Drunken Blogging

Thank you for reading (Vivian). This is my first drunk blog since arrival.

I adore this city. I adore this city. I adore this city.

I had forgotten what a thrill it was to miss night entirely. I enter a club just as the sun sets around eleven p.m. only to see it rise again when all is said and done at three. The sensation is indescribable.

Also, everything I thought I would miss turns out to be better over here. For example, I knew I would miss Trader Joe's if only for its Fresh-Pak Stir Fry Vegetables. Not only does Tesco have stir-fry veggies but it has a variety of at least six different kinds. Also, I thought would miss peanut butter, that staple of the American diet. Not only has Tesco started stocking peanut butter in the last two years since I've been here, but it's the best I've ever tasted (even the wheat bread is fantastic).

And the boys. I went to Evol at The Liquid Rooms tonight. (Curse you, Tim, for never telling me just how fucking hip it is!!) And where else in the world is Outkast mixed with Madonna mixed with The Strokes mixed with Morrisey mixed with Belle & Sebastian. Indie kids are hipper here than anywhere else in the world—if more confusing.

For example, I found the coolest boys in the world tonight. The had this whole shushing and pointing thing going on; that was their dance: they would hold a finger to their lips and point at whoever they chose. So I had enough to drink to join in. The music was too loud to talk, but they were willing to play. And the cute blond boy danced with the cute brown-haired boy, and then he ran his hands down his back to his butt. Then, later in the evening, the blond boy made out with a girl. I don't understand. Are indie kids so hip and nonchalant that they enjoy feeling up their friend even though their both straight? Or do gay boys just make out with girls here? Or are they bi (even though bi boys are actually a myth in America)?

Any insight would be greatly appreciated.

Most significantly, however, is simply the fact that I lost a flat. Not just a flat, really, but the flat. Basically, it was a beautiful, spacious room with leather furniture and bay windows. And dead center of the bay windows was the most stunning view of the castle I've ever seen. (Heaven says what?) Unfortunately—and I will talk about this flat and curse this man until the day I die—the landlord won't let to non-student so as to avoid the council tax. UGH. Nonetheless, I've seen some other flats, and they look promsing. I'll keep you posted.

Until then, know that Edinburgh can do no wrong.

Cheers.