I'm going home for Christmas!" Which left me on my own, which freaked me out. As time went on, I was like, "well, okay. I'll just be alone until my other friend comes to visit a few days after Christmas. I'll figure something out."

Oh, I did. I went to spend Christmas with my boyfriend. Yeah, it was REALLY STRANGE. Like, really strange. I felt the whole time I was intruding on something. I felt out of place and out of touch with reality. Now, my boyfriend I had whilst in Scotland was from New Zealand, yet his whole family was EVERYWHERE in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD, and it just happened his uncle lived in Edinburgh, thus where it made logical sense for him to spend Christmas. He asked if he could bring me. His uncle said yes.

We road the train to Edinburgh from Glasgow on Christmas Eve, catching the almost last train. This annoyed me to no end. I thought we were going to "go out" on Christmas Eve, but no one made any move to go anywhere and we sat around drinking the liquror brought in a pillow case and eating soup. The boy and I were put up in a kid's bedroom (kids were in Glasgow) with another "family friend." It was strange on many levels. In the morning there was a sock filled with bobbles and things for the two of us, which amazed and shocked me. The cousins who were visiting (who were from Protugal) had been in charge of the stockings. We made our way over to the "main house" and the whole family opened gifts (I got a jar of apple butter and a CD, both of which I have no idea where they went). Later, we went for a walk through the "snow" coverd "hills" and I froze to death in my beautiful mint green coat.

Dinner was somewhat normal, only really missing the cranberries. After dinner, the family broke up into pieces to watch the Halo game. At some point I ended up play for almost two hours with the six year old girl until the boy started throwing up.

The boy threw up for almost two hours. I meanwhile, felt sick as well and did not sleep at bit.

Boxing day all I wanted to do was go home. However, we had no way to get home. The whole country shuts down for Boxing Day. Also, the guy who we had been crashing at his house, left for Glasgow to get his kids. This meant no bed. I wanted a bed, I wanted ginger ale, I wanted to go home.

This six year old was rather attached to me. We went to her mother's house for Boxing Day meal, which neither the boy or I ate, due to the fact we wanted to ago to Glasgow. After finding out the trains weren't running, we went to the bus station and found they were running, so we took the bus home.

Then, once back in downtown Glasgow, the boy made us wonder around for 45 minutes to catch the bus back to the flat. Finally, I stopped on Suchaihall STreet and yelled, "I AM TAKING A TAXI. YOU CAN WALK OR WAIT FOR YOUR STUPID BUS."

He got in the taxi. We made it to the grocery store before it closed and got some bread and butter and lunch meat of some sort ( I think ham) and American Ginger Ale. Thus ended our hoilday.

The next Christmas I spent away from home was last year, when the holiday fell in the middle of the week and my husband couldn't get off. We ended up being invited over to my aunt and uncle's house for their Christmas lunch. They celebrate on Christmas Eve, thus there was no presents to be opened and instead they all marvled on how I had grown up so much since they had last seen me (which had been almost four years, and at that time I was very blonde). It was still strange and almost sort of loney once we went back our our apartment. We had opened our gifts on Christmas Eve, mostly because we were all alone, having been left by his family who had come to visit for a few days before Christmas. it was strange having our "meal" the day before Christmas Eve. It was strange not really celebrating Christmas in any way, as we had opened our gifts the night before (which was something I had never done.)

This year, being even farther away from anyone we known than we were last year, means we are really on our own. No aunts or uncles, or cousins for miles upon miles. We bought groceries yesterday and everyone was like, "Oh, you're staying here for Christmas?" It was like they were taking pitty on us for having no where to go. I'm not over joyed by the fact it'll just be me, my husband and our Basil Dog. But, that is my family now, and they happend to actually be with me this year, so its good. I'm sad none of our other friends will be around. I also am not so keen to subject myself to someone else's family gathering and have an out of touch with reality experience again like I did for Christmas in Scotland.

I must go find out where Basil Dog went, as she has a terrible habit of jumping on counters when not watched. She is but a puppy still.

Pull the shutters tight

Election day is upon us. Tomorrow, the world will change!

(Never mind it changes every minute of our lives, but tomorrow there will be CHANGE)

Four years ago, when Bush was re-elected (or elected for the first time) I was in Scotland, stumbling around while people kept asking me about the election. The day after the election, I do not think I had been noticed more. Suddenly, I was a glaring American beacon who would tell all what America was thinking and WHY they re-elected (or elected for the first time) an idiot. I had no answers for them, as I had not voted, much to the dismay of many. I did not care, I knew who would win and I knew it did not matter what I did. As I stated before, I was pretty right about the whole thing.

This election, even thought I still felt my vote had little count to it, as I know IL will go Democratic, I still voted. Just because I HATE SARAH PALIN. I know this is a LAME reason to vote, but it is why I went out there, went through the hassel and voted.

And now I am advoiding election news at all costs. My husband as watched the weather channel (they predict if it rains, the Republicans win) and the morning news. Later he was on some news website and looking at maps. I ignored him during these points of time by reading books. Now he is at work, and I have watched DVDs and cable TV that will not tell me any news. I find it is best not to expose myself to election coverage. I did not the last election, and actually did not find out who had won until I think maybe lunch. They were not sure at that point still, but it looked as thought Bush had won. By my last class of the day, they sure were Bush had won, and I was the center of attention.

I wonder if Kerry had won, if I would have been the center of attention?

it seems you wish to give me a lifetime of discounts

Four years ago, I lived in Scotland for awhile. (And I know it was four years ago, because I was over there for the last election, which they were UBER excited about there.) Anyways, I spent a lot of time in Boots. At first my dad thought I was buying boots all the time, on a daily basis. However, I explained to him nicely that I was not buying boots (though I really wanted this kick ass pair of knee high boots at the time, but you could not buy those at Boots). I explained what Boots exactly was: a drugstore (or as they call it there a chemist.) About a day later, he figured out that Boots was really called Boots the Chemist and did not sell boots.

About a week into my life in Scotland, I decided to fill out the little card and get a Boots Advantage Card. It made sense to me as I was going to there awhile and I seemed to be spending a lot of time in Boots. (Which is not that strange, as when I was state side I spent a lot of time in Walgreens.) I am not sure what it is about drug stores, but I love them. I hardly ever actually buy drugs at these drugs stores, but I tend to buy a lot of other things. So, this Advantage Card made total sense to me. By the time I left the country I had managed to get close to 50 or so more pounds on the card, and I managed to get a few nice things for "free." I think when I came home there was still roughly about 5 pounds on the card, which now lives in a scrap book.

Anyways, I left Scotland and came back home and moved back into, well, Target. I left Walgreens for Target in all honesty, but that is another story. Anyways, I did not hear a peep out of Boots until about a year later, when a friend of mine sent me an email in all caps proclaiming TARGET SOLD BOOTS PRODUCTS. Granted, none of the products were the ones I feel in love with (Their Tea Tree Oil line was adored by me and others), but it was still excited to walk down an isle in my local Target and see BOOTS prodcuts. Amazing really.

Then, about a few weeks ago...Boots began to send me emails. Seriously, emails. I was confused on where they had gotten my address. Then I remembered, I had forked over my old email address when I signed up for the card. However, why some four years later did they suddenly miss me? I figured it was a fluke, but the emails have been steadily flooding in since this break of silence. So, today, after getting an email telling me about a half off sale, I decided to write a post about this odd happening. And guess what? Due to the face that TARGET sells Boots now, they have a US WEBSITE! I was shocked beyond all known words as I stared at this. Now, granded they do not sell EVERYTHING that the UK Boots site does (No Tea Tree and Witch Hazel line here, nor FCUK either...tragic, I know), but it is a website to buy thier stuff. But, I do not think this has anything to do with the fact that I began to get emails. Nope. My emails are still all in British, and about British sales, so they still think I live in Scotland at a joint that is no longer a house. It is an office building now! But, it was still interesting.

Almost as interesting as the day my husband and I walked into Walmart here and they were putting up Christmas Trees. In October. Early October, when they should still be freaking out about Halloween. As I walked into find all these horridly ugly trees, I thought, "Oh, this is just like in Scotland! Sort of skip over Halloween in favor of Christmas!" And within a few days, I had a Boots email about their online Christmas sale.

Lovely.