travel – Fatty McCupcakes

British Columbia, Blogger Buds, and Busted Biking

Holy shit, I’m literally the worst. I haven’t blogged in what feels like foreeeeeeever. I also haven’t read any blogs in probably even longer. I’ll be amazed if any of you are still here. I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t.

I had a long list of several excuses for my behavior, but I figured I’d spare you. Let’s just get to it!

Today, as it’s Thursday, can you guess what I have for you? Yup. A travel post. And not just a travel post, this is the travel post.

Why is that, you ask?

Well, I got to meet one of my absolute favorite bloggers and one of the nicest humans on this planet while on my latest travel adventure.

Josy from A Walk and a Lark so very kindly offered to host my friend, Melissa and I when we were in Vancouver over spring break. So not only did I get to meet this fine lady, she put us up in her super cute condo for two nights. It was amazing, ya’ll.

We had such a blast on our trip. We flew to Seattle for a night, took the ferry to Victoria, stayed three nights there, and then it was finally time to get to Vancouver to meet Josy.

(I’ll be blogging about our time in beautiful Victoria, so stay tuned. You might have to wait another year, though, so don’t hold your breath. You’ll die.)

We arrived in Vancouver by ferry (Which had a fucking buffet on it, ya’ll. A BUFFET) and Josy picked us up. It was so exciting to see her happy face in real life for the first time!

We first went to her condo to drop off our bags, say ‘hello’ to her hubby Marc, give her super cute kitty, Monty a pet, and then we were quickly off to see our first site.

I think it’s here where I can announce that I’m still recovering from the walking we did in Vancouver. I used to think I was a pretty good walking tourist. I’m fucking not. Like not by a really slow, sweaty mile. There were a few times I truly didn’t think I’d make it and I’d have to embarrassingly ask Josy if she would kindly call me an ambulance.

Melissa felt pretty much the same as me – like an utter wimp compared to Josy. In fact, she remarked, “If you need me when we get home, I’ll be in bed for three days.”

I’m fairly certain Josy didn’t even break a sweat or get out of breath the entire two days of our heavy walking.

And get this, people. She bikes to work and it takes nearly an hour.

This girl is pretty much hero status to me at this point.

Despite how hard us fatties got worked, we had SO MUCH FUN. We’d have never done half of what we did had we not had Josy. She truly made our trip!

I was double-chin-smile-excited to meet Josy, ya’ll

Here’s where we went and what we did:

Granville Island

Did you know this isn’t even an island? When I first did research on Vancouver and I saw that Granville Island was a must-do, I envisioned a literal island.

Even though Granville isn’t an island, we did take a boat there. Confused yet?

I will use any excuse to use this fantastic Britney face

Granville Island is a peninsula (it took me three tries to write ‘peninsula’, because my phone really wanted it to be penis) along False Creek (which isn’t really a creek, but an inlet) and across from downtown Vancouver.

It’s known as a shopping district with a lively public market that I think rivals Pike Place in Seattle.

We took a boat, because you can take a water taxi from the part of Vancouver where Josy lives to Granville and why the hell not take a boat whenever possible?!

Our first stop was to find some lunch (That’s all that’s ever really on my mind when I’m on a trip, to be honest- “When is it time to eat something new again that will be delicious af but will most assuredly give me a bad case of the travel trots and/or heartburn?” It’s my favorite. The food, not the runs.)

We settled on trying some Polish fare, where I got some smooshy, cheese-filled pierogi smothered in sour cream and onions. Josy and Melissa settled on sausages. It all tasted pretty amazing to me.

Next, it was time to find a sweet treat, because your dessert stomach is in your heart and mine was empty and aching for something naughty.

We found an amazing crack dealer in the lively market area. Just look at the delectable choices we had:

Guess what I chose?

Yes, I am eight years old. Thank you for asking.

~~Biking~~ Being a Hot Mess at Stanley Park

I learned how to ride a bike right into a prickly bush just like every other five year old first time rider. Also, I own a bike. It hasn’t moved from its spot in the basement in three years, the tires have disintegrated, and there’s a foot of dust covering it, but I own a bike. So, I’m not a total newbie when it comes to biking, but you know that widely known phrase, “Like riding a bike” when referring to something you never forget how to do? Well, when it comes to Inepts it should be “Like wrecking your diet” or something.

It was like I’d never ridden a bike before.

After eating our way through Granville Island, Josy took us to the gorgeous Stanley Park where breathtaking views of the Vancouver skyline and English Bay can be had.

The path winding along the water looked relatively flat, so when renting a bike was mentioned, I momentarily forgot I was not the best on a bike anymore.

(The first time I took my bike out after buying it, I rode around the block precisely once and then had to lay on the couch for the rest of the day.)

My face says, “I’m 100% crashing this thing into a tree.” Also, how flipping cute is Josy? This is her photo, obviously…

Long story short, I almost ran a pedestrian down, because braking, steering, and staying upright all at the same time is impossible for me; I dropped my bike and lost my cake on the road, but I scooped it up and ate it later (not ashamed), and I felt like I was going to legit puke from the exertion of having to pump up two slight inclines (and we hadn’t even started drinking yet). Meanwhile, Josy was just biking along looking like a fucking goddess. She had to constantly stop so her fat tag alongs could breathlessly catch up. Not once did she act like she was embarrassed to be associated with us, even when we looked like this in the helmets (and on the bikes):

You know how when you see other people on bikes, you want to start biking because you want to look exactly like that? Well, you don’t look like that. #hoponthehotmessexpress

WHY DO THE HELMETS LOOK LIKE THAT ON OUR HEADS, THO?

Drinks in Elizabeth Park

After our biking adventure, we really worked up an appetite. We (Melissa and I) smelled like our fat was on fire, so we cleaned up a bit at Josy’s and headed out again. We settled on El Camino- South American street food- for dinner and man, it did not disappoint. We shared three different entrees to maximize the experience for our taste buds, and they were oh-so-very happy, indeed. Along with a cocktail each, we feasted on a charred corn and cotija cheese salad, a barbecued jackfruit sandwich, cheese balls straight from heaven, and cauliflower “wings”. I’m literally considering booking a flight just to go back and eat every single one of those delicacies again.

Check out Josy’s foodie Instagram page for waaaaaay better pictures of our yum yums.

After one of the most satisfying food experiences of my adult life, we headed to the special place Josy told me we would have to go for amazing views of the city.

I think we got into a bus, but after a cocktail, my memory was a little fuzzy. What I do remember is hiking what felt like Mount Everest to get to our long-awaited views. But, it was just a walking path up a hill through Queen Elizabeth Park and I totally allowed my full ineptness to show. I really didn’t want Josy to know the full extent of my spastic abilities, but here we are.

When we finally made it to Seasons in the Park, it was cocktail time again.

On the way back to Josy’s we had happy hearts, warm bellies full of alcohol, and giggles for days.

When we got on the bus (they don’t wait for everyone to find their seats, because they’ve got places to be and people to see, OK?), I didn’t fully ground myself by grasping at anything sturdy-looking like I was new to walking when the bus took off, and I almost landed in a strange man’s lap. Then, after I bounced against every surface of the bus as I made it back to where Josy and Melissa were sitting, we dared Josy to say “Marc” in an American accent and we officially lost it. I’m still laughing. We were those annoying drunk girls on the bus and it was awesome.

Grouse Mountain

The next day, after a delicious smoothie Josy made us (and toast with my first taste of Marmite, which I don’t hate), we were off again on another day of hijinks. Once we made a pit stop for some craft coffee, we were on the bus bound for the mountains.

Perhaps one of the best things about Grouse Mountain is that you get to ride a gondola up to the resort. I hadn’t been on a gondola since my childhood summers in northern Idaho. It was such a gorgeous ride up. You could see for miles. It was stunning. My pictures 100% don’t do it justice.

The first thing we did on Grouse Mountain was go on a fun, pretty short walk on a loop path. What made the whole process longer was the fact that it took me literally 20 minutes just to make my way down the first half of the walk, because the entire path was in the packed-down snow. Josy just bee-bopped along like she was walking on straight, not slippery ground. She kept looking back and saying, “You’ll be OK. I promise.”

She really hadn’t learned from the previous day that, no, I’d not be OK. The second I thought I could walk on snow like a normal person would be the second I’d be flat on my fat ass.

So, Josy took some snaps of my slow descent, because she had to fill her time waiting for me somehow.

Saying a silent prayer for my tailbone

Slow and whatever-isn’t-offensive-to-say-about-being-physically-not-good-at-anything-that-requires-effort wins at being dead last

After what, I’m sure, felt like an eternity to Josy, I had finally slipped, slid, and crawled the 50 yards down the hill and we came upon an igloo. An igloo, ya’ll. Naturally, we had to crawl in. It was pretty cold and wet and I had to take my backpack off to squeeze my fat ass in through the hole, but how many people can say they’ve climbed into an igloo? It was totally worth the wet knees and freezer burned palms.

After chilling (literally) in the igloo, we hiked back and had drinks and some lunch, but not before a quick selfie:

And did you even have lunch drinks if you don’t do a Boomerang and share it all over social media?

https://fattymccupcakes.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/3c74e106-3007-4f90-830c-3e58c898928c.mov

After lunch, it was time to head down the mountain. Instead of waiting for the bus, we took off on foot and walked down to a gorgeous spot for pictures:

I’m STRAIGHT OBSESSED with these mountains, y’all!

Lonsdale Quay Market

After a lot more walking and another bus ride, we stopped at Lonsdale Quay Market. There, we got some interesting dipped ice cream and a different view of the Vancouver skyline.

Then, we got on a sea bus to get back to the “other side” of Vancouver (I’m still confused about the three distinct clusters of skyscrapers that look like three separate cities) to snap pics at the wings in Kitsilano:

From here we walked to the beach. We went from snow and mountains to the sand and sunny beach all in one day! What a truly epic day.

At this point, we were half dead, so Josy paid for a taxi that took us to a sushi joint. It was the perfectly delicious way to end two picture perfect days in Vancouver with someone I don’t consider merely a blogger bud anymore, but a true friend.

My memories of this incredible trip will remain forever in a special place in my heart while the ache in my fat ass will (hopefully) fade.

Josy: Let’s take a cute jumping photo. Katie: *Doesn’t hear ‘cute’*

WTF Wednesday: Body Bummers and the Food Prep Blahs

What’s Annoying Me Right Now:

So can we talk a minute about food prepping? Um. I hate it. Like so, so much. I hate cooking and since food prepping is like cooking on kale-flavored crack, I’d literally rather clean the moldy hair goblins out of the shower drain than chop shit for hours on one of my precious days off.

Legit me every time I have to food prep…

Due to my utter distaste for preparing food, I do quasi- prep. I do the absolute fucking bare minimum and then wonder why I end up eating a brownie for lunch instead of garlic butter salmon on a bed of quinoa with steamed organic green beans on the side or whatever fancy shit ya’ll are eating.

I don’t have time for this. Like at all.

I “prepped” a can of peas and a frozen spicy black bean burger as my lunch the other day. Impressive, I know.

Between looking for a side hustle I can do on the couch in my holey leggings, working nine hour days, planning an epic European adventure, trying to maintain this stink hole of a blog, and getting some sleep, food prep just doesn’t fit into the equation.

I’m fully of the impression that if you religiously food prep and this takes up a good majority of your Sunday, this is your hobby, man. Your hobby is preparing healthy fare that all too often ends up tasting like rabbit food for your future self.

I’m not even hating, but that’s literally the worst-sounding hobby ever (really, I’m just jealous you have enough commitment to lose weight and be healthy that you dedicate time to proactive practices that help you be successful).

If you full-on food prep and do anything else besides go to work and sleep, you’re a Goddamn superhuman and I’ll pay you to do my food prepping.

Thanks a million!

(Can you just make sure to pan sear the chicken with lots of seasoning? Leftover blah baked chicken makes me gag.)

Are You Fucking Kidding Me?

Why do I lose weight first in the lamest possible places on my body before any real dent is made in the obvious places?

So like, thanks, body for thinking I needed to lose the fat from my forearms before getting to work on my fat stomach that people think is housing a baby. Sounds right.

Or maybe we could have started with my flabby arms that knock art off the walls when they get carried away?

What’s that? My knee caps were first priority? Oh…

Where’s My Xanax

Speaking of flabby bits.

I’m in need of a new bathing suit for the Cinque Terre and I’m low-key dreading it like the plague (I know, poor me).

The thought of trying on bathing suits with the paper crotch protectors that never make me feel protected from the last person’s crotch makes my skin crawl. I know you try on bathing suits without your underwear WHICH IS HIGHLY FROWNED UPON, KAREN.

Me, walking up to the bathing suits, seeing all of those paper crotches with pubes stuck to them.

I’m also not looking forward to seeing the fat I was going to lose 18 different times over the years seeping out of every edge of the only bathing suit I could find that didn’t scream “64 year-old overweight retiree living the dream in Boca Raton, Florida”.

Oy.

Now I feel bad for the person who has to try on the bathing suit after me (because you know I’m not buying that floral-couch-pattern-from-the-70s monstrosity).

That face you make when all of the fat girl bathing suits are ugo…

Six No Fail Travel Money Saving Tips For Complete Idiots

So, your best pal just suggested a six-city, two week grand European adventure, but you just washed your last paper plate and it’s still a week until payday?

Tell me ’bout it, honey.

How do you make this trip happen? Because, I don’t know about you, but when someone says ‘Cinque Terre’, I’m all:

Let me be real here: I am poor as fuck. This is due in equal parts to being a total fuckwit when it comes to saving money (also maybe due to a teensy addiction to filling every nook and cranny in my apartment with Bath & Body Works soap) and choosing one of the lowest paid professions: teaching. What teaching does enable me is the time to jet off to foreign countries. The salary just needs to catch up with my at-least-one-international-trip-every-year tastes.

I have also let my credit cards get the best of me, because it’d be wrong not to make that excellent credit rating work for me, right? Right? (More on this later.)

So, what is a broke as a joke idiot to do when travel just has to happen, because what is life without travel, ya’ll? Well, let your favorite idiot help you out with this one, because for once, I am kinda good at something. I know, I fell off my chair too.

Last summer, as many of you know, I went on a most glorious nearly six-week-long trip to Amsterdam, The British Isles, and Ireland. I went with my mom, aunt, and uncle, so we were able to save quite a bit on our house stays, but holy mother of the god of expensive shit, it was not cheap to travel for more than a month. Since I am always way too transparent here, I will just tell you what I spent. My grand adventure cost roughly $5,500.

Even more surprising- I had the trip paid off the month after my return.

I’ll give you a minute to get over the shock.

So, how did a certified money moron pull this off? Let me tell you!

1. Fun Shit is Magically Easier to Save For

First and foremost, when what you are saving for is weeks of travel in one of your favorite parts of the world, somehow, you have some extra money. It’s really crazy. Actually, it’s just easier to skip the latte when you are doing it for patat frites in Amsterdam. It’s easy as hell.

So, if you need to, make a vision board with all of the amazing things you are Starbucks starving yourself for and you will suddenly become Scrooge McDuck.

2. Cancel Your Ridiculous Amount of Subscriptions and Cut Any Non-Essentials

Even your Ipsy bag. Yes, I know it’s only $10 a month.

Before my trip last year was for sure-for sure, I was paying monthly subscriptions for Ipsy, Snack Crate, Weight Watchers ($20 a month and I hadn’t opened the app in months) and a handful of educational subscriptions, like Number Rock. These subscriptions totaled $56 a month. This may not sound like a huge amount, but they were all 100% unnecessary. After six months of not shelling out the cash for these monthly charges, I had $336. That is a lot of patat frites, ya’ll!

Also, I stopped getting my nails and eyebrows done. Any non-essential luxury had to go and it saved me tons. A unibrow and hangnail-riddled fingers ain’t nothin’ when you are Europe-bound. I kept my massage appointments, but those were for my health and sanity.

If I wanted to really deprive myself, I could have also canceled Netflix and Hulu, but since I wasn’t paying for cable, I needed something to do when all of my extra cash was hiding out in my secret spot.

Speaking of…

3. Save Literally Every Penny

One of the funnest things I did to save for my trip was to save loose change in a mason jar. I don’t know if it was the addicting clink of the coins when I dropped them into the jar or the satisfying weight as the amount grew, but I was addicted to finding change. I’m also super fun at parties, ya’ll.

My dude’s pants pockets, under the seats of our vehicles, and the couch cushions- nowhere was safe from my greedy beadies. I left no stone un-turned in my search for a forgotten eight cents.

When my jar got full and the time came to cash in, I picked up some rolling papers (no, not that kind, yo) or coin wrappers and did that shit myself. My hands smelled like the unwashed masses for days, but every single penny went to my trip, unlike what would have happened had I gone the easy route, i.e. Coinstar.

(Be aware that Coinstar takes 11.9% of your total amount as a fee and that means one less ice cream cone on the beach and that is un.accept.able.)

4. Set a Budget and Try to Beat It, Baby

One of the most effective ways I saved trip money was setting a strict budget. In order for this to work, I had to take a truly honest inventory of my finances. It was a real coming to Jesus moment, because it was like a huge smack across the face with my newest pleather TJ MAXX purse find.

HOW IN THE FUCK DID I SPEND 150 AMERICAN DOLLARS IN ONE MONTH AT STARBUCKS?

I investigated where my money was going (Starbucks) and where I could cut corners and spend less (at Starbucks).

I set a budget for how much I felt was reasonable for groceries and other essentials per week/month. I did the same for weekend spending money. I even set a budget for how much I could spend during the week. It seems like it would have made more sense to just set one amount for the entire week, but I knew that if I gave myself $80 for the week on Monday, I would have had precisely $2.84 left to use by Friday. Because I spend the majority of my work week at, uh, work, I decided I needed the majority of my weekly budget allocated for the weekend.

So, I gave myself $20 for the work week, and if that only got me two and a half morning Starbucks runs, so be it. I pulled up my big girl panties and dusted off the Keurig I just had to have and made my coffee the majority of my mornings.

On Friday, I would pull $60 out of the ATM and that had to get me through all of my weekend activities. If I had a sushi date with a pal, this would eat up almost half of my cash. This made me take a good, hard look at whether or not I really needed to eat 18 long rolls and then be dead to the world the rest of the day in a sushi and soy sauce coma. More often than not, I suggested a coffee date instead (this was also a surprise diet hack).

Where I tried to “beat my budget” was when I started to have money left over on Sunday evening. It was like winning a game I didn’t even know I was playing. I started to try to have money left over every weekend. I straight up felt like Ebenezer Scrooge as I stockpiled my cash and coins.

5. Kash is King

Not only did I set a budget, I pulled cash out at the ATM for my work week and weekend money (as mentioned above). This prevented me from accidentally spending too much using my debit card. Because math is not my strong suit, $20 could easily have become $40 when I mindlessly handed over my debit card and not cold, hard cash.

Further, when I had money left over after the week or weekend was over, I saved my cash in a secret hiding spot and not in my savings account. It was and is way too easy to transfer funds from my savings to my checking to be used on something dumb, because when the money is just some numbers on a screen it doesn’t have the same impact as digging for your cash, counting it out, and then guiltily adding it to your wallet for a non-travel expenditure.

6. Acorns

I am legit gonna sound like I work for Acorns or that I am getting some kind of kickback from them and while that is not entirely wrong, I’m not being sponsored to say what I am about to say.

I just love the shit out of this app.

If you have never heard of Acorns, make yourself a cup of tea or pour yourself a glass of wine, because you are going to want to hear this, and it is always nice hearing good news when you are enjoying a refreshing beverage.

So, in a nutshell (see what I did there?), Acorns is an investment app. This may sound scary, because if you are anything like me, you have not one iota of a fucking clue what investing involves.

Fear not, if you decide to try Acorns out, it is not a risky venture. I have been investing and saving with Acorns for more than a year now and I can confidently say I have not lost any pennies to Acorns. In fact, I am ADDICTED.

When you sign up for an Acorns account, the easiest way to start saving money is to turn on Round Ups. Whenever you use your debit card (yes, you need to connect your account, but it is secure), Acorns rounds up your purchase to the next dollar. When your round ups reach $5, that amount is withdrawn from your checking account into your Acorns account. Along with a monthly deposit of $25 from my checking, I saved over $400 to go towards my trip and I never even noticed the round ups.

It practically felt like free money, ya’ll.

When I first started Acorns, I’d withdraw money here and there when I wanted to make a purchase, but had I not touched my account, I would have $1400 today plus whatever dividends I made with my investment portfolio (which is conservative and means lower risk).

If I have piqued your interest, check out Acorns using my link here. If I can get 12 friends signed up and investing (I have already converted two), I will get $1000 from Acorns. YES, ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS. When you sign up via my link, you get $5 and so do I. That is what we call a win-win, friends.

*Bonus: The Guilt Gut Kicker*

The tips I shared above worked for me and why I am so excited about them again is that I am currently employing them for another international trip I just made official a couple weeks ago!

This time around, along with the poop-my-pants-excitement, I am feeling a bit of guilt.

I promised myself that this year I would focus on paying down my debt and the second another trip was a possibility, I threw finally being a real adult out the window faster than you can say “Peace out, bitches!”

Well, to combat that damn dirty feeling of guilt, I am planning to save $100 out of every months’ savings for my trip to be put onto a credit card. I hope to save for my trip AND pay off two small credit card balances.

Sometimes just having a plan to be a better adult can ease those poopy feelings.

Also,

What are your money saving tips? I am always looking for other ways to save/make some money when it’s for travel! Let me know in the comments!

Sisters From Other Misters

To a blogger, followers are everything. Fucking everything. I’ve yet to meet a writer or online content creator who is just doing it all for the sake of doing it. We love, we need and we appreciate our readers.

If followers are important to bloggers, their fellow bloggers/followers are their life blood.
The people who are doing the same damn crazy thing I’m doing- writing, editing for daaaaays, creating, compiling, and otherwise making damn word magic- give me life.
They are me.
I am them.
For some oddly awesome reason, the majority of the bloggers I’ve connected with are either from the U.K. (also Ireland) or they are expats living there. Jealous af.
(This just further fuels my crazy British obsession.)

It was an absolute necessity that on my trip to the British Isles that I’d meet as many of my Blogily* as humanly possible.
It was actually them (well, the Annual Bloggers Bash Awards) that was the reason for the trip. As if anyone needed another reason to visit the most beautiful corner of the world EVER, but, yeah, meeting my favorite bloggers inspired my trip this past summer.
In the end, I didn’t get to meet up with quite as many bloggers as I had hoped I would, because life always seems to find a way to ruin the fun (and trying to arrange specific meet up locations and times when you are constantly traveling and you aren’t the only one it affects is hard af). All this means is that there will have to be another trip.

Now, let’s get on with it. Here are the lovelies I met during the great Clampetts Do Europe 2018:
The One Who Writes Things That Make Me Ugly Cry
Lorna from Gin & Lemonade is one of my favorite blogging writers. She has a unique writing style that I could recognize in my sleep. All of her posts are gold, but this one gave me goosebumps, granted me a supreme reader’s high and made me cry all at the same time.
I got to meet Lorna at her house on the Isle of Skye on her daughter’s fourth birthday party day. If you don’t know Lorna, you’re also missing out on knowing her adorable, precocious daughter, Isla (that we get to know through Lorna’s posts about her).
It was such fun meeting this penguin-loving girl who will for-absolute-sure grow up to rule the world.
It was so, so amazing to laugh, gossip and plan (Reno 2019, baby) with Lorna. It wasn’t enough time. Not even. Hence the part about something amazing going down in my neck of the woods in 2019.
Here are the pictures we almost forgot to take, because every minute we were together, we were trying to cram in as much nice-to-meet-you-finally-I’m-only-in-this-corner-of-the-world-for-a-short-time-but-I-have-so-much-to-say-and-ask-so-let’s-not-waste-our-time-mmmkay.

The immensely talented Lorna and yours truly

Lorna’s hubby, Neil AKA The Car Packing Ninja and Isla
The One Who Fucking Hates Scooters, But is Just Lovely AF
Hayley is the kind of blogger you instantly want to be best friends with. Her posts are:
A. Well-written
B. Relatable AF
C. Funny/thought-provoking/important
D. ALL OF THE ABOVE DUH
When I read her post about her hatred for scooters, I knew we were destined to be friends.
To someone obsessed with anything British, Hayley is every beloved British chick lit heroine I’ve ever wanted to know IRL. She’s the girl you want to have a drink with after work. She’s the girl who’s funny smart and real smart. She’s the girl you can be real with, because she probably also has ruined a table by ironing on it and not, like, on an ironing board. She’s real and genuine and lovable.
Hayley picked out a gorgeous location-Angelica, a super posh restaurant on the sixth floor of a shopping center- to meet in Leeds. While eating the best fucking ravioli that have ever passed my lips, we (my mom and I) were treated to breathtaking views of downtown Leeds and to, of course, Hayley.
One evening was not enough to get to know her and listen to her quintessentially English accent at all. As we said our goodbyes, I realized how grateful I was to have a friend who was so hard to say goodbye to.

I LOVE this lady!

How gorgeous is this place AND THAT RAVIOLI?
The One Who, I SWEAR, Is My Real Sister Somehow
You know how once in a great while you meet someone who just gets you, someone you just completely and utterly click with?
Well, that is Cinzia.
Awhile back, I started a secret Facebook group for my lady friends, because sometimes we need a safe place to ask about period panties and WHY IN THE FUCK CAN’T HE PUT HIS SOCKS IN THE HAMPER, and that’s when I first started seeing comments from this just-like-me crazy funny girl invited by one of my blogger buds.
She would respond to threads and posts with gifs that are my absolute favorite gifs of all time and sometimes I’d have to do a double check, because I’d think something she said was something I’d said or vice versa.
When she found out I was coming to England to meet her friend and workmate who is a blogger friend of mine, we agreed she’d absolutely have to join in on the fun.
The day we met, we had drinks at a bar called The Magna Carta in Lincoln. See:

She walked up Steep Hill in the 85-degree heat to meet me. And, Steep Hill is literally what it’s called- a really fucking steep hill.
She rode the train for two hours to get to Lincoln from Nottingham.
She bought me our first drink even after trucking it uphill in the freakishly hot weather.
She took the Clampett Clan on a personal tour of the Lincoln Cathedral.
We laughed and talked like we had known each other for years. It was easy and fun and the hours felt literally like minutes.
I figured I’d only get one day with Cinzia, but she made the two hour train trip a second time and we took a boat ride on the Lincoln Canal and had lunch as we talked and laughed like old friends.
At the end of the day, my mom and I had to take a bus back to our house stay. Being total bus newbs, she figured out what bus we needed to take, told us to ask the driver to yell out the stop for us (that’s a hilarious story I’ll have to tell another time, btw), and saw us onto the bus (I secretly think she was worried we were learning disabled in public transportation and was genuinely concerned we’d end up in Wales or something).
As the bus drove out of the station, we waved and waved like two little girls and I couldn’t help but feel like I was saying goodbye to a lifelong friend or beloved family member.
She’s totally my Sicilian sister from another mister from across the sea (I don’t care if that doesn’t make sense).

Cinzia is now a blogger! Check out her work here.
The One Who Sent Me Tunnock’s Tea Cakes (AKA My Most Favorite Person Ever)
While in Lincoln, I also got to meet Frédérique, another blogger and follower of mine. It was pretty exciting to meet my Québécois package pal in person (that means we have sent each other packages with special sweet treats in Fatty McCupcakes language).
The funniest part of this whole meet up is that this girl is literally half my size and when taking pictures together, I was squatting down to appear not quite so gargantuan in comparison and she kept squatting down like it was a fun game I was trying to play. It was hilarious.

In case you haven’t met my massive nose yet, here it is. It says, “Nose to meet ya.”
So, I think it’s pretty safe to say that my trip across the pond was a monumental one and I had many memorable moments, but it was and will always be defined by the short, but influential moments I had with these wonderful women.
*Blogily:
blog•i•ly
noun
1. a group consisting of writer types from all walks of life, background, sexuality, ethnicity, and what have you, who band together to support one another in all manner of ways, including but not limited to blogging.
synonyms: blog family, tribe, sister/misterhood,

Missing Proper Scones With Clotted Cream and Jam Something Fierce

Ya’ll, I am really missing being on vacation. Not only do you get to visit amazingly beautiful sites AND escape your worries and the mundane crap that “regular” life comes with, you get to eat EVERYTHANG. Vacation food calories are always zero, even when smothered in mayonnaise. Especially then.

I decided it’d be fun to share my food pictures from my recent vacation. I made it a point to photograph as much food as I could, because my idea of what a good vacation is is eating with wild abandon and zero guilt. Obviously, I didn’t snap a pic of literally everything I ate, or we’d be here all week. Behold, some of the best and most interesting things I ~~ate~~ inhaled (in chronological order):

How’d our flight from Reno to Denver know we were going to the Netherlands? Way better than a package of four broken mini pretzels!

Literally, the second we got off the shuttle and we dropped our luggage off at our houseboat, I went looking for these. Patat Frites are literally everything I’d hoped they’d be.

My first time trying street Kurdish food and I didn’t get the shits! This woman is crazy talented. I have no idea what it was we ate, but it was amazing!

This is the stuff of my food dreams, man. Blocks of cheese bigger than your head. *faints*

The fresh fruit at our neighborhood food market was tempting, but I, of course, went with the fried potatoes and mayonnaise sauce. Totally the right choice.

After consuming this one beer precisely two hours after arriving in Amsterdam (and after 12 hours of travel), I promptly fell asleep right there at the bar.

Homemade eggs (that you don’t refrigerate) with zucchini from the market and Turkish coffee. Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.

A waffle with powdered sugar, right in front of the ‘I Amsterdam’ sign. Heaven.

Except, they don’t serve coffee there. Vewy twicky.

Ya’ll, this is Kinder-flavored gelato. I’m drooling and shaking like an addict just thinking about it.

This is a cheese sandwich. Literally, just cheese and bread. No mayo, no butter, no chutney. Literally, just cheese. Just bread. It would have been the most boring sandwich in the world except that that was the finest cheese I’ve ever eaten. That bad bitch didn’t need any conflicting flavors hiding its delectable flavor. I could go on about this sandwich, but this is getting weird. I’ll stop.

We got a free Heineken after the stroke-inducing strobe light tour. We may have gotten more than just the one free drink.

Dutch pancakes, or pannenkoeken, are nothing like American pancakes, but they ARE delicious! Savory and sweet varieties here.

This literally looks like dog food packed into a patty, but I assure you, haggis is freaking delicious. This is a haggis roll that we shared. I hate sharing.

Celebratory we-somehow-found-our-first-Scottish-house-stay-despite-being-packed-like-sardines-in-a-too-small-car-and-we-were-newbie-wrong-side-of-the-road-drivers wine.

We thought we were buying a pork roast, but it turned out to be “bacon”. It was still pretty damn tasty.

The no-refrigerating-eggs thing was pretty strange to get used to, but I’m convinced they taste better than eggs in America.

Marks & Spencer tea at a very cold Stirling Castle. M&S is EVERYTHING. I miss it so hard.

The cold is never a deterrent when it comes to ice cream. This, folks, is a strawberry ice cream cone made with Scottish cream and the finishing touch-a Flake for added flair. Perfection. Just gorgeous.

We had no idea how to eat these. Do you heat them up in the oven and eat them with syrup? Are they eaten cold and plain? We never could decide how to do it, so, instead, we let them get moldy (which doesn’t take long in such a wet and humid environment).

We got bread with our fish and chips. Just a plain piece of bread. I found this really amusing.

Our first traditional fish and chips was in Stirling. They weren’t bad, but the lack of seasoning was a bummer. I always felt like an asshole heavily salting and peppering everything I ordered.

This is a Victoria sponge muffin I got at M&S. It was the best muffin I’ve EVER had!

It’s an acquired taste. It totally tastes like orange bubblegum. Right, Lorna?

This picture hardly does the sandwich any justice. It was goat cheese and roasted red pepper and one of the best sandwiches of my life. The soup was Moroccan vegetable and was divine, as well. All of this deliciousness was found at a small cafe on the shore of Loch Katrine in Scotland.

This is a cherry Bakewell tart cookie. It was just as delicious as it looks! I still have dreams of the sweet treats I had.

Whisky tasters. Not my jam, but, when in…Edinburgh.

Strawberry Scottish cream at Edinburgh Castle. I couldn’t get enough.

Delicious dining and drinking at Hector’s with some awesome friends.

My Scottish friends brought us Scottish treats. We demolished them way too quickly. Not pictured is the Scottish tablet. I’m legit addicted and am planning on making some at home. It’s straight up a diabeetus delicacy.

This was not exactly what I envisioned when I ordered cheese fries. But, cheese? Good. Fries? Good. It was all good.

All good bloggers hold their food up as if it were the second coming just for a good photo op.

This is a proper steak and ale pie. And, proper it was.

A vegetation Scottish breakfast is pretty legit. Potato scones are AMAZING.

Scottish pancakes are seriously amazing. I’d trade in the American ones ANY DAY.

Have you ever seen a longer sausage ever in your life?

This was the day I wondered how far I could really push the sugar intake. And, I think the word is ‘glutton’, not ‘lush’…

Underneath those delectable-looking rainbow sprinkles is honey raspberry oat ice cream. AMAAAAAAAAZING.

I saw these everywhere. I always thought my sugar obsession knew no bounds. I could never let myself buy one of these. I’m still really regretting that decision. How will I ever know how dreamy they are now?

Remember how I mentioned Scottish tablets? Well, this is Scottish tablet ice cream. I almost fell down dead it was that good.

I discovered my love of shandys at The Corner House Hotel in Annan, Scotland.

I ordered the vegetarian Scottish breakfast (because nitrates are a huge migraine trigger for me) and Mark, the guy running the hotel, kept asking me how my fake breakfast was!

The owners of The Stable in Brattleby left us a lemon curd cake that wasn’t just super kind, it was to.die.for!

I became full-on obsessed with hazelnut soya or oat milk lattes. I got one literally everywhere we stopped.

I found these almost-too-adorable-to-eat sprinkled donuts in Tesco.

Banoffee Pie at The Stables At Chatsworth House. It wasn’t until I got home that I put two and two together and realized ‘banoffee’ is ‘banana’ and ‘toffee’ put together. How clever (unlike me)!

When you think you’re being responsible by only getting a half pint, but then you end up getting four of them.

I met another fabulous blogger and friend at an amazing restaurant in Leeds that looked out over the city. These were some kind of ravioli and they were amazing.

This is a “whippy”ice cream with hazelnut sauce that I took a picture of in front of some important building in Lincoln. To be honest, I was only thinking about not losing my precious ice cream.

This was the best fish and chips we had on the trip. It only makes sense, because we had them at a local institution in the seaside town of Deal, England.

Day drinking on a Sunday right outside Canterbury Cathedral, but it was OK, because any behavior on vacation is acceptable. Duh.

The hipster avocado toast was alright, but cold pork pie with strange gelatinous filling is just not my favorite.

When in Cornwall (Please excuse my nails here and really, in every picture. I’m so embarrassed)…

We had a Pimm’s Cup right in front of Highclere Castle. Be jealous. It’s OK.

I would kill for an English scone served with clotted cream and jam!

A goat cheese tart and beautiful garden salad in Port Isaac. I really am having withdrawals now.

I can’t even remember what flavor this was because I was too bummed that my pic of my ice cream and the beautiful scenery would be tarnished by the cars in the parking lot. It’s a hard knock life for a loser Instagram addict.

I HAD to try a jacket potato with Heinz beans. It was fart- I mean- fantastic.

Just living the crammed-in-the-backseat-of-a-car-travel life. At least I had my Costa.

We almost missed our ferry to Dublin. Like, threw-our-luggage-dirty-underwear-flying-out-of-the-car-running-screaming-into-the-ferry-terminal almost missed it, so we all had a much-needed adult beverage on the ride over.

In a sea of gourmet, all-you-can-eat breakfast foods at our swanky Dublin hotel, what did I find to eat? Poop on toast? No, my friends, that’s Nutella. When spread onto toasted bread, it has magical healing powers (don’t tell anyone, but I also ate a waffle that same morning).

Guinness at the Guinness Brewery in Dublin? Duh.

The ice cream place at Kylemore Abbey closed before I could get a real ice cream. I had to settle for a freezer-burned Ben & Jerry’s ice cream sandwich. What will people think of me now?

This strange concoction of tart fruit and vanilla ice cream worked. It was so good.

There ain’t nothin better than putting your toes in the sand while you eat a “whippy” ice cream. Except when you get to do it at Inch Beach on the Dingle Peninsula…

These mussels we had in Dingle Town were magnificent.

I can’t believe my little trip down food memory lane is almost over. What was your best travel meal or treat? Let me know in the comments!

The Isle of Skye: The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly

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The Isle of Skye is legit an otherworldly realm straight out of a Tolkien novel. One moment, you’re bumping along on a lovely one lane road riddled with potholes, surrounded by strangely-shaped mountains carpeted completely in a soft green and then, you round a bend and you’re somehow in a rough, craggy atmosphere, where a purpley-brown growth is springing out of a mist-covered ground and you are convinced you somehow landed on a planet not in our solar system.
(That was the longest fucking sentence I’ve ever written. It’s probably not even grammatically correct, but we’re just gonna roll with it.)
This is not a homage to Skye. In fact, my favorite part of Skye really had nothing to do with the actual place, as I could have met one of my favorite bloggers (more on that later) in Timbuktu if that was where she lived (and I happened to be traveling to Timbuktu).
This is going to be a post that fully prepares anyone wishing to go to Skye for the good, the bad, and the ugly.
So, let’s just get on with it, eh?
The Good
Really, the best way to show the good side of Skye would be with the pictures I took. So, I’m going to show and not tell. Besides, even my amateur photography would better serve to express its raw beauty than any vocabulary I possess.

This was 10 PM on the Isle of Skye.

That water, though…

Every conceivable shade of green can be found on Skye.

The coolest coffee shop that served me the best latte I’ve ever had.

The best latte I’ve ever had and my first time trying oat milk = OBSESSED.

Beauty around every bend

The skies really made that green pop.

An old cemetery by the sea

Too beautiful for words

The sheep. OMG the sheep. I loved them so much. I miss those wooly butts so bad.

A stretch of road with no one on it is how I hoped it’d be.

It was so quiet and peaceful at this spot. Right here. Right here is Scotland to me.

It legit looks fake.

What planet is this even?

Out of this freaking world!

Being introspective af

I really hoped we’d see a hobbit at the Fairy Glen.

This is Skye.

This is the Skye I want to never forget.
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A tiny Old Man of Storr
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Hehehehehe
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Portree

We got to this one before the hordes invaded.
The Bad
The Roads
Holy shit, the roads. Probably 90% of the roads on Skye are one lane. I don’t even know if that figure is at all accurate, but numbers don’t matter here. You’re gonna feel those one-laners and that’s all that matters.
Not only are the majority of the roads one lane, they are full of locals who don’t have time for tourists and their inept driving. One thing can be said about those locals: they have a system and they all religiously abide by it (You pull over if the pullout is on your side. If it’s on the other side DO NOT, FOR FUCKS SAKE, PULL OVER ON THE OTHER SIDE OR YOU MESS UP THE WHOLE SYSTEM, JANET.)
So, yeah, the actual Skye residents drive like bats out of hell and literally everyone else has no idea what they’re doing.
As if that ain’t bad enough, after every other sheep in the road (that’s not a figure of speech, btw, they are literally in the road) is a pothole the size of any one of the Kardashians’ massive fake asses, and considering the entire island is only 639 square miles, that’s a lot of freaking potholes.
Our rental car probably needed all new suspension after a week of those roads, and my chiropractor is rolling in the dough (literally and figuratively).
The Tourists
So, yeah, we were tourists, but we weren’t those tourists. We weren’t touristy tourists. We weren’t literally-push-like-we’re-in-Kindergarten-tourists.
Actually, I encountered pushy, rude tourists the most in really crowded touristy places like Edinburgh Castle and the like.
I don’t recall any one tourist from the Isle of Skye, but that is probably because we encountered 8,565,723 of them. To be fucking precise.
I get it, people want to see beautiful places. We all want to see The Old Man of Storr, the Fairy Pools, the Quiraing. Realizing that doesn’t make it any less annoying that you and literally everyone’s brother are trampling along to see a famous rock structure and not one bit of it feels like it should.
When you look at pictures of Skye, it looks so unspoiled, unpopulated, “unruined”. Unless you’re visiting during the off season, those remote-looking images are straight up false advertisement. It’s hard to take in and truly appreciate the raw natural beauty of the Quiraing when you’re fighting with hordes of tourists with their selfie sticks.
There were quite a few times we drove by beautiful waterfalls or odd-shaped alien formations and didn’t stop because the area would be literally crawling with people.
My favorite waterfall was this one…

…because strangely, we were alone on the road, and there was not a single person for as far as the eye could see. We barely caught a glimpse of the waterfall as we passed, so we stopped so I could run back to take a picture. As I was heading back towards the waterfall, the only sound I could hear was the sound of rushing water and just the wildness that Skye is when it isn’t overrun by people. It was my favorite moment, hands down.

Alone on the road with this made me feel so completely in Scotland.
The Ugly
The Lack of Amenities
The bladder is a sympathetic organ. It feels bad for you when there are no bathrooms anywhere to be found. So, to show how sorry it is, it makes you need to go to the bathroom far more often than is even humanly possible. The bladder is also a stupid asshole.
You know who else is a stupid asshole? The Isle of Skye.
Ya’ll, there are literally no public toilets on the entirety of the whole damn island. Maybe that’s an exaggeration as we didn’t explore every square inch, but where we did go, we didn’t see one. Not a one.
What is the result when a council/area/agency fails to provide public restrooms at popular tourist sites?
Well, let me fucking tell you.
TOILET PAPER EVERYWHERE. EVERYWHERE.
You have no idea the amount of stress I had knowing the bathrooms would be few and far between. And, that wherever I’d find to “wee” behind a bush, there’d already be toilet paper and I DON’T EVEN WANT TO THINK WHAT ELSE.
It was gross. Inexcusable. And, exactly what happens when a place is perfectly happy taking tourists’ money but can’t be bothered to provide sanitary ways to relieve oneself.
I’m just glad that one of my fears- having an attack of the travel trickle in the middle of nowhere- was never realized, because I really didn’t want that to be the highlight of my time on Skye.
The Locals Who Are Jerks
When we arrived in Portree on our first night, it was a really busy Saturday evening. The tiny Co-Op grocery store was a happening place, as everyone was trying to get their provisions for the evening. There is next to no parking in Portree, but we somehow lucked out with a spot directly in front of the store. In case we needed to move the car for some reason, my aunt and uncle stayed in the car and my mom and I went into the store.
As we were looking for a handful of basic groceries, my aunt was approached by a woman who ever so nicely (that’s sarcasm) told her she couldn’t park in the spot we were in all night. My aunt said something like, “We weren’t planning on staying in the grocery store all night, but thanks…”
This woman then proceeded to tell her how annoying tourists are and how she can’t stand them.
She said this to a person who is obviously not a Skye local, but a fucking tourist.
Our first introduction to the Isle of Skye was a woman who told us how much she hated us.
Awesome.
There were a few people who were kind and accommodating, but for the most part, the people we encountered on the Isle of Skye weren’t especially nice.
Even worse, we were told that the general consensus is that tourists suck and that fixing the roads or the lack of amenities is totally not worth it, but the money they get from the hated tourists? They’re cool with that.
Look, I get it. Tourists can suck. Especially the ones who push you out of the way so they can take 18 different selfies in front of whatever isn’t quite as cool as they are. If you live in a touristy town, hordes of tourists invading your area can get old pretty fast, but being rude isn’t going to make them go away.
What took away some of the sting of being treated like an invasive species was getting to meet one of my favorite bloggers, Lorna, from Gin & Lemonade.
Her and her hubby and darling daughter were so accommodating, kind, and an immense treat to spend time with. Because of them, I’ll always love Skye and when I think of my time there, I’ll feel a connection that can’t just be made by merely seeing and visiting, but by experiencing and truly getting to know the good that exists there.
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MASSIVE love to these people.
If you’re reading this and you’re a Skye local and you take offense, take it up with the lady who stands outside the Bank Street Co-Op-the one who warmly welcomes your guests.

Travel Tuesday Update on a…Monday?

In case you’re new here or have been on a blogging hiatus like me, you know I went on a pretty epic trip this summer.
I’m sure you’re all thinking, “Yes, bitch, we know. Shut up about it already.”

Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but ya’ll are gonna be hearing a lot about it in the coming months. Sorry not sorry.
I went to Amsterdam, Scotland, England, Wales and Ireland. In that order. It was amazing and I’m still coming down from the cherry Bakewell tart high.
I have a journal *almost* filled to the brink with what we did every day and a page in my Notes with random observations, delicious food I didn’t want to forget I ate (as if) and funny tales of tonight-we-aren’t-gonna-drink-wine-again fails.
I’m not going to post in order of what event happened first. Whatever I’m inspired to write about will be written about first. I’m not a very organized writer at all. So, bear with me.
First up, hopefully arriving in your inbox and/or reader on Tuesday or Thursday, is a post about my experience on the Isle of Skye. Prepare yourselves, this won’t be just another sunshine and unicorn farts Pinterest post on Skye that just skims over what to expect. It’s about to get real up in here (Toilet paper and goats in the road and people everywhere, OH MY).

You thought this would be a real post, didn’t you? I’m such a fucking disappointment. Or, a tease. Sorry.

Before I leave, here’s my favorite picture I took while on Skye. I don’t want you thinking I didn’t like it or anything…

The Quiraing. Impossibly beautiful.
See ya’ll on Tuesday…or Thursday!

Global Warming Ruined My Trip to The British Isles

OK. So, global warming didn’t really ruin my trip, but it definitely whooped my ass pretty good and hard.

Hiding from the sun at Roche Abbey.
I got back from my five-week-long trip last Friday and my brain is just now starting to function again. I felt pretty discombobulated and spacey for several days after being awake for 24+ hours as I crossed four time zones on my long trip home.
I completely blanked on my dentist appointment the other day that I had rescheduled twice (currently looking for a new dentist, because I can’t show my face there now) and I’ve woken up every morning at 3 AM ready to rock and roll. Jet lag is real.
Or, maybe I had heat stroke and it’s still affecting my brain?
Yes, heat stroke.
You might not be aware, but the U.K. (and Ireland and probably most of Europe) is having a heat wave of epic proportions right now. We touched down right in the middle of this insanity.
I was not fully prepared.
I packed layers. I packed sweaters. A knit hat. Scarves. Long sleeves. A fucking coat.
We had a few glorious days in Scotland where a sweater and a coat was necessary. After that, Mother Nature said a big “Eff you” to my plans of having a lovely, cool, “typical” British summer.

The kind of summer where I get to wear layers to cover my never-ready-for-summer-body is precisely the kind of summer I want to have. (Edinburgh Castle)

There were a couple of days on the Isle of Skye when it was so chilly, I couldn’t get warm and it was everything I hoped it’d be.
(The Skye Museum of Island Life)
Crazily, it never reached higher than 85 degrees, but it felt like it was way hotter. Way.
WANT TO KNOW WHY?
1. It was pretty humid and humidity makes things that much more awesome.
Where I live, it’s not uncommon for temperatures to reach triple digits in the summer. It blows. I hate the heat. I hate the heat even more than I hate low carb diets. It’s that serious. However, if I had to choose my heat, I’d choose dry heat a million times over humidity. 77 and humid feels like dying a slow death on the surface of the sun.
2. There was no AC in most places. I repeat: NO AIR CONDITIONING (this included no trace of a fan anywhere).
When the weather normally only gets uncomfortable for a couple times a year, it’s not smart to invest in an air conditioning system. I get it. I was prepared for the no AC thing, because it wasn’t my first time in the U.K. I could have handled the odd couple of days of uncomfortable heat, but it was hot LIKE EVERYDAY.
It wouldn’t have been too horrible, but the places we lived in for up to a week had nothing to move the hot air around with. When you only have three pairs of pants that you plan on wearing more than once, it kind of sucks that you have swamp ass from sun up to sun down.
3. HEAVY DUVETS EVERYWHERE
So, it was hot. It wasn’t the end of the world. We were on a dream trip and we enjoyed every sweaty moment of it. I soon got used to feeling damp on every inch of my body, but what I never got used to was the lack of a certain essential element of American bedding- the top sheet (also referred to as a flat sheet).
Had it not been hot and muggy most nights, a heavy duvet wouldn’t have been a problem at all. However, when you’re a freak about your bedding and you have to be covered with something, the lack of a thin, cool flat sheet was really fucking terrible.
I’m sorry to every owner of every bed we slept in. The smell will probably never come out.
The one night my mom and I thought we were smart and took the cover off the duvets and just slept with the covers, it got really cold. Of-fucking-course.
So, that’s how global warming ruined my ideal British summer. Is there somewhere I can send my complaint to?

I am so excited to be back (well, actually, I’m really missing proper scones with clotted cream and jam, British pints, Mr. Kipling Bakewell Tarts, M&S Percy gum, and English mustard and ham crisps, but I’m dealing) and I’m ready to share all about our trip of a lifetime.
Check back each week for another travel satire post!

This is a satirical post, but global warming is real and it’s happening, ya’ll. When we were in Dublin, the server at a pub we went to said Ireland was on a 40-day no rain streak and he had never seen so many days without rain. This broke my heart, because what makes Ireland beautiful is the presence of rain-lots of it.
I know I’ll get some comments about global warming. I’m really not up for a debate on something that has tons of scientific evidence backing it up. If you do want to leave me a comment, please let me know what you think about this warm (hot) weather in Britain and elsewhere (if it applies). Or, tell me about a time you had some surprise weather on a trip.

Vaarwel and Chì Mi Fhathast Thu

Look at how fancy pants I am with my super cool post title in, not one language, but two.

Fancy like this
Bonus points if you can tell me what two languages and what it says. I’m really counting on Google Translate for not messing this up and making me look like an idiot.
So, yeah, I’m leaving on a jet plane. It’s possible that while you’re reading this, I’m on a plane, squeezing the armrests as if that will somehow help steer the plane in any direction that will get us to our destination in one piece. I’m not a good flyer (sorry for the nervous farts).

So, yeah, I’ll be out of the country for a little more than five weeks.

This means I will, likely, not have time to read, comment on, or like your blog posts. I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.
I might also not have much time to post, other than updates here and there.
So hang in there, don’t give up on me, and wish me luck in returning safely, ready to blog about my adventures.
Bye, babies!

Source

A Trip Down Memory Lane

Eight years ago, I took my first trip to the British Isles. It was a graduation gift from my parents (More like a graduation incentive–my mom begged me to finally graduate and going on an-all-expenses-paid trip was my motivation. You can bet your ass I made school my bitch after hearing I’d be sent across the pond after receiving my Bachelor’s).
The fact that my parents literally wrote me a $5000 check (that I had to pry out of my dad’s hands) to have the trip of a lifetime is something I can never adequately thank them enough for. It was a life-altering experience that I relive in my heart time and time again.
Now, forty five years after my mother went to England, herself, for the first time, she gets to go again. We get to go together.
I’m fully expecting a lot of laughs, maybe some tears, and for sure, some annoyances, but I only wish for this trip to be an experience we recall fondly for years to come.
In honor of my last trip, and in excitement and anticipation for the one coming up, I’m sharing some of my favorite pictures from The British Isles 2010.
Be aware that I’m not a photographer in the least, and my photos were taken with a $100 pink Samsung digital camera.
Some will be terrible. A few will be blurry. More than a couple will have random people or strange angles. None have filters. I also took these from my Facebook, so they’ll be terrible quality. But, aren’t semi-terrible photos all part of the fun?
Buckle your seatbelts, baby! Here we go!

Hands down, the coolest plane picture I’ve ever taken. I think this is the southern-most tip of Greenland.

A view of London from the window (that didn’t have a screen) of our hotel room. We stayed in Earl’s Court, which is a gorgeous district in Kensington.

Our hotel in London. It was definitely not a Marriott, but it was perfection.

Our London neighborhood. Those row houses, though.
I still crave Nando’s, and who knew you needed sunscreen in England??

This Maida Vale pub just screamed England to me. It was here we found out what Russel Brand meant when he sang, “Will you come for my bangers, my beans and mash”. Or, maybe he means something else.

I distinctly remember this was the moment I almost pooped my pants. I also recall thinking, “This is how we die.”

We took the train from Birmingham to Coventry, because driving was a big “NOPE” (I eventually got brave and became one of the most proficient American drivers the British Isles has ever had the good fortune to host). This is Coventry Cathedral. It was hauntingly beautiful.

Did ya’ll know Lady Godiva is one of my ancestors? It’s true. I was so excited to visit her statue, but, sadly…

…it’s not quite as grand as Primark.

Wait, y’all have dollar stores too, but everything is a pound (which is like a dollar, but not)? Mind blown.

British motorway rest stops are like freaking palaces!

The Conwy Castle ruins in Wales was my favorite castle. We were there, exploring, for hours.

The flowers growing out of the castle walls were almost too quaint.

I mean, just look at this!

Who knew one could find palm trees in Britain? Llandudno was exquisite.

I.did.not.want.to.leave.

WTF? I ate one. That’ll show them.

This was our one splurge stay. This is the Radisson Blu in Dublin. The grounds were my favorite part. This is where we discovered that Ireland’s air conditioning is not like “our” air conditioning. Hot.as.balls.

Kilkenny was quaint af. We wanted to stay at this hotel. It was way out of our budget, so the Pembroke Hotel was the lucky winner of hosting us for our barf-tastic wild Irish night.

TOO MUCH PRETTY

Y’all think this person likes Elvis?

It’s almost just as romantic as Italy. Except they were laying on the concrete in a pretty sketchy part of town outside an apartment building. Young love.

But, someone left kegs there. I found this way funnier than it really was.

Blarney Castle was awesome. I didn’t kiss the Blarney Stone, because Rick Steves said I’d get the herp if I did.

Eeeeeeeeeeeee

Seriously, I felt like I was on another planet while walking the grounds at Blarney Castle. It was otherworldly GORGEOUS.

The drive to Dingle Town, while poop-your-pants-scary was stunningly beautiful at the same time. It was a conflicting feeling.

Dingle Town! I couldn’t even with the adorableness!

I’ve never seen so much green.

Galway was a lively city full of sounds, smells and so many people. The energy was palpable.

Galway also has weird af people who put their gum on a public railing, that is literally right next people playing Scrabble, to eat their chips. She then just left it there.

Kinlay Hostel in Galway was our first dorm-style hostel and the entire night I was literally sweating profusely from the fear that people would come into our room and I’d have to share a room with…STRANGERS. No one came. THANK GOD.

Some ruins and a rainbow effect. No big

Some more ruins and some dark, foreboding clouds. This is like travel picture porn to me.

Ever been to Newgrange? They are prehistoric mounds that are older than the pyramids. Anyone else use the Egyptian pyramids as a gauge for how old something is?

A super narrow alley in Edinburgh we named “Stab Alley”. Not exactly sure why.

Edinburgh was my favorite. I have this one in black and white on my wall. Love.

Edinburgh Castle was too much. Too.much.

The views from the castle are AMAZING AF. Scotland is just the absolute best.

You never know who you’ll find on the streets of Edinburgh.

Loch Ness, my love. TOO BEAUTIFUL. Too.freaking.beautiful.

This path cutting through these delicate wildflowers led to the banks of Loch Ness. It was MAGICAL.

No words needed. Those are words, but, you know what I mean.

I could have stayed on the banks of this river in Inverness FOREVER.

This was taken somewhere between Inverness and Edinburgh. I didn’t realize Scotland was so green.

This was taken from Oxford Castle. Oh, England. You hurt my heart. You’re just too beautiful

Here I am in the haunted Oxford Castle. What haunts me to this day is how I thought I was fat. I wish I were as fat as I was when I thought I was fat, cuz, honey, now I’m fat.

The winding streets of Oxford. I felt studious and smart af in Oxford.

Oh my (said in a George Takei voice).

The River Thames. Le sigh.

The River Hotel was, bar none, the most *interesting* hotels we stayed at. There was the case of the stubborn pube (it was sitting there, on the bathroom floor waiting for us when we checked in and still there after the bathroom was “cleaned”). Then there was the fact every surface in the room had, at least, an inch of dust. Of course, I can’t forget the old lady receptionist who was meaner than a dog shitting tacks. And, of course that we were put in the Annexe, where all of the Americans and other unfavorables get a room. What a trip.

I was speechless the entire time we toured Westminster Abbey. If walls could talk.

When I first saw Big Ben, I knew I was finally in London (This is confusing as my pictures go in order, and I, obviously, was already in London. We started and ended in London. My second set of Big Ben pictures was much better than the ones I took three weeks prior, when I was still a London newbie).

Rick Steves told us not to waste our money on the London Eye, so we didn’t. I’m still not sure if I’m mad at Rick or not.

The only picture I got of the London Bridge.

I think this is Covent Garden. What I do know is we ate at a tiny Italian restaurant in this neighborhood. I had Chicken Carbonara. I never forget food.

One of my London “must dos” was to see a play at Shakespeare’s Globe Theater. That was before a full day of walking. Also, before we realized that why our tickets were so cheap was because our “seats” were in the pit and we had to stand for all three hours of the play. Spoiler alert: we didn’t stay for the whole play.
Now I’m so excited for my trip and ya’ll are probably bored after looking through some random’s pictures.
So, tell me, what’s your favorite “take away” from a trip? Is it a souvenir, new knowledge, pictures, or something else? Tell me in the comments!