The Weekend

I know, I know! A whole week has gone by without an adventure. Not true, my friends. It's only been four days, and I've returned with a shiny new one.

Friday

My original plans were to go to the library on Friday, do all my homework, and then play on Saturday. Very rarely do things go according to plan; it's like the universe's joke on me that that particular proverbial saying is—who'da guessed—true.

It was raining and I did go to the library. It wasn't very productive and the WiFi connection was slow. Did Vicky get any work done? Of course she did. Was it enough? Hardly.

I went back to the flat around noon, and by then the weather was starting to clear up a bit. Lorena, being the lovely Spaniard that she is, woke up around one that afternoon and asked if I wanted to go to the Wallace Monument since it looked nice out.

Now originally we were going to go to the monument on Saturday, but here in Scotland you learn not to take good weather for granted.

I feel the need to warn you that this post will be very video heavy and worse—I seem to have forgotten what it was like to see The Blair Witch Project in the theater. If you get queasy at sucky camera work, I apologize ahead of time.

Where was I? Okay, Lorena and I decided to go to the monument a day sooner.

To understand the little bit of reluctance I had at going you should know that...

one does not simply go up to the Wallace Monument. You go up to the top of it.

Like the castles here, the Wallace Monument is on a steep hill. Blast you military strategists who've realized the importance of a high vantage point!

So we bought our tickets and walked up the footpath to the base of the monument.

A tired yet relieved Vicky.

I'm glad that I wasn't aware of how many steps it was to the top. There are rooms sectioned off on the way up, and you bet your knickers that we stopped in those rooms.

Me and the Wallace Sword

It's funny, I paid £6 to go up, and I was only able to stay up there for a few minutes. It was windy and chilly, and the crazy Spaniard next to me said that when it snowed in the winter, she wanted to come back. Back up the insane flight of stairs while the ground was slippery. Riiight. (Lorena, I love you, but you're nuts!)

I do have video of it. My warning stands, and on looking back at it I've realized that all the places I've pointed out are a good notch to the right of where I claim.

At least I can say that I've climbed the 246 steps of the Wallace Monument. Oh, did I not mention a specific number? How do I know? The gift shop was selling a bunch of merchandise that proudly claimed said number. Lorena and I even have certificates with an official stamp and everything. Sure, I think the certificates are for kiddies, but dammit, I climbed it and I want recognition.

That night after I had worked on more homework and was watching YouTube videos, Lorena came to my room. She told me about a YouTuber I had never seen before, and I was introduced to the hilarity that is "My Drunk Kitchen." If you've never seen an episode, I urge you to do so because she's quite funny.

One of the episodes was of her making quesadillas. And, well, it inspired us to plan Midnight Quesadillas the next night.

Saturday

Before I can get to the antics that happened during Midnight Quesadillas, I must first show you how silly things can get in our flat. The next two videos happened nowhere near midnight.

That was around eight.

If you're wondering if Elise will be making an appearance in the videos in this post, she will not. She was invited to Midnight Quesadillas, but she already had plans or some such nonsense. And Dan... well, Dan was pointedly not invited. (Actually, I told him that unless he grew lady parts he couldn't be there.) Midnight Quesadillas was for flatmates only. The silliness you are about to witness wouldn't have happened if a guy was there, and, truthfully, there are more videos of this night that I've agreed not to post.

Remarkably, we never did get drunk. It was just good times and shenanigans with a handful of silly girls.

"Vicky, what the heck was that?"

Well, I won't try to explain the barking Spaniard, but I will try to explain what was going on. It was revealed to us that Dan and Elise had returned from their night out and were a bit sloshed, and someone got the brilliant idea to go bark at Dan's door. I don't know why. Even then, I don't think it made sense, but there you have it.

The kitchen table might have been pushed back at one point to make an impromptu dance floor. And the ladies of flat 2H might have danced with a silliness that only the comfort of privacy can offer. And a new dance move might have been created by Carissa. (It's called "The Penguin.")

Unfortunately, somebody was not pleased with our happiness. No. There is a tattletale in our midst. Our very own Mr. Heckles.

We don't know who it was that called the porter. I talked to Hector, one of Dan's flatmates, and he said that the noise didn't bother him. He'd figured, "Hey, it's a Saturday night."

We think it was the people downstairs. What really irks us is that we're the good girls, we do our homework, we're not rowdy or throw wild parties during the week, and we have one of the cleanest flats on Union Street. And the one time we let our hair down, somebody has to complain about it. It's a travesty, folks.

Hope this was somewhat entertaining. Until next time!