boots

Surely the Pony Express was more efficient than this…

Last week, when I was chatting with E and F about life, they made a confession of tragic proportions. Apparently, back in February, they sent me a birthday present by way of USPS. Unfortunately, two months passed, my birthday came and went, and no package arrived. I checked with the friendly Scottish man who trades in parcels at my apartment complex, but he had no trace of it either.

yearbook

‘Cause I’m Looking Through The Yearbook, And I Just Can’t Find Your Face

En route to moving to Scotland, I spent a couple weeks at my parents’ house. Most of what I remember from that trip was a very alarming meltdown my last night in town (I couldn’t fit everything into my suitcases). The rest of my visit was pretty uneventful. I grew up in a town where you have to drive everywhere, but I essentially haven’t driven a car in in the past five years. When my parents replaced their automatic with a stick shift, I defaulted back to my fifteen-year-old self, waiting for an adult to ferry me about town.

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And It Was Fun, Fun, Fun, When We Were Drinking…

Yesterday, the pope put in his two weeks notice. Despite my uncharacteristically Baptist love of Lent, I am not Catholic, have never been Catholic, and do not plan to become Catholic anytime soon. But pope-deaths (or in this case, resignations), will always have a special place in my heart. Pope-deaths will forever remind me of the first time I got drunk.

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An excellent tree at Brú na Bóinne

Éirinn go Brách

Tonight is my last night in Ireland, where I have been bumming at my cousins’ house like the unemployed, freeloading student that I am during my school holidays. They’ve now fed and clothed me for four weeks, while all I’ve accomplished in the interval is overstaying my welcome. This comes as no surprise–my cousins are always the most gracious and wonderful hosts. Over the years, I have spent many moons under this roof, with or without other members of my family, and occasionally, even with friends in tow.

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