It's been a busy week

Every night I've had something to do. Monday night, David has his parents over for dinner, along with his best friend Nick, and there was much laughter. In the end, that is. In the beginning there was only me being crabby because the house was messy and the food uncooked and someone thought everything would be done in time so I should just stop stressing out and also bossing people around in the kitchen. I was actually sent out of the kitchen since I was "being a fascist" and "obviously needed a nap." Harsh words, yes, but they were said with tenderness I assure you. And somehow, everything did get done. And it was lovely.

Then the last two nights I have taken advantage of the meetup phenomenon, which gave me several good friends when I was alone and loveless in New York (you know who you are, ginger). Tuesday wasn't actually a meetup, but an event I'd read on a post that was on the meetup site, so it counts. Apparently Edinburgh is the first, and so far the only, UNESCO City of Literature in the world. And on the last Tuesday of every month, literary types of all stripes and varying degrees of success come together for a literary salon, where they sip wine and mingle and talk about books. I loved it, minus the social awkwardness I always suffer from at these events. You know, groups of people standing around chatting with each other as I wander aimlessly around the room, rapidly emptying wine glass in hand, looking for a cue to enter into the conversations of people obviously better at small talk then me. I literally (that's punny, get it?) don't know what to do with myself. So I sat on the couch and looked at brochures until I saw someone sitting alone at which point I downed my wine, thrust my chest out, and swooped down on the poor soul like a socially handicapped vulture. Luckily it was okay and she didn't scream.

Then last night I attended my first Edinburgh Writer's Workshop meetup group and it was excellent: just the right size, with good discussion and writers with actual talent. I was immensely pleased. Of course, I was the only one who actually offered any criticism, as most people said how much they "just loved the imagery" and "thought (insert title of piece) was wonderful." This unbridled courtesy is no doubt a British trait and will hopefully be remedied by my brash "I just want more from your writing" American personality. I'll let you know.

Roseneath Terrace

So I have finally reached a point where I am happy with our little flat. So happy, in fact, that I feel the need to share it. To that end, I have taken some pictures. And I shall post them here. And you shall look at them. And you shall give me compliments on my style and taste.

The sitting room, complete with boyfriend. (Feel free not to compliment him on his style and taste in shirts.)



The kitchen, where I dream up gourmet meals and serve them to...um...nobody, since I have no friends. (Boyfriend doesn't count, I'm afraid, since he lives here.)



There. Now I shall sit back and await your praise.

I know I should be posting more

...but I am just So. Fecking. Tired.

My legs hurt

It is to the point, on this beautiful Friday afternoon, that I can't bear to walk outside and enjoy the day because the pain behind my knees--no doubt caused by the conception, if not yet the birth, of several brand new varicose veins--has me confined to the couch. It is THAT BAD. Is this normal? I have no memory of it being like this when I was a waitress. Could it be the fumes from the grease? My apron tied too tight? The effort of decoding accents? Or is it that I was simply not made for this kind of thing (meaning actual WORK, of course) and that I should be in a classroom somewhere instead, legs crossed delicately beneath my desk? I would give anything to go back to school. And stay there. Forever.

Besides my physical agony, everything else is well. We have Internet! And cable! And constant arguments involving peeling David from the couch! Ah, bliss.

I am tired

I never thought I'd see the day when my boyfriend would have to give me hand massages because my hands ache from CUTTING VEGETABLES. It is a new day for me. It is a new world!

Big news: We are getting Internet at last! After Wednesday, you will be able to enjoy my blog on a much more regular basis. I know that you greet this news with joy and thanksgiving. Or, if you're my boyfriend, trepidation. Either way, brace yourselves.

I am no longer unemployed

But I'm not exactly employed either... Suffice it to say that if you need a bacon roll or a coronation chicken sandwich, I'm your gal. I'm your gal, in fact, at seven bleeping thirty in the morning. Who needs a bacon roll that early? Unintelligible Scots, that's who.

In other news, David is not happy about how he is being presented on my blog. Whenever he says something a bit controversial, he looks at me with narrowed eyes and says "Is this going on your blog?" My goal is to keep him in this paranoid state until he says nothing but nice and innocuous things, at which point I will reward him by taking him out in public. It is part of my insidious plan to ruin his life by taking away everything he holds dear (bacon rolls, smoking, video games on weeknights, extreme and unapologetic messiness, going to bed without flossing--you know, essential man freedoms and the like). I have been here for two weeks and so far I have failed miserably on all counts. But I endure!