part five in the multi-part series: anyone still interested?

it's 3:15 in the morning and i'm completely wired on more coffee than i've had in a long time. i can't believe i used to live like this regularly. ah, the days of parcell street and the truckstop. i don't forsee myself being academically productive at all for the rest of the night (although i ought to be), but i also don't see sleep happening on account of i'm not really blinking and my hands are shaking, so let's continue on my adventure that i'm sure all three people who read my blog are quite bored of. whatever. i like to remember.

thursday in scotland i recall being really cranky most of the day. i think the dismal weather started to grate on me--eventually, you really start to miss the sun--and i was also pissed because i didn't have any cigarettes. i suppose all of that was coupled with a hangover that made my brain fuzzy and uncooperative. we slept late and got to walking about the city, eventually ending up at the sir walter scott monument. that's the wonky-looking building in the sunset picture from my last entry. it cost 3 pounds per person to go in, so we left dejected, but then the nice scottish men at the ticket booth shouted after us that we could go 2 for 1. we counted out the change from our pockets and accepted the discount. there are 287 steep, narrow stone steps that spiral up a tall gothic-style tower in a staircase that could easily be a claustrophobic's worst nightmare. about halfway up there's a mini-museum where you can learn a few pertinent facts about sir walter. i think it's pretty cool that the scots have a monument in the middle of the city that was built to honor a writer and historian.


at the top, there was a whole lotta wind and another view of the tops of ed's buildings. there was also a few attempts at self-portraiture in breath-consuming gusts; above you'll see the only one where both of our heads are fully included. not particularly flattering (i think the wind is making me teary and snotty), but here's the pictoral evidence that i was actually there.

from there, we walked to the modern art gallery and met this cat along the way. he was just really fat and hanging out and adorable, and tom interacting with cats is always really endearing. the modern art gallery was surprisingly impressive; i wasn't expecting much having been to the moma and the nat'l gallery and the hirshorn in d.c. i saw my favorite roy lichtenstein painting, in the car, which was a complete surprise to see on account of i had no idea it was in edinburgh. there were a lot of other pretty awesome pieces (some cindy sherman photos, an awesome damien hirst piece, some dada posters) but i'll be honest, i don't feel like elaborating and i don't think that you care to read my garbled pseudo-art-talk bullshit. understand that it was all, you know, pretty good.

so whatever, et cetera, we ate some food and drank more beers and hanging out and pretty good. it took me most of the day to snap out of the stupid mood i was in, but if there was one guaranteed cure to my funk, it was the promise of a strip club that night. walking through the area commonly known as "the pubic triangle" that day, we'd communally made the decision that we needed some tits, and since i'd vetoed the grime show that we were thinking about going to, we figured tonight was the night for a titty bar. so we bought a bottle of vodka and hung out with some of his friends, getting good and wasted for the naked lady show.

being a strip club virgin, the place itself was pretty much exactly what i expected; lots of sketchy middle-aged dudes hanging out around a pole. me and tom's friends were the only girls in there who were fully dressed, and i was getting some creepy eyes from across the stage. but i wasn't there for dudes, obviously. i was really impressed with the strippers; bitches are athletes! i mean, it has to take talent to climb up a pole with yr legs like they do. i admired their moves. and their boobs. obviously. tom tried to give one of the strippers an american dollar bill, but she took it from him, put it in his mouth, then grabbed his face and rubbed it in her cleavage. then she took the dollar. it was amazing. we later tried to get the same stripper to give us a lap dance for half price (she wanted 20 quid for it, and refused to be bargained down to 10). she did, however, tell tom that he looked like nick lachey, which kept me laughing for a good 10 minutes, and then again every time after that when i would think about it. even now, i'm giggling a little.

surprise! we're wasted again! upon the suggestions of his friends, we end up going to a sketchy club called stereo, which was fine by me on account of i wanted to go to at least one sketchy club while i was there. it was completely packed but it was okay because i was completely drunk. i threw all my shit down on the floor, chugged a vodka tonic, and proceeded to dance with anyone mildly in the vicinity. i'd been aching for a dance party for so long. this was close enough, and bitches know i've got some surrrrious moves. the club was, indeed, absolutely sketchy, but it seemed appropriate given the night we'd been having. i felt dirty in the best possible way.

we'd made tentative plans to take a train to st. andrews the next morning. we'd already set the alarm for 9 am. as we teetered home around 3 (and i think stopping for falafel along the way), we both secretly pretty much knew that wasn't going to happen.

(next [the final installment]: the weekend! penguins, more booze (gasp!), touristy things, and i leave some of my heart in edinburgh's streets.)

(current events addendum: i've got a new job and a new place to live next year and the weather is beautiful. everything's coming up sapple. except for the whole academia thing.)