Birthday Roasts

Today is a very special day indeed, for two reasons...

First of all (and most importantly) it is Ross's Birthday.

That's right, the Scotsman is now 28 years old. WOW...what a senior citizen he is! Only two more years left of his twenties and then BLAMO! He's thirty! End of the world! The beginning of boring adulthood, mortagage payments, prostate exams, receeding hairlines, back pain, dentures, adult diapers and the like.

I kid. Not only is 28 a great badge of honour but Ross is sure to wear it well. Now, I lack old pictures of him that I could embarass him with so I figured I'll just post some new ones here, ones that some up every facet of his 28 years of life. That should be embarassing enough, right? Anyway, without further ado, here is my tribute to Ross and all that he is:

Drunk
Scottish
Silly
Mysterious
Childlike
Animal Lover
Affectionate
Crazy
Cute
Sexy
Happy
Rebellious
Curious
Law-Abiding
Stupid

Sweet
Pensive
Romantic (flowers on our first date!)
A Chef
Dapper

And

MINE! (mwahahaha)

It's also the birthday of my Blog. That's right, I started Anywhere But Here exactly one year ago! And what a long crazy trip it's been. Thanks to all for reading my usually meaningless jabber and I hope this continues on to the next year. Would it help if I promise to post more pics of drunk college girls?

Happy Birthday Ross and Blog!

Love In An Elevator: living it up while I'm going down

When I first moved into my apartment around 6 months ago, I was a bit aprehensive. Even though I was dazzled by the view of the ocean, the pool on the roofdeck and the location, location, location of downtown Vancouver, there was something a bit...off-putting.

One was the fact that I owned the place. Now this was exciting and I realize how lucky I am to have snapped up property. But its not so much that you own a place...rather, it owns you.

I pay a mortgage instead of rent, which is great. But while you can plead with a landlord about late payments and so on, you can't do so with the bank. In fact, any late payment, even by a few hours, will hurt your credit rating and get the bank thinking about repossesion. Therefore, I always have to make sure I have enough money in my account every two weeks when the payments come out. It's a bit stressful knowing there is no leeway.

Also, because I live in an apartment I am a slave to apartment living and all that it entails. You all know I have a crazy bitch of an apartment manager. You all know I pay very high maintence fees each month. What I don't get is why I'm paying $322 a month for fees when it's winter and the pool isn't being fixed or used. And that the elevators are fucking screwed.

Elevators are scary enough to begin with. I have nightmares about plummeting elevators on a monthly basis. But if you have ever been in mine you'll know they have to be replaced. Not only are they painfully slow but they have gotten slower. I waited 10 minutes the other day for one. TEN MINUTES! Sometimes you can hear it opening and closing on each floor with no one getting on or off. Sometimes you press up and it takes you down. Sometimes the door opens halfway between floors and then gets stuck so you have to contemplate jumping to your possible death or calling the fire department. Sometimes the doors don't open, so you have to contemplate climbing through the roof and then falling to your possible death or calling the fire department.

And now, the button for the lobby in one of the elevators doesn't work, so you have to wait for the other one. Which won't happen since you are already in one and it doesn't understand why you can't use it.

Now, if there is no maintence being done on the pool...and obviously no maintenence done on the elevators (which I think for a 12-storey building is more important than a pool), then why am I forking over such an obscene amount each month? Is it for paint supplies because you painted the outside of my door an ugly poo color the other day? Or is it spent on the buzzer that never seems to work?

The thing is, I would talk to the apartment manager about it but I can't. The conversation would go a little something like this:

Me: "You need to fix the elevators"
Her: "Who are you? You live here? You need fixing, not elevators! Hoochie!"

I've heard other people in the building complain about her and the elevators...maybe I can start a rebellion? Build up a mutiny and thrust that wench right off of the ship..or perhaps down the elevator shaft? But the sad fact is, I pay the fees that I signed on to pay and it's possible that no amount of complaining will do anything about. It's times like this that owning your own place can feel like a ball and chain.

The other thing though, on a more positive note, was that I was bit taken aback by my apartment's size. It is a one room apt, studio, bachelorette pad, whatever you want to call it. Though I had rented a studio before, I was a bit concerned about buying one. Would I find it too small? What if I wanted a roomate or a boyfriend to move in with me (good luck with that), wouldn't it be too cramped?

The answers of course are yes and yes. But despite the fact that it is tiny (though bigger than some one bedroom apartments I have seen), it is also perfectly me (and no, I'm not tiny).

The reason is, ever since I was little, I would spend ages in my room. I never ventured out to family areas or living rooms or kitchens. In fact I cherished my solitude so much, I wanted the kitchen in my bedroom. Well, now the kitchen is in my bedroom...and so is my living room and dining room. In fact, it's basically like I have one ginormous bedroom which suits me just fine.

Sure it gets cluttered and my storage closet is overflowing and I'm running out of cupboard space and I wish I had more walls for my pictures and it's hard to fit two people in the bathroom (but it can be done!). But at least it's not one of those studios that has a kitchen slash bathroom. No one wants to pee and cook at the same time.

I also just bought a flat-screen TV over the weekend which amps up the cool factor just a wee bit.

The TV isn't that big, but neither is my apartment and for just me, myself and I, it suits me just fine.

Anniversary Antics

It was me and Ross's one-year anniversary on Friday.

You know what that means...gifts, dinner and the whole shebang. Only it didn't exactly go as planned.

Where I had been plotting over what to get him for it for awhile now (I'm a girl and that's what we do), it kind of snuck up on him. To be fair, he does work so it's not like he had the chance to run around and buy me things. And well, all last week I was at his place, so it's not like he could have done it around me. He did say that we could go out and I could pick out a present but I balked at the idea. An anniversary present should at least be something special and something personal.

Regardless though, he scrambled at the last minute to do something. Even if it didn't entirely work out as he would have liked.

I got a call early on Friday morning but decided to not answer because A) it costs me money to answer during the day B) the phone was across the room and C) I wanted to sleep. I also had a splitting headache - which is rare for me - which started last night and despite the copious amounts of coffee and tylenol, it wasn't going away.

Still, I eventually got up, went for an hour long walk and came back. I saw that I had more messages and missed calls on my phone. Finally I caved and listened to it.

The first one: "Hi this is Natures Wonder and we have flowers waiting here to be delivered to you but don't have the right address. Please call us back."

My first thought was, awww Ross got me flowers. Then I thought, why the hell would they call me and ruin the surprise? And then my final thought was, why did Ross get my address wrong?

Then the next message (in a VERY heavy Russian accent): "Hi this is Vladmir, I am driver of flowers, I have for you and am driving around, can not find your place. Please call otherwise you get no flowers!"

Now I wasn't prepared to deal with an angry Russian who was holding my flowers hostage so I called up Nature's Wonders who proceeded to tell me that the flowers were originally sent to New Westminster and whomever ordered the flowers got everything wrong. They then went on to say that the flowers would get to me today....at some point.

Not miffed but annoyed at how complicated flowery delivery was, I called up Ross and told him I knew what his present was. He in turn got angry because A) the flowers were meant to be a surprise and B) he didn't get the address wrong. He had the confirmation right in front of him. Of course, I told him that it was the thought that counted and I was no expecting flowers at all so it was still a suprise. But I can tell how badly he wanted it to be special.

I mean, the whole point of flowers wasn't that he got them for me but that it was going to be a surprise. Your buzzer rings and there is a man waiting outside with flowers for you. Surprise!

Not getting angry messages from a crazy, rude Russian and having the delivery company tell you to stay put all day because flowers are coming your way. In this high-tech day and age, how come they still cant give you estimated delivery times for freakin' flowers? So I stayed inside all day like a hostage, even had to take a shower with the door open in case the buzzer rang, only to have them finally arrive at 5PM. About 30 minutes before Ross was due to show.

Now it still was a bit of surprise since not only was it a dozen red and white roses in a nice vase but an arrangement of fancy, gigantic, heart-shaped balloons that had "I Love You" splashed all over them.

For a moment, as the scruffy young man (not Russian) handed them to me, I did feel like a little schoolgirl in love. Then, as he bruskly shoved the vase in my hands, he said "As you can see there is no water in the vase. There was water, but it's now all over the back of the van."

He gave me a look that suggested somehow that was my fault. I couldn't wait to shut the door on his face. Again, going with the whole surprise and romance of the whole flower delivery game, couldn't they have at least hired drivers that weren't going to threaten you in Russian or admonish you? Ross is going to write the company a nasty letter and see if we can get some free flowers out of it.

Perhaps that triggered the headache, perhaps it was the corset I was wearing which was cutting off circulation, I don't know. But it came on in full force. Enough that I had to take another couple of Tylenols.

Soon Ross showed up and seeing me all dressed up for our dinner out and holding my head in pain he went down to the drugstore for the strongest pain meds he could get...and a Red Bull since I was worn out from it all.

He came back and I took two coedine/caffeine/Tylenol caplets, downed with Red Bull and waited to feel better. It didn't take long and soon the pain was gone and I was able to appreciate his other present. A poem he had written about the start of our relationship, imposed on black and white photos of us both. The perfect anniversary present: Romantic, Orginal and Personal. It made me melt a little inside, especially since I could see how much time went into it.

With me feeling better, we made our way down to the Macaroni Grill, which is where the second part of our anniversary went wrong.

See, previous pills, Coedine and Red Bull don't really mix. I realized that as soon as we walked in the restaurant and the walls started to spin around. It was enough that I had to loosen the ties on the back of my corset and try to get my breath.

Then I did further damage by ordering wine. Pretty soon I was stoned out of my tree and bent over the table at a crazy angle, trying to eat my soup only to find my mouth was having difficulties with it.

"Try this soup!" I shoved the spoon in his face. Ross reluctantly took a slurp and said, "It's good."

"No. Not the taste. Doesn't it taste like it should be thicker?" I pleaded. "Isn't the shape of the spoon too shallow? It feels too small for my mouth! I'm having trouble swallowing. Why does it feel so weird? Have I forgotten how to eat soup? I'd feel better if I could chew it."

It was at this point that Ross gently took my hand and told me everything was going to be OK.

The rest of our evening continued on like that. I was freaking out over spoons and soup and spinning walls and too-tight corsets. Ross drank more beer.

Then a prolonged discussion/debate about religion, weight issues and self-esteem continued until 5 AM.

It was actually a fitting way of ending the night...I think one of the reasons why we get on so damn well is our ability to challenge each other...even (or especially) when drugged up or drunk.

Did I mention the third mistake of our anniversary?

While I had bought Ross a digital camera (since he's never had one and I figured it would be a great way for him to document our relationships as well as other things like his cat), I also had half of his birthday present which I was thinking of giving him early (his 28th bday is on Tuesday).

So I presented him with another present, one that will most likely end our one-year relationship*.

I bought him the coveted Battlefield 2142 PC game and Official Game Guide.

He's playing it right now.

Girls, here's a tip: If you are want to get your man a great present, don't get him a video game. Even if he's hinted at it and his face lights up with child-like glee at the mere mention of sniper rifles, battle walkers and enemy forces, just don't do it. You'll never see him again.

Sigh.

I'm starting to rethink his Valentine's Day present**.


* I kid. It truly has been the best year of my life and I'm glad that I've found someone who can roll with the punches with me, even if flowers aren't a surprise and I can't eat soup properly.

** I still kid. I've rigged it so I can play too.

East Coast, West Coast and Everything In Between

I realize that all these looooong posts (this one is no exception) about my travels and so on might seem a bit self-indulgent to some. And they would be right. It is a bit self-indulgent. I must admit that I am mainly writing these posts as a sort of record of my travels, like an interactive diary...minus the really personal details (AKA 2:00PM - Ross and I argue about who is the better driver* 2:01PM - Ross drives off the road). With the good grace of Blogger I hope to be able to access these journals and accompaying pics for years to come and share them with loved ones or just for my own memories.

Of course the other reason I like to blog about it is that I consider most people who read my blog to be a friend of sorts (even if some are just virtual) and who doesn't like sharing their vacation photos with friends?

Anyway, without further ado and such and such, I'll jump right into it.

If you thought Boxing Day was jam-packed, wait till you hear/read/see what we did the day after.

We got up at wee hour to start our massive journey/road-trip to visit Ross's friends in Edinburgh, grandparents in Borders and grandma in Gervin.

I was excited since Ross (and every other person who had been there) had waxed on and on about Edinburgh and doubly excited because our journey meant driving down to the border with England in one day, staying overnight in Edinburgh (um, sorta) and then the next day, driving across to Glasgow, down the coast a bit to Gervin and then back up again to Abderdeen...which in my mind meant ROAD TRIP and seeing a lot of the country I hadn't seen yet.

Unfortunately, I woke up with a fever, flu and all sorts of nasty things, but like the grumpy trooper I was, we piled ourselves into the car and took off into foggy yonder.

Yeah. Fog. Seems the glorious sunshine only hangs around Aberdeen (again, despite its "grey" reputation, it is one of the driest places in the country) and the "scenic" 2 1/2 hour drive to Edinburgh was limited to a misty aura around the car. Since I was feeling like I was going to die, it didn't matter anyway. Instead I popped more paracetamol until I felt numb.

I must have fallen asleep because soon we were crossing the majestic Firth Bridge and heading into Edinburgh. I suppose I should take the time out now to fill you in on a little something. Ross (and I know others can attest to this) is the absolute worst person when it comes to directions. He is/was always getting lost in Vancouver and I attributed that to him being foreign. But the fact that he constantly got us lost in Edinburgh, the city he was born in, the city he lived in, the city he went to university in...made me think twice. And suddenly I understood why that morning his parents had to explain to him over and over again how to drive around in the city.

Anyway, whilst driving around looking for parking (which was not an easy feat since the place was throbbing with traffic), I got to have a quick tour of where Ross lived. It was nice as it could be, considering the drizzle, the cold and my sickness but we perked up a bit when we hit Cult, which is Ross's favourite clothing store.

A massive amount of money was dropped there (a whole new wardrobe in fact) but while I would have loved to have gone nuts with it, the clothes were a bit too casual and the exchange on the pound was obscene. I did manage to buy a really sweet purse, but after calculating how much it cost me in Canadian dollars, I felt a bit guilty.

It was in Cult though that two of his good friends had come to meet with him. Anya (Irish lass, name actually spelt a lot differently) and her husband Jack were good university mates with Ross and now lived in Edinburgh with their two children.

At first I was a bit weary, mainly cuz it's odd to see married people your own age (when you are 25 anyway), and especially those with children. Now I have friends with kids, but I guess it seems stranger to see a guy who has friends with kids. I dunno...

See, children scare me. I'm not "clucky" or "baby hungry" or even remotely maternal. In fact just today, Leanne and I were walking down the street in Vancouver and we saw this woman walking the cutest puppy. We both squealed "puppy!" and then after passing, Leanne turned to me and said, "I think the woman was offended that we didn't give as much attention to the baby."

To which I replied, "There was a baby?" I just don't notice kids or fawn over babies or anything of that stuff.

However.

Anya and Jack's children, Cormack and Aisha, are the CUTEST kids ever! Cormack would crack killer jokes such as:

"Why are pirates called pirates?"
"I dunno, why?"
"Because they arrrrrrrrrrr"

And Aisha, being a two-year old, just had to look pretty. I was also impressed with how well-behaved and mannered they were. There is hope out there.

We had lunch at a decidedly NON-Scottish restaurant, none other than TGIF FRIDAYS. And even though converting the prices into Canadian was not fun, it was nice to get to know Ross and his friends from way back.

And it was even better to see Ross bond with the kids. Now I may not be sold on the whole having a baby thing yet (ask me again when I'm 32) but I don't know what woman's heart doesn't melt when she sees a man with a puppy...or a really adorable little girl. Sigh.

Before heading off for the night, we managed to take in the Winter Fair at Princess Street Gardens, where the kids rode the Helter Skelter (which I can't write without humming the Beatles song) and fairgroundy rides.

There was also a nice view of the castle and Royal Mile from the fair, even in the falling darkness and constant drizzle.

It was at this point though that I was met with my first sourpoint of Scotland. As I was trying to walk through the crowds, some bitch behind me said in my ear "For Fucks sake could you walk any slower" and then she and some other skank brushed past me. Ross seemed embarassed and made some remark about how bitchy city girls can be. And then I noticed it everywhere! The whole city was crawling with orange, fake-tanned girls with harsh black hair, black eyeliner, round faces and tarty clothes...they all looked like that slutty one from EastEnders (note: not all Scottish girls look like this, just the bitchy ones who bump you out of the line in H&M).

Then Ross noted that had we been in Glasgow the girl would have probably just clocked me in the head. After that I was a bit on edge and thankful that it was time to head on with our journeys.

We made our way out of the city (eventually) and down to an area called Borders, which is an apt name since it is near the English border. His grandparents are there and Ross was a good grandson and wanted to pay them a visit. They have fallen on hard times lately but I found them to be very welcoming indeed. Ross's Grandpa is 96 and I did a double take when he answered the door. He looked no older than 80.

Afterwards we headed to the suburb of Musselborough where Jack and Anya live and spent some more time with them. I played Rolh Dahl Top Pops with Cormack and he beat me everytime (OK well I kind of let him win...but shhhhh). Unfortunately we couldnt stay for long because we had to find a motel and I was fading very fast. I think I even refused a drink, that's how knackered I felt.

Of course, finding a motel wasn't an easy feat. Even though we made reservations, we had gotten about three different directions about how to get there. It was enough that even I couldn't find my way, let alone Ross. Let's just say that 2 motels and 2 hours later we finally found it.

*******

Next morning we woke up bright and early and made plans to head into the city again to tour the Royal Mile and explore the city before heading off to the opposite side of the country. Thankfully I was feeling less like shit and we actually saw a lot of the famous Royal Mile that leads up to the even more famous Edinburgh castle.

Doing my best Billie Piper impression for Dr. Who

Edinburgh is amazing with its mysterious little closes, hidden streets, distinctive buildings, cute shops and its rich history. What surprised me the most was how clean it was. Had this been back in Vancouver we would have tripped over 10 bums by now and stepped in mounds of garbage.

The Castle itself was quite formidable-looking and we had the chance to go inside...however the line was long and long lines turn me off of a lot of things. So instead we just hung around, snapped some pics and oh, shot a really cool* video. (Uh, *cool is a term I use very loosely).

Of course, this being Edinburgh and all (heroin and AIDs capital of the world, or so the rumour goes), we did a little tripping out, a la "Trainspotting."

Finally, we had to leave the enigmatic city behind and head off for new and unknown worlds. Or the West Coast.

After hours of driving we made our way to Glasgow. Only the town we were going to was just outside of Glasgow. Only "just outside" means another hour or so away because you get stuck on a two-lane windy road crammed with lorries. Only the town is actually closer to Northern Ireland than it is to anywhere else.

Ross isn't the only crazy driver on the road
Regardless, we arrived in Gervin tired as hell and prepared to see his other grandma. And the first thing Ross did was try out her chair and break it.

We joined his sisters and mum (who made a seperate looong trip there) and cousin for some hearty, greasy take-away shop food. While Ross (and his cousin Ross) plowed into the Deep-Fried Haggis, I played it safe and had some chips...and the requisite pickled onion. Unfortunately the deep-fried Mars bar was not on the menu, so that would have to wait for another day. (If any of this made you hungry, which I'm sure it didn't, you can read up more on the Scottish Foods I ate HERE).

Then after we stuffed ourselves silly, we all got into our seperate cars and made the 3 1/2 hour drive through thick THICK fog back to Aberdeen.

After such a long last couple of days, it wouldn't surprise you that I slept the whole way back. If you got tired of just reading this post, think about how I must have felt!

Next Up: Last day in Scotland and onto PARIS!