On Friday evening, Anna and i went to a stage adaptation of Life of Pi at the Citizens Theatre. Now, i have never read the book but considering that this was the only adaptation allowed by Canadian author, Yann Martel, it was an opportunity not to be missed. The play was astonishing - beautifully acted, aesthetically stunning, and finely scripted. Next month, Angels in America is on at the Citizens Theatre - a play that i have only read in university and have been dying to see ever since. After the play, Anna and i met up with Paul at my new favourite bar in city centre (which shall remain nameless just in case you get any ideas, cyber stalkers) and i proceeded to get pissed from 3 glasses of wine. Since her boyfriend managed to break her glasses last week, poor Anna has been struggling to see and is forced to wear her sunglasses that have prescription lenses in them. Her eye sight is so terrible and strong, that she is unable to wear contact lenses.
In her sunglasses at night blindness and my drunken state, we made quite the pair. Poor Paul had to supervise the drunken blind leading the blind. At one point, we came across a filthy pigeon who was curled up into a piss-stained street corner (as they are in Glasgow), with its head tucked in towards its body. At first glance it appeared dead but upon closer inspection it was revealed to have been paralysed and/or hurt in some manner as it was still breathing.
It was at this point that i started crying. Injured animals do it to me every time. i don't eat mammals so it pains me to see them even suffering. Yes, even filthy disease-infested pigeons whom i secretly hate because they scare me when they suddenly take flight from their place on the sidewalk in front of me, like a bat out of hell, narrowly missing my face.
On Saturday, Paul and i did not manage to leave my flat until 8.00pm due to a slight hang-over (on my part), sheer laziness (on both our parts), and the mental weather outside. Gale force winds and rain prohibited us from leaving the flat for any length of time. Even when we were forced to go outside and forge for food, it was still mental weather. It wasn't until we were in a taxi, on our way to a restaurant/bar, that we remembered it was St. Patrick's Day.
Luckily it wasn't too busy and we managed to find a quite pub afterwards without stepping into puddles of Paddy Day puke.
Sunday, Paul took me to visit his Grandmother, Father, and wee half-brothers and sister in Maryhill Park. i was really nervous to meet his family but his wee brothers and sister turned out to be unbearably cute and really adorable. Maybe i am just used to North American toddlers who can sometimes be real fucking assholes, but i was quite surprised at how well-behaved and sweet they all were. Maybe it's a European thing. Then again, i've been shopping in Tescos and have had to bear witness to a toddler throwing a temper tantrum due to heroin and sugar withdrawal - most likely - while his Mother equally had a tantrum in return. Astonishing indeed!
Sunday evening i once again joined my semi-blind pal, Anna, at her sewing/knitting club to drink tea and - obviously - sew stuff. i ended up sewing a giant hole that was in the armpit of one of my shirts and also making a surprise gift for Paul.
All and all, a very melodramatic and domesticated weekend.
Today i started my new job, which i am really enjoying so far. It's great to once again be working in the arts and cultural sector - not that there was anything wrong with working in academia. i'm still thinking of law school but alas, have not yet come to any conclusion. Can't someone just tell me what to do with my life?!