Taking Stock

First of all, just want to apologize for the delay in my postings... Though I'm sure no-one is keeping tabs on the frequency of my posts, they have gotten a bit more spread out due to being busy with quite a few things, as will be explained in this entry. Anyways, on with the show.

Following my brief stay at Hillary's, and visiting a few folk in the Pasadena area, I hopped onto a flight that I felt like I'd waited ages for. The destination was not a new one, but one all too familiar, or so I thought. And while most everyone I hang out with in California knew I'd be leaving, some at my destination were left in the dark. It was time for the return to Scotland after only 6 months of being gone, and I expected everything to be much the same - though, upon reflection, that was pretty silly conclusion to come to. I think its the habit of all people to be surprised that the world moves as fast as they do when they aren't present, but even knowing that doesn't prevent the trap from being sprung.

My flight was typical, with an added flavor of excitement and anxiety about meeting Fiona, my ex girlfriend (for lack of a better term) who I had been speaking heavily to for the vast majority of the time since I'd left university. We'd split because I'd finished University and was going home, but that puts it simply... certainly plenty of ups and downs, and neither of us knew exactly what it was going to be like once I landed. And I was to be staying with her for precisely a month. Certainly, I was doing well to keep the beer flowing to keep my calm - I get airplane nerves normally and all I needed to get me really worked up was the distant fear that our reunion might not be sweet, so I relaxed, drank up, read some more King Arthur, and watched a few films, and within a short 11 hours I was in London.

After a short exchange with the UKBA Officer, who sort of threatened not to let me into the country funnily enough, I caught my next flight to Edinburgh. And that passed quickly too, and soon I was on the ground with my heart pumping blood so fast I could hear it in my ears and feel it in my temples. I practically jumped off the plane, and quickly made my way to the baggage claim. And when we saw each other it was exactly what we had been expecting - some tears, a long embrace, a few kisses, and simple joy that this moment so long coming had actually arrived. It was funny - we had both been so anxious, that something that we of course had mutual feelings over had seemed such a risk. Yeah, there was a lot of risk, but it wasn't gonna happen right off the plane. Yet it was still so novel and so amazing, even holding hands waiting for my bloody bag to come of the plane. And we got the bus home, then a taxi back to hers, and I was for the first time in my life an extremely jet lagged and ill zombie for the first few days.

Over the last few weeks, Fiona and I did alot of things together - plenty of relaxing with our favorite shows, seeing films, going out for cocktails, preparing cooking projects together, going to the zoo, visiting friends in Aberdeen, showing up at flat parties, shopping, getting the traditional birthday sushi and the like... but those were just for us, and so I've decided not to dwell on them too much. At least, I'll try as hard as I can to make sure this blog won't turn into a soppy romance too quickly. Here's some pictures anyways because I can't resist.

Of course I've also had some funny nights and stupid stories, including revelations while playing my original drinking game "Shit Storm" that my friend effectively had sex with a Land Rover, losing a Panda Hat in a house riddled by drug soaked hipsters who literally all looked and dressed identically, epic Aberdonian fish suppers and sneaking beer into Anchorman 2, spending more time in the UK watching American Football than I do in the US, meeting a brilliant old lady in a cocktail bar/restaurant who was a neuroscientist (well, I suppose Fiona really took a liking to her more than I did), etc. However, I prefer to relate the bits that have had the biggest impact on my newly attained adult status that I've had a certain lack of direction in. I can think of a few events from the past few weeks that have taught me a lot about myself, my expectations, and what route I am to take now when I return to the default world back in San Diego. (unfortunately it does not involve taking home with me this massive dog)

First, trusting other people. It seems stupid and basic, but I've realized after a few conversations with Fiona that I will hide certain details or truths not for fear of actually explaining the issue at hand, but for fear of the individual in mind not being able to cope well with it. It's not an issue of trusting with information, in my mind it's an issue of possibly hurting one's emotional stability for the value of the knowledge they had gained. Of course, in most people's minds it sounds no different than just plain lying, because... well, it is no different. As I'm entering adulthood, I've had trouble treating my peers, especially those who are my own age, as adults - and I spend too much time and effort trying to make life convenient for other people when it isn't, and especially when attempting to do so results in the opposite effect. When I care a lot for someone, I try to avoid being the bearer of bad news to prevent being shot, but bullet wounds heal - it's much harder to recover a relationship that involves one party never being sure whether they should have a gun to your head or not. People need to trust that those they feel most strongly for can carry a load and deal with problems. Luckily, the particular issues in question that brought revelation have been helped a great deal by a long discussion and getting to equal ground... I intend to carry that trust with me in all my relationships, whether personal, professional, or otherwise. It's just the whole seeming like a blunt, cold, intentionally hurtful person that can be sometimes inconvenient.

Second, not to be afraid of change. I came to Scotland truly expecting that very little would have changed in 6 months, and I'm surprised how much really did. People got jobs, ended relationships, started new ones, revived past endeavors, left for foreign lands but most interestingly they changed mindsets an awful lot. One particularly shocking one for me when it reached my ears was that my friend, after being in a job he hated and being in a proper rut for quite a while after University, had gone on antidepressants and it totally flipped a switch. He went from his own Youth in Desult for 3 years to his job, which he hated before, becoming a point of pride, exceeding his sales marks more than 200%; he left an unhealthy relationship in pursuit of a new one, in which he is now extremely happy; with his better job prospects, he's more generous than ever and extremely happy to give. I received this news while completely shitfaced unfortunately, and I acted proper childish and selfish - I loved my cynical dick of a friend, and I felt like he'd been brainwashed by happy pills, and I spent the wee hours after New Years being unfairly emotional (luckily Fiona is amazing and actually dealt with my incoherent nonsense - profuse apologies came the next day in tide). Given a few days of thinking about it though, I realized how happy I was for him. He's finally over a big shitty stage in his life, one that I primarily knew him in, and as he's entered a new one, sure he's gotten a new outlook on life to go with it - that doesn't change the fact he's one of my best friends, and he will continue to be one. And we want our friends to be happy, even if it means they are going down a road that you won't be able to travel with them for the time being, and we may not even understand the walking down that road in the first place when compared to previous conversations. People change, we change, situations change; its hard as hell, but you have to keep an open mind about it as much as possible.

Finally, the point is eventual happiness and stability, and we all make those standards for ourselves. I had lunch on my birthday with another on of my best friends, though in the past year had drifted apart due to us both having relationships and what not. Ian, while we always got on extremely well, kinda went the opposite direction from me when it came to careers: he did maths, I did English, he (very responsibly) sorted a graduate job while still at Uni and is now in a great position with a great firm getting a great starting salary, while I sorta wasn't ready to make up my mind, and if you've been reading earlier posts, I'm still not exactly ready to decide on a career path. He knew what he needed to get what he wanted, so getting a job for him in the finance sector was easy - I looked through tons of those same opportunities and they made my insides want to melt. When we met up for lunch, I feel bad for saying this, but I thought he'd actually find my situation a bit laughable. Not like he didn't care, or he was trying to be a prick or something, but just it'd never been an issue for him, or never seemed to be one, so he'd find it a bit stereotypical or something. Quite the contrary actually, and I felt like he was my best friend again for the first time in a very long time - what he said to me about the whole career ideal, after asking what sort of job I'm looking for, my response being, "I dunno man, I'm just trying to get something to try out and then see how it goes and if I need to change", he told me all that matters is that you find something you're happy doing, otherwise there's no point to it. Once again, so fucking simple, and if any single one of my friends asked the same advice from me, I'd give the same answer - yet coming from Ian it was so important to hear. The guy who is happy with his job and has his future sorted out for him says, "there's no point unless you're happy", then I think I can feel a little bit less guilty about taking so long to settle on something... I guess the problem is just about every job I see doesn't look like itll induce an ounce of happiness, but we both agreed that all I really have to do is try the job, and if its not for me then I can find a new one. Even if its shitty now, every step towards finding that job that makes you happy is a step in the right direction, even if it takes you to on a roadtrip to Portland, then a plane ride to Scotland, then to San Diego, you get the idea. Easy enough said, though I have distinct doubts it'll be just as easy done.... A morale boost is always appreciated though.

So, while I was so unsure of this investment in coming to Scotland, I think it has more than certainly paid off. While I'm certainly uncertain and definitely do not have the whole career lock down like Ian, coming and seeing everything and how its different has allowed me to take stock of my own crap, and think clearly about what it is I want and how I want to tackle stuff, to trust those around me and not be afraid of change while in an environment where everything will, probably more suddenly than gradually, change. No matter how quick or slow the changes, though, I try to look favorably on all my misadventures and experiences, even if they may seem to an outsider a big glorious waste of time. Its the stupid shit that gets us closer that that eventual success and happiness - and just like my friend, its necessary for most of us to get temporarily angry, a bit cynical, feel like shit, do shitty jobs, experience shitty things, in order to find some sense of satisfaction in the way things have turned out. And hey, you get to do some fun stupid shit as well; just think of all the Land Rovers you could have sex with! Not to mention all the important quality time you get to spend with someone you really care about, that makes a lot of the shit worth it for the immediate joy... and thinking about that makes me very ambivalent about leaving - really wishing I could bring someone home with me. And I had more permanent examples of her artwork.

  Hopefully I'll be busy enough struggling for work and hanging out with Hillary, Simon and Saria to keep me distracted! Though that may be asking a bit much... and I'm not sure if I do entirely hope for that to be the case.

Issues of Execution, Part II

Once Hillary and Simon - my sister and her fiance - arrived in Spokane, it was more of a race to bed than a race to catch up. Saria, Hillary and Simon's child, had apparently been fussy on the plane journey and wore both of them out; Mom was shattered after a long day of work; Reed, Chelsea and I had a long day in the car and doing odd jobs. Harry, of course, rarely sleeps, but that seems to come at the price of an excitable demeanor. Most everyone simply passed out instead of having much of a reunion.

Since I was sleeping on the couch, I was blessed with the presence of near insomniac Harry. As is usual in such a situation, I probed Harry's brain for what he thinks is an ideal thing to do at this odd point in my life, where there seems to be too much specific advice for particular career paths, but so little advice for the person who doesn't exactly know where they want to be or what they want to be doing. I told him of my apprehensions over Portland and moving in with my brother and Chelsea, and he told me if I moved to Portland now he expected I would only last about 6 months there before moving on. As a man who used to own many businesses, I asked him if he would hire me into any of his companies and he gave me two answers: 1. "Now? No. You don't have enough expertise in the field to give me quick results in any of those fields in this current economic environment." and 2. "Back then? Oh yes. If for nothing else but to know later on I'd have the security of you coming to me later on when you started your own ventures and needed partners." I inquired about a plan of action if I don't want to work for someone else, and he told me to start my own business now, with the expectation of failure - if only to offer that experience and know when I try again later on what to look for. Many beers and screwdrivers later, between both serious topics and jokes, the conversation ended with interesting insight, even if it was from a person who I don't always see eye to eye with. When we turned in to bed, it was probably close to 4 am - and I was woken up by talk in the kitchen and the crackling of bacon on the stove around 8:30.

The demeanor did not change much. No-one felt particularly festive it seemed. Reed and Chelsea slept in until well past noon,while Simon and I indulged in bloody PBRs over our breakfast. Saria puttered around the house, while Hillary followed making sure she didn't touch anything dangerous of eat any dirt or screws littered about the house. At least keeping her out of trouble meant that we got an excuse to see Saria in her new snow clothes.

 Harry rose as well around 9, and continued smoking his pipe around the child which bothered all of us except Mom it seemed, on top of giving Hillary a headache that made her less personable than her usual self. We eventually decided to go hunting around the town for some MTG booster packs which were on deal at Walgreens to combine with the others Simon and I had collected previously. After another drive around town so mom could show Hillary and Simon around the Spokane old town, the holiday descended into a simple attempt at killing time sadly. No one really seemed excitable, and the state of the house still did not inspire any holiday sentiments - so Simon and I simply resolved to drink the craft beers I'd brought from Portland and play with the cards after setting ourselves up with a table in the basement.

 We thought there would be some plans and we would be retrieved for other jobs to do or hear that we were going out for lunch or dinner - but we were undisturbed for hours until we came upstairs. Even then, there wasn't much space in the kitchen while Chelsea, Mom and Hillary gossiped and fixed a roast, so we were left to our own devices still. The dinner was finally ready, and it was delicious - all of us were still quiet. It was as if this wasn't our Christmas Holiday at all. It was kind of a shame really. And that night ended much like the last one, albeit we did play a game of Cards Against Humanity from which Harry resigned himself, Simon was very unexcited about, and, despite the laughs, no one seemed particularly bothered when it was over.

The next day, however, Simon and I resolved to do something and do some proper exploring of the city instead of sitting about and playing cards. Hillary, Chelsea, Saria and Mom decided that they would visit a park north of Spokane, while we got a lift into town to visit a number of Breweries in town. Reed decided not to partake and instead worked on projects with Harry.

Simon is a brewer in San Diego - or soon to earn that title instead of 'assistant brewer' - and craft beer is an interest that we both enjoy. He's a smaller guy with a loud voice and his own trademarked sort of humor rounded off with a healthy dose of bullishness on certain topics. He's the youngest in a family that's much older than he is... some of his brothers are almost twice his age.  Probably because of that, we have similar hobbies - and this provided us with some time to actually hang out, have a few laughs, and do a small pub crawl. It was a bit sad that it was only once we got to the No-Li Brewery that I actually started feeling like I was seeing people I cared about after a long time away, but I certainly was not complaining. We started out at No-Li trying every beer, six flights each, while Simon got some pretzels with beer-cheese.

The beers were a bit average, so this sparked a desire in us to move on to the next brewery, sealing our destiny forever in a night that would end in (minor) catastrophe. We crossed a bridge, and followed the directions to the next place in the wintery twilight of 4:00 pm in Spokane. Of course, what we didn't realize, is that everything in Spokane is shut on Sunday... or at least everything we were looking for. So we trudged along deserted muddy byways that were so still and quiet it made Simon uncomfortable as the sun went down (which of course I took the piss out of him for), until we came across the next brewery - which was shut. So we cut down under some highway bridges and had a jog to make sure we made it in time before closing so we could have two pints, and found the place was also closed. Great. The next closest brewery was more than 2 miles away and Yelp was not even an ounce of reliable that day. We had just about given up on having our pub crawl as we were now in a relatively rundown residential area of town, so Simon figured we should just go into the closest place and sit down for a bit, which happened to be a local burger chain called Zip's. Since the internet had been unreliable, Simon decided to find our way to the next watering hole the old fashioned way.

Simon: "Hey man, we were just wondering if you knew the closest bar to here."
Cashier: "Sure. Its just up at the next stop light."
Simon: "Nice. What's it called?"
Cashier: "The Flame."
Simon: (cocking an eyebrow) "... it's not a gay bar is it?"
Cashier: "Oh (laughing) no of course not" - glancing sideways at me - "I mean, unless that's what you're looking for. I can point you in the right direction for that."
Simon: "Naw man (laughing) I mean I'm cool with gay people and all that, I just wanted to make sure before we were in too deep!"

Realizing what he just said, we both promptly left the building and made for the next stop light. We found from its impressively outdated sign that it was actually called The Flaming Fox, and despite the hobo outside who tried to sell us his hat, it is apparently a family restaurant. Upon entering, we found a pretty typical local dive bar with no local craft beer of course, but with Busch's at $1.50 a pop and no better leads on where to go, we figured why not shoot a couple games of pool. Discouraged on our journey, we decided to just call Reed to pick us up, but he said he would be a while because he was in the middle of something. So we sat at the bar and drank quickly. After speaking to the regulars, which consisted of a middle aged man on welfare who deals pot, a Welsh man who had been coming to the bar for more than a decade, an elderly black man who kept trying it on with the bar maid who was probably close to 40 years his junior, and a kinda flamboyant fat guy with a very high pitched voice who had to get a word in edgewise on every conversation, we felt strangely rejuvenated and more excited about finding something else to do tonight. Once Reed had arrived, we resolved to find a place near Mom's to get a drink, and we found just the place - a sports bar called the Screaming Yak. By the time we arrived, Reed was more than happy to boot us out of the car after hearing jokes and laughter too merry for his current mood.

When I chose the Screaming Yak to go to, Simon and I both figured that the name was simply a pub name, with no actual reflection on the contents of the pub itself. And we were completely wrong. A casual visitor may have thought that the reason for this curious name was due to a certain yak's head mounted behind the bar, littered with quite a number of bras from previous customers

- and they would be wrong too. The reason why is actually hidden within the food menu, which Simon and I unfortunately stumbled upon. Its important to realize that Simon for some strange reason eats about twice as much as I do, so even though he ate earlier at No-Li, he was still hungry, and I may have been a bit hungry too and figured a snack before dinner would be good. That and we always like a challenge. So we got our pints of craft beer after Simon had to explain the difference between 'draft' and 'craft' beer to the derpy bartender, and commenting on how my pint kinda tasted like beer made from weird buttered popcorn, we decided to look at the menu. We figured we'd be eating alot later, so we should try and not get something too big, so Hot Wings looked to be perfect. And the moment our fate was sealed was when we gave our order to the bartender, he asked one simple question: "are you doing the hot wing challenge, or just getting the normal wings?" Simon and I slowly turned to one another, and it was at this moment, little did we know, that we were in too deep, in much the same manner as the Cashier at Zip's probably interpreted it. We were about to get fucked.

Simon: "Wait... what's the hot wing challenge?"
Bartender: "Well, you get your choice of flavor of hot wing, and you just have to finish a pound of them, which is about eight to ten hot wings, in fifteen minutes."
Me: "And what do we get for completing the challege?"
Bartender: "You get your wings for free, and you get your picture up on the wall with all the other people who have done it."

He pointed behind us, and we quickly scanned the wall. The one's that stuck out most to me were a guy who looked about 80 years old, a small asian girl, and a blonde girl who looked plenty happy. I looked again at Simon, and we both knew this was gonna be a cinch. But still we had some doubts so  we inquired further.

Me: "So can we have drinks with them?"
Bartender: "Sure. Have a pint of whatever you like with your wings."
Simon: "And you get a full fifteen minutes for the wings?"
Bartender: "Yep."
Me: "Then we'll take the Challenge wings I think"

It all just sounded so good. We were gonna get our snack, for free, have a few pints then go grab some delicious Christmas prime rib. That's what we thought until the bartender placed a waver in front of both of us. It was a fucking legal liability disclaimer, that also held in legal prints that we were idiots for even attempting this challenge. And this is where started to get a bit nervous.

I mean, a legal disclaimer? You give that to a man eating pufferfish with an amateur chef in the kitchen, not someone about to eat hot wings, not any normal hot wings or atleast anything one would describe as hot wings on this earth. Then we started thinking about the time limit.... it seemed awfully long. Could it be that it would be such a struggle that it would take almost a full 2 minutes to eat a wing? and the drinks allowance... perhaps it was a level of spiciness that no liquid could help its burn. We flipped a coin for who would go first, and I lost. And the moment my wings were put on the bar, we both knew that this was no ordinary wings. Their very odor was so acrid, that the smell hurt more than any spicy thing I had had before. Without a doubt, this pile of meat covered in red sludge that I knew would burn my goddamn hands let alone my mouth I imagine was straight from the deepest bowels of hell. And then I began the challenge.

As soon as I consumed my first bite of the spicy solution, I knew why this pub was called the Screaming Yak. It's because the noise that would be jettisoned from my insides if I were not busy stuffing these horrid hot wings inside them would be exactly that of a screaming yak. Sweat started to pour down my face and I thought I was crying, until I realized the sauce was so fucking hot I'm pretty sure my tears were being secreted as water vapor.  As I ate, my abdominal muscles cramped, shook, and sputtered, trying to eject the infernal matter as quickly as possible. The second the volatile sauce reached my stomach, it actually felt like it was burning me from the inside out, and there was a mounting intense pain, as if this were the aftermath of being punched in the gut by Muhammad Ali the one time he was wearing a spiked knuckleduster coated in the distilled essence of 10,000 habenero chillis. My feet tapped so quickly and desperately on the bar's foot rest, a talent scout from Hollywood would have named me the reincarnated version of Fred Astaire. I finally overcame the challenge in what felt like hours, but was actually the worst six and a half minutes of my life, and quickly drank 3 pints of milk,which did not alleviate any of the pain. I washed my hands many times, but my skin continued to burn and remained red and irritated. I knew a drop had landed on my forehead whilst eating, because there was a burning like 16 bees had stung me all in that singular place. It was during a moment of brief lucidity that I considered the fact that my life might end by immolation of the sauce variety, but eventually the heat succumbed and I had finally conquered the challenge. I can't even watch the video without sweating my face off. I don't even remember Simon saying his commentary. It was really that bad.

 But I finished just in time to see the repressed horror on Simon's face as his plate was placed in front of him. His reaction to the heat, however, was different than mine. Instead of rushing through, he simply tried to shut off as many auxiliary sensory systems as possible; Where he was cheering me on, he would not let me even speak to him, or clap him on the back when he finished his wings - all he could do was watch the football game to distract him from the trauma his body was going through. But he too conquered the challenge, with 2 minutes to spare. And he too was in absolute disarray. We did not celebrate after the wings - it was simple damage control. When our insides had calmed down enough to actually hold conversation, we asked what the fuck were those wings made with... and his response was that it was a  house special recipe Ghost pepper sauce. Fucking Ghost Peppers. Which was not on the menu. He said they added it to everyone's sauce when they did the challenge, which he did not inform us about. At which point we knew the bartender was a grade A asshole. But at least we did it... we had to be proud because after that challenge, it was the only thing we could take away from it besides a ruined digestive track.

We finished our drinks, and still with a distinct pain in our gut, headed to the nearest gas station to grab a bottle of off-brand Pepto-Bismol which we practically chugged as we quickly walked home to make it in time for dinner. Of course, our stomach were in such nuclear fallout, that I could only eat a small portion, and Simon just went straight to bed for an hour or two and couldn't eat anything besides tums and pepto until the next day. And truly, the effect that Ghost pepper sauce had on my restroom experience the next day was the closest I have ever come to being sexually assaulted by food. But Simon and Hillary also brought up some issues they were having with money... and Hillary knew we all got along great, including Saria, so she asked me to consider moving in with her, rather than going through the relocation to Portland. Mind you San Diego, while it may not be far, would be a whole new city for me... So I told her I'd think about it.

Chelsea left early that morning before we woke up, and we hung out that day much as we did the ones before, though Simon and I needed it for the recovery time. The following afternoon we all said our good byes and Merry Christmases and Happy New Years, then Mom drove Simon, Hillary, Saria and I to the airport, as I was catching the flight with them back to San Diego. It was nice seeing the northern sky and scenery, and I wondered when would be the next time I got to see it.

Once we'd gotten back to the apartment, Simon and Hillary were a bit relieved to be out of the tense environment and the smoke of the house from Harry. And I was certainly glad to get some relaxation time in before my next flight. and Though I took my time thinking carefully of Hillary's offer, I knew that moving in with Simon and Hillary was the choice I wanted to make - moving into a place because you're needed or at least your presence would be a help feels right rather than the 'fuck it, lets throw down here!' attitude that I felt in Portland. I suppose even if my execution wasn't fantastic, I'd sorted a place to live for the time being - an affordable and comfortable one at that. And, best of all, it feels like the right decision. Let's just hope the whole job thing follows just as easily from this decision... otherwise it could mean being on the road again soon.