I Don’t Like Being a Grown Up

Seriously, I want to go back to being the same age as this little guy – look at him, just sitting on the beach playing with his digger! And here’s another one of him trying to eat his feet:

Ah, it must be so fun being nine months old. Just eating (feet, apparently), sleeping and playing. This was actually his first trip to the beach and he really wasn’t sure about it. He just sort of sat on the sand, looking a bit terrified. Then he fell face first into the sand and started screaming, while I proceeded to piss myself laughing.

Worst auntie EVER.

But last week I had to say goodbye to him and come back to Scotland. I really thought I was going to be able to hold it together. I even gave myself a damn good talking to in the bathroom mirror before leaving: Just stay calm. You’ll see them again soon. Distance means nothing when it comes to love (did I seriously just think that?!?!). But then I went downstairs and burst into tears. I couldn’t even say goodbye. It was pretty embarrassing really as my family don’t tend to cry in front of each other…I blame P.M.T.

The journey back was pretty good though. The only tears I had at the airport were tears of boredom, having listened to three hours of my dad’s history stories in the car. But then we went to Tim Horton’s where we got a Nutella donut, and then the pub where we got a double vodka.

SCORE.

And I was sitting next to a really nice, chatty guy on the plane who turned out to be the production manager of the band Belle and Sebastian, who were sitting in front of me. The air hostess LOVED them. She kept winking at the production manager and giving him free drink and then she’d turn to me and be like, “That’s $5.00 for your glass of water.” But whatever, I’m over it. Chatting to the production manager meant that I couldn’t do any of my pre-takeoff rituals to ensure a safe flight, which I was a little panicky about, but we didn’t crash so that was good. Although, I did have to lean back, close my eyes, and breathe during takeoff. It was right in the middle of one of the production manager’s stories so I had to apologise afterwards and tell him that I’m a nervous flyer. He was fine about it – said he used to be pretty nervous too, but now he’s travelled so much, and even been on planes that have been hit by lightning and suffered engine failure. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was a bit horrified at his inability to gauge the situation and realise that that is possibly the worst thing he could have said to me.

In other news, I’ve actually managed to graduate from University:

HALLELUJAH!

During graduation, I ended up sitting next to the first person I met at University, which was quite nice. Although, I also went out on a few dates with him at the end of first year, which ended in me awkwardly dodging his kiss. But we just pretended that that didn’t happen and then were absolutely fine. Had some good banter. The rest of the day is pretty hazy. It involved a posh restaurant, my Dad calling me a failure, and LOTS of alcohol. At one point I fell off my stool and squished my scroll so Mum took it home with her.

Sad times.

And since then I’ve just been applying for jobs and looking for flats. It really does nothing for your self-esteem. I feel like I’ve emailed THOUSANDS of people about getting a job or renting a room in their flat, yet I haven’t got so much as a tumble weed back from any of them. I’ve only had one meltdown (OK, I’VE HAD TWO) about it all though, so I do feel as though I’m growing as a person. AND, now I’ve got a flat (a miniscule studio, which I am completely in love with), and an interview! It’s for Marks and Spencer’s so I’m really excited at the prospect of moving up from the SPAR.

I’m definitely going places.

Nice People are Creepy

Maybe it’s because I’m Scottish, but whenever someone is overly nice to me, I immediately become suspicious and jump to the conclusion that their niceness MUST have an ulterior motive. I know – it’s pretty sad, but I can’t help it. Nice people are creepy.

I’m sure I’m not alone in this view. On the plane over to Canada, I could easily have pointed out who was Scottish and who was Canadian just by their response to the air hostess’s suggestion that we give “the beautiful Macie” and her “cute, cuddly penguin” a wave. The Canadians giggled, waved, and said a big hello to Macie and her penguin, while the Scots bore an expression that was part confusion, part terror. I, being an extremely nervous flyer, wanted to get off the plane. Anyone who made a bunch of adults say hello to a toy penguin could not be trusted in ensuring a safe flight.

Although, having been in Canada a few days now, I do know that Canadians are actually, just nice. It’s who they are. You walk into a shop and they come bounding up to you, smiling, and say, “Hey, how are you today?”, and what’s more, they actually care about your answer. The first time this happened to me, I almost dropped my bag, and ran out of the shop, screaming, “Take whatever you want!!!!!!! Please don’t hurt me!!!!!!!”, but now I manage to stutter a “fine” and then swiftly, but calmly, make an exit.

It’s funny thinking about it the other way around. I mean, if we are scared of Canadians and their friendliness, what on earth must they think of us?! The other day, for example, we were sitting in a restaurant and as I was reading the menu, Dad slapped me on the head, telling me to hurry up and go order. I laughed, but as I got up, the family sitting next to us looked absolutely horrified. I almost had to tell them that it was just a joke and that the slap didn’t even hurt, but that probably would have confused them even more so I just went and ordered.

Hmm…having thought about it, it’s probably us who are the weird ones.

Aaaaanyway, despite this cultural divide, being in Canada has been pretty great. We used to come every summer, but haven’t managed to make it out in the past four years. The last time I was here, I had just finished school, just passed my driving test and was excited at the prospect of university. Now I have just finished university, just got my degree and am terrified of the prospect of full time employment. How times change.

The journey here was pretty uneventful. I’m getting better at flying thanks to Fly Without Fear. It’s a self help book (I know, I’m sorry) that miraculously, helps. I think it’s because it’s written by a pilot and not someone who tells you to just breathe and count to ten. His voice is so rational, calming, and he’s even a little funny – I think I may have a crush on him. But I really would recommend it. If it can transform me from the pill-popping, Rescue Remedy drinking, hysterically crying lunatic that I was, into a calm, almost normal passenger, then I’m sure it would work for you too. I mean, I still have those moments of incredulousness that everyone is acting like it’s completely normal to fly at thousands of feet in the air in a hurtling tin can, but now (thanks to that sexy beast of a narrator Captain Godfrey) I can contemplate these thoughts without having a melt down – like a curious, open minded spectator of a surreal play.

Mmm…breakfast (pancakes, bacon and maple syrup) is calling. My sister thought I looked a little skinny and peaky when I arrived (too much time spent in the pub) so she’s been feeding me up, and I’ve certainly not been complaining.