All My Friends Are Getting Married and I'm Just Getting Drunk

Last night, I went to an absolutely stunning, beautiful, and intimate wedding: my friends' Mike and Erica. Of course, I forgot to bring my (Paul's) camera and of course, like all great weddings, I can't really remember the last 30 minutes of it (see: champagne)!

I'm so annoyed that I forgot to bring a camera and take pictures because it was held at the gorgeous Charles Rennie Mackintosh designed venue, House for an Art Lover.

Nevertheless, here is a photo I managed to take with my mobile:

What can I say? I really loved the lights in the dining room.

Since I forgot to take pictures, I have conveniently right-clicked and saved my friend, Lauren's, pictures.

The newly-married Erica and Mike! Notice Erica's lovely flowers (calla lilies) and wedding dress - which her mother made.

Do you know why I love my friends? Because Erica walked down the aisle to the Top Gun Anthem! You remember it, right?

The wedding party.

The Boys (from left to right): Matt, Mike (a.k.a Green and Brown), Tim, Mark, Laurie, Iain (a.k.a. hairy Iain), and Robert (a.k.a. Dr Bob).

Ok, seriously, dudes - are we not a good looking group of friends? Where's our fucking TV show already?! (from left to right: me, hairy Iain, Kate, Ally, Tom, Erica - the Bride, Mike - the Groom, Laurie, Mark, Tim, Robert, and lovely Lauren)

No, seriously - look at 'em strike a pose! Laurie is totally rocking out and feeling the moment and Kate is all modelesque. The newly weds can be seen in the background supporting one another after ripping up on the tiles on the dance floor.

This is Matt and Lauren - again, Scottish people that are just too attractive for their own good. Lauren lived in Toronto for a year and was once my date to a Canadian TV awards thing; very cosmopolitan!

Kate, Lauren, and Laurie.

This is possibly the grossest picture of myself ever. See that big glass of wine in front of me? That's what lubricates your sense of dignity and you suddenly start thinking that it would be funny to chew up a bunch of nacho chips and show Lauren the results. Anyway, I think it's fairly self-evident how much I hate myself 'cause I am posting this picture! And it's funny. And Paul does not look amused in the picture at all.

And then Laurie had some sort of sock mishap...

Anyway, BEST. WEDDING.EVER. And if Erica wasn't going to become a lawyer, I would recommend a career change to wedding planner 'cause girl has got "the eye"!

PHOTOS FROM THIS MORNING

This past Saturday was the first Old Firm match of the season and as such, Glasgow braced itself for possible ensuing antics. As Paul and I headed downstairs to watch the game (I live three floors above a nice wee pub that shows all Scottish Premier League Games), I noticed that the streets seemed more quite than usual. That might have been due to the fact, however, that it was 12.30pm on a Saturday afternoon and folks may have still been in bed. In the pub, it was a nice mix of families enjoying lunch, solitary old men, and your random Celtic/Rangers fan. A totally laid-back environment, offsetting the high-tension game.

Now, I don't know a lot about football (soccer) but with Scotland gearing up to battle Italy for a spot in Euro 2008, I've become a lot more interested. As well, Paul is absolutely mad about Celtic so I can't help but absorb random facts about football, piquing my interest. I still have yet, however, to understand what the fuck offside is. All in all, I'm beginning to actually kinda dig football - apart from the dramatics that some players pull, rolling around on the pitch in agony after receiving a light touch from another player. I'm used to hockey where either the gloves come off and players duke it out or players just get back up and go.

Like I said, I don't know much about football. Half way through the Old Firm match, however, I kept wondering if I was missing something as a "newbie" to football: why was the referee calling so many penalties against Celtic and none against Rangers? Maybe I'm slightly biased (and will be the first to admit so) but I just didn't see why Celtic had so many penalties called and Ranger players only seemed to receive scolding. It reminded me of the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City when Canada was battling USA for the gold medal in hockey and Canada received penalty after penalty after penalty - some being justified, many more were questionable. Whatever. Canada went on to win anyway.

Actually, it reminds me of the 2002 Olympic figure skating controversy between the Canadian and Russian pairs. I remember watching both pairs perform and when it was announced that the Russians had won (despite falling numerous times), my roommate and I couldn't believe it. I mean, who ever gets to actually witness corrupted judges/thrown competitions with their own eyes?!

Nevertheless, Celtic went on to lose and midway through the second half, Paul barked, "lets go". (I always hate it when Celtic lose; not because I am a rabid fan but because it means that my boyfriend will be grumpy for the 45 minutes afterwards).

As we walked to Marks and Spencers in the sunny posh west end (usually free of random sectarian violence), Paul and I happened to pass some scraggly-face ned, who sorta looked like Chet Baker (the 1980s junkie one), and was wearing a Rangers scarf. Just as Paul passed him - I was straggling a wee bit behind - the Chet Baker look-a-like said: "Wha' tha fuck you looking at, yae fuckin' prick!"

Obviously a rhetorical question.

Paul, knowing better, just kept on walking. I, however, couldn't help but say something back because shit, you just can't walk around and talk shit to my boyfriend - especially when he's feeling down in the dumps.

And so, my knee-jerk reaction was to yell at him: "UP YOURS!"

Ugh, I am so middle-class.

The Chet Baker doppelganger just kept on walking. Thankfully.

To add insult to injury, after getting our groceries from M&S and walking back to the flat, we stumbled on to the smallest Orange Parade there ever was. Of course, I had stop and take a picture with my mobile - much to the annoyance of Paul. Whatever. These things are still so foreign to me that I'm still perplexed by it all.

Forgot to mention that I have already christened the toilet: last night, after rolling back and forth in bed clearly suffering, I projectile vomited with such great velocity that Paul is still haunted with the echo of my puke hitting the toilet bowl.

Blame it on the stress and not eating all day until 7.30pm. Definitely not advised.

MAYBE TOMORROW, I'LL WANNA SETTLE DOWN,
UNTIL TOMORROW, I'LL JUST KEEP MOVING ON

I am like that hobo dog from the 80s Canadian tv show - I just keep moving on. In the last year and a half, I have lived in three different flats (not including the two flats I crashed at when I was a homeless immigrant).

Paul and I took the day off work yesterday and moved from one side of Kelvingrove Park to the other. Admittedly, most of the heavy lifting was done by Paul as he carried CDs, a large TV and suitcases of clothes up three flights of stairs.

Whereas my old studio flat stunk of stale cigarettes - thanks namely to my neighbour who smoked 24/7 inside - my new place smells like...wood? Pine? This flat is decked out in original decor from god knows when; there is even a chandelier and gas fireplace in the living room. I'm too afraid to work it, so it is now Paul's part-time job to work as the chimney maintenance man.

KINGS OF SCOTLAND

After wandering around for about 30 minutes yesterday afternoon, Paul and I finally managed to find a pub that wasn't completely packed with the Tartan Army and was showing the Euro 2008 qualifier match between Scotland and Ukraine.

It was a brilliant (and somewhat frantic - for me at least) game that Scotland won: 3-1. The pub we watched it in was brimming with all kinds of punters: old men drinking real ales, borderline goth kids, university students, the odd tourist, tattooed dudes wearing bomber jackets that I wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley, and Paul and I.

Perhaps I'm somewhat naive when I say that it was really amazing to watch a Scottish football team and not feel divided; everyone was totally chatting away to each other, yapping to strangers, and hugging each other when the final whistle blew. Maybe that's why the Tartan Army (Scotland supporters) were named the World's Most Friendliest Football Supporters. I've said it before - Glaswegians are the most aggressively friendly folks I've ever met. Sure, they be wasted but they're still the most chatty punters on earth.

After the game, Paul and I wandered over to one of our favourite pubs and met up with a bunch of friends to carry on the celebration. Throughout the evening, the door would burst open and in would strut some dudes draped in the Scottish flag.

I guess most people felt like celebrating last night, because even that dude from Mogwai (Stuart Braithwaite) was in the pub last night - although he appeared to be having a more civilised dinner rather a session of boozing (like yours truly).

I'm So Hard for a Rich Girl

Oh man, sometimes I just really fucking love Glasgow, you know?

WEEKEND UPDATE

Despite suffering from a brutal cold (most likely passed on to me from Paul), I spent this past weekend in East Lothian at the Wintonhill Farmhouse - which is part of the huge Winton Estate. Along with my friends Kate and Lauren, I had been invited to attend our friend, Erica's, bachelorette party weekend (known in Scotland as Hen nights). Kate, Lauren, and I (along with Erica) formed our party posse of 12 and despite such a large number, the stunning farmhouse did not feel crowded at all. The farmhouse was absolutely beautiful, situated amongst rolling hills, fields, and trees in the midst of changing into autumnal colours.

Of course, I forgot to bring my camera.

Nevertheless, Kate managed to remember to bring her film camera (I think Kate is single-handedly responsible for keeping disposable cameras and film processing companies afloat in Glasgow), so no doubt there will be photos as soon as she remembers to process her Kodak camera.

Kate, Lauren and I arrived late Friday night, after getting lost somewhere between Edinburgh and Dalkeith, to a fully-stocked farmhouse - which had now closely resembled an Oddbins from the vast amount of wine; the mud room had even been temporarily transformed into a wine cellar. Perfect. I had to remember, however, to be on my best behaviour as the Bride and Groom's Mothers were in attendance, which was easy enough as I was feeling like I had been hit by the bird flu bus.

After sniffing and coughing my way through Friday night, I woke up around 8.15am on Saturday morning and made my way downstairs, where I was met by the bride-to-be (she was picking her cousin up at the airport).

Erica stared at me, "how did you manage to sleep?!"

Thinking she was referring to my mucus-stuffed head and chest, I replied "fine..."

In disbelieve, Erica blinked a couple times, "No. I mean, how on EARTH did you manage to sleep through the 5 fire trucks and sirens?!!!"

"huh?!"

"THE BARN WAS ON FIRE LAST NIGHT AND FIVE TRUCKS ARRIVED AROUND 5am!"

Holy shit, I thought, that's some party.

Turns out, however, that Erica's Mom woke up to the sound of crackling and looked at the window - to find the barn on fire. Apparently neighbours had spotted the huge blaze and called the fire brigade as well, who quickly arrived on the scene.

After recounting the early mornings events, Kate and Lauren soon wandered downstairs. Erica informed us that at least two fire trucks (and fire men!) were still outside controlling and investigating the blaze and giggling like a bunch of school girls, we grabbed our bathrobes and wellies (huge rain boots), provided by the Winton Estate owners, and headed outside to check out the fire and what was left of the barn.

Quickly pulling on our gear and grabbing a cup of tea, we set outside into the warm morning sun. As the three of us headed towards the barn, the group of about 10 firemen looked on confused. Most stopped what they were doing and crowded around us. One of the more cheeky fire men took us by the elbow and informed us that our sauna was now ready.

Where had we come from, they asked. We told them we were staying in the farmhouse for the weekend. After eying our cups of tea, we offered to make them tea and coffee, which they duly accepted. And so, the three of us skipped back to the house to make tea and coffee for about 10 firemen. While everyone else slept.

About 10 minutes later, we headed back out with a tray of cups, two bodums of coffee, and a tea pot. All the while without a stitch of make-up, in our wellies, bathrobes and glasses. Pictures to follow soon.
Saturday afternoon, we headed to Rosslyn Chapel, which was absolutely breath-taking and fascinating. Now, having avoided both the Da Vinci Code book and film, I had no idea that the chapel was featured in both. That accounts for the large crowd of tourists and eye-liner abusing goths. By the way, why must goths have such a limited sense of fashion and style? How come there are rarely any tanned and blond goths?!

Saturday night concluded with a drinking game, catered dinner, murder mystery and of course, drinking! And yet, somehow Lauren and I managed to wake up at 8.15am (again) on Sunday to clear away the booze and wine glasses and wash them all.

Last night, I went to see Ani Difranco and Paul, being such a great boyfriend, came along with me. Initially he was reluctant but secretly, I think he relished being among a sea of (mostly gay) women.

Ani Difranco is an artist that I always make a point of seeing when she comes through town. Even though I have probably seen her about 8 times live, I have never gotten bored or disappointed by her. Even if I was on my death bed (which I felt a little bit like last night), I would make the effort to see her; bitch is that good!

This Past Weekend I:

- Went to Paul's Grandmother's 80th birthday party and fell asleep on the sofa

- Was told by Paul's Grandfather that the English are trying to distill and re-write Scottish history via BBC Scotland's programme, "The Clans: The MacGregors". Also informed that for years the weather in Scotland has been skewed to show it was always raining to discourage folks from visiting as tourists

- Went to a party on Saturday night and did not get home until 5.00am on Sunday morning. Glaswegians are not ones to leave until all the free booze has been consumed and they're properly pished

- Found a flat and will be moving, hopefully, mid-October. The new flat is still in the West end but located on the other side of Kelvingrove Park and is closer to my work. I was getting sick of my slumlord, who would take MONTHS to fix anything in my flat. Another thing that sucks: the hun neighbours who smoke 24-7 stinking the whole joint up with stale cigarette smoke and who scream when Rangers score, scaring the living bejesus outta me.